I do not own Hetalia.

A/N: The title is a saying that I made up when I realized that I'm a bit obsessed with 'elegance'. For me, it's a step higher than 'confidence'.

...

America is stunned. He's seen this man in this attire so many times already, and he's seen plenty of people have tried and copied it with only a minimal success, but at this very moment, it's like he's seeing this look for the very first time in his entire existence—and he's loving it a little too much.

Romano is wearing his infamous fashion statement America has first seen when the Italian was trying to intimidate him and demand a payback for 'running him into the ground for too fucking long'(*), but he has a fedora hat now instead of a pair of glasses. His suit is also noticeably in finer quality this time, granted, he has suffered under the industrial revolution in that period. His curl is bouncing ever so lightly under his hat and every time he hums, the curl will appear as though it's moving with the rhythm.

He's quite... handsome, to say the least. But if America has to elaborate, he looks stylish, attractive and striking all in the superlative form and he's simply drop-dead gorgeous. He has this certain grace in him that instead of sullying his manliness, it's only adding to the elegance and class he possesses as a man. He's so sophisticated-looking that America starts to think the Italian seems very out of place here in the office.

He gives the impression that he belongs to a fiction novel or a movie, one that has the highest ratings. He looks like an evil villain, but at the same time, he looks like an intelligent young protagonist. He looks like a notorious mafia don who runs the underworld, but he also looks like the kind-hearted mafia heir who will soon overthrow his father and save the citizens instead of scrounging them. He looks like the son of a famous business man who plays with the ladies and breaks their heart, but he also looks like the wise scholar who sticks to one lady and love her in the most gentle and romantic ways. This contradictions are fascinatingly tormenting, but America can't really choose with either of them and placing him in between is not an option, too. Romano simply looks amazing right now and he's currently being the bane of America's productive hours.

He really should be focusing on his shit-ton of work right now considering the reason why Romano is even here is because America is too busy to turn up at their twice a month date. He may have hinted that he misses him so much that he doesn't want to merely cancel the date, so Romano has sacrificed a few of his hours on plane through his way to Washington just to see his beloved. America is touched, honestly, that he has only received three hours straight of nagging and grumbling in exchange for Romano to indulge him.

There they are now, settled on their respective tables that are perched across from each other, though Romano's is only makeshift and temporary because this is America's office and the Italian doesn't have any plans or even justifications to stay permanently, much to America's dismay. America is supposedly concentrating on the stacks of documents at his desk, which have already accumulated into towering piles, but he really can't spend a full minute reading them without glimpsing at the spectacular specie in front him. Romano must've noticed it, too, owing to the fact that he's been giving him brief glances from time to time as he does his own work. (It looks like he's writing something, but America can't be too sure.) It's only a miracle how he's still subdued up to this moment and has yet to reprimand America for his agitating behavior.

He can't help it, though. He's totally distracted by Romano that he can't put his mind back to his work. The only thing that he wants to do right now is to fix his stare at the man in suit and fedora with a stray curl on the center, who he thinks is by far the sexiest man he has ever seen, until the image is imprinted at the back of his eyelids and he can see it even with his eyes closed—that and maybe to give him a kiss or two.

Romano lifts his head again, furrowing his brows when his gaze meets America's. America immediately turns his eyes away and picks up a paper and buries his nose under it to examine the decrees and injunctions while intently wishing for the Italian not to finally snap at him. To his surprise and great delight, Romano indeed doesn't snap, not even a grunt of disapproval is sent to his way. So after time passes and he finishes skimming the first paragraph of the article for the fourth time, he cautiously lowers the paper and takes a peek at the Italian. Said Italian is back to being engrossed with whatever is in his desk, his hand continuously willing his pencil with various strokes and line movements. Wait, pencil?

Just when he decides to push his luck and inspect the suspicious activity on Romano's work, a chime somewhere faraway makes it through his office and resonates in an insistent din. But as an alternative of regarding it as a bothersome interference, America deems it a glorious blessing due to the fact that the chime signifies the arrival of twelve o'clock noon, and twelve o'clock noon only means one thing—lunch break.

With lunch break comes an hour out from work, and with an hour out from work comes a leisure time. So what's better than spending his free time pouring his full attention to his lover who has come all his way from South Italy? Nothing except to be given the similar and equal attention by the same man.

He twiddles on his ergonomic swivel chair to drive him closer to where Romano is sitting behind his desk. If he's in the company of his boss, he won't dare to do such a childish thing, but since it's only with Romano, he can do pretty much anything. Well, not really anything but this, surely his lover doesn't mind much. Anyway, as Romano raises his head to gaze at America, he frowns when he is greeted with an empty space. It seems like he still hasn't noticed that America is already by his side, watching him search the entire room through his eyes.

"Hey," America says when he's eventually found, grinning exuberantly at the Italian who looks just about to snarl at him.

"What the hell? Why are you there, you bastard, you're supposed to be behind your desk and diligently doing your work," Romano bellows in response. He gives a condemning frown at the paper on his desk and the fact that his gaze is fixated at it even when making a fuss catches America's attention.

"It's lunch," he replies inattentively and peers at the piece of paper that's currently holding the Italian's scrutiny. He releases a mild gasp when he finally sees what it is. "What, you're sketching me again?"

America takes a good and appreciative look at the sketch. Yes, that's definitely him behind the mahogany office table holding a piece of document in one hand while in the midst of twirling his fountain pen with his other hand. His head is facing forwards, however, instead of on the document on his hand and it amazes America that Romano has even managed to capture the wonder of his eyes as he stares at him, mesmerized. They look like they're twinkling here in his drawing. That must've been how they are if the one they're looking at is Romano, himself, especially at the present moment. But really, it's no wonder he can feel the incessant eyes observing him like a specimen.

"So what, I can't even do my thing? You're so busy being busy so I got bored," Romano rebuffs, averting his attention from America who blushes a little bit in shame and embarrassment. He's a tad bit ashamed because he isn't really busy working, he's only busy attempting to work and he's embarrassed because his lover just unconsciously professes that it's his thing to draw America. If that isn't heart-racing then he doesn't know what it is.

"Haha! Sorry. Of course you can, but let's have break, okay?" He pushes the swivel chair back a little and stands to retrieve something from his drawers. He pulls a thick envelope protected by a vinyl plastic and opens it while he walks back to Romano. "Here, put it inside," he says, offering the said envelope that by this time is already compiling bunches of papers in varying sizes and assortment. Some are from a sketch pad while some are just scratch notes or recycled papers, and then there are also two or three pieces of napkin with a restaurant logo on the corner. Two things they have in common are the verity that they all have America's face in them and they're all Romano's creations.

"What is that?" Romano asks, his tone in obvious and clear suspicion.

"My folder."

"Jerk, I know that, I mean what's inside?"

"Uhh," America contemplates. On one hand, Romano will be pleased that he has collected every piece of them. On the other hand, he can be very pissed off when he finds out that America has been kind of sorta stealing them, only kind of. "Hahaha, it's nothing. Don't mind the trivial things."

But saying that makes it impossible to achieve as it causes Romano to snatch the folder away and look at the contents. Sure enough, the Italian's eyebrows quirk in annoyance when he sees the first one, but as he goes through the rest of the pile, his eyes turn to America in surprise and bafflement mixed with a tiny bit of irk. "Wha— You've been keeping them all this time, you bastard?"

"Yeah? Well, I have a feeling you'll just throw them out afterwards so I saved them from meeting the trash can." He smiles.

"Why would I even throw my... they have your... I mean..." appearing as though he can't find the right words, he directs his glare at America, "damn it, you bastard."

'Why would I even throw my treasures out? They have your face in them, I mean that's unforgivable,' is how America interprets it.

America plops himself back to his chair and maneuvers it to Romano's direction, smiling so widely in the process. "All is great, then. You can draw me anytime and I'll compile them afterwards. I'll put them all in frames or laminate them when I have enough time." He stares at Romano, completely ogling at him without any restrictions while expecting him to recognize his strong craving for an intimate moment. "You look absolutely gorgeous right now."

Romano shies a bit at the sudden change of topic and atmosphere, but he keeps his stern glare at him and huffs, "Of course I am, you jerk."

"Hey, this is the time where you're supposed to kiss me, you know," America whines and pouts.

Taken aback, Romano creases his brows and delivers his own whine, "What? How am I supposed to know that? And why would I even..." he stops instantaneously to regard the blinding beam of America's smile.

They remain like that for a minute. America is smiling so sweetly and evidently in anticipation for something while Romano eyes him with so much skepticism, but it's still clear that he's pondering on it.

When another minute has passed, America's forbearance runs out. He swears in his head and leans closer until his forehead is touching the brim of Romano's fedora, his smile still plastered on his lips. With that, Romano seems to give in at last. He slips his face diagonally so their lips can touch even without removing his hat, America also follows suit in the opposing direction to have a better access. Texas is being pressed at one of Romano's cheek while the brim of the fedora hat pokes on America's own cheek and their mouths are practically intersecting with each other, but as their lips meet and clash, those trivial things don't matter anymore.

America really misses Romano, sincerely and wholeheartedly. He's been so occupied with his work lately, but he's so Romano-deprived that he has stooped on a very unheroic act just to see him. Maybe that's the reason why he's so entranced when he has seen him in today's attire, or maybe he just wants to take his mind off of anything work-related. But whatever it is, he's glad, grateful and so fully satisfied that Romano is here with him now, blowing his mind away with his heated and enticing lips.

They break apart after a while, fill their lungs with oxygen and stare deeply at each other's eyes. America licks his wet lower lip as Romano watches, then the Italian eventually removes his hat and tosses it somewhere in the table before claiming America's lips for another kiss. America finds the loss of the hat a bit disappointing, but as he closes his eyes, he can see the image of the sexiest man he's ever seen at the back of his eyelids, plus, he can feel the seductive movement of the lips on his and decides that this is definitely the best compensation.

...

I'm accepting all forms of reaction, from calm and normal to bloody and trashy, just send me a review if you have some. Thanks a lot for checking it out!

* Referenced to Hetalia: World Stars Chapter 59 in which Romano lived with America. (I only recently read it and... I have no words for it. I'm just grinning from ear to ear the whole time I'm reading their moments.)

A/N: I know it's just a phase and I'll move on sooner or later, but for the meantime, I'm still so utterly in love with Romerica.