48. Just for the Day

Date Written: April 1, 2019

Date Posted: March 28, 2020

Characters: Veneziano, Romano, Spain

Summary: Romano and Veneziano trade places for the day. While Romano gets to work closely with the government, Veneziano stays at home and tends to the garden.

Notes:

Veneziano must have been infected by America's poor taste in movie synopses; however, American movies were somewhat more palatable than this.

This was somehow worse.

"You can't expect me to do this. I am not doing any of this." Romano rudely gestured to what appeared to be a hastily scrawled list of chores inscribed onto off white paper. Over the centuries, both brothers had been educated by the best scholars of their shared nation, which resulted in handwriting many envied and aspired. However, the hasty scrawl showed no sign of rigorous, meticulous practice. Instead, Veneziano's handwriting looped and swirled in an incomprehensible manner that reminded Romano of Russian Cyrillic. Cursive Russian Cyrillic, to be frank.

"But," Veneziano sang out, "you promised to keep an open mind!" He clapped his hands together. "And—" He continued with the aplomb of a very young child, "—you lost the best and my word is law, so you have no choice." The completely innocent look on Veneziano's face did little to dispel the apprehension that raised the hairs on the back of Romano's neck.

"You literally can't expect me to feel better by…" Romano let out a deep groan of disgust as he slumped over their shared dining room table. "...whatever thing you're getting so hung up about."

"It's just for the day! Switching places, doing each others' work!" The younger brother whined childishly. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Romano could honestly say that his blood pressure skyrocketed by how easygoing his brother was in regards to the absurd appeal.

"You're going to regret it," Romano warned. With his luck, he would run their government to the ground and possibly ruin whatever international relations they had.

Veneziano waved away his concerns. "Ve~! I believe that everything will be all right."

.

.

.

Everything was not all right.

Veneziano had spent the better part of his morning trying to reorganize the house, take care of the garden, and to figure out what to make for dinner, but—! It was just too tedious and nerve wracking to even think of touching Romano's Room of Hopes and Dreams. Now, Veneziano was the last person on earth to even think about being scared of his older brother Romano. They had been through a lot together, as most Nations could attest, and their shared history allowed for the both of them to get to know each other within the realm of politics to the fields of war, which virtually erased any hints of fear that Veneziano may have felt before their eventual union.

No, what was really nerve wracking was figuring out how to explain to his brother that more than half his belongings deserved to be donated to museums without making him cry. Most of the objects were old, and while obviously handled with care and love in the past, were practically allowing dust to gather all over the once pristine surfaces. Not to mention the fact that all of the miscellaneous mish-mash of culture and history was cluttering Romano's room. Where would all of Romano's hopes and dreams be if there was no more room? There was simply no other solution than to—

"Achoo!" Veneziano sneezed. And then he sneezed again. And again.

The young man's eyes watered from the forceful sneezing. At that moment, he considered asking Germany for help, but… A cascade of dust began to fall from the heavens (how did that happen?) and the Italian resolved to talk to his brother about this later. There was absolutely no way that he could even hope to make a dent in what appeared to be a gigantic, looming monolith of the hoarding situation that was Romano's room.

Well, he could try to garden…

The garden behind their house in the countryside was well maintained and prosperous. Although Veneziano had a hand in some aspects of the maintenance (allocating money in the budget for supplies and whatnot), he rarely dirtied his hands with manual labor. Although… Centuries before he had become a trader of spices and gold, he had been a series of lagoons who had been a lowly fisherman. From the beginning, he had never been a man of the land—not at all like his brother.

As a Nation, he wasn't at all inclined to be a laborer, his people might have had a little experience, but… Veneziano shook those negative thoughts as he turned to the internet to help him with his new task. After retrieving various sources of information and glancing at paragraphs upon paragraphs on the subject of gardening, Veneziano thought he would have been ready at that state.

He pulled on a pair of gardening gloves, walked to the flower bed, and—

"Hola, mi amigo! Que tal?"

Veneziano looked up from his crouched position and gave a jaunty wave. "Estoy bien, España!" He returned to him in his natal tongue, with Spain following suit. "I'm gardening today!" He held out a weed that he found and proudly displayed it to his fellow Romantic Nation.

Spain, their lovely neighbor to the west whistled a low, melancholic tune before he crossed the boundary and into the garden. Years of conquering smaller Nations and other various activities now considered illegal and unethical had him gracefully approaching the Italian.

"Amigo," the Spaniard began in an uncharacteristically hesitant manner, "I don't think you should be trusted with this."

The Italian frowned.

Veneziano knew that Spain meant well, really, he did, but it was just so hard to keep a polite composure. There was also just a twinge of guilt that twisted his insides and had his olive toned complexion flushing a bit in anger. Just why was Spain here anyways?

Veneziano said as much and Spain replied, "Well, Romanito kind of said something about your place and he was… very particular that I make sure the garden…" Spain's voice trailed off. There really was no need for any further discussion. When you have lived for so long and you've known your neighbor for almost the same exact amount of time, you just seem to get things. Veneziano may not have been close to Spain, but his brother was.

Flat tones did not suit the Italian's normally cadenced pitch. "He doesn't trust me."

Awkwardly, Spain brushed the back of his head while he tried his utmost not to be too intimidated by his neighbor's deadpan stare. "I didn't say it like that! And Romano definitely did not say that either!"

Veneziano sighed, at a loss for what to do. On one hand, he wanted to kick Spain out and then call his brother. He briefly wondered if he would end up yelling obscenities or just plain crying. Neither of those options were appealing. Or, he could approach this like a mature adult and then sulk like a child behind closed doors.

Oh, what to choose.

He gestured to the expanse of the garden and nodded at the Spaniard.

"Teach me?" His cheeks began to color like ripened tomatoes as he faced the garden in dismay. "Just… just for the day?"