A/N: I really thought that I was done with writing Hetalia fanfic, but here I am. I just couldn't stop thinking about these two; the tension I imagine between them is just too juicy to ignore.
The first draft was much angstier and ended with Piri breaking down into tears. I went back to it last week and thought, "Hold on, I can't imagine Piri crying like this." So I threw 95% of the initial draft away and ended up replacing the angst with a lot of banter. I wanted a Piri that gave as good as he got and actively fights for Alfred to see him as an equal without losing his bluntness and sense of humor. Hence, the final draft is filled with 100% more snark than the original.
I picked the name Isabelo for Piri because I wanted him to have an old-timey name like Alfred. Here, antiquated Spanish first names like that usually mean that you are either old or come from old money; and Piri, as you may know, is very old. Piri has over a dozen nicknames because that's really just what being Filipino is like. The name Isabelo usually defaults to the nickname Beloy, which is very far from the Isa that Alfred uses here. Fun fact: Isa (pronounced differently but spelled the same) also means "one" in many Filipino languages. Also, this isn't explicitly stated, but this takes place in Washington DC during the early 1930s. Alfred is barely recovering from the Great Depression while Isabelo is a few years yet from establishing the Philippine Commonwealth.
Title comes from the English-translated lyrics of the classic Filipino love song, Dahil Sa Iyo or Because of You. Specifically, it comes from the English/Tagalog duet version of the song from the 60s sung by Santos and Cora Beloy. Hope you enjoy!
It couldn't have been any earlier than four in the morning, but Alfred still found his partner having a melancholy smoke by the hotel room windows. Still drowsy from having just woken up, he reached messily for his glasses by the bedside drawer before turning on the lamp.
"Isa," he called out, because that's what he called Philippines now, in the decades after the war. "Isabelo, babe, what are you doing up?"
"You know, you're the only one who calls me that." He didn't even turn around to address him properly, the bastard; with just the lamp on, all Alfred could see were the bare outlines of his figure. But Alfred didn't need to see his face to know that the other nation was rolling his eyes. "Isa, really. I have at least dozen other nicknames, but of course you'd pick the one that nobody uses."
"Have you considered that maybe I just like being special to you?" He burrowed back under the warmth of the comforter. "You're letting the winter draft go in. Come back to bed."
"Consider yourself my special pain in the ass," was the glib response, which made Alfred chuckle. "Counter proposal: you get up and burn this deck with me instead."
Alfred yawned, feigning disinterest. "You know I don't smoke."
Isabelo finally turned to look back at him. His eyes were bright and his smile was mischievous. Under the soft moonlight, he looked as luminous as ever. "Liar," he sang. "I know all of your dirty little secrets, America. Shouldn't you know this by now?"
When the war had finally ended — after three years, a dozen regrets, and hundreds of thousands of casualties — the both of them had been pushed into a meeting where they could formally reconcile. Together with their generals and leaders, they laid down the terms and agreements from which they could build their relationship in the decades to come. Philippines, who had finally been officially introduced to him as Isabelo, had done nothing but glare at him all throughout. Still, he had kept silent, and he passively accepted his new role: he was now United States territory, and at Alfred's request, they would live together on American soil for the rest of the foreseeable future.
Alfred had seen it as a spectacularly good deal if he was being honest; when he was a colony, he had always hated it when Arthur left him behind. He would've given anything to be taught how to be a real nation when he was younger. But rather than appreciate what Alfred had done for him, Isabelo had instead decided to spend every waking moment talking back, being rude, and trying his very best in annoying Alfred until he was given independence.
The charming boy who had swept him off his feet in the pinks and oranges of the Manila sunset was nowhere to be seen. In the years that passed, Alfred was forced to realize that the real Philippines was someone else entirely.
Still made his heart race like crazy though. He'd been forced to realize that too.
"Alright, shut up, you've convinced me." Alfred stood, not bothering with modesty anymore — like he said, there wasn't really anything he could hide from the other nation at this point. Isabelo hummed appreciatively, staring him down as he walked the short distance from their bed to the window sill. He took a cigarette in his mouth and idly watched the shorter nation light it for him, admiring the way the light danced on his face. "I didn't think you were a Camels man."
"I'm not, but these were all your dear Frankie had in his office," Isabelo said, wrinkling his nose. "He's obsessed with them, honestly. He'd probably do an ad for them if he could."
Alfred paused. "Are you telling me you stole a pack of cigarettes from my president?"
Isabelo smiled innocently. "No, I'm telling you I stole five packs of cigarettes from your president. Three of them are hidden in this bedroom, and I already smoked through the first one yesterday."
Alfred promptly choked in the middle of taking a drag. The other nation didn't even bother to pat his back or ask if he was okay or anything; Isabelo just laughed heartily through his short coughing fit. "Ugh," he groused, "you're such a dick."
"Takes one to know one," Isabelo chirped. He was remarkably chipper for being only clad in a thin, silky robe during the winter; somehow, Alfred thought, he made freezing look sexy. "And if you walk by any treacherous backstabbers on the street, I'm sure you'd pick them out easily too."
"You're a bundle of laughs," said Alfred. "Remind me again why I like you so much?"
At this, Isabelo's mouth turned up in an absolutely lecherous smirk. He angled his hips and lowered his lashes and moved just enough for his bangs to fall on his face and for his satin robe slip ever so slightly from his shoulders: the very picture of an inviting, submissive spouse. Immediately, Alfred's throat went dry — and immediately, he hated himself for it.
Good colonizers didn't have feelings for their colonies like this, didn't they?
"Clearly," Isabelo said lightly, "it's because you think I'm a good fuck."
"Clearly," Alfred repeated, trying to preserve what little composure he had.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I just said, do keep up, will you?" Isabelo said. Alfred couldn't stop himself from letting out a chuckle and, at that, the other nation's smile turned softer. He glanced down at the cigarette on his fingers, watching the smoke fade out into the cityscape. "I'm also absolutely hilarious. And a brilliant dancer. And I can make friends with just about anyone, you know. I'm a real catch."
"You're real modest too," said Alfred.
Isabelo lightly shoved him. "Feeling smart tonight, aren't we? You should savor it, I bet it's a rare sensation for you."
"Aw shucks," Alfred grinned. "Thanks for the concern, but I have to say: when I'm around you, feeling smart is easy as pie."
"Asshole."
"Right back at 'cha, babe."
They simultaneously raised their middle finger at each other, then laughed.
Their relationship was . . . odd, to say the least. Alfred had initially wanted to be like a teacher to him, guiding him through the bureaucratic and diplomatic pains of democracy, but Isabelo had been so resistant to any sort of mentorship that Alfred had given up almost instantaneously. For their first few years together, they had been so cold: barely making conversation, barely feeling each other's presence. He would be just as surprised to pass him by in the house corridors and to learn that the other nation had apparently been traveling to a different state the week prior. They gave each other space, and though it was far from what Alfred wanted, he was determined to give Isabelo the time to settle until he reached out on his own.
Then one day, Isabelo demanded that Alfred bring him to a theater. They watched the last showing of the latest Chaplin film, made out in the car, and woke up the next morning in the same bed. Isabelo had looked at him with his mussed-up hair and his upturned lips and softly said, so you want me like this after all, señorito?
Alfred didn't recall what he had said in response, but he distinctly remembered thinking: uh oh.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Isabelo asked. He carelessly dropped his cigarette and lit himself another. "It's not like you to be so quiet, you know."
"The stock market," Alfred said immediately. "It's very serious nation business, I don't think you'd understand."
Isabelo hummed. "Oh yes, I'm sure only the great and bountiful United States of America is the only nation capable of understanding the complexities of the stock market. Tell me, what are the projected numbers for your economic recovery in the next decade again?"
"Fairly positive, thank you," Alfred bit back. It was a lie and they both knew it: just the thought of it made him want to hurl all over the balcony. Instead, he took a long drag. "You keep talking below the belt shit like that. That really hurt."
"I'm glad to hear it," Isabelo said, and now it was Alfred's turn to shove him. Gently, though; he knew how fragile the other nation really was. The typhoon that hit his country last month had him coughing up blood for weeks. "Really, you should be glad that this is all I'm doing to you. I could've shown you what a real insurrection looks like. I could've hijacked your car and ransacked the White House. And then I could finally go home and start a rebellion, or something."
Alfred sighed. "Well, I guess if I lose my car soon, I'll know the first place to look. Not that it matters. You do know that I have people tracking your every move, right?"
"It's been said," Isabelo said coyly. He looked at him from under his lashes. "Just business as usual in the land of the free, I suppose."
Alfred couldn't respond to that. Instead, he blurted out, "Why are you always so mean to me?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized there wasn't much point in asking. He had realized too late what he had robbed from Isabelo, the day that America declared war on his nation. At the time, Alfred had seen him as the spoils of war he had rightfully earned from Antonio; Antonio himself had only seen him as the latest in a long list of rebellious colonies; while Arthur, Ludwig, and the rest of Europe had seen him as an idle source of potential income. Alfred had fought and laughed and died with his soldiers thinking that this was it, it was finally his time to stand equally with the other, powerful empires that surrounded him. Finally, he would have a colony of his own, and nothing else mattered but that.
It was years after the war ended when he was walking the streets of Cavite, by chance overhearing an old soldier tell his child: Hijo, if we had won, we could've been the first republic in Asia.
It had been harder to fault Isabelo for his coldness, after that.
Alfred slumped against the windowsill. He looked out at the hazy yellow streets of his waking capital and tried to remember what the other nation's favorite breakfast was, hoping he could calm him down from an angry outburst that felt inevitable.
But rather than scream at him or roll his eyes or cry his heart out, Isabelo simply shrugged and said, "I just don't like it when you lie all the time, that's all."
Alfred sputtered. "What the—I haven't told a lie in my entire life!"
Isabelo laughed. "You literally lied to my face just now! You don't even realize you're doing it, don't you? Is being a huge hypocrite baked that deeply into your psyche?"
"Is this still about when I betrayed you in 1899?" Alfred demanded, fuming. "I thought we were over that, I thought I've made it up to you—"
"First of all, you are never going to be able to make that up to me." Isabelo fiercely interjected, jabbing the end of his cigarette onto Alfred's bare chest. Alfred didn't even register the pain. "But I can understand why you did it. It was horrible, and if I was in your position I would've done it differently, but I understand. We're nations. We fight, and we hurt each other, and that's just the nature of who we are. I understand that much from growing up with Antonio, and I bet you learned the same lessons with Arthur. Personal power overrules all, and all that white imperialist bullshit all those Europeans say. Trust me. I get it."
Then he gazed back out the windows, his head hanging low. Isabelo breathed out another cloud of smoke. "What I don't get is why you lie about things that don't even matter," he sighed. "Small things like whether you smoke or not, your thoughts on traffic, your favorite pre-movie cartoon short. You know why I can call you out on your bluffs so often? It's because I had to keep watching you for your tells, because for sure, you don't tell me a damn thing that's real.
"And then, you know what else I realized, watching you?" Isabelo stared at him, his bright eyes piercing. All Alfred could do was stare back in silence. "You lie even to yourself, Alfred. You act like admitting the truth will kill you, and it's a hell of a sorry sight to see."
"So you pity me, is what you're trying to say," Alfred said flatly. His ears were ringing, his head was reeling, and all he could think was wrong, wrong, wrong. "Fuck off."
Isabelo just rolled his eyes, as if Alfred wasn't one sarcastic quip away from punching him in the face. "Fuck me yourself, coward," he said. "Oh wait."
Alfred snarled. In seconds, he hoisted the smaller nation off his feet and pushed him on the bed. He gripped Isabelo's hands over his head and spread his thighs with his knees. This was a familiar position; he'd fucked the other boy like this just last night, slow and sensual, while covering his body with bites and kisses. Alfred knew what lust was like but it hadn't been until Isabelo that he felt it like that — waves upon waves of overwhelming heat, drowning in desire until he could barely breathe. He remembered how Isabelo had moaned his name last night. He remembered how he dug his nails deep enough to leave scratches on his back. He remembered how he clenched his legs around his waist, screaming for more. He remembered how he grinned up at him, purple eyes filled with brightness and exhilaration and something that looked almost like love, and Alfred had yearned for it so badly that he came right there.
Now, Isabelo was looking up at him again, his robe just rumpled up enough to fully display the bruises Alfred had marked on his neck. With his lips upturned and his eyes half-lidded, he looked like he had all the world's riches laid down at his behest.
"I'm still the one in power here," Alfred said. "Admit it."
"Lie to yourself all you want," Isabelo teased. "Just know that you can't fool me."
Isabelo had smiled just like that before shooting him and leaving him for dead. But he had also smiled like that before loudly announcing that he'd eaten the last of Alfred's favorite snack before he could get to them, so he was sure that smug expression was always specifically for when he felt he'd one-upped Alfred in some way.
Alfred decided the pettiest thing to do was collapse on top of the smaller nation. Over Isabelo's muffled shouts and laughter, Alfred said, "I'd like to see you try to get out of this."
Isabelo managed to gasp for air a moment later. "You're such a dick," he whined. "I didn't even get to finish my smoke before you attacked me, you brute."
"Takes one to know one," Alfred said, and Isabelo lightly smacked his back — the only part of his body he could reach, with the way he was trapped under like that. He decided the smaller nation had suffocated enough and he rolled over to let him catch a breath. The two of them laid down on the bed, side by side, reveling in each other's presence. "And I don't lie for no reason, you know. I'm protecting myself. I've got a lot to lose if I make mistakes."
"I know that," Isabelo said, still a bit breathless. "I'm just saying, I like you more when you're honest, and you rarely are."
"I can be honest right now," Alfred said. The sun was starting to rise, and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that the light streaming through the window was enough to make Isabelo's skin glow golden. He swallowed, his throat dry, and admitted, "You're very pretty."
The other nation huffed. "Tell me something I don't know."
Alfred scowled at the ceiling. "You're also a narcissistic prick."
Isabelo giggled, bright and cheery. "Oh, that's a new one. Jot that down, else you'll forget."
"I won't forget it, I think that at least twice a day," Alfred said, and he felt warm when Isabelo erupted in uproarious laughter. "Don't think I haven't noticed how much you've been spending on clothes lately. I'm watching you too, you know. This whole I'm paying you attention so I can learn more about you thing you're doing to me goes both ways. Suck on that."
"Yeah, I've been sucking on something alright," Isabelo said, then he laughed again when Alfred groaned. Isabelo reached out to cup Alfred's face in his hands, his eyes alight with mischief. "Look, when we walk out that door, we're playing benevolent master and docile colony again, and you know I can't make jokes like this around your senators — they'll have a hernia on the spot. Let me have my fun for now, will you?"
"Only because I like you so much," Alfred muttered. He turned, shifting his position so he could face the other nation fully. His lips gently brushed against Isabelo's palm. "You're such a pain."
"You're such a pain too," Isabelo mockingly cooed. "See? We're even."
"Now that's a terrifying thought," Alfred whispered, moving closer.
Isabelo smirked. "It's only terrifying from your point of view. One day, I'll make you see. I'm just as much of a nation as you are."
Their faces were so close; Alfred couldn't even concentrate on what he was saying. His heart was beating so loud that he felt like it could burst out of his chest at any moment. He barely sensed that Isabelo was kissing him — softly, sweetly, like he thought Alfred was fragile enough to break. It had been so long since someone had touched him this gently. He didn't know what emotion he was feeling but whatever it was, it was overwhelming him. Alfred stayed as still as he could. He didn't want this moment to end.
It had slipped out of him before he even realized. "Isa, I love you."
Isabelo's eyes widened, then his face broke out in a small, bittersweet smile. "Sure you do."
Outside their hotel room, the day had finally broken. Their two cigarettes lay forgotten on the ground, their flames having long since sputtered out.
