So, I know this chapter is like 10 years too late, but I couldn't resist~
P.S. I'm happy to report that I officially get to go back to work on the 17th of next month (*happy crying*). However, that also means that the next update might take a bit longer, but will be here no later than the end of September.
Cheers~!
No one let the Pictonian crisis postpone the FIFA World Cup.
The nations eagerly resumed practicing until the day finally arrived. 32 teams had qualified and every nation played for their team. Japan and Switzerland had to be coaxed since both would rather watch than play. Despite China's and Italy's begging, it was Greece who managed to encourage Japan to join his team.
All it was took was one look and one simple 'please' from Liechtenstein for Switzerland to participate. Liechtenstein even made her big brother a giant poster and wore his colors—all with glitter, of course.
Romano and Italy both were a part of their qualifying team, but couldn't play at the same time and switched off each round. Busy as he was, Romano didn't get to see Spain as often as either of them wanted; they couldn't always cheer one another on in-person, yet eagerly did so from the TV in the locker rooms.
France and Greece were among the first who didn't advance. Romano had heartily laughed when France's defeat was broadcast live, and the overdramatic blonde was weeping. Britain, America, and Canada had apparently gone to watch him, and France had ended up clinging to Britain and sobbing on him. The tea bastard went from smug to annoyed in an instant and tried shoving the inconsolable Frenchman off of him while America laughed at them and Canada stood off to the side, seeming both exasperated and amused.
Greece took his loss with a shrug and a pat on the back from Japan. Then a fight between him and Turkey had to be broken up; Korea had somehow jumped into the fray, cheering for his country while simultaneously trying to claim 'breasts.'
Romano and Spain were able to spend the 12th together and ended up attending England and America's match. Spain cheered for America while Romano hoped that both nations would trip and lose.
He was disappointed when they both advanced on.
Not that Romano particularly cared about the other nations, but he kept up with the wins and losses for his own benefit. He was forced to hear about the potato bastard from Veneziano and accused the kraut for cheating each time his team scored.
When he heard about how well Netherlands was doing, Romano silently cheered and sent the pot bastard a congratulatory text that was mostly hidden beneath jabs and criticisms.
Spain wasn't thrilled and avoided the subject altogether. Romano didn't bother bringing it up anyways.
When it was time for the Vargas brothers to play with their team, Romano went first against Paraguay. He's never interacted with the brunette, but the other was full of smiles and didn't take off his headband. He wished Romano good luck, and the Italian sensed that he was genuine.
They ended up tying. Spain congratulated him with a loud kiss on the cheek.
Veneziano played against New Zealand almost a week later. Romano was alone in cheering for his brother since Spain was going over last-minute drills with his team.
"C'mon, jerk! Even a dumb-dumb like you can beat New Zealand! That curly-haired weirdo hangs out with sheep and the tea bastard! You can take him!"
They ended up tying, too.
When it was time for the last game that determined whether or not Italy moved on, Romano was pumped, ready to go against Slovakia.
"That ribbon-wearing bastard doesn't know who he's messing with," Romano mused to himself with a grin. He had gotten to the locker room earlier than his nation's team for a moment of peace. Italy was going to be watching from the stands with Germany, whom he dragged along. He promised that he'd save a seat for Spain.
The Spaniard would join them a bit later. Since he and his team would be playing at the Loftus Versfeld Stadium the next day, Spain was trying to motivate his team and get in some practice time before he went to go see Romano.
Not that the Italian minded.
Romano pulled out the piece of silver he hid in his pocket. FIFA uniforms didn't have pockets, but Romano took the time to stitch one himself since he desperately wanted the silver with him while he played.
It made him feel better and drove away any nervousness (not that there was any since he was super confident and macho…).
Romano held the silver close, fingers tracing each ridge before rubbing the scratch. Unbeknownst to him, there was a soft smile on his face.
He sat there for a while until he heard the tell-tale sounds of his team bustling in. Once he stowed the silver away, Romano stood up and grew determined.
Alright, this is it. Do or die. We've got this.
{~/~/~}
"I don't know what happened, Lovi. I thought you and your team had it."
Spain looked to his novio with confusion. It was the next day, a couple of hours before he was set to play against Chile. Even so, he had no interest in practicing with his team.
He'd rather be with his Lovi, who was taking Italy's defeat and removal from the FIFA World Cup rather well. Even after being a part of a riveting game that ended in disappointment and Slovakians screaming with glee, Romano was unfazed and merely accepted it all with a shrug.
Ita-chan was crushed and sobbed while clinging to Germany, who offered comfort to the best of his abilities (i.e. awkwardly patting the Italian on the head and offering to take him out for gelato).
Spain was prepared to comfort Romano as well. In fact, he was ready to handle a temper tantrum and had the paramedics on stand-by in case his Roma started throwing stuff in anger.
He was surprised when none of it was necessary.
"Tch, whatever, it doesn't matter," Romano said as the two cuddled in their hotel room. They were watching yesterday's highlights. Spain was set to put on a movie or a game show—anything to take his Lovi's mind off the loss.
Instead, Roma put on the game and commented on highlights and criticisms. He was even pretty mild with his remarks. The only time he showed passion was showing his outrage about Paraguay and Slovakia.
"How the hell did Paraguay and Slovakia do better?! Paraguay is full of fucking swamps, and Slovakia…where the fuck is that?!"
And even then, Spain could tell that Romano wasn't truly pissed off.
"At least that cheating New Zealand didn't make it either!" he commented with a rough chuckle. "You should've seen that happy-go-lucky son of a bitch! He kept trying to talk to my stupid brother while they were playing! Veneziano didn't realize the jerk was trying to distract him and held a conversation with him in the middle of the game! Seriously, Tonio, I was this close to jumping onto the field to strangle those idiots!"
The rarely-used nickname sent butterflies through the former conquistador. However, Romano only used it when he was relaxed and in a good mood…which he shouldn't be in because he lost.
He looked down at his amorcito. The two were laying down on the hotel bed, Romano curled into Spain's side, head resting on his chest, as he lazily watched the television. Spain absently brushed his fingers against his Italian's back, wondering if Roma was truly okay with this, or if he was holding back his anger like how he did on their first date.
Although he vastly preferred the former, he was still very much confused by it.
"Um, Roma?"
"Hm?" Romano didn't look away from the TV.
"Um…" Spain took a moment to figure out what it was he wanted to ask. "Are you, um, sure you're okay with…losing?"
Romano lightly snorted. "I'm not happy about it, but whatever. Feli and I will do better next time. We're Italian. We're good at fútbol…look, see! Right there! New Zealand is talking to Veneziano! Coincidence that he only does it when my fratello has the ball?! I think not!"
Spain absently nodded yet didn't drop the subject. "You know, Lovi, it's okay if you're upset about not advancing forward. You don't have to pretend to be a good sport about it, not around me."
Romano looked up at him then, eyebrow raised. "I'm not pretending. I don't care that Feli and I didn't win, and I don't care if our team is bummed out. They'll get over it if they know what's good for them. It's no big deal." Spain made a face, and Romano sighed. "You don't believe me, do you, bastard?"
Spain reluctantly shook his head. "Sorry Roma, I don't. It's just…you're so competitive and you've been so excited to play these past few months. It's…strange that you're taking the loss so well. I expected you to start throwing stuff or threaten the referee."
"Are you trying to say that I'm a sore loser?!"
"Well…"
Romano swatted him in the chest. "Shut up, jerk! I'm not!"
Spain couldn't resist chuckling and cuddling his tomate close. "You're so cute when you're in denial, Lovi~! Okay then, I believe you! Sorry that you didn't win!"
Romano shoved his face away. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You better win it for me! I'll deprive you of my hugs and kisses if you lose to the rest of these idiots, especially the hamburger bastard, the tea bastard, or the potato bastard! So help me if you lose to that potato-sucking macho jerk!"
Spain laughed and kissed his Roma's red face. "Don't worry, mi tomate, I'll do my best! I'll beat everyone in the name of Spain and South Italy! I'll even beat Paraguay and Slovakia for you if I go up against them!"
"You'd better," Romano stated with a wry smirk before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Spain's mouth. "What time are you going to get ready to go against that weirdo, Chile?"
Spain stole a lingering kiss to Romano's lips before replying, "Not for a few more hours. I'm all yours until then. Is there something you'd like to do pass the time, mi amante hermoso?"
"Unfortunately, we can't do that. Maybe after when you win." Romano pointedly cocked a brow that had Spain chuckling. "I was thinking we finish re-watching my round with Slovakia, order something light from room service, and then take a quick siesta."
"Sounds perfecto~" The two did just that, sharing a quick meal of paella valenciana and making out when the commercials came on.
Just as he contemplating ways to pleasure his Lovi without straining himself, something on TV caught his eye. "Oh hey, there you are! The camera really captured your profile, Roma~!"
Romano groaned as the camera zoomed in on him and Slovakia shaking hands. "Did I tell you that jerk's hand was all clammy? I felt like boiling my hand in disinfectant afterwards." Sure enough, you could see the Italian wiping his hand on his shorts as he walked back to his team.
A few minutes into the game and Spain noticed something unusual. "Hey, Roma…did something just fall out of your shorts?"
Romano winced and reluctantly admitted, "Yeah…"
They watched as something shiny tumbled out of the Italian's shorts, causing him to stop kicking the ball and chase after it. Unfortunately, one of the Slovakian players accidentally kicked it away. Then Romano practically spent the rest of the game chasing after that shiny object, only for it to be inadvertently kicked by other players. Romano was clearly frustrated every time that it was kicked out of reach, but the others were just as frustrated as he unintentionally got in their way.
Spain remembered seeing his Roma darting in weird directions during the game, but he hadn't thought much of it at the time, too caught up in cheering with Italy.
"What was it that you dropped?"
The camera tried focusing in on the shiny object, but the sun shining through Ellis Park Stadium was especially bright, causing the object to glint and glare.
"Uh…" They both watched as Romano eventually grabbed the object, a triumphant smile on his face and oblivious to the fact that he and his team just lost. "Uh…that was, um, my…keys…"
Spain tilted his head. "Your keys? Why were they in your shorts?"
"…I really like my keys…"
Strange, but Romano's quirks were always adorable.
"Okeydokey then~ I'm glad you got them back~!"
"…Me too."
[…]
Spain defeated Chile later that day. He offered the other nation a 'no hard feelings' smile and handshake. Chile accepted it without much enthusiasm.
Spain didn't mind, though. He's been having fun these past couple of weeks. Playing his first game against Switzerland was a blast. The Swiss took the game a bit too seriously, but he seemed to do that with everything. Even when he beat Spain by a single point, he shook the brunette's hand with little excitement.
Now that Romano and Italy weren't playing, they were free to attend whichever games they wanted. Spain didn't mind if Romano went to watch the others, yet insisted (read: begged) that he watched his games.
"Who the hell would I even watch anyways?! I don't care about any of these jerks!"
Even so, Spain was well-aware that Netherlands was still in the running. He wished that he was playing the same day the Dutchman was so that he could be guaranteed that Romano would attend his match.
When the day came that Netherlands was supposed to play against Slovakia, Romano mentioned that he was thinking of attending.
Although Spain knew that he wanted to do so more to heckle Slovakia than to cheer on Netherlands, the former conquistador was still adamant that his Lovi do anything else. There was no one else playing that day, so Span offered up other suggestions.
"Why don't you, um, go cheer up America? He looks like he could use it…"
Romano had given him an incredulous look. "Why would I do that?! The hamburger bastard isn't my friend! Besides, the vodka bastard's got it covered." Which was true. Russia could be seen patting America on the back as the camera recorded the blonde's humiliating defeat against Ghana.
So, Spain tried another strategy. "Well, um, you could try and cheer up England…or congratulate Germany…or make fun of England for losing to Germany"
He knew for a fact that the first two options weren't viable as he said it aloud, but hoped that the last one would be tempting.
Romano had given him that look again. "Your perverted friend is more than happy to keep the tea bastard from drinking himself into a depression."
France had scooped up a sullen Britain and planted a long-lasting kiss on him as a 'consolation prize' as Spain was told by his chortling friend later. England had sworn colorfully on live television and chased the Frenchman around all of Bloemfontein.
"Plus, he and the hamburger bastard can sulk together. And why the hell would I congratulate the potato bastard?! I'm pissed that my stupid brother is happy for that jerk and that Canada is treating his douchebag brother to beers! Where's the justice in that?!"
In the end, Spain resorted to begging his Roma not to go to Durban to watch Netherlands play against Slovakia.
"Please, Lovi~! I promise I'll give you a lifetime supply of tomatoes and pasta if you don't go!"
Romano had raised a brow and chuckled. "I doubt that's possible. Fine, I won't go, but I will watch it on TV. Happy?"
Ecstatically so, and Spain expressed it with dozens of kisses.
After spending the day with his team, Spain returned to the hotel to find Romano grinning triumphantly. At first, he thought Netherlands had lost and was prepared to celebrate, but as it turned out, Slovakia had lost.
"Ha! I knew karma existed!"
To Spain's relief, however, Romano was kind enough not to praise Netherlands and stuck to crowing about Slovakia's defeat. Once it was out of his system, he focused on helping Spain get motivated for his upcoming game with Portugal.
"That port wine-drinking copycat is going to look so stupid when he loses. Make sure you stop being a good sport sap for a few seconds to rub it in his stupid face when you kick his ass."
Spain wished he had his Lovi's optimism. The truth was that Portugal always made him a bit…self-conscious. His older brother never seemed to support Spain and nothing he did was ever good enough. Spain knew that he ought to not care and to try to smooth the rift between them, but he could never forgive Portugal for taking England's side rather than his.
Besides, Portugal knew way too many blackmail-worthy stories about him for Spain to ever truly be comfortable around him.
Regardless, he did his best to keep his anxiety to himself.
He had a strong suspicion that he wasn't fooling his Lovi, though.
{~/~/~}
Later that evening, Romano may or may not have suggested to Britain that he make a batch of scones for Portugal as a way to wish the other nation 'good luck' in his game against Spain.
Either way, he was satisfied when Portugal couldn't play the next day due to a stomach virus. Without that bastard around to make Spain uncomfortable, meek, and borderline ass-kissing, he was able to play well and win the round, no problem.
Romano didn't fess up, however, and let himself be smothered by Spanish kisses.
The things he did for his idiot boyfriend.
{~/~/~}
Spain was happy and relieved to have defeated Portugal without even having to play against him, leaving him on cloud nine for the next few days. He happily sung 'happy birthday' on the phone with his Roma to some country whose name he couldn't remember and helped his Lovi go shopping for this nation.
"We won't be able to give Canada his gift until after FIFA is over, but I'd rather find something now than later."
Spain didn't know who Canada was, yet he was giddy to explore South Africa with his lovely Italian. He ended up buying all kinds of native knick knacks for himself, his boyfriend, and their Silvia, whom they were forced to leave behind under the care of Finland, Sweden, and Sealand (to Romano's displeasure, but Spain wasn't comfortable leaving Silvia by herself).
Romano ended up buying a decorative set of silverware made of genuine silver for this Canada guy. Spain tilted his head at the high price tag.
"Shut up, jerk! Don't be getting any ideas!"
"But Lovi, I didn't say anything…"
They spent the next day, the 2nd of July, at their hotel, swimming in the pool and enjoying the spa. Spain didn't care how Netherlands did in his game against Brazil and didn't want his Roma to care either. He piled their day with all sorts of activities so that they were nowhere near the TV, yet later learned that Netherlands won.
Bless his Roma for cheering him up by taking him out to a nice dinner.
The next day was Spain's turn to go against Paraguay.
"Don't worry, Lovi," Spain exclaimed as the two got ready in the morning. "I'll avenge you by leaving Paraguay in the dust!"
"You do, and I'll let you hug me for as long as you want without punching you."
Spain was eager to win that prize.
"So, if you decide to join your brother in watching Germany and Prussia play, please hurry back in time to watch my game, ¿sí?"
"Why would I want to watch those krauts?! I hope Argentina kicks their ass!"
"Then what will you do until my game starts?"
"Nothing…"
"…Are you going to hang out with Netherlands?"
"What?! No! Why would I do that?!"
"Well, um, he's not playing today, and, um, I don't know, maybe you wanted to treat him to drinks since he won yesterday and all…"
"…I'm not going to do that, you jerk."
"Then what are you going to do until my game? Because it doesn't sound like you'll be doing nothing…"
"Are you calling me a liar?!"
"No, no, Roma, it's just that, well, you look like you have something in mind that you want to do…"
"Well, I don't and that's final!"
{~/~/~}
Romano may or may not have wanted to spy on Paraguay.
He was annoyed that his ditzy Spanish boyfriend caught on to the fact that he was up to something and reluctantly decided to join Italy in Cape Town. That meant that he had to board a 2-hour plane ride if he wanted to make it back to Johannesburg to watch Spain play against Paraguay.
But it made Spain happy. For some reason, the cheerful Spaniard was under the impression that Romano was planning to see Netherlands, hence his need for secrecy.
The pot bastard rarely crossed his mind during these past couple of weeks, but Romano knew that he needed to be somewhere Spain could be comfortable with.
So, he went to Cape Town with his stupid brother. He grumbled as he sat with the hyperactive Italian and a grinning France. On the bright side, Canada, Japan, and Greece were there, too. France and Canada were there to cheer on Prussia while Italy and Japan showed their support for Germany. As it turned out, Greece was there because Japan was there.
"It doesn't matter to me who wins," Greece explained to him. "I just figured Japan could use some company while he cheered for Germany." Romano found that suspicious since Japan sat there rigidly and quietly, stoically letting Italy excitedly shake him now and then.
Romano caught up with Canada, who explained that he'd been busy going between America and Prussia these past few days.
"Al is kind of in denial that a 'hero' like him lost, but Russia's been giving him a little tough love." He and Romano winced at the thought. "And Gil's happy that he and Germany have made it this far. He thinks that they'll win."
Romano snorted. "He and the potato breath can try."
They all watched Germany beat Argentina, and then Romano was dragging his idiot brother to the airport the second the game was over.
"Ve~ But fratello! I want to congratulate Germany!"
"Tough titties! Send him a text!"
Italy reluctantly did so before they boarded their plane.
Luck was on their side and they reached Johannesburg with time to spare.
"Where are we going, Romano? Our seats are this way!"
"I know, idiota! We're just going to check on our good friend, Paraguay!"
"Ve~ I didn't know Paraguay was our friend! How cool~!"
"Don't you know sarcasm?!"
Of course he didn't, but Italy was more than happy to join Romano in spying on Paraguay even if he didn't know that's what they were doing.
They were caught by Germany of all people.
"What the crappola?! I thought we left your sorry ass in Cape Town!"
"You did, but I quickly came here when Italy mentioned that you two were coming here." Germany was calm as he manhandled them away from Paraguay's locker room. Romano was definitely not pouting. "I figured you two were bound to get into trouble, but I never would've expected this. Are you trying to convince Paraguay to sit the game out so that you can play instead?"
"But-But Germany!" Italy pleaded. "You've got it all wrong! We didn't go and watch soccer, we swear! We watched you play the whole time! We just got here!"
"Yeah," Romano chimed in. "We just went to go see Paraguay!" He didn't care for Germany's skepticism, so he added, "What?! So it's a crime now to go check on other people?!"
Germany didn't call him out on his bullshit and merely deposited the two in their seats. Since he stayed with them, Romano couldn't sneak away to spy on Paraguay (and possibly sabotage him).
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary.
Clearly Romano's presence was enough of a good luck charm because Spain ended up winning. He cheered loudly for his triumphant boyfriend and for the defeat of that swamp-loving weirdo, Paraguay. Italy almost shouted as loudly as he did, to Germany's dismay since he sat in-between the Italian brothers.
Romano gave zero shits.
Once Romano was able to make it onto the field, Spain quickly spotted him and scooped him up, shouting with glee that he avenged his amor.
That night, Romano let Spain hug him for as long as he wanted.
Spain didn't let him go until three days later when Netherlands defeated Uruguay in the semi-finals and he had to express his outrage.
Honestly, Romano found it rather impressive.
{~/~/~}
It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for Spain to stop clenching his jaw.
He hated that he was so upset about Netherlands' victory against Uruguay, especially since things were going so well in the days beforehand. He played a good game against Paraguay and ended up winning for his tomate. He was overjoyed to have avenged his amorcito and was eager to collect his prize.
True to his word, Romano didn't complain or punch him when Spain hugged him and didn't let go for the following three days. Spain was in a state of bliss that couldn't be broken by anything or anyone.
He despised that the perro had taken away his happiness and that he let him take it away.
"Quit sulking, you jerk! If you keep it up then you'll be too distracted to defeat the potato bastard!"
"I'm not sulking," Spain was quick to deny as he put on a smile. "I'm happy, see?"
Romano wasn't convinced. The two were currently outside the locker room within the Moses Mabhida Stadium in Durban. They were minutes away from the semi-finals game between him and Germany. The rest of the Spaniard's team were within the locker room getting ready, the nations having stepped out into the hallway for privacy.
Romano rolled his eyes before cupping Spain's cheeks and drawing him in for a kiss. Surprised yet delighted, Spain's cheeks went pink as he kissed him back. He could admit to whining a bit when Lovi pulled away first.
"Focus, Tonio," Romano gently chided. "Don't worry about shit you can't change. The only thing that matters is the shit that's going on now, and right now, you're about to go out there and show that kraut who's boss. I've got a bet going on that you're going to beat the potato bastard, and I don't intend to lose."
Spain grinned and kissed his Roma's nose. "If my Lovi wants me to win, then I shall."
"Good, because if you don't, then Germany's going to be up against Netherlands in the final found and like hell I'm going to cheer for that potato sucker." He rolled his eyes at Spain's pout. "Relax, if that happens, then I won't cheer for Netherlands either. I'll probably just use the mustache on them and go home."
The thought of the infamous fake mustache had Spain smiling again as he pulled Romano close. "Well, we can't have that. I'll make sure I win just so you can win your bet and rub it in Germany's face. By the way, who else is betting in my favor?"
"Just fuckface France, which sucks because I don't want to have to share my winnings with him! Damn Feli for taking that macho potato's side and damn Canada for rooting for that albino douche and damn Belgium for not wanting to take part in bets!"
Spain was just happy that France decided to put his faith in him. He wouldn't have blamed him if his amigo wanted to root for Prussia and Germany, but it was great that the Frenchman tossed in his lot with him.
"Alrighty then~ One more kiss for good luck, ¿mi amor~?"
Romano gave him two. Spain was a lucky guy~
[…]
Germany was a fierce opponent. Spain was sweating as he and his teammates ran in-between the German players, green eyes on the checkered ball skipping across the grass. The crowd surged with noise around them all, cheers and screams rocking the chairs and charging the air with pure excitement.
And yet, somehow, Spain could swear that he could only hear his Roma's cheers.
"C'mon, Spain! You've got this! Don't let that potato bastard trip you up!"
Spain grinned as the ball was passed to him. He kicked it along the field, weaving between German players as they tried to intercept him. Once he saw an opening, he kicked it to a teammate.
Not a moment too soon either; Germany was pounding next to him, just as sweaty and determined as he.
"Hola, amigo~" Spain called out as he ran along side him. "Having fun? I am~"
Germany didn't turn to look at him as he replied, "I am fine."
"¡Muy bien! Your team is really good!"
"Danke, so is yours."
"¡Gracias! That means a lot coming from you, ¡amigo!" One of the opposing team's players stole the ball from one of Spain's teammates, getting Germany to charge forward. "Oh no you don't! I promised my Lovi you wouldn't win!"
Spain surged forward, managing to just get ahead of Germany and steal the ball that was kicked to him.
"Hey!" Germany shouted in outrage. However, Spain was able to kick the ball to a teammate before Germany's foot shot out.
The two nations tripped and landed in a heap.
The good news: neither were hurt, just dirty.
The better news: Spain's teammate made a goal, winning the round in the name of España.
Spain lifted himself up, using Germany's body for balance, and grinned as his teammates whooped and cheered, louder than even their adoring fans.
Germany's fans either clapped politely or swore colorfully.
"Woo~!" Spain cheered along with his team, laughing as they all rushed over and hugged him.
"Verdammt! Get off!" Germany threw off the Spaniards inadvertently standing on top of him and brushed himself off. "That was completely unnecessary!"
Spain reluctantly pulled himself away from his team to pat the blonde on the back. "Sorry about that. You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Germany~!"
"Spain!"
Both nations turned in time to catch the pair of Italians that tackled them in hugs. Whereas Germany was startled by Italy, Spain was delighted to have his tomate in his arms.
"Lovi~!"
"You did it! You beat the potato bastard!" Romano turned to Germany with triumphant glee. "Suck on that, loser jerk!"
Germany was too busy trying to pry off Italy to notice. "Italy! For goodness sake, get off of me!"
"Ve~ It's okay, Luddy~! You still did really great even though you lost~! That doesn't make you a loser, though~! And hey, I know what'll cheer you up: gelato~!"
Germany groaned and seemed resigned to the fact that Italy wasn't going to stop hugging him anytime soon. "Italy…danke, but I don't need cheering up. The possibility of losing was just as high as the possibility of winning. I was prepared for both. If anything, mein bruder might need some cheering up."
Spain caught sight of Prussia sulking with the German team. France was clearly trying to cheer him up with no success. However, when another blonde with glasses came by and said something while patting the albino's shoulder, Prussia perked up and grabbed the blonde in a hug, smiling widely and laughing.
Later I should remind Prussia that he is still awesome despite that I won.
But for now, he was going to cherish his win. He swooped down to kiss his querido before saying, "Watch this, amor~"
Romano raised a brow which Spain winked to. Then he released his tomate to approach Germany, hand outstretched. "That was a very good game, Germany. You played well."
Germany wiggled an arm free to shake his hand. "Likewise. Congratulations on your win, Spain."
"Thank you~! I wanted to make my country proud, but, mostly, I wanted my Lovi to be happy~ Want to know how else I intend to make him happy~?"
Germany grimaced. "I…don't think I want to know…"
"Too bad~!" Then Spain whipped something out of his pocket and pressed it onto Germany's upper lip. "There~! Lovi, what do you think~?"
Romano stared at the fake mustache pasted onto Germany's face for a solid minute before he burst into laughter, clutching his sides and eventually collapsing onto the floor. "He-He-He l-looks so s-stupid! Big, b-b-bushy m-mustached p-potato bastard! Hahahahaha~!"
Germany stared at the mustache before sighing and grumbling beneath his breath. Italy patted the blonde's head. "Ve~ Don't worry, Germany. You can still eat gelato even with your new mustache~!"
"…Gut."
Spain heartily chuckled and drank in the sight and sound of Romano's beautiful laughter. I finally got him to laugh~! That's even better than winning this round~!
{~/~/~}
It took an embarrassingly long time for Romano to stop laughing.
Worth it though.
He managed to stop laughing long enough to take a picture of that sorry loser Germany with his big, bushy mustache and program it as the jerk's profile pic in his contacts.
Needless to say, it's been a good day.
Romano wouldn't dare say aloud, but he was fiercely proud of Spain. Not only for defeating Germany (which was such a bonus), but for playing so well. He was marveled to see how focused his boyfriend was during the game and how he seemed to command the attention of his team.
The game had been enthralling and borderline nerve-wracking, yet held amazing results.
I can't believe my idiot boyfriend is off to the finals now…against Netherlands.
Romano had winced at the tag-along thought. He hoped that the match would be good for venting the tension between them rather than distract the two from playing at their best.
Whatever. They'll figure it out.
Spain's team wanted to get drinks to celebrate. Romano thought that was premature, but figured he shouldn't be too surprised since they were all ditzy Spaniards.
His own ditzy Spaniard was game and invited Romano to come along. The Italian declined yet promised to take him out the next day.
In the meantime, he spent his evening getting gelato with Feli and the potato bastard, happily rubbing in Spain's victory between licks.
[…]
Romano not only treated Spain to a celebratory lunch the next day, but he kept his Spaniard busy the next few days with an itinerary of fun ideas for them and for their friends. The plan was to keep Spain from thinking too hard about his upcoming finals match against Netherlands.
The plan might've worked a bit too well because Spain seemed to forget all about it until the day of. He seemed to remember during the ceremony beforehand where a pretty lady named Shakira performed.
Romano caught Spain looking pensive, which was alarming on all levels. Spain caught him looking and offered the Italian a small smile.
Rolling his eyes, Romano said, "You'll be fine, idiota."
Spain was caught off guard by Romano's intuition, yet had sighed and morosely asked, "How can you be sure, Roma? I'm not sure if I can handle it if Netherlands beat me."
"If he wins, then we'll sneak into his greenhouse and paint all his tulips black."
A laugh startled out of Spain. "Why black?"
"So his tulips won't have color anymore." Then, after a moment's hesitation, Romano slipped his hand into Spain's, giving it a light squeeze. "Relax, Tonio. No matter what, you'll do great. No matter what, we'll go home, see Silvia, and throw a party later. All our friends will be there, and we'll have tons of churros and tomatoes."
Spain perked up at the thought. "Can we not invite Netherlands?"
Despite rolling his eyes, Romano wryly smirked. "We can personally call and tell him that everyone will be invited but him."
Spain laughed, his nerves and doubt knocked away with each shake of his shoulders, as he picked up Romano and spun him around. "¡That sounds magnifico, mi amor! I can't wait~!"
Rather than yell and demand to be put down, Romano grumbled, "Just shut up and dance with me, idiota…and baciami, mio conquistatore."
Spain was more than happy to oblige.
[…]
Romano shared his front row seats with Italy, Germany (unfortunately), France (ugh), Prussia (somebody kill him now…), Canada, and Belgium. The other nations were scattered about the stadium, putting bets on Spain and Netherlands.
The game was intense.
Both teams kept pulling fouls and there were a couple of close calls. Romano's heart seized every time the ball got close to Spain's or Netherlands' goals.
It would be a while before one got past the goalie.
Italy clutched at his arm, only letting go now and then to cheer for 'Big Brother Spain.' Romano allowed it this once because he needed to clutch his brother in turn. When Italy turned to Germany for support, Romano grabbed onto Belgium.
Luckily, she didn't mind.
Belgium loudly cheered for both teams, yet it was mostly for Netherlands; Canada did the same, except more quietly so. Everyone else in their row cheered for Spain, even Prussia who seemed to be over his sore loser-ness.
Romano didn't cheer at all. Not for a lacking of wanting, but because he was so focused and on edge that he remained in his seat. Partially because the game was so fanatical, but also partially because Romano half-expected Spain and Netherlands to get into a fight.
The tension between them filled up the entire stadium. Romano could practically see lightning between the two whenever they looked each other's way.
Being up close was worse.
At some point, Netherlands had the ball and Spain chased him down. He shouted a couple of things in Spanish while Netherlands replied something in Dutch. Even though he likely didn't understand, Spain was still offended and kicked his foot out. Netherlands lost the ball and the two went tumbling down.
They were fine, the bastards.
Extra time was given as the game dragged on. Romano was restless with the need for someone to win so that he could be put out of his misery and deal with the aftermath.
If Spain won, Romano was going to kiss him breathless.
If Spain lost…Romano was still going to kiss him breathless, even if it made it look like it was out of pity.
Netherlands actually came close to winning a few times. Romano and Belgium's grips on one another tightened as the ball sailed towards the goal, only for it to veer off or be stopped by the goalie.
For fuck's sake! Will somebody just win already?!
The feeling was mutual as the energy of the crowd increased as each minute passed.
"C'mon, Lars! You can do this, big brother! Don't give up! Go, Spain!"
"Nice shot, Netherlands…you too, Spain!"
"Ve~ ve~ ve~! Go, Big Brother Spain~! Go! Go! Go!"
"Scheiße, Italy! Stop screaming in my ear!"
"Kesesesese~! Go, Toni! Kick that pot-head's ass!"
"Go, Antoine! You've got this, mon cher! Win the bet for Big Brother France!"
Romano didn't join in, keeping his eyes on his Spaniard.
Spain was starting to get tired. His movements were growing sluggish, and his tan skin was slick with sweat.
Romano wasn't worried, per say, just…frustrated. C'mon, tomato bastard. Don't tire out now. You could still win this.
As if hearing his thoughts, Spain turned to him, and the two made eye contact. Romano offered his boyfriend the lightest of smiles and raised his hand halfway in greeting.
Spain beamed and nodded at him before turning back to the game. With a renewed surge of energy, he shot forward and managed to steal the ball from a Dutch player. Netherlands immediately tried intercepting him, yet Spain maneuvered around him, causing the pot bastard to trip over his own feet.
For the first time since the game started, Romano sprang to his feet as Spain drew closer to the goal. C'mon…c'mon…c'mon…
Romano gasped when Spain kicked the ball over to one of his teammates, who swiftly kicked it to the net.
The Dutch goalie missed.
The stadium exploded with cheers.
Romano was frozen for a moment until the announcer screamed Spain's name. Then he widely grinned and whooped with joy.
Spain's team was dog-piling onto the guy who made the winning shot, but Spain was turning to him, running to him.
Romano met him halfway, and the two caught each other. Spain hugged him tightly and spun him in circles.
"You did it!" Romano gasped out. "You won!"
"I know!" Spain exclaimed before dipping him for a passionate kiss that electrified him.
Romano managed to recover long enough to say, "I…I'm proud of you," before the others were on them. Italy tackled a stunned Spain first, followed by France and Prussia. Soon, Spain was laughing and accepting congratulations.
It took a bit of finagling, but Romano was eventually able to free himself from the hug-fest. Germany and Canada offered him a sympathetic look before Prussia yanked them both over to join in on the hug.
Confetti was showering them. Romano watched it all for a moment, soaking in the cheers and chanting of 'España' over and over again.
Then he looked for Netherlands.
He found the pot bastard standing a bit away from his team, letting Belgium fret over him and try and dust some of the dirt off of him. Once Romano was sure that Spain wasn't looking, he meandered over to them.
Netherlands caught sight of him first. "Hello, Romano. I'm surprised you're not celebrating with Spain." There was a bit of distaste in his tone when he said Spain's name, yet it was the usual dislike rather than any bitterness.
"Meh, I'll do it later. Just wanted to say that you didn't do half bad."
Netherlands inclined his head in thanks. "I appreciate it. Don't expect me to offer the same sentiment to Spain, though."
"I wasn't expecting you to."
"I'll do it," Belgium cheerfully offered. "The two of you played very well today. I'm so proud of you, big brother! I'll make you waffles later to celebrate!"
Netherlands didn't exactly smile, but his straightforward expression seemed to lighten up a bit. "Can you do it tomorrow? I'm going to make sure my team knows that they did well."
"Of course~! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to congratulate Spain real quick!" With a wave, Belgium skipped off to the hug-fest.
Romano sighed and shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Her funeral." Then he turned to Netherlands. "You planning on getting high with or without your team?"
Netherlands tilted his head. "I don't intend to share my smoke." His mint-green eyes briefly glided over to where Spain and his team was. "Won't Spain be annoyed if he catches you talking to me?"
"What? Trying to get rid of me already?" Netherlands raised a brow. "I think he's too happy to care right now. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually comes over to shake your hand and congratulate you."
Netherlands' nose wrinkled with distaste. "I hope not."
Romano roughly chuckled. "Tell you what, I'll cut him off if he tries."
"I'd appreciate it."
"Yeah, yeah. So, seriously, good job today. Even if you didn't win, you still did better than the potato bastard…and beat Slovakia for that matter."
Netherlands was classy enough to not point out that Romano was only happy about the latter because of Slovakia defeating him before. "Nice to know that I beat that dictator and his cocky brother…and Czech's whipping boy."
Romano burst into laughter before jutting his hand out. "You're alright, pot bastard."
Netherlands shook his hand once. "Same to you, Italy Romano."
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go celebrate with my idiot. I'll send Matteo over in a bit, though it looks like Japan will keep you company in the meantime." The small Asian man seemed to be heading over, a squabbling Greece and Turkey at his heels.
Netherlands inclined his head. "See you around."
"Ciao." Romano then headed back towards the cheering group. Spain hadn't even noticed that he had left, which was a relief. The Italian didn't feel like dealing with any sulking.
(And he may or may not have wanted to avoid raining on Spain's parade.)
Romano's lips briefly turned upwards at the wide smile on Spain's face as friends and fans alike surrounded him and his team. The screaming and cheering had diminished slightly in sound yet not in enthusiasm.
Romano had a feeling that things were going to be loud at Spain's place for a while.
As Spain spotted him and scooped him up, pressing kisses to his face, Romano found that he didn't mind too much.
So, fun fact: it took me two days to write out this chapter. I say two days loosely, however. The first day was more like an hour of writing before I got tired and fell asleep. The second day was nine non-consecutive hours of nearly non-stop writing in which I finished maybe half an hour before midnight.
The planning and research for the FIFA World CUP 2010 was meticulous and took several days whereas the execution was a manic frenzy fueled by excitement and blue Mountain Dew.
I suppose there's a silver lining to quarantine if it means results like this—about 6,500 words in one sitting.
Anyways, I didn't watch the FIFA World Cup back in the day, so I can only hope that I didn't screw up anything major.
See y'all next time!
Translations:
Spanish
novio- boyfriend
amorcito- little love
mi tomate- my tomato
mi amante hermoso- my handsome lover
perfecto- perfect
¿sí?- yes?
mi amor- my love
perro- dog
amigo- friend
Hola- Hello
¡Muy bien!- Very good!
Gracias- Thank you
querido- dear
magnifico- magnificent
Italian
fútbol- soccer
fratello- brother
idiota- idiot
baciami, mio conquistatore- kiss me, my conquistador
Ciao- Good bye
German/Prussian
Danke- Thank you
Verdammt- Damn it
mein bruder- my brother
Gut- Good
Scheiße- Shit
French
mon cher- my dear