The day after Romano let El Apasionado Caballero was a Saturday, and there were no words to describe how grateful he was for that. Saturday meant that he didn't have to go in to work, which meant that he could put of having to listen to his boss scold him again for failing to capture El Apasionado Caballero again.

Romano's boss, a man by the name of England, was strict and quick-tempered. For some reason, when he found himself face-to-face with England, he became a nervous, quivering mess who could only squeak out timid replies to his boss's snarled questions and accusations. Actually, Romano knew exactly why England had this effect on him; the man was terrifying. The less he had to do with him, Romano thought, the better, but he had been finding himself in England's office more and more lately.

But that could be put off until Monday. Until then, Romano had two full days to do as he pleased, provided that El Apasionado Caballero didn't screw that up by sending a calling card for Saturday or Sunday. Today, Romano decided that he'd spend some time with his little brother. He had called him up and hinted in the most obvious way that he could without completely tossing his pride out the window that he wouldn't hate the idea of his brother coming over with some pastries and cappuccino from his shop for them to share at Romano's place.

The detective's younger brother, Italy, owned a quaint little café a block away from the police station. Thanks to his location and outstanding cooking abilities (which he had inherited from Romano), he did a roaring trade with police officers, who liked going there on their breaks. Unfortunately for Romano, this also meant that Italy, who had always been naïve and a bit weak in the head, was frequently exposed to the lowlifes that Romano had the misfortune to call co-workers. In particular, it had allowed Italy to meet a certain potato bastard.

The two of them seemed to be trying to keep it on the down-low, but Romano knew for a fact that they were dating. He had gone to his brother's café one day for lunch, walked around the counter to help himself like he always did, found the two of them making out in the back room and promptly lost his appetite. Romano knew instantly that they were terrible for each other and had devoted a great deal of time and energy to getting them to realize this, but both of them were so hopelessly thick-headed that he might as well have been talking to rocks.

Romano's doorbell rang and he got up to let his brother inside. As expected, Italy greeted him with a big dopey smile, a bag of pastries in one hand and a cardboard drink-holder with some envelopes nestled between the cups in the other.

"Good morning, Brother! Thanks for inviting me over!" he chirped.

"Yeah, yeah, just come in already," Romano grunted, waving him inside and taking the drink-holder from him. "What're these?"

He indicated the envelopes.

"Oh, the mailman was dropping off the mail when I pulled up so I thought I'd bring it in for you."

Romano led the way into the kitchen and set down the drinks so that he could look over the mail. He gave each bill a derisive snort and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder. When he was finished, Romano was left with only one envelope. This particular one was addressed in handwritten scrawl. Frowning, Romano tore it open. There were three items inside: two tickets to some sort of stunt and magic performance and a very brief letter.

I know you usually throw these away, but it would really mean a lot to me if you would come see my show. I'm saving your usual fourth row and center seats for you in case you change your mind!

Love,

Spain

Romano's face flushed slightly and he rolled his eyes. "Jeez, this clueless bastard just doesn't know how to take a hint."

"What is it, Brother?" Italy asked, taking a seat at the table and plucking his drink from the tray. "Is it Spain again?"

"Yeah," Romano huffed. "When will that dumb ass get it through his thick skull that just because I saved him once a long time ago, doesn't mean I want anything to do with him?"

"He comes to my café sometimes," Italy remarked. "He's a really nice guy. He always asks about you… You never did tell me what Spain did to make you so mad, but I think it was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you should give him second chance?"

Romano stuck his nose in the air stubbornly. It had been a while since he had seen Spain face-to-face, but time had not dimmed his memory of the man. He remembered his cheerful demeanor, his passable looks, the way he had flirted with Romano so openly. Unlike most men that Romano met, Spain didn't completely disgust him from the get-go (that didn't mean he liked him, though!) and deep in his heart, Romano knew that it was partially for this reason that he was so insistent on never seeing or speaking to him again.

For a majority of Romano's life, he had played second fiddle to his younger brother. Even his parents and grandfather had preferred Italy. Romano had had only two lovers over the course of his lifetime, and both of them had ended up leaving him because they found themselves more attracted to the younger Vargas brother.

Though Romano had done his best to put all that behind him and act as if he didn't care, the truth was that the scars ran deep. In his darkest moments, when he was lying in bed and there was no one to put up a front for, Romano told himself that even if he found someone to whom he wanted to give his whole body and heart, that person would toss him aside for his brother and the hurt would be so deep that he would never recover. And though he would never, ever admit this to anyone, the thought terrified him so much that he pushed away anyone he thought had any sort of potential to interest him romantically.

"Are you going to see his show?" Italy asked, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

"Hell no. Didn't I just say I'm not interested in that bastard?"

"What a waste! I heard it's a really good show, too. It's gotten really good reviews in all the newspapers."

"Like I care," Romano said dispassionately around a mouthful of blueberry tart. "Anyway, if I show up, he'll get the wrong idea."

"Well… if you're not going to use them, would you mind giving the tickets to me?"

"What're you gonna do with them?"

"Um… I thought I might take Germany to see it. It would be a fun idea for a date, don't you think?"

Romano's face went red with rage at the very idea. "No fucking way am I giving them to you! You know how I feel about that potato dick!"

"I think you and Germany just got off on the wrong foot!" Italy said hurriedly. "If you could just start over…"

"Don't give me that shit; I know what he's like! I work with that asshole! Listen to me, Veniciano, 'cause I'm telling you this for your own good: the guy's a loser! He's trying to take advantage of you!"

Italy looked hurt. "Germany would never take advantage of me. He's one of the sweetest, gentlest people I know and we're in love. You don't hurt someone you're in love with."

"There's no such thing as love, idiot! It's a fucking fairy tale! If that twisted jerk feels anything for you, it's only lust! How many times do I have to say this to you before you get it?"

Italy opened his mouth to argue, but he could see the pain smoldering in his brother's eyes and he fell silent. Nothing he said could change Romano's mind, not when he had been hurt so many times. He would just have to keep praying that his brother's special someone would show up soon and prove to him that he was mistaken. Romano shoved the letter and tickets back in the envelope and crumpled it into a ball before throwing the lot into the trash.

It was a clear spring day about a year and a half ago when Romano first met Spain. The whole thing had been sheer coincidence. Romano decided to walk to work that day rather than drive like he normally did. He had managed to get out the door unusually early which meant that he had time to be a bit more leisurely in his pace.

The detective was stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change when he first laid eyes on Spain. Spain hadn't seen him yet; he was too busy texting someone. Romano saw the following events as if in slow motion. A child riding his bike on the sidewalk swerved to miss a dog crossing his path, and bumped Spain, causing him to drop his phone in the street. Spain, like the moron he was, unthinkingly stepped out into on-coming traffic to retrieve it, completely overlooking the city bus that was speeding toward him.

Acting on sheer instinct, Romano darted across the street and shoved Spain out of the way just in the nick of time. Unfortunately Romano had been less lucky; the bus clipped his leg and broke it badly. The Italian had always had a rather low tolerance for pain, so he had blacked out and didn't awake until hours later, by which time he had been taken to the hospital.

The first thing he noticed as he began to regain consciousness was the sound of someone's shoes against the carpet, pacing restlessly. Romano moaned; there was a sickly throbbing in his leg, though it didn't hurt. He brought a hand to his head and found that a large piece of gauze had been taped to his face. Romano didn't have time to process much more than this, because whoever was pacing in his room had noticed that he was awake.

"Oh! You're awake! I'm so glad!"

Romano squinted at him. His head was throbbing, too. "Who the fuck're you?"

"I'm Spain Fernandez-Carriedo, the guy you saved from the bus," the man chirped, looking way too energetic. "And you're Detective Romano Vargas, my hero!"

"I know who I am, dumb ass," Romano grumbled, too miserable to muster up the bite he would usually put in his voice. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

"I was waiting for you to wake up so I could say thank you for saving me," Spain explained. "I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am! I'm just sorry you had to go and get so banged up because of it."

"There's always a punishment for doing something nice for someone," Romano mumbled. "This time, there were two punishments: a broken leg and an annoying bastard in my room who won't shut the hell up… God, I feel like I'm gonna puke."

"The doctor said you have a minor concussion and that you might feel sick when you woke up," Spain said, lowering his voice so as to lessen the aggravation to Romano's poor spinning head. "Would you like some water?"

"F-fine…"

Spain hurried to pour Romano a glass of water from the pitcher that had been placed on Romano's bedside table. Now that Spain had come closer, Romano could focus on him a bit better. Wavy dark hair, sun-kissed tan skin, lively green eyes, a body that erred on the lean and muscular side… Romano's cheeks pinked slightly. The guy may be annoying as hell, but he certainly wasn't the ugliest human being Romano had ever seen. Maybe it was just the concussion and worsening sick feeling in his stomach talking, though.

Spain offered Romano the glass of water just as the detective leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up on his shoes.

Romano had been pretty sure that he would never see Spain again after his utterly humiliating performance, but Spain surprised him by showing up again the next day to visit him and pace in the waiting room while he had surgery to realign his bones after his multiple fractures. He came again the day after that and the day after that. In fact, Spain showed up to visit him for at least an hour every day the entire time Romano was recuperating.

And he brought gifts; sometimes flowers, or chocolate, or alcohol, or even full five course home-cooked meals. It was three months before Romano was completely healed and there was not a single day during that time that Spain failed to visit him and tell him how grateful he was for what Romano had done for him.

The detective didn't know how to react to Spain. He cursed him out and told him that he was annoying and to go away several times per visit, but everything he said just slid off of Spain like water off a duck's back. Aside from his family, no one had ever willingly put up with him for so long. Factor in Spain's tolerable looks, cheerful, easy-going personality, and the fact that he told Romano every day how glad he was to have met him, and Romano found his heart filled with the beginnings of worryingly tender feelings toward the man. Not love, of course (Romano wasn't a moron or a masochist), but a disturbing lack of hatred and resentment, especially considering the fact that his leg had been broken saving this idiot.

But as Romano had learned the hard way over and over throughout his life, people could only pretend to be decent for a short amount of time before they exposed their rotten cores. He and Spain had been sitting on the couch that fateful day, watching TV, and Romano had nodded off against Spain's shoulder. Spain, still not understanding even after the millions of times that Romano had warned him that he didn't like being touched, thought that he could take advantage of Romano's sleepiness to hold his hand. Well, he was lucky this time that Romano really was too tired to yell at him, but that didn't mean he liked it.

That was when Italy showed up, a bag containing grilled sandwiches and pasta salad from his café in hand, intending to share them with his brother for dinner. Though Italy had visited Romano frequently during the time that he was recuperating, his and Spain's visits had never coincided before. When Spain laid eyes on Italy, he stood up, leaving Romano to be startled awake by the sudden loss of support.

"Hey, are you Romano's younger brother?" Spain asked, sounding way too interested for Romano's liking. Warning signs were flaring up in his mind like fireworks in response to the tone of Spain's voice. That was when Spain dropped the bomb on him. "You're adorable! Why haven't I met you before?"

That, to Romano's paranoid ears, sounded like "Why have I been wasting my time with Romano when I could have had you this whole time?" And Romano flipped out. He jumped to his feet, sprinted around the couch and punched Spain in the jaw with all his might.

"Get the fuck out of my house! Both of you!" he shouted.

"Eh? Wh-what's wrong, Brother?"

"R…Romano… why…?"

"Out! Get out right now or I'll call the fucking cops on your asses!"

Bewildered and hurt, Spain and Italy left Romano's house, neither one of them understanding why they had just been thrown out. Once he had heard the door slam shut, Romano hurried over to lock it, his chest heaving like he had just run a marathon. Then he slid his back down the door, dropping into a sitting position.

He didn't care. I don't give a shit, he told himself. Spain was a clueless idiot who never listened when he told him not to touch him or to go away, who forced his barely edible food down Romano's throat, and wouldn't shut up about how cute Romano was or about how much he liked him… He was only saying that stuff because I saved him. It was nothing personal. Everyone likes Veneciano better anyway. Why should stupid Spain be any different? I don't give a shit about him. And Romano buried his face in his arms and sobbed.

After that incident, Spain continued to call and knock on his door everyday but Romano ignored him. All the apology letters and gifts that Spain left on his doorstep were burned with deep satisfaction (except if he left something that looked really yummy and Romano hadn't been to the grocery store in a while. Then he would eat it, but only with the greatest of reluctance). He had called the cops on Spain twice when he had shown up at his window at night to attempt to serenade him.

Yet Spain, ever the clueless dumb ass, still didn't get it. He harassed Romano this way every single day until about eight months ago. After that, Spain just stopped visiting, stopped ringing the door bell, stopped leaving gifts. Romano had been grateful beyond belief. He had been starting to think that he would be stuck with Spain for the rest of his life. But Spain hadn't given up altogether. He still sent tickets to his shows every time he had one.

Spain was a stage performer, and a very popular one at that. Apparently his stunts and magic tricks were second to none. Romano wouldn't know; he'd never seen one of his shows and he didn't plan to do so any time in the foreseeable future. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, Romano considered giving in and going to Spain's stupid show, but then he forced himself to remember the utter betrayal of that day when Spain had met Italy and he would tear the tickets up with renewed hatred. If that asshole ever showed his face in front of Romano again, he was going to beat the crap out of him, no questions asked.