disclaimer: hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the second day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #11

dihaja pisan

[2/7]

"I'm absolutely gutted."

A long sigh of despair came out of a certain man's mouth who laid his body on an old couch, his pair of gloomed green eyes were focused to the television, with a blank hopeless stare however. His hands went limp and were lying down powerlessly on the seat.

"If Pique hadn't done that bloody handball they wouldn't be sacked like that! ¡Mierda! Why didn't they list Fabregas on their team why―"

Antonio stopped ranting as he felt his head aching for a moment. He squinted his eyes towards the other man sitting beside him whose face was showing a contrast expression to his brunet friend. He tugged a slight smirk in triumph, though the older man wasn't clearly noticing it.

"I don't know how should I feel for you, Antonio," the blond haired younger man shrugged, and immediately got snapped by Antonio with a sour tone on his speech.

"Be sad for me, Arthur. My country's national team was just being knocked out―nay, it had gone pear-shaped. Ah. Those Russian walls must be quite chuffed. Crushing such a big team like my country is."

Antonio, much to his chagrin, wasn't feeling pleased by what he just watched. It was the World Cup thing, he relied on no teams but his beloved country's national team; a 2010 champion; yet he had lost his hope this day. Arthur could only roll his eyes to respond. Both of them were too proud of their countries, but that wasn't always a bad thing, no?

"Mine's still surviving. How can I not be happy?"

Arthur muffled his giggle by a palm, trying hard to not bursting a laugh or else Antonio would kill him in an instant punch. "It's my turn now, Anthony. It's coming ho-"

"Yeah sure. England will certainly come home very soon. Absobloodylootely."

Antonio rolled his eyes. He had no desire to hear the next sentence on Arthur's ridiculous phrase regarding football's home coming.

"I don't need that sarcastic comment. Why can't you just let me enjoy this moment."

Arthur frowned in annoyance as he heard Antonio jeered at him with that satirical tone. He didn't expect Antonio to be that sharp when he had bad days. Or maybe he didn't realise that was how Antonio always felt every damn time he berated him with all of his sarcasm.

Antonio leant his back against the couch, stretching his stiff muscles; he sat too much and too long this whole day. He pulled Arthur by the back of his shoulder, leaning the blond's hair against his chest and got the younger boy startled for the sudden tug. He heard Antonio laughed then, as if all of his unhappiness were shoved away elsewhere.

"You can't enjoy this without me enjoying it too!"

He messed up Arthur's blond hair with his fingers, drawing out a disgruntled groan from the Brit.

"Feel better now?" Arthur asked, still not happy as his hair was a complete tangled mess; he tried to fix some with his own fingers. Antonio carved a reassured smile on his face, looking through the other's green eyes with lots of wonder.

"A bit, at least."

"Weird." Arthur scoffed; his head was still resting on the older man's chest. He could hear him breathing as well as his heartbeat. "You just wanted to do this to me. Not because you were gutted." He mumbled, as he buried his face on the elder mate's chest.

"I will let you cry here too when England lost."

"Shut up, you!"