It's time for lunch and Ireland's first time eating Italian food! How will this go? Let's hope it goes well and Romano doesn't kill him before the food's even served! You will also learn what Ireland will do when he believes his family is in danger.
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's the longest one so far! And if I have any translations wrong, I'm very sorry.
"Ireland, you'll sit here next to me," Italy directed Ireland to the chair next to his, "And Spain and fratello will sit across from us!" The two other nations sat at the table while Italy went into the kitchen to add the finishing touches to their meal. Romano sat across from Ireland, continuing to glare at him.
This is getting tiresome, Ireland thought, I don't get why he hates me right now. He decided that he had to get straight to the point if he wanted answers.
"Romano, what is it that you have against me? I thought we were friends."
"That changed after I saw you and my brother in the closet," Romano growled.
"You freak out over one kiss?"
"You looked like you were doing more than just kissing!" This suddenly reminded Ireland of his conversation with France. He said the same thing except in a very suggestive tone. Ireland inwardly groaned. He had to explain the situation again.
"Yes, I understand that it looked like something else was going on. But, I assure you, we were only kissing."
"Then why was Veneziano on your lap? Tell me that!" Ireland knew that what he was about to say was going to anger Romano. Still, he needed to say it to clear up the misunderstanding.
"I wanted to pull him closer to me and it ended up that way." Before Ireland could even blink, Romano's hand came in contact with his right cheek. His face stung from the harsh slap and his glasses shifted in a weird angle on his nose. He cupped his cheek and stared at Romano.
"Bullshit! You perverted fucking bastard!" That's when Italy rushed in, a worried look on his face.
"What happened? It sounded like someone was slapped across the face." Ireland rested his elbow on the table, still holding onto his cheek, and smiled innocently.
"Oh, it was nothing, Italy," Ireland replied, "That was just Romano hitting the table." The brunette stared at him for a second, becoming speechless at the lie.
"Oh, okay," Italy believed the lie, "Be more careful, fratello. That scared me." He then turned on his heel and walked back into the kitchen.
Romano looked over at Ireland, that fake innocent smile still on his lips.
"What was that?"
"Hmmmmmmm?" Ireland continued to play innocent.
"Why did you lie to my brother?"
"I don't think he needs to be involved in our little spat. Let's just have a nice lunch together, okay?"
"Yeah, let's try to enjoy ourselves today," Spain encouraged. Romano wanted to yell at both of them. Why were they against him? He's obviously trying to make sure Ireland doesn't hurt Italy. Why couldn't they see that?
Italy came in with a plate of lasagna and placed it at the center of the table. Ireland was amazed at how great it looked. He almost felt bad that he had to eat a piece of it. The food looked way too good to eat. Ireland's stomach didn't agree with him, though. Italy went back into the kitchen to get the proper utensils and the bottle of wine. Ireland kept staring at the food even after Italy returned.
"What do you call this, Italy?"
"It's lasagna! Trust me, you'll like it!" Italy cut out a piece for him and one for Ireland. The man stared at it for a little longer while Romano and Spain helped themselves. He cut out a bite-sized piece and chewed on it.
"Ve~! How is it?" Ireland didn't respond. He stared at his plate with calm eyes and no expression.
"Do you not like it, Seamus?" Spain asked after noticing the Irishman being quiet. He continued to stare at his plate, expression not changing.
"Well spit it out if you don't like it! We're not forcing you to eat it!" Ireland slowly looked up, tears beginning to form in his eyes, and swallowed the food.
"This is so good," he whispered. His face turned into a look of absolute bliss as he cut another piece.
"Ve~! It's that good?"
"Oh God, it's better than French food." That was way more than a compliment. When France cooks something, you expect it to be a masterpiece. Ireland's eaten plenty of France's dishes but this didn't even compare. He was basically telling Italy that he's a fantastic cook.
"Wow! Do you really mean it, Ireland?"
"Italy, you'll make a great husband." Ireland hadn't realized what he said until he looked up to see Romano glaring at him again. Italy hugged him tightly from the side and said "grazie" (T: thank you) over and over again. This was turning into an overwhelming afternoon for Ireland.
"You didn't have to help me with the dishes, Ireland. Fratello and I could've done it ourselves."
"At my house, it's considered nice to help the host clean up."
"Grazie! It does make things go faster." Ireland offered to help wash the dishes for Italy, who decided that they could both do it. Romano watched them from the doorway the entire time, still not being able to trust the two alone together. Spain had been in the living room, watching Romano trying to interfere with their alone time. Ireland had a feeling that this would be a normal occurence when visiting Italy's house.
"Well, I have to go," Ireland announced, "I've got work to do again."
"Ve~! Buona fortuna!" (T: Good luck!) Before leaving the kitchen, Ireland kissed Italy on the cheek. He turned to leave but Italy grabbed his hand. When Ireland turned around, the most adorable expression was placed on Italy's face. Just the sight of him made the Irishman blush a pale pink.
"No, Ireland! That's like a greeting! You have to do a real kiss!" Italy pointed at his own lips, indicating what he wanted. "Here." Ireland blushed a little harder at the Italian's request. How could this nation act so cute with everything he does? Still, Ireland didn't want to disappoint his boyfriend.
He leaned down and placed a kiss on Italy's lips. As usual, whenever they ended up kissing each other, it lasted longer than either of them expected. What seems like only a moment ends up being minutes as they break away for air. Ireland always ends up being the one who blushes the hardest.
"Are you two done now?" Romano asked rudely. Ireland looked over at him and shot him a kind smile.
"Yes, we are. Now you can have Italy all to yourself." Romano's face went red with rage. Ireland's smile was starting to make him sick.
Is that bastard mocking me? Romano thought as Ireland walked past him. Stupid drunken bastard!
"Get out of my sight you asshole!" Romano yelled.
"Will do!" Ireland replied with an even bigger smile on his face. He left with a very angry Italian glaring daggers at his back.
Ireland walked through France's yard, thinking of his lunch with Italy. Besides being yelled at, threatened, falsely accused, and slapped by Romano, it was very nice. Even though the more irritated nation got on his nerves, Ireland was slowly warming up to Romano. He kind of reminded Ireland of his brothers. Maybe they'll be able to see each other as such one day.
Wow... Ireland realized, It's only been two days since that closet game and I'm thinking of a future with Italy. I guess this is what France means when he talks about falling hard in love... Ireland chuckled at that last thought. Being in love... it kind of made him feel faint. Not the type of fainting where you know you're going to black out at any second. He felt like he wanted to melt into Italy and become one.
Ireland jumped from France's dock to his brother, England's. He was going to continue walking and go through Wales when he heard something coming from England's house. It sounded like low moaning.
Oh God, Ireland panicked, What if he hurt himself and can't call for help? But, then his fairies would just go to one of us for assistantance. Oh, that's right. Scotland would mock him, Wales would make an excuse, and Northern Ireland would try to say very nicely that he doesn't care about England's well-being. And I'm not here as the other option!
Ireland looked over at the living room window to see slight movement. He slowly walked over to it to peer inside.
Maybe he just fell... Ireland considered. He stared further into the room to see England on the couch with a man on top of him. The man wore a white dress shirt, brown trousers, and had blonde hair. His back was turned to the window so Ireland couldn't see the man's face. He could only tell by the broadness of their shoulders that it was a male. A very tall male.
England was under the man, his face flushed, eyes half lidded, and his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his smooth pale chest. The man on top held England's wrists together and above his head with one hand. The other trailed down his chest and stopped at his left nipple. He pinched at it and started playing with it, making England groan out, "Nooooooo...!"
Oh my God, some man came in and is trying to rape my brother! Now Ireland was really panicked. He had to stop this from happening without attracting attention to himself.
That's when Ireland looked over and saw England's shed. He ran over to it, opened the door, and started looking for the one thing that will do the trick in stopping this rapist. He cursed when all he could find were rakes, trowels, shears, and hedge clippers. Do you have anything that's not a gardening tool, England?! Ireland screamed in his head. And that's when he found it. Leaning against the corner of the shed, next to the door, was a shovel.
Ireland grabbed the shovel and examined it. The tool weighed a little too lightly for his liking, the wooden handle hadn't developed splinters yet, and the metal part had very little dirt on it. It had obviously not been used for awhile. It'll have to do...
Ireland ran to the front door and opened it as quietly as possible. It was unlocked, worrying Ireland further. This was probably how the rapist got in. He crept through the front room and peeked behind the wall, clutching the shovel close to him. The man was still fooling around with England's chest, little gasps coming from the island nation in short breaths.
Okay, this is for England... Ireland ran into the room, raised the shovel above his head, and brought it down hard on the man's skull. The rapist let out a pain-filled scream before falling on top of England and rolling off onto the floor. England jolted up suddenly, covered his chest with his shirt, and looked behind him to see Ireland with the shovel.
"What the bloody hell did you do that for?!" England yelled. Wait... He's mad that I stopped the guy from raping him?
"What do you mean? I thought that guy was going to rape you!"
"'That guy' is America!"
"What?" Ireland looked closely at the man to see that his little brother was right. That was America on the floor, knocked out cold with a lump forming on his head. "Oh... sorry..."
"Sorry? You could've really injured him! Or miss and hit me by accident!"
"How the hell was I suppose to know that was America on top of you? His back was turned!"
"What do you mean his-" England stopped himself and looked behind him at the window Ireland was peering through. It showed a good view of the couch if one were to look from the outside. "Were you spying on us?"
"No! I just came back from visiting Italy and heard you moaning. I thought you were in pain so I decided to see if you were all right. When I saw America on top of you, I thought it was some guy trying to rape you. So I went into your shed, grabbed this shovel, came in here, and hit America on the head."
"How much of that did you see?" Apparently, England was more concerned over what Ireland saw instead of America's condition.
"Not much. I was too disturbed to watch." That's when it hit Ireland. Almost like how he hit America with the shovel, realization set in. "Why is America at your house anyways?"
"We had a small meeting earlier this morning and Alfred didn't want to go back to his hotel room, so he decided to come home with me." England started blushing after this, finally buttoning his shirt back up. Ireland blushed as well after figuring out why England was embarrassed.
"I'll go get some ice for his head."
"Well, it was your fault."
"Well, you could've made it more or less obvious so that I would stay away," Ireland mocked his brother as he was going into the kitchen to make an ice pack.
"Fine. I'll tell my fairies to warn you so that you're prepared next time!" Ireland shuddered at the thought of going through all this again. Now that he mentioned it, he needed to kill something to get the image of his little brother and America out of his head. Maybe he should go to Northern Ireland's house so that his twin can yell at him.
"There won't be a next time, England!" He came back out with several cubes of ice wrapped in a wash cloth. They both heaved America back onto the couch and put the ice pack on his head. Ireland was starting to regret his actions, seeing as England looked a little worried.
"Deartháir beag, I'm so sorry," Ireland apologized. England twitched and looked up at him. The Brit's eyes held anticipation and hope.
"What did you say?"
"I told you I'm sorry. How many times do I have to-"
"No not that. What did you call me just now?" Ireland thought about it for a second before remembering the old pet name. He looked down at the floor looking ashamed.
"Sorry, England. It just slipped." 'Deartháir beag' is Gaelic for 'little brother.' When they were younger, it was Ireland's way of showing affection towards England. He didn't address England as this while in the United Kingdom because he was really angry at him for forcing him to join. When his fight for independence was over, he didn't even refer to England as his brother. It's been a very long time since the British nation heard Ireland call him that.
"It's okay," England reasured him, "I don't mind." Ireland looked up at England to see that he spoke the truth. He smiled warmly at him, feeling happier that he can express his brotherly affection for England again. In return, his little brother smiled back.
America stirred slightly in his unconscious sleep. The two island nations looked at him in surprise. They weren't expecting him to be out for such a short time. America opened one eye and looked back and forth from England to Ireland then back to England.
"What happened? I feel like an anvil was dropped on my head." America felt for the bump but found the ice pack instead.
"Well, I'll leave you two alone to sort this out," Ireland said while standing up.
"Wait, what's Seamus doing here?"
"The anvil that fell on you?" America nodded as Ireland walked outside with the shovel. He was going to put it back even though it seems to be a waste. "That was Seamus hitting you with a shovel."
"That was a shovel?" America asked incredulously. England nodded. "Damn! He hits really hard!"
"I know. I've been in your position."
"You mean he hit you for no reason?"
"No. Just... don't sneak up on him while he's farming."
