Happy belated Turkey Day! I had ham and it was delicious~
Surprisingly, it was Veneziano that found him.
Romano hadn't expected anyone to go looking for him. On the rare chance that someone actually had to and cared enough to do so, he figured it'd be Spain. However, the tomato bastard hadn't bothered contacting him, despite that it's been nearly a week since their fight.
The Italian didn't bother reaching out first.
Granted, Canada had called him the day after that godawful party, saying that he kept hearing things about spin-the-bottle and asking if he was alright. Romano had brushed off his concerns and changed the subject by asking about France (not that he necessarily cared about the fuckface—he just really didn't want to talk about his fight with Spain so soon).
The French pervert was fine—again, not that Romano cared. Likely fully aware of Romano's avoidance of the subject, the maple bastard didn't bring up Spain and instead offered him a lending ear if he needed to talk. The Italian appreciated the concern, expressed as such, and boarded his flight back home.
He hadn't really spoken to anyone since.
Romano practically buried himself in his nation's affairs and let all of his calls go to voicemail, pretending that he didn't feel guilty when Netherlands tried calling him nor disappointed the longer he didn't hear from Spain.
Hell, he actually heard from the hamburger bastard of all people.
Once Romano had returned home to his own country, he set some food aside for Silvia, unpacked his stuff, and found a voicemail on his phone.
"Hey other Italy dude! It's America, the all-conquering hero and the coolest guy ever! I know it must be super exciting to hear from me, but don't pass out while you're listening to this! HAHAHA! Anyways! I'm calling to talk about my party! Just wanted to say sorry for planting one on you, man! Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything! I get that it was just a game and all, but you've got a boyfriend and it wasn't cool of me…yeah, it just wasn't…
"Dude, I got such a lecture from Iggy you wouldn't even believe! But yeah, I hope we're cool! The game was a stupid idea anyways! I only did it to see if the commie bastard would even do anything, especially if he and I got picked! Heh. Wouldn't that have been super weird? …I dunno, I think it would be. Oh! And I also kinda wanted to see what would happen if someone kissed me, if he'd do anything or say something like 'I'm Russia and I like vodka and I think it's totally weird that the awesome America is getting kissed and I should totally get in on that to see what the big deal is because it looks like kissing America is totally amazing…'
"U-Uh…heh, heh…soyeahsorrygottagobye!"
Romano had been legitimately stunned by the sheer stupidity of that message and deleted it almost immediately. However, he did send a quick text back, reminding the hamburger bastard of his threat towards McDonald's and demanding that he never speak of that kiss again. He was still pissed off at America pulling that shitty move, but he didn't care as much at this point.
He only cared about Spain's shitty move.
He couldn't believe that Spain would kiss someone else—game or otherwise. What really pissed Romano off though was how blasé that ditz was about the whole thing. Was it really that easy for Spain to kiss someone else? Did their relationship mean that little to him?
Though he wanted to forget the whole thing, Romano couldn't help but analyze every moment of that night in-between all his efforts to remain busy and distracted. He wondered how that whole shit-fest could have been prevented and how things could have gone differently. No matter what he thought, however, Romano just ended up getting furious all over again.
A part of Romano wanted to be pissed at Japan too, yet he decided that he shouldn't. Japan didn't want that kiss to happen either, and Greece got revenge on his behalf. The thought of apologizing to Japan on Spain's behalf briefly occurred to him, but he realized that that was an awkward conversation waiting to happen.
In an attempt to stop getting pissed off and frustrated over the whole thing, Romano took to a variety of household tasks, such as redecorating and cleaning (despite how much he sucked at it; he broke more things than he cared to admit).
Caught up in his own thoughts and ire, Romano forgot that he technically didn't live alone.
He was startled when he heard his front door slam and Veneziano's voice echo throughout the house. Italy was over at the potato bastard's home so often (something that Romano did not approve of) that he basically lived there in lieu of his own house. There were moments where Romano (begrudgingly) admitted that it worked in his favor, such as the times when Spain slept over.
This would have been one of those moments had Italy actually stayed away. Romano wanted to be alone for a while, not swamped with pity and (god forbid) familial affection. He hoped that maybe if he stayed quiet enough, Italy wouldn't realize he was home and go anywhere else (preferably not the potato bastard's house).
When Italy began calling out for him, scrambling about the house in an attempt to find him, Romano knew he needed a new strategy: he leapt out an open window, found the stashed extra set of keys to his car, and sped off. He lamented leaving Silvia behind, yet figured she would eventually forgive him—perhaps even understand. He just hoped Italy wouldn't smother the poor thing with his cuddles by the time Romano got home.
So as it was, Romano was sitting in a rustic, old-fashioned bar that had nothing more than some tables and chairs, a couple of booths, a bar with very few of the hard drinks, and a tired-looking jukebox that could barely be heard over the light chatting of the patrons. He sat at the bar, trying not to be disgusted by the barstool he was sitting on, and taking a sip of what he assumed was his third martini. Once he finished, he removed the toothpick with the olive, placed it with the three others (huh, guess this was his fourth) he had on a napkin, and raised a hand to get the bartender's attention. The man raised a brow at him, yet made him a new martini, nonetheless.
"Not that I mind taking your money, but this is your last one. And here, have a little something to nibble with it."
The man dropped a small bowl of assorted nuts in front of him. Romano merely responded with a nod, if only to get the guy to leave him alone. He vaguely wondered if the bartender noticed his morose mood and was merely trying to prevent him from drinking himself into a coma. Whatever the reason, Romano figured if he was lucky and stuck around long enough, he could buy more drinks from the person coming in for the next shift.
Looking at his new martini, Romano took a sip and tried not to groan. He felt like a wreck. Normally, he'd get drunk on some fine red wine, but he figured he deserved something a bit stronger for how shitty he was feeling. Martinis were strong and classy-looking enough to do the trick, yet Romano was beginning to feel pathetic if the bartender was judging him.
Scowling, Romano grabbed a few of the nuts and stuffed them in his mouth. They were stale. Romano wasn't even surprised; that was just his luck. Every time he given just a little something nice, the world decided to say 'fuck you' and do something to keep him ill-tempered and jaded.
Case in point: his fight with Spain.
Shouldn't the bastard have called by now?
Romano and Spain did not have arguments; disagreements and subsequent debates, yes, but not arguments. They've never gotten angry at one another—never genuinely angry. This was unusual for Romano, considering that basically everyone pissed him off, yet Spain hadn't truly angered him since he was a colony. And, of course, Spain rarely got genuinely angry at anyone. Very few people have pushed the happy-go-lucky, bursting with sunshine and shitting rainbows Spaniard to that point.
Looks like you've made that list.
But Romano wasn't in the wrong. Spain had no reason to be angry with him.
…Right?
The doubt and frustration was driving Romano crazy, especially since he secretly feared that this argument would be the thing that made Spain realize that he could be doing so much better.
Just you wait. You'll be dumped by the end of the week.
Suddenly, the entrance door slammed open and a loud, high-pitched voice shouting, "Romano! Where are you?! Are you here?!" startled the Italian into awareness. He turned and groaned when he realized that not only his stupid little brother was there, but he brought the potato bastard with him.
Once Italy spotted him, his franticness went away and was replaced with giddiness. Beaming, Italy bounded across the bar and clung to Romano in a tight hug.
"Ve~ Romano! There you are! We finally found you! Germany and I have been looking for you for a long, long time! We tried the house but only your cute little kitty was there and then we tried looking in the garden but you weren't there either and then we started going to all your favorite places but you weren't at any of them and I started getting worried that maybe something happened to you like if you got hit on the head and you had amnesia-"
"Quit choking me, jerk!" Romano shoved Italy off. "And quit freaking out! I'm fine! I've been here the whole damn time!"
Italy gasped, gripped his shoulders, and began overdramatically shaking him. "But that's not good either! If you've been here the whole time and I haven't seen you since the party, then you must've had too much to drink! Waaagh! Maybe you have amnesia after all! Romano! Do you know who I am?! I'm your brother and I'm the Northern part and you're the Southern part-"
Germany yanked Italy off of Romano before the latter could deck him. "Italy, calm down. I really don't think Romano has amnesia, nor do I believe he's been here since America's party." Then the walking-talking potato gave him a highly unwarranted suspicious look that pissed him off. "Right?"
"Of course I haven't, dumb ass! I've only been here for like an hour!"
"He's been here sulking for over two hours," the bartender piped in. "He's had five martinis since then."
"Who the hell asked you?! Mind your own damn business!" Romano snapped before cringing back at the man's furrowed brow. "U-Uh…please?"
Germany groaned before sitting Italy down next to Romano and waving his hand at the bartender. "We'll take care of this. Thank you for your information." Then he proceeded to order himself a beer and some wine for Italy in perfect Italian. The fact that the bastard probably learned from spending too much time with Veneziano made Romano even sourer. He clutched his martini closer and definitely did not sulk.
He would've been content to ignore his unwanted company, but of course his idiot brother had to open his mouth again. "You shouldn't be drinking so much, fratello! You could get sick!"
Romano snorted and sniped. "I'm fine, idiota. I'm not even buzzed." So what if his head felt a little fuzzy… "Now what the hell do you want? And did you have to bring the potato sucker with you?!"
"Ve~ Of course I brought Germany along! He's been helping me look for you! He's been very nice, and his big, strong muscles make all the scary people go away!"
Despite that it was Italy who added in that unnecessary detail, Romano threw a glare at Germany, especially since the jerk was flushing. "Why are you looking for me?"
"Because I wanted to check on you and see if you were okay! There were so many people telling me that you were really mad at America's party and that you and Big Brother Spain got into a fight and I wanted to see if you wanted a hug but Germany said to give you space so I did but then Prussia was saying that Spain has been moody and sulky lately so then I thought of you since you're moody and sulky and I thought that since you're like that all the time then you must be in a really bad mood since you and Spain haven't been making smoochie faces-" Italy shrieked when Romano threw the bowl of nuts at him.
I don't need this bullshit right now. "Will you shut up already?! What goes on between me and the tomato bastard is none of your damn business!"
All the emotions that Romano hoped the alcohol would suppress came back like a hangover: worse than ever. Fury, frustration, and uncertainty mixed like sour milk being dumped down the kitchen sink and made the decision to remain this time. He had to resist finishing his martini in a single swallow and avoided looking at Italy and Germany.
"But Romano," the Italian stiffened at his brother's soft, somber tone, "I'm your brother. Your happiness means a whole lot to me. If there's something the matter with you and Big Brother Spain, then I want to help."
Romano pretended that it was the stale nuts and martinis that made his stomach twist rather than his brother's mushy sentiment. "If my happiness means that much to you, then buy me another martini and don't talk about that jerk."
"I believe you've had enough," Germany interjected before Italy could get the bartender's attention. "Also, I know it's not my place to say and you're likely going to yell at me for it, but you really ought to talk to someone about what happened between you and Spain."
Romano decided to spite the potato bastard by not yelling at him, despite that it was his first instinct to do so. Instead, he growled, "There's nothing to talk about."
"But Prussia says that Spain hasn't left his home since he got back from America's," Italy worriedly exclaimed. "And Japan says that he's real sorry for…you know, I don't remember what he was sorry for."
Germany looked exasperated as he stated, "He was sorry for making the situation uncomfortable despite that he did absolutely nothing except indulge you for wanting to take part in that ridiculous game."
"Oh right, that! Japan is sorry too, Big Brother!"
Romano was loathed to admit that he actually agreed with the potato bastard on this one. "Not his fault. Tell him to calm his tits…and to not expect an apology from me!"
"Ve~? By why would you apologize? You didn't do anything to Japan. Big Brother Spain is the one who kissed him."
"Don't remind me," Romano bitterly grumbled as he downed the rest of his martini. After scowling at the empty glass, he tried grabbing Feli's wine.
He was pissed when he only achieved in knocking it over. He glared at the red liquid staining the wood as Germany tried cleaning it with some napkins and let loose a string of curses. "Dammit! Dammit! I hate everything! I hate parties! I hate that game! I hate the hamburger bastard for making us play and for kissing me! I hate…" He was going to say 'the tomato bastard,' but he couldn't bring himself to lie. "I hate that Spain felt like kissing Japan! I hate that Spain even wanted to kiss him! I hate that I'm so pissed off about it! I hate that Netherlands of all people noticed that I was pissed before my own boyfriend even did! Fuck! I hate this week, and I hate my life!"
Then Romano pressed his face against the disgusting the bar to avoid the shocked glances he was surely getting.
He peeked out when he heard a sniffle.
There was just the faintest glimmer of tears in Italy's eyes as he looked to his brother. "Don't cry, Romano. I'm sorry you didn't have a good time at America's party and that Spain made you sad-"
"I'm not crying," Romano denied as he hurriedly rubbed his eyes. "And that bastard did not make me sad! He just…pissed me off! He should know better than to kiss other bastards that aren't me!"
Germany groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I knew I ought to have stopped that game the second America proposed it. It made so many people uncomfortable and upset-"
"I'm not upset you damned potato-eater! Dannazione, why does everyone think that?!"
"You are upset, though," Germany pointed out, nonplussed. "And whoever else told you is also correct."
"Netherlands doesn't know jack-shit! He just looks for any excuse to hate Spain!"
"What does Netherlands have to do with this?"
"Everything! He's the one who actually noticed I was upset! He's the one who actually comforted me! He's the one I used to hurt Spain for hurting me!"
It was a confession that Romano hadn't meant to say aloud, but the alcohol seemed intent on digging things out rather than burying them like it was supposed to.
Italy and Germany looked to him in shock until the former gave him a sympathetic look and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, fratello. Did you kiss Netherlands to get back at Big Brother Spain?"
"Fuck no! I just…I may have told Spain that Netherlands was better at comforting me than he was. I…I know that the tomato bastard is jealous of the pot bastard, so I…I may have…rubbed our friendship in his face…"
Chigi, I sound like an asshole when I say it out loud.
Romano fervently shook his head in denial. "B-But he deserved it, dammit! H-He shouldn't be kissing anyone else! Merda, it shouldn't be easy for him to kiss someone else! Does…Do our kisses mean nothing to him?"
Shit, he hadn't meant to say that either. Romano glared balefully at the small pile of olives he had. As if reading his mind, the bartender came over with a glass of water. Romano sipped it and tipped his head in thanks, not looking at his brother or the macho potato.
He stiffened when familiar arms embraced him. "Oh Romano~! I'm sorry that Spain kissed Japan! I'm sorry that he made you feel bad! It wasn't nice of you to make him jealous with Netherlands, even if it was nice of him to check up on you!"
"Two wrongs don't make a right," Germany interjected.
"Suck my balls you damned potato-eater," Romano mumbled without much heat.
"But that's okay!" Italy exclaimed. "You won't do it again, and Spain won't be a dick and kiss other people! Then everyone will be happy again!"
"It's not that simple, idiota," Romano grumbled, sipping some more water. The damage is already done…and Spain hasn't tried calling me…
"Of course it is~" Italy cheerfully replied. "All you have to do now is say sorry to Big Brother Spain, and then have him say sorry to you! Then you two can kiss and make up~!"
"Not that simple, Feli," Romano reiterated. "I doubt the tomato bastard is sorry anyways." Why should he be? He made it clear that he thought it was 'just a game.'
"Ve~ But I'm sure he is! Prussia and France have been trying to cheer him up for days! He wouldn't be so sad if he wasn't sorry!"
"If the tomato bastard is sad," which Romano highly doubted since Spain was nothing if not overdramatic, "then it's because I was an asshole that picked Netherlands over him."
Italy tilted his head in confusion. "But you didn't, right? You still love Big Brother Spain, even if Netherlands is nice to you."
Feliciano's simple logic settled the war storming in Lovino's thoughts. I…I would never pick Netherlands over Spain. The pot bastard is…a tolerable bastard, but Spain…Spain is…my best friend…my Boss…my tomato bastard…my everything.
And I threw all that in his face because I was an immature, jealous asshole.
…
…
Chigi!
"Shit…shit, I fucked up," Romano stated as he attempted to stand up—key word being 'attempted' since he stumbled and nearly fell. He cursed the martinis he had and then his Italian badassery for not accommodating to the alcohol.
Italy gasped far too dramatically and scrambled to his brother's side, looping an arm around his waist to hold him steady. "Don't move so fast, fratello! You're still drunk!"
"I'm not drunk," Romano grumbled. "Just buzzed." Hell, the only reason he was leaning against Veneziano was not because he needed to, but to knock the other off balance. That'd be funny.
The potato-sucker sighed and stood up. "Regardless, you are inebriated. You are in no condition to drive. I will drive you and Italy home."
Whereas his idiot brother beamed at the offer, Romano shook his head out of both disgust and dismissal. "Not going home. I need to get to Spain. I need to find Toni and tell him he's not that big a bastard."
"Aww," Italy cooed. "You really do love him! Ve~ and I'm sure that since Big Brother Spain loves you too, he'll apologize back!" Then Feli's face scrunched with determination. "At least he better, or I'll castrate him!"
Romano and Germany stared at Italy with startled expressions until the former regained himself and scowled. "Shut up, jerk. You wouldn't know how to do that anyways." He began digging through his pockets. "Where the hell are my keys?"
At some point, Romano touched the chunk of silver and gave it a quick squeeze. When he finally grabbed hold of his keys and pulled them out, they were plucked from his grasp. Romano glared at Germany and growled, "Give those back, potato breath, or I'll give my idiot brother a live demonstration of castrating!"
The bastard was clearly pretending that he wasn't scared shitless of Romano's threat as he responded, "You'll get into an accident if you try and drive. The best thing you can do is go out to see Spain after you've sobered up. It will be safer that way."
Italy excitedly gasped and released Romano, causing him to nearly lose his footing. "Ve~! Or we can drive my big brother out to see Spain! Sì! Sì! That's a marvelous idea! C'mon, Ludwig! Let's go with my big brother on a road trip!"
Germany looked uncertain. "I'm not quite sure that's a good idea. This seems like a private matter between them, and I wouldn't want us to interfere-"
"I sure as hell wouldn't want that either!" Romano snapped as he tried snatching his keys back. Damn the potato bastard for his stupid, intimidating height! "Gimmie my keys, jerk!"
"Toss 'em to me if you don't trust him with 'em," the bartender called out, holding up his hand ready to catch the keys.
That macho potato-sucking bastard actually seemed to consider it, the jerk. "Like hell I'm going to leave my gorgeous fucking Ferrari here in the parking lot in some dirty, random ass bar!" Both he and Veneziano squeaked and hid behind Germany when the bartender scowled. Better the kraut get decked than him.
Germany heavily sighed in annoyance (like he had anything to be annoyed about!). "Well, either your car stays here, or we use it to drive you home. You're too inebriated to drive-"
"But I'm not going home, dumb ass! I'm going to Toni's house! Weren't you listening to me, bastard?! I'm going to my car and driving all the way to Spain's place-" He gasped when Germany tossed his keys to the bartender after all. "You jerk!" Then he began hitting the potato bastard in the chest.
Clearly Germans were part robot since his super strong Italian fists didn't seem to have any effect on that big, blonde idiot.
Italy poked his head out from behind Germany. "Ve~ But we're not letting you drive, big brother! You could crash and get hurt and then what'll Spain do?! He'll never be happy again if something happened to you!"
It was surely a sign of the apocalypse if Romano had to concede that his dumb ass little brother had a point.
All the more reason to see the tomato bastard.
"Fine," Romano bit out. "Drive me then."
Italy beamed. "Okay!" He then waved at the bartender. "Excuse me, Mr. Scary Bartender Man! May we have my brother's keys, please?!" When the man furrowed his brow, Italy shrieked and hid behind Germany again. "N-Never mind! You can keep them! Just don't hurt me, I'm too pretty!"
The bartender looked incredulously at Veneziano before looking to the potato breath who offered him a knowing look. "Your call, Tedesco. I'm not letting this guy drive and get himself killed, but it sounds like he needs to work something out asap with his amante. Maybe you ought to drive him after all and hope that the fresh air will help him sober up."
Germany looked conflicted for a moment before sighing. "Fine, I suppose you're right." The bartender tossed him back the keys. "Romano…are you sure you want to visit Spain now?"
"Of course I'm sure, jerk! I'll lose my nerve if I sober up!"
"…Fair enough."
"Shut up! Which one of you asshats can drive faster?!"
Italy made excited noises as he waved his hand like an overeager child in school. Germany grimaced and reluctantly nodded his head at his companion. Having never been a passenger of his brother's car, Romano was doubtful, but figured the walking-talking potato wouldn't lie.
"Fine," Romano grumbled. "Drive us, dumb-dumb, and don't stop for any red lights! We need to get there now!"
"Ve~ okay!" Italy snagged the keys from Germany and waved them in the air. "Let's go to Spain! Germany calls shotgun!"
"Why the hell does he get shotgun when it's my car, dammit?! Why the hell does this bastard even need to come?!"
"Because Germany's funny accent might make you feel better~! Plus he's strong and pretty and really helpful when it's to his advantage!"
"Ugh, shut up, I get it already! Whatever! He can come!"
Germany groaned, pushing some loose strands of hair back into place. "Fine. We'll go, and Italy will drive." He gave the bartender a nice tip before the three stood up to leave. "However, I highly suggest bringing a bag."
Romano raised a brow as they exited the bar and headed towards his car. "What for, bastardo?"
"Because you just drank enough alcohol for you to…well, you might need it since Italy's driving. Just…wait here." He turned to go back inside, but the bartender was already in the doorway, holding out a bag. Germany accepted it gratefully. "Danke."
"Sì, no problem." Then he turned to Romano and offered him a nod. "Good luck with everything, amico. Hope it works out."
Romano faintly blushed, muttered a quiet thanks, and crawled into the backseat. Once everyone was strapped in, Italy started the car with an excited grin. "Alrighty~! Road trip~!"
Romano hated to admit it, but the potato-sucker was right. The bag ended up coming in handy a mere 15 minutes after they left.
While he was curled up and moaning in the backseat, Romano vowed to put a ban on martinis. Since it wasn't an Italian drink, it clearly must've been hexed.
{~/~/~}
Unsurprisingly, it was France who managed to get him out of the house.
Spain had been content to wallow in his house for eternity, but his amigos were having none of that. France had let himself in with his spare key a week after America's party. He and Prussia had been blowing up Spain's phone for the better part of the week, begging that he talk to them, but Spain hadn't replied.
Why bother?
At first, he had allowed himself to get nervous and excited each time his phone rang, hoping that it was Romano, only to be disappointed when it wasn't. After getting his hopes up one too many times, Spain turned off his phone altogether, face-planted into his bed, and stayed there until France barged into his home.
"Mon cher, it is unbecoming of you to lay about like a slob. I know that you're sad about Romano, but you need to get up and get some fresh air."
Spain didn't reply.
"Oh c'mon, Antoine, it was just a little disagreement. I'm sure you and Romano will work it out, no problem, and soon you two will be making sweet, beautiful, make-up love all over every available surface."
Spain didn't reply.
France sighed. "Please, mon ami, talk to me. You cannot just lay here in bed forever. It is pathetic and not in the tragically good way! Besides, it's not as if the two of you broke up!" He paused. "Err, right? I may not know the whole story, but I didn't hear anything about your relationship status…"
"No," Spain finally grumbled.
"No? What does that mean? Oh Antoine, did you two break up?! Oh, what a horrible world this is if l'amour wasn't enough to keep such a beautiful, perfect couple together!"
"No." Spain finally lifted his head off the pillow. "Lovi didn't break up with me."
Well…at least not aloud.
Spain had wanted to call his Roma several times, but something always held him back. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. Sometimes he felt like apologizing, and sometimes he wanted to hang on to his anger.
However, even when he was angry, he missed his tomate. He missed his Lovi's shouting, his scowls, his timid smiles, his cute red face, his honesty, his fierce loyalty…
Spain hated that he was doubting that last one.
He went over their argument hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and he kept getting stuck on two things:
1) Netherlands's hand on his Roma's shoulder.
2) His Roma siding with the perro.
"Lovi…it was just a game. I didn't mean anything by it."
"Oh, like how America didn't mean anything by kissing me? Or how Netherlands didn't mean anything by comforting me?"
Spain had never known such pain. The countless battles and resulting scars were nothing compared to the violent twist of his stomach and the gutting of his heart that attacked him after hearing those terrible words. With one biting, sarcastic rhetorical question, Romano managed to throw Spain's insecurity in his face.
The second that question was asked, Spain immediately wondered if he was right all along, that he had a right to be jealous and suspicious. Somewhere along the line, Romano had come to enjoy Netherlands's company and the same could be said for the latter. And yet, Spain wondered if the comradery between them was more than platonic. After all, Romano barely yelled at Netherlands, and Netherlands wasn't as rigid around Romano.
Now, Spain could handle Netherlands having feelings for Romano. Granted, he didn't like it, but he assured himself that Romano was dating him and that he had his battle axe to act as persuasion to drive away that home-wrecking perro.
Besides, Spain could understand how Netherlands could have fallen for Romano. His little Italian was beautiful inside and out—it couldn't be helped.
But what if Romano had fallen for Netherlands? What if at some point during their conversations, Romano developed feelings for the Dutchman?
The thought was depressing, but Spain was always able to brush it away since Romano was with him. Now that this thought went from being a horrible fantasy to a possible reality, Spain couldn't imagine carrying on.
"-should be able to patch things up since this is only a minor bump in the road!" Had France been talking this whole time? "Mon ami, l'amour never fails, but it is not without a bit of pain! All the greatest love stories have a bit of heartache that makes the whole thing worth it! You and Romano will come out of this stronger than ever!"
Spain wished that he could share in his optimism. He pressed his face back into his pillow.
He heard France sigh. "Antoine, sulking isn't going to help things. What you need to do is get up, go to your Romano, and kiss him breathless~"
"He'll punch me and kick me in the balls if I do that," Spain mumbled.
"Then you apologize to him and then kiss him breathless~! Oh~ and make sure to dip him when you do! It'll make the kiss much more romantic and then Romano couldn't possibly deny your apology~!"
"I'm not the one who needs to apologize," Spain grumbled, a rare thing for him to do.
France took a moment to process that. "Well, um, rumor has it that you and Romano got into an argument at America's party because of that silly little game. Some say that Romano and America were having a secret affair while you were having a secret affair with Japan-"
Spain squawked in anger as his head shot up. "That is not true! Who's been saying these things?!"
France blanched and quickly waved it off. "Th-That's not important! M-My point is that no one knows what really happened! It's all speculation! But if you talk to me and Prussia, then we can help you!"
Spain sighed and reluctantly sat up. "Gracias, but I'm not sure if you guys can help, amigo. Romano and I haven't gotten that angry at each in such a long time. I'm not sure how we can fix it."
Especially since it still hurts too much. Spain threw a wary glance at the turned-off phone resting on his nightstand. He feared that if he turned it back on, then he'd have a message from Romano waiting for him, telling him that he was leaving him for Netherlands.
France, however, was oblivious to his fears and flipped his hair. "That is where Gilbert and I come in~ Together, we'll figure out what should be done in the name of l'amour."
"You really think you two can help me?"
"Mon ami! I am wounded by your skepticism! Am I not the country of love?! And Prussia…Prussia may not have the best advice when it comes to relationships, but he has a bit of love in his heart, and he cares about you even if his pride won't ever allow him to admit it."
Spain was touched. In the first time in a week, a glimmer of light pierced through the dark cloud hanging over him.
Offering France the faintest of smiles, Spain slowly got up and embraced him. "Gracias, amigo. I am so lucky to have you and Prussia in my corner."
France squeezed him back before pulling away. "Of course, mon ami~! Now come! Let's get out of here and get a drink! Gilbert is already waiting outside in the car!"
"He is?"
"Oui. He didn't want to come in just in case you were crying. In his words, he didn't want to be around your 'pansy feelings.' I told him that I'd call him if I needed help dragging you out."
Embarrassed, Spain rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I'm glad it didn't have to come to that."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you. Now, direct us to the closest bar so that we can drink and talk about what happened between you and Romano."
The dark cloud returned, but Spain still left his house and allowed his friends to drag him to a bar. Prussia was happy to see him and loudly declared that they'd get him 'shit-faced in no time.'
"Nothing helps more with the sulking than the awesome taste of beer! Trust me, Toni, you'll feel a lot better after a keg or two!"
"Gilbert! We are taking Antoine out to talk through his feelings and help him with Romano! Not to get him drunk enough to sink into a depression!"
"Ugh! Do we have to deal with feelings?! That's pansy shit!"
The two squabbled the entire way to the bar and only stopped when they arrived and ordered drinks. Spain was going to settle for wine, but Prussia wouldn't hear of it.
"No way, broham! You are getting something stronger! We're going to need it if we're going to be unawesome and talk about feelings!" Prussia made a face before he got the bartender's attention. "Hey! What's something that pathetic saps drink when they've had a lover's spat?!"
The bartender didn't understand his Prussian, but the sad drunk sitting morosely in the back corner apparently could and recommended whiskey.
A couple of sips of the amber liquid prompted Spain to recount everything that happened at America's party—from the game, to the rage he felt when America kissed Romano, to the confusion he felt when Romano stormed off, to the shock and bitterness at finding his Roma in the kitchen with Netherlands, to the pain and anger he felt when his former colony yelled at him for kissing Japan and then sneered when talking about Netherlands, and finally how empty he felt when Romano stormed off.
France and Prussia listened without comment, taking sips of their own drinks. They made faces and noises when appropriate, but otherwise waited until he finished speaking before they threw in their two-cents.
"That's fucked up," Prussia stated as he clapped him on the back.
"Oui, what a mess." France rubbed his back. "That game was a bad idea from the start. It had so much potential, too."
"I still can't believe that cabrón kissed my Lovi," Spain muttered, taking a sip of his whiskey.
"Ja, it's so not awesome to muscle in on someone's territory," said Prussia as he offered France a pointed glare.
France sniffed and retorted, "I don't see why you have to point fingers at moi. Matthieu is not yours, mon ami. I did not do anything wrong by offering mon fils a friendly kiss."
"Didn't look like it was going to be so 'friendly' to me! Face it, Francey-pants, you were going for a full-on make-out session!" Prussia didn't seem too pleased with the idea. Spain empathized with the sentiment, bitterly remembering America kissing his amorcito. "And I claimed Birdie a long time ago! He's always been mine!"
Francis smirked and purred, "You sound like a possessive lover, Gillie~ But that cannot be…unless you love Matthieu."
Turning red, Gilbert growled, "Shut up, France!" He then took a swig of his beer before he suddenly and quite mischievously grinned. "Besides, you would've been pissed too if I stuck my tongue down Eyebrows' throat. Hell, you actually looked annoyed when Liechtenstein—sweet little cherub Liechtenstein—kissed your Brit on the cheek." Spain was a bit confused when France glared at Prussia. "Ja, that's what I thought."
France and…bushy-brow England? Grimacing at the thought, Spain finished off his whiskey and asked for a glass of wine in lieu of another. Mi amigo could definitely do a lot better. Memories of England's seafaring days were halted as Spain noted the faint blush on France's face. Dios mío, I cannot deal with this right now.
"Amigos…not to be a carajo, but can we focus on me and Lovi, ¿por favor?"
Even Prussia looked chastened as he and France sheepishly apologized.
"Right, we must figure out what to do next." France mused over this as he took a sip of his wine. "Well, we have quite a mess to untangle, oui? The question is where to begin."
"I say we should egg Netherlands's house!" Prussia proclaimed. "And then we use Britain's scones to bust up his car!"
Whereas Spain perked up at the idea, France shook his head. "Non, non, mon cher, that is not the way to go. Besides, Netherlands didn't do anything wrong." He immediately flinched back when Prussia gave him an incredulous look and Spain gave him a baleful one. "I-I mean, you have to admit, there's no proof that he's done anything wrong! We'll just have to take Romano's word that he was only comforting him."
"And why should we believe anything he says?" Prussia bitterly pointed out. "He's the one who practically jumped into Netherlands's arms and bragged about it!"
Spain flinched while France clucked his tongue. "Prusse, that is not what happened. It's obvious that Romano said what he said because he was angry and hurt-"
"That's no excuse!" Prussia snapped. "It was totally unawesome of him to act all buddy-buddy with Netherlands just because he was pissed! So fucking lame!"
"Oui, you're right," France acquiesced. "There is no excuse. But hélas, I can see why Romano was upset. Even if it was all a game, it was still…not okay for Antoine to kiss another person, even if it was Japan. And I know you meant nothing by it, mon cher," France hurriedly amended at Spain's stricken look, "but…well, America meant nothing by it either, and yet you were still upset when he kissed Romano."
The reminder of the other nation's lips on his Lovi festered like a recently acquired burn. Spain grit his teeth and downed the rest of his wine, waving his hand for the waiter to bring him another glass.
France studied him for a moment before resuming. "I know you're upset by this whole thing and you have every right to be-"
"Because Romano totally overreacted," Prussia interjected.
"But you need to understand where his anger is coming from," France continued after throwing an irritable look at Prussia. "You kissed someone that wasn't him. Yes, Romano may have gotten a bit carried away expressing that anger, but it's a bit justified. The two of you should have spoken before the game started and made sure that it was okay to kiss someone else because it clearly wasn't okay with either of you. Communication and fidelity are keys to a long-lasting, healthy relationship. If you want to continue being with Romano, then you must be clear that he's the only one for you. Right now, he might be doubting that."
Spain felt sick to his stomach. The bartender refilled his glass, yet he didn't take a sip out of fear of throwing it up. Was France right? Did his Roma think that Spain wasn't faithful?
But it was just a kiss! I meant nothing by it! Romano knows that!
…Right?
Doubt began to gnaw at him until guilt joined it.
Spain groaned and dropped his head on the table. "Amigos…I messed up."
A hand rested on his back. "Antoine-"
"I did!" He raised his head. "I did a horrible, horrible thing by kissing a man who wasn't my Lovi! He has every right to be mad at me and hate me for what I've done!"
"Mon ami," France exclaimed in alarm. "Romano does not hate you! He would never-"
"He should!" Spain asserted. "I say that I love him and yet I kissed someone else! Mi amor has only ever said those beautiful words to me and has only kissed me with those beautiful lips!" He tried not to think about how America got a taste of his tomatito precioso. "And I repay him by lending my lips to another?! ¡Soy patético! I deserve his scorn…and to be struck by lightning!" The sad drunk in the corner raised up his own glass in sympathetic agreement.
France and even Prussia were quiet for a few moments before the latter said, "Damn, and I thought Francey-pants was overdramatic." As if to prove his point, the Frenchman made an overexaggerated noise of offense. "Toni, Kumpel, it's not like you cheated on him. It was just a game, ja? I mean, it's not like you were secretly hoping to grab some Japanese ass, right?"
Spain was appalled. "Absolutely not!"
"Exactly! You were just playing an unawesome game at dumb ass America's place! The way the Awesome Me sees it, you were just going with the flow and doing what everyone else was doing! If Romano would've chilled the fuck out for a second, then you would've told him that making out with Japan didn't mean you wanted to stop making out with him!"
"Mon dieu, Gilbert," France grumbled. "You are the most uncouth, unromantic nation there is! Antoine, what he means is that it was okay for you to have fun at that party, but you and Romano should've taken the time to explain your boundaries, especially for that kind of game. It wasn't okay for him to attack you that way because he did take it too far, but now that you know why he was so upset, you can figure out where to go from here. Romano has to apologize, but you aren't blameless either. So, what do you intend to do now?"
That was a very good question—one that should've been easy enough to answer.
"I…I should apologize," Spain said. "No, I will apologize. But…But what if Lovi doesn't want anything to do with me? Not once has he tried to call or text me."
The wine was looking appealing again, so he downed it in one swig and waved the empty glass at a passing waiter. The waiter raised a brow and looked to France and Prussia in askance. Prussia was quick to nod while France hesitated long enough for the waiter to take Prussia's response as the only answer as he set off to the bar.
"Well, how many times have you tried calling him?" France asked.
Spain winced before reluctantly admitting, "Cero. I haven't tried."
Even Prussia seemed surprised. "Really? But you're the sentimental sap between you and him. I figured you've already blown up Romano's phone with your crying and that he's blocked your number because he's so pissed at you. I thought that's why we're here."
"Antoine," France gently began. "How come you haven't tried calling him?"
Spain waited until he got the new glass of wine and downed it before responding, "Because what if he doesn't want to see me again? After he left that night, I thought I'd hear from him later or maybe the next day. I was ready for him to yell at me some more. When he didn't…I figured that meant he wanted nothing to do with me. I…I even wondered if he picked Netherlands over me after all…"
"Nein! Never!" Prussia suddenly declared, scaring away the waiter before he could give Spain another drink. "Romano would have to be fucking stupid to pick that pot-smoking mother fucker over you! Nein, he was probably too much of a wuss to call you first!"
On the one hand, Spain appreciated the sentiment. On the other hand, he didn't like his Roma being called 'stupid' or a 'wuss.' "Cállate, por favor."
"Don't tell me to shut up! Gott, the two of you are such bitches! You're made for each other, so this fight is stupid! Listen Kumpel, all you need to do is call your Italian, make sure that he apologizes for making you even think that Netherlands is even close to your level, and only then will you apologize to him for sticking your tongue down Japan's throat! Then you both can get back to being lame and gross and in love and stop with this stupid sulking! It's so unawesome!"
Prussia took a long swig of his beer after his rant, leaving Spain and France to blink at him.
France was the one to recover first. He burst into overdramatic tears and hugged the Prussian close. "Oh, Gilbert~! That was the most beautiful, sweetest thing I've ever heard~! I knew that you were a lover of love~!"
Prussia faintly blushed before shouting something angrily in his native tongue and shoving him off. "Shut up! I'm too awesome to have anything to do with love! I just want Toni to stop bitching!"
"But you also want him to make up with Romano, and you said that they were made for each other~! I always knew that you were a romantic deep down~"
Spain let the two squabble, lost in thought. Francis mentioned before that he thought Lovi and I were a perfect couple, and now Gilbert says that we're made for each other.
He considered him and Romano's relationship. They were both so different, yet there was this level of understanding between them that Spain couldn't begin to describe.
They were both fierce, passionate souls that yearned to protect their loved ones, do right by their country, and make the most out of the cards they were given. Granted, they had different methods of doing so, but their purpose in this world was the same.
Though Spain was the light, upbeat melody of a song in a major key and Romano was the mellow, pensive melody of a song in a minor key, they created a symphony when together. Spain was the waves of the ocean while Romano was the calm of the sea. Spain was the sun, full of warmth and light, while Romano was the moon, luminous and mysterious.
And yet, they were both untamed, wild, free, despite their duties to their country that sometimes felt like chains holding them back, trapping them to a fate they didn't always want. They were vibrant, they were spirited, they were colorful and fearless and steadfast and….
And they were perfect for each other.
The revelation had Spain shooting up out of his seat, startling his companions. "Amigos, you're right!"
"We are?" France asked.
"Of course we are!" Prussia confidently exclaimed. "But I'm clearly more right than Francey-pants since I'm awesome and all my ideas are awesome!"
"I need to find Lovi," Spain declared. "¡I need to find mi amor and tell him that he's the only one that has mi corazón! ¡Vamos!" He stumbled out of his chair and dashed out of the bar, hearing the sad drunk in the corner wish him luck.
Once he was outside, Spain immediately began searching for his keys and realized with a laugh that he wasn't the one who drove there. Just as he turned to head back into the bar, France and Prussia came striding out after him.
"Thanks for leaving us the bill, fucker!" Prussia exclaimed with a grin that told him that there were no hard feelings.
France gave him a wry look. "I'm the one who paid, Gilbert." Then he looked to Spain. "Alright, Antoine, what are we-"
"We've got to go!" Spain declared. "If we leave now, we can get to Lovi's before it gets too dark! C'mon, let's go!" He wildly gestured to the car. "Whose is this? Let's go!"
Prussia cackled with glee and held up a glorious pair of shiny keys. "That would be mine…well, it's West, but what's his is mine and what's mine is mine!"
"¡Bueno! Now let me in! Let's go!"
France put a hand on Prussia before he could. "Antoine, do you really expect the three of us to drive all the way to Rome?"
Well…when he puts it that way. Spain chuckled sheepishly at his mistake and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh no, of course not, that's ridiculous." France breathed a sigh of relief. "Once you guys drive me back home, then I'll go in my car. I think it should have enough gas to get me there."
Spain ignored France's stunned look and smiled at Prussia. "¡A mi casa! ¡Vamonos! ¡Ándale! ¡Rápido!"
Prussia boisterously laughed. "Kesesesese~! You're so fun when you're like this!" He then clicked the button on his key, and Spain heard the blessed chirp-chirp of the car unlocking. "C'mon, Francey-pants! We're going on a road trip!"
France was shaking his head as he charged forward and snatched the keys out of Prussia's hand, pressing the button to lock the car again. "We are not going on a road trip!"
"Why not?!" Prussia questioned with a grin, trying to snatch his keys back. "I want front row seats to watch how this shitshow ends!"
"None of us are okay to drive," France insisted, fending off Prussia before hurriedly sticking the keys down the front of his pants. "Besides, running away to Rome is romantic in theory, but a lot of driving in real life!"
Prussia looked in disgust to where the keys were. "The Awesome Me is totally fine to drive! I'm not even buzzed! But now…now you drive! Like hell I'm going in there!"
Spain wasn't fond of the idea either, but he was willing to risk it if it meant he'd get to his Roma.
Before he could come up with the perfect strategy, the neighborhood was suddenly in an uproar. Many Spaniards began to scream and run away from the streets.
"¡Peligro! ¡Un Italiano está conduciendo!"
"¡Correr!"
"¡Sálvate!"
Then Spain winced as he heard tires peeling against the pavement, and he looked to see a Ferrari roaring through the streets. He and his amigos shrieked and dove in separate directions when they realized the car was heading towards them.
Turns out, it wasn't necessary.
The Ferrari screeched to a halt in the bar parking lot, somehow parking perfectly between Prussia's car and the curb.
"Conductor loco," Spain muttered to himself as he got up and dusted himself off.
His eyes widened when he recognized both the car and her passengers.
Romano stumbled out of his Ferrari the second it came to a stop and crashed to the ground, kissing it. "Merda! Land! I'll never take you for granted again!"
Ita-chan and Germany stepped out as well, the blonde looking a bit pale and the brunette looking confused.
"Ve~ Are you okay, Romano? Are the martinis making you sick again?"
"Never…again…" Romano moaned, "will I let you drive me anywhere. How in the hell did you get your license?"
Germany rubbed his temples. "Japan and I have theories."
"Nobody asked you," Romano weakly bit out.
The Bad Touch Trio were watching this conversation with awe before Prussia regained himself and grinned. "Hey West! What are you guys doing here?!"
Upon noticing them, Germany sighed in relief while Italy smiled and waved.
"Hello, Big Brother Prussia! Hello, Big Brother France!" Everyone in the vicinity flinched when Italy's smile fell upon looking at Spain. "Ve~ Spain! There you are! You have some explaining to do, mister!"
He said this all in a cheerful voice, but no one believed for a second that Italy was being genuine. Spain could actually admit being afraid for himself. He ended up scooting closer to his friends.
"…I think my awesome balls just went up into my awesome body," Prussia commented as he took a step back. "Shit. I never knew Ita-chan can be so scary…"
"O-Oui," France agreed shakily.
"How do you think I feel?" Spain frantically whispered. "He's not mad at you!"
Despite that his voice was quiet, Romano still managed to hear him and lifted his head from the ground. Once he saw Spain, he hurriedly sprang up and immediately began charging forward to him, despite seeming unsteady on his feet.
"Ve~ Romano?!"
"You!" Romano snarled, pointing at Spain. "You…You…!"
Romano's anger was familiar, yet, for the first time, Spain couldn't figure out what he was specifically mad about.
Is…Is he still angry at me? The thought was saddening but expected. Spain prepared to be punched and kicked in the balls.
"You!" Romano was all up in his face now, his friends taking an unconscious step back. "You tomato-eating, churro-sucking, guitar-playing, stupid bastard!"
Spain pouted at the shouting yet braced himself. Here it comes. He's going to punch me and then tell me that he wants to break up and be with Netherlands and-
Romano was suddenly grabbing his face and kissing him.
It took Spain's alcohol-jumbled brain a bit to fully catch up on the situation and even then, all he could think was that Romano tasted like martinis and bile with just the faintest hint of peanuts.
He briefly wondered if his Lovi can taste the whiskey and wine on him.
Though the kiss and confusion lasted almost a lifetime, it still ended far too shortly for Spain's liking. He didn't even think to kiss his tomate back when the Italian pulled away.
That beautiful, beautiful red was painted all over Roma's face, and his eyes were bright behind his furrowed brow that abruptly became a wince. "Shit, I have to pee. Fucking martinis and water…" Romano quickly looked towards the bar where there were surely restrooms before shaking his head. "No, fuck it! I'll hold it! I'll lose my damn nerve if I go! Fuck my bladder, and fuck my liver! They'll have to fucking deal!"
Although it was such a relief to hear his Lovi curse and grumble after going so long without it, Spain's smile was tentative. Lose his nerve for what?
"Roma-"
"Shut up! I'm talking! Just let me…" He quickly burped into his fist, cursing martinis again.
Spain waited as patiently as he could, despite that he was two seconds away from begging that Romano forgive him and to give him a second chance.
Just let me down slowly, mi amor. Don't leave me in agony much longer…
In the end, Romano decided to swallow his pride (which tasted suspiciously like bile and tequila). "Antonio…" Here we go. He's going to break up with me… "I fucked up!"
Spain was pulled from his melancholy at the unexpected declaration. Behind him, his friends gasped. A few feet in front of him, Italy gasped with excitement, rather than shocked. Germany…wasn't the least bit surprised, the lucky bastard.
Romano, however, ignored them all and continued, "I was stupid and immature, and I shouldn't have said the shit I did! I was angry and I knew it would hurt you and I feel like such an asshole for going that far! It was wrong of me, and I'd rather become German and eat the tea bastard's shitty food for the rest of my pathetic life than ever stoop that low and hurt you again!"
Now France was making noises that sounded like he was holding back on openly weeping, muttering something about how romantic that was. Prussia was grumbling something about how being German meant being awesome.
And yet, it might as well have been white noise to Spain who could only stare at his tomate in wonder.
"Lovi-"
"I said shut up! I'm not done yet!" Romano took a deep breath, swaying on his feet a bit.
Spain briefly wondered just how much his feisty Italian had to drink and fought the urge to steady him, not sure if the touch would be welcome despite everything Romano was saying.
"I…I…" Romano took another deep breath and looked Spain right in the eye. "I'm sorry." Unlike before where his voice was rough and strong, this time it was soft and sad. Even his curl drooped as Romano continued, "I'm sorry about the party. I'm sorry I got so mad. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'm sorry for what I said about Netherlands—it isn't true, I swear. He and I are just friends. He was being a good friend when you saw us—nothing else. Hell, if it makes you feel better, I haven't spoken to him in days."
Actually, it did make Spain feel a bit better.
"It's…It's just…damn it!" Romano's voice raised again in frustration. "Is it really that easy for you to kiss someone else?! When you kissed Japan like it was the easiest fucking thing in the world, I just…I just couldn't help but wonder if our kisses meant anything at all!" Romano bitterly chuckled and roughly wiped his eyes. "And I can't believe I was stupid enough to even think that! You're the country of passion—of course it's easy for you! I'm just some bastard who doubted you-"
"No, Lovi," Spain firmly declared. "You are not a bastard and you aren't stupid! You were right to be mad at me! I shouldn't have kissed Japan or anyone! It wasn't okay for me at all! I'm sorry, too! I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't care about your feelings! Our kisses mean everything to me! When America kissed you," he glared while Romano winced, "I went loco! I understand that's how you felt when I kissed Japan, but I promise you, Roma, it didn't mean anything! I wish I could take it back!"
He grabbed Romano's chin to tilt his head up. The Italian's hazel eyes were adorably shocked. "I don't want to kiss anyone but you, mi amor! And I don't want you kissing anyone but me!" Spain then surged forward to crash their lips together.
The fireworks between them was just as amazing as when they kissed the first time. After over a week being deprived of Romano's kisses, this kiss was magnificent, especially since his querido eagerly kissed him back.
He faintly heard France, Prussia, and Italy cheering in the background, but all that mattered in the moment was that he and his Roma were okay. He forgave his amor and hoped Lovi forgave him, too.
The kiss between them sure felt like it.
When they pulled away, Spain didn't waste time in gathering his Roma in his arms. "I missed you, mi corazón."
"Y-Yeah," Romano muttered, sounding embarrassed. "I…I missed you, too…jerk. So did Silvia."
Spain perked up. "Oh~! Is she here with you?! I missed her, too!"
"She's back at home. I'll bring her to your place later…if you'll have me."
"Of course, Lovi~! Mi casa es su casa~!" Then he had the most wonderful idea. "Oh Lovi~! We should move in together! You can move into my place! Just like before!"
"What?!" Romano pulled away from him, blushing. "You can't possibly mean that!"
"Of course I do~ We'll get to see each other every day and have our meals together and you'll cook for me and I'll cook for you and you'll be the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to sleep and-"
Romano put a hand over his mouth. "Okay, okay, I get it." He seemed partially embarrassed, yet also like he was fighting back a smile. "…I'll think about it, okay? For now though, I'm staying the week. We've got a lot of catching up to do."
"Sí, we do~" Spain said against his Roma's palm before giving it a kiss. Romano pulled his hand away, feigning disgust. Spain chuckled and hugged his novio close. "Te amo, Lovi~"
"…Ti amo anch'io." Spain grinned and kissed him again. When he pulled away, he was pleased to see the lightest of smiles on Romano's face.
Suddenly, there was an explosion of cheering around them. France was clapping wildly as happy tears streamed down his face while Prussia was clapping and grinning like mad. Italy was cheering and clapping louder and faster than all of them. Germany was doing neither, yet seemed less severe than usual.
Romano groaned in annoyance. "Right, we have an audience." Then he raised his voice so that their fellow nations heard him. "Yeah, yeah, show's over, asshats! Piss off!"
France wiped his eyes before embracing the two. "L'amour hasn't failed me after all! That was the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed! All is right with the world!"
Spain chuckled, not minding the affection. Romano, on the other hand, wasn't pleased. "I'm not above puking all over your stupid face, French jerk!"
France immediately let go and took a step back, happy smile never leaving.
Ita-chan took his place, coming from behind Romano to hug them both. "Yay~! Romano and Spain are happy again~! Let's celebrate~!"
Prussia was immediately on board. "I like the way you think! Let's get a beer!"
"Haven't you all had enough?!" Germany exclaimed incredulously.
"Kesesesese~! There's no such thing as having enough beer! There's always room for more!" Prussia paused before asking, "Hey, West. How'd you guys find us, anyways?"
Germany groaned and wiped a hand over his face. "Romano really wanted to see Spain-"
"Don't announce that!" Romano snapped as he tried prying Italy off of him.
"So the three of us came driving here. Italy's driving got Romano to pass out-"
"The fuck I just say!"
"So I took it upon myself to search your home, Spain. Speaking of, it was irresponsible for you to leave your door wide open." The Bad Touch Trio exchanged sheepish glances. "When we couldn't find you, I asked your neighbors if they've seen you. They said that you drove off with individuals that sounded like mein bruder and France. Then all I did was track you all down through Prussia's phone."
Prussia raised a brow. "Damn West, I knew you were jealous of my awesomeness, but tracking my phone's a bit much, ja?"
Germany rolled his eyes. "I made sure to leave the 'Share my location' application on 24/7 after one too many of your drunken crusades left you in some unknown country."
"…I'll give you Birdie's address later."
While France began poking fun at Prussia, Spain nuzzled his tomate. "Oh Lovi~ You were coming to see Boss first? How cute~"
"Not my boss, jerk," Romano mumbled. "And let's never speak of this again."
"Of course~!"
"Ve~ I'm so happy that you two made up!" Italy pulled away from Romano to grin at the two. "I was starting to get worried that you two would break up and never be friends again! That would be the worst thing in the world other than running out of pasta!"
"That would suck," Spain agreed amiably.
He flinched when Italy's happy smile suddenly gave way to a scowl and he jabbed Spain in the chest with a finger. "Ve~ don't you make my brother sad again, Spain, or I'll have you wishing that I sent the mafia on you instead of dealing with you myself! Got it?!"
Shivering, Spain hurriedly nodded. "I promise, Ita-chan! I'll never hurt mi Romanito again!"
"Ve~ you're damn right!" Then Italy was all smiles again. "Great! Now let's sing, eat, and go to bed like Italians!"
Romano groaned and glared at his younger brother. "Merda, you're embarrassing."
"Now hold up, hold up," Prussia suddenly interjected. "We're not done with the threatening and ball-twisting yet!" Despite offering Romano a grin, Prussia's eyes were hard and determined as he said, "You hurt Toni again, and I'll post pictures of Franny's naked ass all over your room! I'll set it as your phone and laptop screensavers and put 'em in places you'll never expect! You'll never be able to eat, read, sleep, or do anything again without worrying about whether or not France's naked self is posted somewhere! Kesesesese~!"
Whereas Romano was horrified, France was pouting. "How is seeing my beautiful self a punishment?"
Prussia ignored him as he asked, "Do we have an understanding, Kumpel?"
Romano hurriedly nodded. "S-Sì! I won't fuck up again!"
"Gut!" Prussia announced with a firm nod and cheerful grin. "Now we can move on from this sappiness and celebrate your guys' lame lovey-dovey-ness!"
"We should go to my place and I'll cook us a lovely French dinner with plenty of wine! I'll even drive~!" France shook his crotch suggestively, getting the keys to jingle.
Germany stiffened, eyes twitching. "France…don't tell me the keys to the car—my car—are where I think they are…"
"Ja, West, they're in the Eiffel Tower! Kesesesese~!"
"Ohonhon~ would you like to check and found out, mon cher~?"
"W-Was?! Nein! You owe me a new car, France!"
Germany continued to shout at France while Prussia laughed and Italy asked how the car keys got all the way to Paris. Spain watched it with a fond smile while Romano rolled his eyes.
"Idiotas. We should just leave them here. Too bad I'm too buzzed to drive. What about you, tomato jerk? I thought I tasted whiskey and wine on you."
Spain chuckled and nuzzled Romano's hair. "You tasted correctly, Lovi. I'm not sure I'm okay to drive. That's okay, though. I have the keys to my house. We can walk and let our amigos deal with this." His smile widened as he looked to France and Prussia. "Hey Lovi, remind me to do something nice for Franny and Gil. They gave me some good advice and were nice enough to pull me out of my funk."
Romano sighed yet nodded. "Yeah…I'll help you put together a fruit basket or something. We'll also put roses for France and beer for Prussia." Then he thought something else. "We'll make one for Veneziano and…and Germany, too. They, uh, they did me the favor of listening to my bullshit and driving me all the way here."
"Okay~ We'll get them one, too." The two stood in companionable, contemplative silence for a bit. "I'd offer them all to stay at my place to sleep off the alcohol and so they don't have to drive again so soon, but I kind of want to be selfish and keep you to myself."
Romano chuckled. "Same here, but I don't want Feli to drive my Ferrari again. Maybe we should wait until we're both sober to drive my car back to your place. The others can hang for a couple of hours, but they gotta go before it gets dark. They can figure out who drives the macho potato's car. Then we'll go back to my place tomorrow to pick up Silvia and some of my things."
"Sí, that sounds perfect, mi amor~ Should we go for a walk to sober up?"
"You read my mind, jerk. But first-"
"I think the restrooms are at the back of the bar~"
"Grazie."
This is why communication is key in a healthy relationship, people!
So, I get that Spain is x number of miles away from Italy, but hey, the anime lets Italy run to Germany's in the span of a night.
My logical side, which is insisting that Spain is a 19-hour drive from Italy, is combusting as we speak. Good thing my geeky side is content with accepting 'anime logic' when it comes to Hetalia.
Plus, there's Italy's driving to consider…
Translations:
Italian
fratello- brother
idiota- idiot
Dannazione- Damn it/damnation
Chigi- Fuck
Merda- Shit
Tedesco- German
amante- lover
bastardo- bastard
Sì- yes
amico- friend
Merda- Shit
Ti amo anch'io- I love you too
Grazie- Thank you
German/Prussian
Danke- Thank you
Ja- Yes
Kumpel- Buddy
Nein- No
Gott- God
mein bruder- my brother
Gut- Good
Was?!- What?!
Spanish
amigos- friends
tomate- tomato
perro- dog
Gracias- Thank you
cabrón- bastard
amorcito- little love
Dios mío- My God
carajo- dick
¿por favor?- please
mi amor- my love
tomatito precioso- precious little tomato
¡Soy patético!- I am pathetic!
Cero- Zero
Cállate- Shut up
mi corazón- my heart
¡Vamos!- Let's go!
¡Bueno!- Good!
¡A mi casa!- To my house!
¡Vamonos!- Let's go!
¡Ándale!- Come along!
¡Rápido!- Quickly!
¡Peligro!- Danger!
¡Un Italiano está conduciendo!- An Italian is driving!
¡Correr!- Run!
¡Sálvate!- Save yourself!
Conductor loco- Crazy driver
querido- dear
¡Mi casa es su casa~!- My house is your house~!
Sí- Yes
novio- boyfriend
Te amo- I love you
French
Mon cher- my dear
mon ami- my friend
l'amour- love
Oui- Yes
moi- me
mon fils- my son
Non- No
Prusse- Prussia
hélas- alas
Mon dieu- My god