Hetalia: I don't own it.
I...argh. I wanted to make this chapter a whole lot longer, but I really had to get this up so I could get to the next bit. I wasn't really able to edit it, unfortunately.
"I think I kind of hate you, bastard." Romano said casually, licking the last of the ice cream from his spoon.
He felt America's answering laugh behind him, "Yeah? Why is that?"
"How did you get so fucking big on England's food?" Romano complained, nudging America's shin with his foot. "It doesn't make any sense! He's all short and shit, and you're like, a fuckin' giant or something."
"Haha! Well, it's not like I only ate England's food," America explained, nudging him back, "he wasn't really around that much once I started growing, so I hunted, and sometimes my people fed me, too. I ate a lot of meat during my growth period."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense, then." Romano set his empty bowl on the bedside table, and settled back against America. As he did so, his eyes travelled to the dresser across from the bed, and it occurred to him to wonder, "So...is that why you're so strong?"
"Nah, I was always strong." America answered matter-of-factly, lifting the ice pack to check his best friend's injury. "England says it's cause I was probably born on a 'nexus of leylines', or somethin'. There're lots of theories about why, but I figure it's 'cause I'm the hero! Looks like your bump's gone down a bit. It feelin' better?"
"Mm, i-it still hurts. A little."
"Hm." Setting the ice pack on the bed, he gently massaged Romano's scalp around the swelling. "We'll put the ice pack back on in a minute. Don't wanna give you frostbite. Want me to get you some aspirin or something?"
"Nnnng..." Romano moaned, eyes fluttering shut as tingles of pleasure shot down his spine, hands grasping reflexively at America's slacks. The fingers in his hair disappeared.
"Ah- did that hurt? I'm sorry." America apologized anxiously as he pulled his hand away.
Romano breathed deeply, removing his own hands from the other's slacks. "I-it's okay." He said, a little shakily. "I, I just...need some more ice cream."
"Okay." America leaned over to retrieve the bowl from the bedside table. "I'll get s'more. Here," He held out the ice pack for Romano to take, "hold that on, and I'll be right back." Sliding one leg off the bed, he paused, nudging the other's shoulder. "Gotta move so I can get up, buddy."
"O-oh. Right." Romano scooted down the bed so America could get up, and stared down at the ice pack in his hands as the other nation left the room once more. Shit. He was in trouble. He rubbed the back of his neck, smoothing away the prickling sensation, and pressed the ice to his forehead to cool it down. Okay, so maybe he did have a crush. Maybe he was a even little attracted to...to America. Closing his eyes, he recalled the sensation of America's fingers threading through his hair, stroking his scalp, and shivered. More than a little, if he was being honest.
So...what was he going to do about it? He needed to think. But his mind kept returning to America's touch on his scalp, America against his back, warm and firm and broad, and...he shivered, clenching his hands, and breathed out, shakily, America's legs tangled with his, America's voice in his ear, America's arms around him, so, so strong and...he fisted his hands in his hair, and mentally shook himself. This wasn't working. He needed to think, to figure things out, but he couldn't, not here. Everything he looked at reminded him of America. The furniture, the house, the closet, his luggage. He needed to, to...to get out. Somewhere...somewhere neutral. Somewhere where he wasn't alone in such close quarters with, with America. Somewhere where they weren't fucking cuddling on the bed. Somewhere where America didn't keep touching him.
At least, not until he got his feelings sorted out.
He set the ice pack down and stood, picking the sketch up off the floor and setting it aside as well.
"Here-" America started, as he reentered the room carrying Romano's ice cream.
"America." Romano interrupted determinedly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Let's go shopping."
"Right now?"
"Yes. Right now, bastard."
"Okay." America nodded, and set the bowl of ice cream down on the dresser. "I'll go and get changed real quick. You might wanna grab a jacket, it's a little chilly out. You can eat your ice cream on the way."
"Nnh." Romano agreed, and exhaled when America left. The door down the hall opened and closed. A jacket, huh? Taking the bowl from the dresser, he looked over at the closet where the clothes he'd brought hung, and then at the bomber which hung from the doorknob, and took a bite of his ice cream.
Oh, chocolate syrup.
Closing his door behind him, America kicked off his shoes, loosening his tie. Man, he had to get out of these work clothes. He'd been wearing them for almost 24 hours! Come to think of it, he should probably take a quick shower. He wouldn't want to be all gross while he was out with Romano. But, Romano did seem to want to go right away...he'd better check. Opening his door, he leaned into the hallway. "Hey, 'Mano?"
"Hm?" Came the preoccupied answer from the room down the hall.
"Mind if I take a quick shower before we go? I feel kinda gross."
"You don't need my permission, bastard. Knock yourself out."
"'Kay, thanks. It won't take long. Meet you downstairs?"
"Yeah, sure."
"'Kay! Be down in a couple!" Humming to himself, America closed the door, and headed for his bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, pausing by the foot of the bed to unbuckle his belt and kick off his slacks. Romano always smelled so good, he thought as he pulled off his shirt, balling it up with his slacks and tossing them in the general direction of the hamper. He wondered if Romano wore some special cologne or used a special shampoo, or if it was natural, like, just how Romano smelled all the time. He hopped on one foot, pulling off his socks. It wasn't real strong or anything. Just, really, really nice. He pulled off his undershirt, and held it up to his nose. Hm. It smelled a little like Romano, probably from when he was helping Romano out with the ice pack. Glancing over to where his shirt lay crumpled on the floor next to the hamper, internally debating. It probably smelled more like Romano, but it was in the dirty laundry (sort of), so it was probably kind of weird to go over there and pick it up just to smell it. The side of his mouth pulled back a little regretfully. He tossed his undershirt and socks towards the hamper as well, sighing inwardly when they bounced off it and tumbled to the floor next to his shirt and slacks. He'd better go throw 'em in the hamper properly. Stupid hamper, not catching his clothes. He needed to make some sort of hamper that would pick dirty clothes up off the floor so you wouldn't have to. It was such a pain! Scooping the pile of clothes off the floor, he paused just before he dropped them in the basket, realizing that he held the shirt, and he hadn't picked it up specifically to smell it or anything, so it wasn't creepy if he did, 'cause he'd picked it up to throw it in the laundry, and that was normal. Picking it up off the pile, he sniffed it tentatively, and smiled. Yep! Romano! Bouncing on his toes and smiling uncontrollably, he dropped it into the hamper with the rest of his clothes and went to take his shower, singing as one of his favorite songs sprang to mind.
"I'll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand-new shirt.~"
Romano zipped up the bomber, having opted to don it once more. Since, y'know, it would take a while to choose a jacket from the ones he'd brought, and anyway he wasn't sure what might happen on their little shopping trip -what if they ran into a moose or something?- and it would be bad if a moose or something happened to one of his jackets, and America's jacket was probably moose-resistant, and he knew it was warm, and besides, it was right there and America wasn't wearing it and didn't seem to mind him wearing it, so it seemed a shame to leave it hanging in his room, when he could wear it and save so much trouble by doing so.
He adjusted the collar, burying his nose briefly in the soft fur. Not because it smelled like America, or anything, even though it kind of did, but because fur was nice. He closed his eyes and breathed in, a smile curving his lips, and then turned his attention to the sleeves, bunching them up around his wrists. He slid his hands into the pockets, and turned around, looking down at himself. It was a little long, true, and a little big, but still, it looked alright. It was a nice jacket.
He curled his fingers in the silk lining of the pockets, and nodded in satisfaction. Oh wait, pockets- Nino's envelope! He patted the breast of the jacket, feeling something thin and stiff through the soft leather on the left side. Aha, there it was. He unzipped the jacket partway, reaching inside to grab the envelope, intending to have a look at just what Nino had- he froze, eyes widening as the sound of a shower started up behind the wall few feet to his left, the wall separating their rooms. Slowly, his head turned to stare at it, a hot flush spreading across his entire person. America was taking a shower right on the other side of that wall. America was naked and wet on the other side of that wall. America was naked and wet and soapy less than seven feet away. He could hear him singing, too. In the shower. The hot, steamy shower. America was right there, hot and steamy and naked and wet and soapy and he had to get out of this room. Grabbing the empty bowl, Romano fled, bolting from the room and down the stairs to wait in the safety of the kitchen, where people who he may or may not be somewhat sort of really fucking attracted to wouldn't be taking showers right next to him for no damn reason at all.
Dumping the bowl in the sink, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and dug the wine from dinner out of the 'fridge, pouring himself a little to settle his nerves. Then a little more, because America was naked and wet upstairs, and would be coming down any minute, and he wouldn't be able to look at the bastard without remembering that he'd recently been naked and wet just a few feet away. Then he paused, and poured it all back, because drinking alchohol under these circumstances was a really fucking stupid idea. Feliciano-level stupid.
He corked the bottle, putting it back in the 'fridge, and rubbed his temples, sighing. Get ahold of yourself, idiot. He scolded himself inwardly. You're an adult, dammit. The adult, in this situation. He had to be a man about this, dammit. America was his friend. America liked him as a friend. Best friend, sure, but a friend. And America was a good friend. He wasn't after Grandpa's legacy or Italy or a cheap fling or anything like that. America seemed to genuinely like Romano, and want to be his friend, for whatever reason. And sure, he was hyper and kind of an idiot sometimes, but Romano had to admit that...he kind of liked America, too. As a person. They, they clicked. They had a good thing going, here. A good friendship. Yeah, sure, he was attracted to the idiot, but that wasn't all there was to it. And maybe he had a little crush, but it was probably just...'cause he wasn't used to all this attention, and his subconscious was mistaking the nature of their relationship. Getting attached. Like America had said his brother, what's-his-name, Camrada, tended to do. Yeah, he and America were getting sort of close, but they were friends, and friends did that. Especially best friends. America liked him, as a friend.
Not...anything else.
He had to remember that.
He dropped tiredly into a chair, leaning an elbow against the table, chin in hand. He pulled Nino's envelope out of the inside pocket of the jacket, dropping it listlessly on the table. Might as well have a look while he was waiting. He flicked it open with his thumb, pulling the pictures out and glancing at the one on top. He closed his eyes. Dammit, Nino, you bastard. Why'd you have to take pictures of America in his fucking suit? This was the last thing he needed, right now. Dropping the pictures on the table, he rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling deeply.
And there was America coming down the stairs. Time to get this show on the road. He could do this. They were friends. Romano stood, heading for the door.
Maybe he shouldn't have had that second bowl of ice cream. His stomach felt a little heavy, all of a sudden.
America bounced down the steps, comfortable and clean in his hoodie and jeans. He was especially excited, 'cause he'd realized as he was getting dressed— this was going to be his first outing with Romano as Best Friends! He and Romano were going to be out in public together, where everybody could see that Romano was his best friend! Granted, it was still really early and probably there wouldn't be many people out right now, but still. Everyone who was out would be able to see that he and Romano were together. That Romano was his best friend.
He paused on the steps. Wait, how would they be able to tell? Sure, he and Romano would be together, but people hung out together who weren't best friends. Friends and relatives and coworkers, and sometimes people who didn't even like each other very much went out in public with each other every day.
He frowned, resuming his descent more subduedly as he thought. There had to be some way to show people that he and Romano were together. Maybe...maybe they could wear matching outfits? Like, matching shirts. Or hats, maybe, but he'd never seen Romano wear a hat, so that probably wasn't the best option. He'd have to think about it. He wanted everybody to know Romano was his best friend, and that he was Romano's.
Maybe he could pin him? It was kind of old-fashioned, but he had some nice pins hanging around. One of his medals, maybe. Or, or, he had a letter jacket somewhere. Canada probably still had it, his brother liked to steal it sometimes, but he could always steal it back. Would Romano wear it, though? 'Mano was a little picky about what he wore...
"Oi, bastard. You ready to go?" Romano's voice shook him out of his thoughts, and America turned to see his best friend waiting at the end of the hall. He blinked.
"Oh. You... you wore my bomber."
Romano blushed and looked away, shoulders drawing up defensively. "S-so? You have a problem with it, bastard?" He challenged, shoving his hands into the pockets.
America shook his head, coming to stand next to him. Romano looked up at him a little nervously.
"No." America's lips quirked up as he reached out to smooth down the collar, and drew the back of his fingers across the Italian's cheek. "No problem. It...looks good on you." He tilted his head thoughtfully, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and smiled. "You look...perfect."
For a second Romano just stared back at him, wide-eyed and red-faced. Then he blinked, and looked away, lips pursing in irritation. "W-whatever, bastard. Let's just, just get going."
"Alright." America agreed amiably, holding out a hand for Romano to take, and squeezing it happily when he did. This was awesome. There was a little extra bounce in his step as he walked, happiness and excitement charging him up. This was great. It was perfect! Everybody for miles around knew his bomber. Now anyone that saw them would know Romano was with him. It was better than matching shirts or pins or hats or anything like that! And best of all, Romano had thought of it himself! He hadn't even had to say anything!
Were they perfect for each other or what? The best best friends ever!
"There's a home improvement store not far from here that's open all night," He said as he opened the passenger door of the truck for Romano, "I figured we could go there first. They have a pretty good selection. If you don't find what you like there, there's a few department stores we can check next."
Romano grunted in acknowledgement as he took his seat, shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket once more. "O-okay."
"Seatbelt." America reminded him, grinning, leaning against the door of the truck. Romano scowled, opening his mouth to argue, but then his gaze dropped to America's jeans and he stopped. He blushed, looking away, and yanked the belt across himself, buckling it quickly.
"Th-there." He said, a little sulkily. "Happy, bastard?"
"Yep. Thank you, Romano." America smiled, shutting the door and coming 'round the front of the truck to take his own seat.
"Didja finish your ice cream already?" He asked as he buckled himself in and turned the keys in the ignition, realizing for the first time that Romano didn't have it with him.
"Yeah." Romano answered, staring down at his lap.
"How's your head? Feeling better?"
"Nnh." Romano answered in the positive, twisting his fingers in his lap. America glanced at him briefly.
"You okay, 'Mano?"
"I-I'm fine, bastard." Romano hunched a little in his seat, fingers twisting more tightly.
"You sure?" America glanced over at him again, brows furrowing in concern. "You seem a little...I don't know. Down. Is something wrong?"
Romano muttered something unintelligible.
"Hm? What was that, 'Mano?"
"M-my stomach hurts..." Romano mumbled, a little louder.
America frowned, worried. Had he given Romano too much ice cream? It was less than half of the amount Germany'd said Italians could handle, but maybe American ice cream was different. Or, maybe it was the chocolate syrup? It'd seemed like a good idea at the time, but..."Like, a stomach ache?"
"I, I..." Romano's voice broke, and he sniffled wetly, "I..." He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.
"Romano?" Alarmed, America slowed the truck, pulled over, and quickly unbuckled his seatbelt in order to lean over and put a hand on Romano's shoulder. "Does it hurt much? Was it the ice cream? Do we need to go to the hospital?" He pressed a hand to Romano's temple, checking his temperature. Warm, but not feverish. He crawled up in his seat, leaning farther over to unbuckle Romano, as well. "Do you feel like throwing up? What's wrong?" He bit his lip, tears pricking at his eyes. Romano was hurt and he didn't know why! "R-romano?"
"W-why are you so nice to me, bastard?" Romano sobbed, voice rough with tears. "I, I..."
"What?" Confused, America reached for him, cupping his cheek, leaning down to try and to see his face, "What do you mean, Romano?"
"I, I don't..." Romano rubbed his eyes with shaking hands, unable to finish.
"Romano," America's voice trembled as he turned the Italian's face towards him, pressing his forehead to Romano's, eyes closing in distress, "please don't cry. Please don't cry, Romano. I'll make it better, I promise. Just, tell me what's wrong, okay? Please don't cry, Romano, please."
Romano sniffed, hard, and sobbed, throwing his arms around America's neck, pressing his face into his throat. America pulled Romano into his lap, holding him tight, and turned his own face into Romano's hair, tears leaking from tightly closed eyes.
Long after his tears had ceased, Romano sat with his face pressed into the crook of America's neck, exhausted and spent. But America's arms were wrapped around him, holding him close like he'd never let anything happen to Romano, and it was sort of comforting and reassuring. He could feel America's heart beating steady and slow, and he was so warm and firm and clean-smelling, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as America breathed was all making him feel very safe, and relaxed, and lulling him to sleep. He was really kind of tired... He sighed, eyes drifting closed.
America shifted a little, feeling the other nation's breathing slow and deepen. Had Romano fallen asleep? He pulled back a little and turned his head slightly, trying to see the other's face without disturbing him. No good, he just couldn't see, he was too close. He bit his lip, thinking. Ah! Careful not to jostle the nation in his arms, he reached up to flip down the visor, positioning it so he could see Romano's face in the mirror, and tilted his head to the side slightly for a better view.
Ah, yep- Romano had fallen asleep. He studied the face on his shoulder, looking for a clue as to why Romano had been crying. He looked so calm and peaceful right now, though. Aside from slight indications that he'd recently been crying, there were no signs of pain or discomfort. America's heart hurt a little to see the tear tracks on his best friend's cheeks. Carefully, he replaced the visor and settled back into place, pressing his cheek to Romano's dark hair, arms wrapped securely around the smaller nation once more.
He still didn't know why Romano had been crying, other than the fact that his stomach hurt, but it didn't seem to be hurting now, 'cause Romano probably wouldn't be able to sleep if it was, so that was good. Maybe it had been the ice cream, and his stomach ache just went away on its own. Stomach aches didn't usually make people cry like that, though. Maybe a few tears and a little groaning, but not the torrential, heaving sobs that had been coming from Romano. Not in his experience, anyway. Maybe Romano was extra-sensitive to stomach aches? Or maybe it wasn't the ice cream at all. But if it wasn't the ice cream, America had no idea what it could be.
Whatever it was, he had to make sure it never happened again. He never wanted to see Romano cry like that again, ever. It was...it'd felt like his heart was breaking to see it.
He reached up to brush the hair from Romano's temple, stroking the warm skin with his thumb. It'd be okay. He'd find out what had made Romano cry like that, whatever it was, and fix it.
Romano shifted a little in his sleep, nestling closer, sighing against his neck, "...bastard..."
America's heart melted. Awwwww! Romano was so cute! He nuzzled his hair affectionately, lips curling up in a smile. He resisted the urge to squeeze him, though, so he wouldn't wake him up. Romano would wake up when he was ready! He could wait.
The sound of a car pulling up behind them made him glance at the rearview mirror. Oh, a patrol car. Not surprising, really, considering that he was pulled over on the side of the road for no apparent reason. He pressed the button to roll down his window as the officer approached the truck, hoping nothing would happen to disturb Romano's slumber.
"Hey Al," The officer greeted when he'd reached the window, flashlight at the ready, "Ev-"
"Shhhh, Frankie!" America shushed, holding a finger up to his lips, "You'll wake him up!"
"Oh, shit, sorry!" The officer grimaced apologetically, lowering his voice, "Didn't see him there!"
"It's okay." America half-whispered back. "Just so long as you're quiet. What's up?"
"Not much. We just saw your truck sitting here and thought we'd check up on you. Seemed unusual. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, we're fine." America nodded. "Just a little-"
"Hey guys, everything okay?" Called another officer, approaching the truck.
"SHHHH!" America and Officer Frankie shushed him loudly. The other officer took a step back in surprise, before approaching more cautiously.
"What's wrong?" He whispered.
"You'll wake up Al's little friend, dumbshit!" Officer Frankie scolded.
"Fuck off Franklin, I didn't know." The newcomer hissed back, and peered curiously into the cab. "Sorry, Al. Who is it?"
"S'ok, Curtis. This is Lovino Vargas." America explained. "He'll be staying with me for a while."
"Yeah?" Both officers regarded what they could see of the sleeping form with renewed interest.
"Vargas, huh? That's a good cop name." Frankie said, leaning against the side of the truck. "You should get him to sign up! We need more good men."
"He's from Italy." America grinned, amused. "I don't think he'd be able to make the commute."
"Wow, Italy? That's pretty far away."
"Yep, it is." America agreed.
"He's wearing your jacket." Officer Curtis observed interestedly.
"Yep!" America beamed.
"Is he a special friend?" Curtis asked, waggling his eyebrows.
"Very special." America confirmed, glowing with pride.
"Aww." Both officers grinned, happy to see Alfred so happy. "That's great, Al! Good for you."
"Thanks." America couldn't stop smiling. "I'm really happy!"
"I can see that." Curtis chuckled, and gestured to Romano. "Can we see him? Y'know, if it won't wake him up?"
"Sure." America nodded, tilting his head to the side a bit and lifting his chin so the officers could see Romano better. They peered eagerly at the Italian's sleeping face.
Romano murmured something unintelligible, nuzzling into America's neck.
"Isn't that the cutest fuckin' thing you've ever seen." Curtis grinned at the picture the two made.
"I know, right?" America agreed wholeheartedly, glad that Romano's cuteness was bring properly appreciated. "He's adorable!"
"Hahah, you got it bad, man." Curtis shook his head, grin widening.
"Haha, what?"
"Looks like he's been cryin'." Frankie observed, brows furrowing. "He okay?"
"I don't know." America confessed, frowning a little in concern. "I mean, he seems okay now, but he was crying pretty hard a little while ago. I'm not sure why. He said his stomach hurt, so I thought it might be a stomach ache at first, but he was crying pretty hard, so I don't think so."
"Well, that's not good." Curtis frowned along with his nation. "I wonder what's wrong. Did he say anything else?"
"Not really, he just sorta said his stomach hurt, and burst into tears. Which was weird, 'cause he was fine earlier."
"Maybe he's homesick." Officer Franklin offered. "I mean, Italy's pretty far away, right? It's gotta be hard to travel so far from home, and on top of that try'n to adjust to a whole new country and shit. I remember back when I was in the Army they sent me to boot camp in Albuquerque, and I was homesick like nobody's business for the first couple days. Used to call my momma cryin' to let me come home. My stomach used to hurt pretty bad, then, too. And Italy's a lot farther away than New Mexico."
America's brows furrowed in worry. "You really think that's it?" He asked anxiously.
"Could be." Frankie affirmed. "Don't worry though. I got over it, and I'm sure he will, too. Just keep him distracted and make sure he doesn't have to much time to think, and that should help."
"I can do that." America nodded. Homesickness was sounding more and more plausible. He had left Romano alone for a while, while he was in the shower. Maybe being all alone had made Romano start to feel lonely and homesick. "Anything else?"
"That should do it, I think." Frankie said. "Just keep 'im busy. Distraction is the best cure for homesickness."
"'Kay. Thanks, Frankie."
"No problem, Al." The officer smiled, tapping the brim of his cap. "Glad I could help."
"I got some sweets back in the squad car," Curtis offered, wanting to help too, "and donuts. You guys want some?"
"Chocolate?" America inquired hopefully.
"You know it." Curtis grinned.
"Yes please."
"'Kay, I'll be right back. Your special friend have a preference, y'know?"
"Um, I'm not sure." America confessed. "I know he likes chocolate ice cream and malts, so I think anything chocolate should be okay."
"Roger. Chocolate and more chocolate, comin' right up!" Officer Curtis saluted and sallied forth to fetch the goods.
Frankie shook his head, leaning against the door. "He's got a sweet tooth worse than yours, I swear. Candy, cookies, donuts, fudge, our squad car's always full of the damn stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm riding with the fuckin' sugarplum fairy."
"Haha! A little sugar never hurt anybody." America grinned.
"A little, sure. But when you're neck deep in licorice and lollipops you got a problem."
"Don't listen to him," Curtis asserted, returning with his arms full of candybars, "Frankie's just jealous 'cause I can eat all this shit and still fit into the same uniform I was issued ten years ago."
"It's not natural." Franklin grumbled, tipping his hat back and crossing his arms. "No-one can eat that much sugar and not gain weight."
"What can I say, I'm special." Curtis smiled smugly, handing the last of the candy to America, who added it to the miniature candy mountain in the passenger's seat.
"Thanks, Curt. This is great." America chuckled, amused and grateful.
"No problem Al, anytime." Curtis grinned, satisfied that he'd been able to contribute. He swatted his partner on the arm. "We should get goin', can't dilly-dally here all night. Got work to do! Bad guys to wrestle into submission, horny kids to bust."
"Yeah, alright." Frankie nodded, pushing off the truck. "Let's get goin'. Nice to see you again Al, hope your little buddy feels better soon."
"Thanks for all your help guys. Good luck out there!"
"Bye Al!" Curtis waved, turning to return to the squad car. Franklin started to follow, but then returned to the truck, poking his head inside the window.
"Oh, hey, I almost forgot- there's been a couple moose sightings on this road in the last couple days. You guys be careful, eh?" He waved, trotting after his partner.
"'Kay. Thanks for the warning, I'll keep an eye out for any moose!" America called after him, and rolled up the window.
"Mooses?" Romano lifted his head, arms tightening around America's neck, glancing around in sleepy alarm. "Where?"
"You're awake!" America greeted, smiling.
"Somebody said mooses." Romano peered out the window, blinking sleep-blurred eyes. He didn't see any mooses, but maybe they were hiding? Lurking around, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Like sharks. Or France.
"No moose." America assured him. "Just some officers checking up on us. You feeling better?"
"No moose?" Romano repeated, turning to face him. "You sure, bastard?"
"Pretty sure." America said, and licked his thumb, rubbing at one of the salty tear tracks on Romano's cheeks to erase it. "You feelin' better?"
"Mm," Romano batted his hand away, rubbing at his own face with the palm of his hand. He did feel a lot better. Lighter, somehow. He didn't knowwhy he'd been crying, there was no damn reason for it. It was just...since he'd left the kitchen the sensation in his stomach got worse and worse, and it seemed like everytime America touched him or said something or looked at him or smiled his stomach got heavier and heavier and his chest grew tighter and tighter, until it started to hurt and all of a sudden it was all too much and the tears wouldn't stop. Now the weight and tight feeling was gone, and his little nap had been kind of refreshing, so obviously whatever the problem was it was over with. "'M fine."
"Good." America smiled, relieved, and then bit his lip, brows furrowing as he searched Romano's face. If Romano was homesick, then it was all his fault. Romano had only come 'cause he'd insisted. He'd forced his best friend to leave his home where he was comfortable and happy and travel thousands of miles across the sea to a strange place just to spend time with him, without even thinking how that might make Romano feel. Romano had been hurting because of him! He was a terrible best friend. "Romano," he said earnestly, "I owe you an apology."
"Yeah?" Romano yawned, running his hands through his hair to straighten it, "What for?"
"I've been a terrible friend." America's eyes slid to the side, guilty and sad. "I've been really selfish, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry, honest. I -
"What are you talking about, idiot?" Romano stared, a little groggily. "Did you hit your head or something?"
"No!" America denied, blurting, "I was talking to Frankie while you were sleeping and he said he got sick in Albuquerque and I realized I left you all alone and Italy's a lot farther away than New Mexico and I made you cry and I'm really sorry, Romano!"
"...Are you sure you didn't hit your head, bastard?" Romano frowned, leaning up to check America's head, prodding his scalp looking for bumps and bruises. "Was it the mooses?"
"Moose." Corrected America, "and there aren't any moose. At least, there haven't been. There might be later, but there haven't yet." He pulled Romano's hands away and shook his head to clear it, realizing he was getting off track. Forget about moose, he had to fix this! "Forget about the mooses— moose! This is important, Romano. You need to know I'm sorry for making your stomach hurt and making you cry!"
"You didn't make me cry, idiot. Why would you think that?"
"Yes I did, Romano! I was so excited about spending more time with you that I didn't think about how hard it would be for you to leave your home and everything and come all this way. And now you're homesick because of me!"
"What are you talking about, bastard? What do you mean, homesick? Where'd you get that idea?"
"It's okay, Romano, I figured it out. At first I thought it might be the ice cream, but you only ate about half of what you can eat without getting sick, so I wasn't sure. Then I talked to Frankie and Curtis about it while you were asleep- they're the officers who patrol this area at night- and Franklin said when he was in the Army they sent him to New Mexico, and he got homesick. He said it made his stomach hurt really bad and he cried, too, and Italy's a lot farther away so it must be worse for you." He examined Romano's face worriedly, looking for any signs of lingering homesickness. Mostly Romano looked a little confused, so he hastened to reassure him, "It's okay though. He told me how to fix it, too, so it'll be okay, I promise."
Romano's brows furrowed. Homesick? Was that why his stomach had hurt so much and he'd just started crying out of nowhere? He wasn't sure. Maybe? He hadn't been here that long, though, so he kind of doubted it, but it didn't really matter either way 'cause America was looking worried and guilty and sad and he didn't want the idiot to look like that, ever. "I, I'm not homesick."
"You're not? Then why were you crying?"
"Uh..." Romano cast around for an explanation. "I, it...I was...it was...there was a moose!"
"What?" America blinked, expression morphing from worried to confused. "There aren't any moose, Romano."
"I, I know that!" Romano blushed, but continued determinedly, "But, I thought I saw a moose lurking and about to attack, and it was scary and my stomach started to hurt, and so that's why I cried, okay bastard? It, it wasn't your fault! It was the moose, okay? Not you."
"I don't know..." America said doubtfully. "That doesn't sound very likely, Romano. Are you sure?"
"I said it was, didn't I? You don't believe me, bastard?" Romano challenged, crossing his arms. "It was the moose, dammit!"
"If you thought you saw a moose, why didn't you tell me?" America asked, brows furrowing. "I would have been able to tell you whether it was a moose or not."
"I, I didn't want you to be scared." Romano insisted, blush deepening. "So I kept quiet so you wouldn't worry. Be grateful, bastard!"
America stared blankly at Romano. He was fairly sure Romano was covering something up, 'cause if Romano had thought he'd seen a moose he probably wouldn't have kept quiet about it. Moose seemed to worry him, for some reason. He was pretty sure that Romano had been crying 'cause he was homesick- it was the only thing that made sense- but why would Romano tell such a ridiculous story to try and convince America that he wasn't homesick, and that it wasn't America's - oh. Oh. Romano was trying to spare his feelings! Romano made up that whole silly story about a moose to make him feel better. His lips quirked up. "So, a moose, huh?"
"That's right." Romano nodded, and narrowed his eyes. "Or are you calling me a liar, bastard?"
"Thanks, Romano." America said warmly, enveloping Romano in a hug. "You're a really good friend, y'know?"
"O-of course I am!" Romano squirmed, trying to get away. "Now get off me, bastard! You're going to squish me!"
"Haha, okay." America agreed, releasing him. "You ready to go shopping now, 'Mano?"
"Yeah." Romano crawled into his seat- only to find a mound of candy occupying his spot. "What the- Where the fuck did all this candy come from?"
"Curtis gave it to us." America explained, helping Romano shift it from the seat so he could sit down. "So we'd have something to eat on the way."
"The cop you were talking to earlier?" Romano wondered, relocating most of the pile to his lap and unwrapping a bar. "Your cops give you candy?"
"Sometimes!"
Romano shook his head, breaking off a chunk of chocolate. Moose, all-night stores, elephants and cops with candy. "...this country is really weird, bastard."
AN: Oh, man. This chapter. I'll be honest, I can't speak for the quality 'cause to me everything after Romano had his little freakout is complete gibberish, especially after Romano started crying. sakerat could tell you how much I whined about this chapter, because, you see, I have this thing that makes it really, really hard for me to deal with Romano being sad, which is to say, I have a hero complex. And there was nothing I could do to fix it! Romano was crying and I can't do anything to help! I was tearing my hair out about that.
Course it doesn't help that he was crying, which is really hard for me to deal with when people do anyway, 'cause I always want to Fix It, but I've learned that sometimes people have to cry and it's okay, but man the urge to Fix it doesn't go away.
I really hope America takes Frankie's advice to heart and keeps Romano too busy to think much in the next few chapters 'cause I don't know if I could take much more of Romano being sad. My head aches.
I basically have to let them do what they want to do, anyway, so I really can't say for sure either way. I tell you though, I'm glad to have this off my screen.
On the plus side I know it'll all turn out in the end, but still.
Oh, I wanted to ask... updates might slow a bit, 'cause...well, you read the last couple chapters and this one. There's a lot more UST/CST coming up, and so forth, and so I have to be careful 'cause if it isn't handled right it just isn't believable, and I don't want it to be hokey, y'know? But, I wanted to know if you guys would prefer longer chapters once a month or every couple weeks, or chapters like this every week or two.
I was really hoping to get to Canada this chapter, but that's okay. Maybe I can squeeze him into the next one. He'll be a welcome addition to the little dynamic, here. Maybe he'll help keep Romano distracted!
Ah- almost forgot. For those of you who weren't born in America (it has come to my attention that some of you weren't), I should explain: 'pinning' is a practice wherein a boy gives the girl of his affections his 'pin', usually a school pin or medal of some sort. It was also done between male friends who were especially close, although that was more rare. It's largely out of practice these days, although it's not completely obsolete, especially in more rural areas or among the sporting set.
'Pin/pinning' is also slang for sexual activity.
Letter jackets: I think they do these in many countries overseas, but just in case, again- it's a jacket issued to members of an academic or sporting group to signify a certain level of performance, um... usually you let your significant other wear it, or very close friends/relatives. My brothers had girls fighting over theirs, I recall. I would only let my brothers wear mine. They guarded that right pretty fiercely, although it was stolen on occasion.
I hope that helps. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! Oh- new links to Romerica pics in my profile, and hopefully soon new links to Romerica AMVs as well, once I receive permission to post them.