Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.
Missed ya'll. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten either of my Romericas, and I certainly won't stop writing anytime soon. It might take a little longer than it used to, but I'm having way too much fun writing them to stop. This chapter might be a bit odd (I'm feelin' out of practice) but still.
I could tell you a story, but I think we both just want to get to the chapter. So here goes!
America woke late that morning to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. He yawned, and stretched, groggily pushing himself up to sit, staring dazedly at the coffee table. After a moment he rubbed his eyes, blinking slowly, and turned his head incrementally to stare at the stack of carefully folded clothes that was the suit he wore the night before. He looked down at himself. "Oh, hey." He didn't remember taking his clothes off. Wierd that he'd folded them, too. He usually just let stuff drop wherever when he was tired, not worrying too much if it got wrinkled or messed up. Maybe England's constant nagging was having an effect on his subconscious? He hoped not- he wouldn't want to suddenly find himself drinking tea and growing caterpillar eyebrows. He raised a hand to check, and sighed with relief. Nope, regular, heroic eyebrows. Good. That could have been a fortune in body wax.
Texas was missing, though, but that really wasn't unusual. His glasses seemed to have a mind of their own, the ornery things. Sometimes he swore the li'l varmints were trying to get lost on purpose. Still, they were pretty damn awesome, and he just didn't feel like himself without them. Aha, there they were. He picked them up off the table and slid them on, looking around once they were settled into place. Oh, hey, this wasn't his house. No wonder he was sleeping on the couch (not that that was terribly unusual, either. He tended to drop wherever if he was tired, too, clothes or no clothes).
With a rush the previous day came back to him- oh, right, Romano! Romano had let him stay the night? Awesome! He was getting closer to the Italian nation already! Pretty soon they'd be best buds, for sure. He grinned excitedly, and ran a hand though his hair in an (unsuccessful) attempt to straighten out the muss. They'd had their first sleepover! It was too bad he'd slept through it, though. Still! Big step in their budding friendship. This was great!
Speaking of great, that coffee smelled like exactly what he needed right now. If it was anything as good as last night's, he was in for a treat. He bounced to his feet, heading out in search of the source of that heavenly aroma. He was sure to find his host along the way. Coffee didn't make itself, after all.
Sure enough, he found Romano in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron over his clothes, hands deep in a mixing bowl. Several pots were simmering and steaming on the stove. "You staying for brunch, bastard?" The Italian asked without looking up from his task.
"Yes, please." America answered, leaning against the doorframe and stifling a yawn."That would be great."
"'Kay. Feliciano's coming, too, since the potato bastard's got something to do with his bastard brother. He just had to drop the bastard off, so he should be here soon." The half-nation answered thoughtfully."Hang on a sec and I'll get you some coffee."
"What'cha makin'?" America asked, moving to sit at the table, chin in hand, watching Romano work.
"Tomato salad, not that it's any of your business, idiot." Romano replied, licking dressing from his thumb. He nodded, satisfied, and put the dish to the side. Quickly rinsing and wiping his hands, he reached for the coffee and poured America a cup, placing it on the table in front of the other nation, attention focused on the towel draped over his wrist, which he fingered idly as America gratefully accepted the cup, apparently examining the hem for flaws.
"Thanks, Romano!" America beamed at the Italian, who cleared his throat, and looked over at the stove, frowning. The blond downed the whole thing in one gulp, eyes closing in bliss as he did so. "Mmmm. Mmm. Oh, yeah." he moaned, licking his lips to make sure he got every last drop."That's so good!" He sighed in satisfaction and opened his eyes, looking into his now-empty cup. Damn Italian coffee was good. "More please!" he begged eagerly, hopefully holding out his cup.
Romano snatched it from him without turning around, blushing, his hands shaking slightly as he poured. "S-should I leave you alone with your coffee, bastard?"
"What?"
"N-nothing. Refill it yourself next time, I'm busy." he answered, handing it back with a scowl, staring fixedly at the countertop.
"You don't want any, Romano?" America asked, glancing around as he accepted it, noticing that the Italian nation didn't have a cup of his own sitting anywhere. "It's pretty incredible."
"Cheh. A-as if I want anything you've got, bastard."
"Uh..." America's brows furrowed uncertainly. Maybe it was because he'd just woken up and needed more coffee, but he wasn't sure he was following the thread of this conversation. "It's your coffee, Romano. Unless you meant sharing the cup, which I wouldn't mind, but that's also technically yours. I mean, it's nice of you to let me use it, but-"
"S-shut up, idiot. I knew what you meant, dammit." Romano growled, keeping his back to America, ignoring the way his ears burned as he grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard, setting them down on the counter with more force than was strictly necessary. "I'm going to get some wine from the cellar, dammit."
"Okay." The other responded, quickly downing his second cup. "You mind if I use your shower?"
"I don't give a shit what you do, bastard. Up the stairs on your left. Be ready to eat in 30 minutes, dammit." the half-nation answered as he fled the kitchen.
"Haha, no problem!" America called after him, leaving his seat to pour himself yet another cup of coffee. One more, and it was showertime. He picked up the pot, and hesitated, staring at it consideringly. There was still half a pot left, and if he went to take a shower, it might be all cold and icky by the time he got back. And Romano wasn't going to have any, so...it seemed a shame to waste it. It was really, really good. He nodded decisively, and put his empty cup down on the counter. Hefting the pot, he smiled in satisfaction. He'd just take it with him into the shower- that way he could get his fix, get clean, and not waste any coffee, all at the same time! Really, sometimes he was a genius.
Romano came up from the cellar with a bottle of wine to see his brother coming through the door, carrying a bag in his hands. "You're late, idiot. What took so long?"
"I thought America might need something to wear, so I brought some things of Germany's, ve~." His brother answered, hefting the bag with a smile. He sniffed the air, and his eyes widened. Romano was cooking? That was unusual. His brother almost never cooked if there was someone around to do it for him. Feliciano had been expecting to make brunch as soon as he arrived, yet the unmistakable aroma of his brother's home cooking already filled the air. He beamed at Romano. "You're cooking? You never cook! It smells so good~."
"I, I cook sometimes, idiot." Romano defended, blushing. "I was too hungry to wait for- wait, why would you think America needed clothes?" He asked, eyes narrowing, and crossed his arms. Then he blinked. "Wait, exactly why would you think America was still here?"
"Ve~." Feliciano answered, frowning. "He isn't? But, I thought, last night..."
"'Last night' what, idiot?" Romano scowled. "I told you, dammit, it wasn't a date."
"Ve~, but," his brother responded, brows furrowing. Then his gaze slid past Romano and he smiled. "When did you start wearing superhero boxers, Romano?" He asked, turning to his brother. Romano turned around to see America's underwear draped across the banister, and dropped his face into his palm. "They look a little big for you, though~." Feliciano observed, grinning.
"S-shut up! It's not what you think, dammit! He was tired, okay? Chigi!"
"Ve~, I know! America stayed up all week so he could see you~. Isn't that sweet, Romano~?" His brother beamed, bouncing on his toes. "I thought he'd be too tired to drive home last night, and you'd let him sleep over. So I brought clothes!" He added, hefting the bag again.
Romano's mouth opened and closed, and he frowned. "Did everyone know about that but me, dammit?" He grumbled, snatching the bag from his brother and handing him the bottle of wine. "What did you bring for the idiot, anyway?" he asked, opening the bag to look inside. His brother opened his mouth to respond, when a crash and the sound of glass shattering came from upstairs. They both looked to the stairs.
"Um..." Feliciano asked in worried confusion. "Do we even have any glass up there?"
"Just the mirrors, as far as I know." Romano answered, and sighed. "We'd better go see what happened, dammit."
"Ve~, he slept in your room?" Feliciano asked as they ascended the stairs.
"No. He slept on the couch, idiot." Romano growled, grabbing America's boxers as they passed. "He asked if he could take a shower."
"I hope he didn't break the bathroom mirror." His brother said. "It's an antique."
"Wouldn't surprise me, dammit." The elder sighed. They stopped in front of the bathroom door.
"The water's still running, so maybe he's still in the shower?" Feliciano observed. Romano shrugged, and knocked.
"Oi, idiot! Everything okay in there?" He yelled. They heard an exclamation of surprise, followed by a thud.
"Ow! Owowow." They heard the nation hiss, obviously trying to be quiet. "Um, I'm really sorry Romano, but I kind of broke your coffeepot." His voice called through the door. Two sets of eyebrows rose.
"...What?" Said Romano, not sure he'd heard right.
"I um, broke your coffeepot." The other confessed, sounding embarrassed and chagrined.
"Are you alright, America~?" Feliciano called back.
"Oh hey, hi Italy. Um, yeah, I'm fine, thanks. The coffeepot's in critical condition, though. I'm really sorry, Romano."
Romano realized he would probably regret this, but he had to ask. "...Why was the coffeepot in the bathroom, idiot?"
"Um." There was a tinkle of glass. "Well, the coffee was really good, and there was a lot left, and you weren't having any, so I didn't want to waste it...and, uh..." More glass. A stifled whimper. "...it seemed like a good idea at the time?"
"I'm sure it did." Romano sighed, rubbing his temple.
"Are you sure you're okay, America? It sounds like you're hurt." Feliciano asked again, concerned.
"Um, well, there's a lot of glass, but it's okay. I got a little cut, but it's not bad, and I'm not bleeding on anything that'll stain, I promise."
The brothers exchanged a glance. "...We're coming in, bastard."
"Um, okay. I'm, uh, still in the shower, though. Just so you know."
"We'll keep our eyes closed, bastard." Romano said drily. America laughed.
"It's okay, it doesn't bother me. Just wasn't sure if it was a problem for you guys. 'Cause, uh, I can't really reach the towels from here." He clarified.
Romano pushed the door open, and the brothers entered the restroom. America looked up from where he knelt in the shower, just out of the spray, trying to clear up the fragments of glass littered across the shower floor. His wet hair was plastered back, and there was a smear of red on his cheek as he smiled sheepishly at them. Blood dripped liberally from several cuts on his forearm, mixing with the streams of water to stain the bottom of the shower pink. He made to get up, but Romano held up a hand. "Don't move, bastard." He ordered, and turned to his brother. "Go get the dustpan and brush from the closet downstairs, dammit."
"Okay~." Feliciano nodded, and hurried out. Romano opened the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic and a box of bandages, setting them on the counter. As he closed the cabinet door, Feliciano clattered back in, carrying a dustpan and floor brush. "Here you go! I got them, just like you asked!" He announced. Romano held out his hand for them, and stood, turning to face the shower.
Without looking around, he directed, "Go downstairs and check on the food, Feliciano."
"Roger!" Feliciano saluted, and left, with a sympathetic smile over his shoulder at America, who still crouched dripping in the shower. After the door closed, Romano turned off the water, and knelt to sweep up the glass shards. America watched, looking abashed. "I-" He started.
"Don't." Romano interrupted curtly. America looked down, wrapping his arms around his raised knee, bleeding quietly while he waited for Romano to finish. After a moment he started to shiver, the water on his skin rapidly cooling now that the shower was off.
Romano worked in silence, careful to make sure he got all the glass, dumping it in the wastebasket next to the cabinet. When he was satisfied he'd gotten it all, he lowered the lid on the toilet, and draped a towel over it. "Sit." He pointed at it, taking the bandages and antiseptic from the counter. America obeyed, wincing slightly as he stood- and Romano could see blood dripping from several cuts littering his right ankle, as well. His lips pursed in irritation, and he knelt before the shivering wet nation, uncapping the antiseptic and setting it on the floor. Lifting America's foot, he examined his injuries. Most of the cuts were shallow and didn't really need to be bandaged, but a couple were a bit deeper. Not deep enough to need stitches, but definitely deep enough to require attention. His jaw clenched, and he picked up the antiseptic, reaching up to grab a clean handtowel from the towelbar. Folding it, he poured a little of the antiseptic onto it, and began cleaning the cuts. America winced at the contact. "You." Romano started, focused on his task. "Are the stupidest bastard I have ever known. What the hell were you thinking? You're damn lucky you didn't get burned, jackass."
"Well, I-"
"Shut up, I'm not finished, dammit." He dropped the handtowel on his knee and reached for the bandages. "What kind of world-class moron takes a glass container full of boiling liquid into the shower? Are you trying to get yourself killed, dammit?" He finished applying the bandages to the cuts above America's ankle, and put it down, picking the towel back up and applying more antiseptic. "Is there a brain in that empty head of yours, bastard, or is it just there for decoration? You idiot! Chigi!" He reached for the blond's arm, checking the injuries there. A couple of fairly deep cuts and a gash, again, not needing stitches but definitely needing bandages. He scowled, pressing the towel against the cuts, and America twitched, hissing a little. "You damned moron! You couldn't wait 30 minutes for more coffee? Do you ever think of anything besides your stomach, bastard? Dammit! I can't believe how stupid you are! There are limits to how stupid a person can be, dammit!" He slapped bandages over the cuts, and capped the bottle of disinfectant, tossing the towel into the shower. "How have you even survived this long, bastard?" His voice had risen steadily through his tirade, so that he was yelling before he'd even finished America's ankle.
He stood, grabbing a towel from the towel bar and dropping it over the blond's head, and began roughly toweling the other's hair dry. "Chigi! You're more trouble than you're worth, idiot! I should have just left you at the restaurant when you fell asleep! Or better yet, I should have locked the door before you even came here in the first place and ruined everything with your stupidity, dammit! Idiot, you're such an idiot."
America gripped the seat tightly, head hanging under the towel, a lump rising in his throat. Romano was right, he was an idiot. He hadn't known the coffeepot would shatter- he dropped his at home all the time, it'd never broken. And now he'd broken Romano's stuff and made a mess and put Romano through so much trouble...he felt terrible. He really wanted Romano to like him, but he screwed up, and now Romano was mad at him, regretted hanging out with him in the first place... maybe wouldn't want to hang out with him again. That thought stung more than any of the cuts or Romano's words. He knew Romano was just upset, and didn't mean most of it, but he wasn't sure about the part where Romano said he shouldn't have gone out with him in the first place. Romano sounded pretty serious about that, and that kind of hurt. If Romano really didn't want anything to do with him, how would he ever get him to like him? What if, what if Romano would never like him?
He wasn't sure if even Italian suits and chocolate ice cream (or gelato) could fix this.
Romano paused as a sniffling sound came from under the towel. Was...was America crying? "O-oi. Bastard." He poked America's head through the towel. "Does...does it hurt much? I can have Feliciano bring up some aspirin."
"No." America sniffed, swiping his eyes with the back of a hand. "It doesn't hurt. I'm, I'm just..." He exhaled, a deep shuddering breath. "I'm really sorry, Romano. I, I," He sniffed again. "I didn't know it would break, m-mine never d-does. I didn't mean to make you mad, I," he swiped at his eyes again, voice trembling, "I r-really like you, and, and..." He took another breath, trying to steady his voice. It was really hard to talk with the lump in his throat squeezing it so tight. "I r-really want you to like me, too, and n-now..." He stifled a sob, words failing.
Romano's stomach dropped. He hadn't meant to make the idiot cry. He was just...it was just..dammit, everything, and then, and he'd been sitting there bleeding everywhere and, dammit. All the frustration and worry and confusion of yesterday and this morning had just kind of... come out. Dammit. He sighed, and resumed drying America's hair. "I don't...hate you, bastard."
A sniffle. "...Really?"
"Don't get me wrong- you're an idiot, and a moron, and you rush into things without thinking, and you're completely hopeless, dammit; but..." He exhaled, frowning. "I don't hate you." He admitted. It'd be so much easier if I did, dammit.
America sniffed again, and lifted his head. "Okay." Romano lifted the towel from the blond's head, dropping it around his shoulders. America rubbed away the last of his tears and gave him a hesitant half smile, just a slight upturn of the mouth, his tousled, damp hair falling into his face. Romano grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and thrust it at him, turning away.
"Blow your damn nose, idiot." He grumbled, blushing. He went to the door and added, "And cover yourself up. Think you can handle drying yourself off without breaking anything else, bastard?"
"Yeah, I got it from here." America answered quietly, taking the tissue and snuffling into it. "Thank you, Romano."
The half-nation grunted in response, opening the door and scooping the bag Feliciano had brought over up off the floor (he'd dropped it outside when they'd entered the restroom) and tossing it to land at America's feet. "My stupid little brother brought some clothes for you, bastard. Your boxers are outside the door here, too. Put 'em in the bag when you come out."
"Oh, hey, that was really nice of him." America said, surprised. "Thanks. And I will."
"They're Germany's, so don't expect much." Romano said drily, and closed the door behind him. "Feliciano should have brunch ready, so just come to the kitchen when you're dressed. Try not to fall down the stairs or anything, dammit."
"Haha, I'm not that clumsy." America called back through the door. Romano just snorted.
"Wouldn't surprise me, bastard." He answered, heading for the stairs. He ran a hand through his hair as he descended, and sighed. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to America's departure or dreading it, but at least it would give him time to figure things out without any distractions. Maybe then he could get rid of this stupid feeling that kept rising up everytime he was around the idiot, that kept making him lose his cool and do stupid, impulsive things.
Here's hoping, anyway.
Cover your heart, Indy! Cover your heart!
AN: Oh Romano. You didn't have any cool to begin with, you dork.
Poor America. I think we've all been there once or twice- having done something stupid in front of a new crush and feeling like complete idiots. Of course, America doesn't realize he's crushing yet, but his heart sure as heck does. Poor Romano, too.
P.S. I bring coffee into the shower all the time. I've hardly ever broken stuff, though, but that might be because I don't usually bring the whole pot (it's hard to drink out of).