The Legacy Anthology

by sailorgreywolf

This is a series of stories that is meant to be read in conjunction with Legacy, which is my story about Mexico's life. These were originally written for prompts or short oneshots on my Tumblr. Treat these an expansion for Legacy. It is divided by character. The characters are in alphabetical order, the stories are roughly chronological.

8. Chapter 8: Cuba

1522

The room was darkened, and Cuba had to be careful not to knock over anything so that he would not wake New Spain. He walked over to the bedside and sat down in the chair there.
He heard his new friend whimper as he took the cool cloth from his forehead and dipped it back into the cold water. Cuba felt sorry for the little boy, he had gotten so sick in the last couple days. The fever was burning through New Spain's little body. Cuba remembered that he had also gotten very sick upon exposure to Spain. He remembered it being bleak and lonely to not know anyone, to struggle with the language, and to feel like his body was dying. He did not want New Spain to feel that same despair, so he was waiting on him as well as he could.

Spain had not asked him to; Spain had wanted to assign servants to nurse New Spain. There were still servants who came to the room from time to time, but Cuba was only one who stayed consistently.

He found the little Aztec boy so fascinating. Stories had come back to Madrid about the kingdom Spain had encountered on the mainland. They had all been exaggerations of barbarity and riches, but Cuba had not been certain what was true and what was not. He had thought Aztec's son would be imposing and stern. He had not expected a little boy with a sweet smile and big innocent eyes. Cuba had already found himself caring deeply for his little friend. It was impossible to dislike someone so sweet.

As he placed the cloth back on New Spain's forehead, the other's eyes fluttered open, and a very small smile turned up the corners of his lips. He said, still tripping over the unfamiliar language, "You're still here."

Cuba had been there when New Spain had fallen asleep and he had watched the last fitful hour of sleep because he did not want to be gone when New Spain woke up. He couldn't help but smile back, and he said, "Do you feel any better?"

New Spain bit his lower lip like and Cuba felt for a moment like the boy was thinking about whether he could say what was on his mind. He didn't want any sort of fear between them. He would not tell Spain if a scared child said something that he was not supposed to say. He said, "You can say it. I won't tell anyone."

He felt a pang of unhappiness at the thought that New Spain did not trust him yet, but he reminded himself that they had only known each other for a short time. New Spain seemed to believe him, because he said, speaking slowly to find the right words in Spanish, "I feel so alone."

The words sent a cold spike straight through Cuba's heart. He was trying so hard to be there for the other, so that he knew he was not alone. But, before he could ask what more he could do, New Spain continued with his thought, the pauses between his words still painfully long, "I have never slept alone. My Mama-"

Tears came to his eyes and he didn't finish what he was saying. But, Cuba understood what he was trying to say. He was lonely because he had no one to hold him and make him feel better.
That, at least, he could remedy. There was no danger of him catching the sickness that New Spain was suffering, because he had already been ill when he had arrived. Without a moment's hesitation, he said, "I'll hold you if you want." The other shook his head, "You'll get sick." Cuba said immediately, "No, I won't. I can't be sick like that again."

New Spain nodded and pulled back his blankets so that the space next to him was open. Cuba laid down next to him, so that he was looking directly into the other's wide gold eyes. He reached up and adjusted the wet cloth that had almost fallen off New Spain's head when he had turned it to look at Cuba.

The smile returned to New Spain's face and he spoke again, "I've never met another boy like me. Where are you from?"Cuba thought about how to explain it without a map to a person who would be confused by anything more than limited Spanish. He settled on saying, "I am an island in the ocean. I am close to you. It's a short boat ride from your home."

The other's smile widened even further, and the sight made Cuba smile back. He felt the smaller boy put his arm carefully around him, still hesitant. But, it was very warm, and Cuba felt the warmth go straight to his heart. New Spain said, "Then we are neighbors! What is it like here?"

Cuba answered as honestly as he could, though he was not sure what he could say to be comforting, "It is not bad. It is very different from home, but you will get used to it."
New Spain nodded and pulled himself even closer. Cuba couldn't tell if he had made the worry any better, but he liked the feeling of having the other holding onto him. New Spain said, tiredness slipping into his voice, "Will you be my friend?"

Cuba nodded and put one of his arms around New Spain's little shoulders to pull him closer. The other looked up at him, his eyes big and earnest, and said, "Do you promise you always will be?" Cuba was about to assure New Spain that they would always be friends when the other said, "Mama said only bad people lie and break promises."

Cuba pulled him even closer so he would feel secure and said, "I promise we will always be friends." New Spain smiled as he closed his eyes again and murmured as he fell back to sleep, "Thank you."

As Cuba looked down at the little boy holding his feverish body against him, and he felt a profound need to help and protect this innocent child. He stroked his hair, which was wet with sweat, and hoped that the fever would break soon, so they could have fun together.

16th Century

New Spain shook Cuba awake and said in his heavily accented Spanish, "Carlos, the sky is falling!"

Cuba was groggy and the words made very little sense. How could the sky be falling? He said, sleep still heavy in his voice, "It isn't." New Spain shook him again, this time with more force. He was wide awake and there was nothing Cuba could do to get him to go away. New Spain said, "Come see!"

With a groan, Cuba let the smaller boy pull him to the window. He wiped sleep out of his eyes and looked out to see what was so apocalyptic. Outside the window, snow was floating gentle down, and a layer had already settled on the ground.

He said, still attempting to wake up, "That's just snow, Ale." New Spain looked confused and his eyes were wide, "What is 'snow'?"

Cuba took a moment to realize that his friend had only been in Madrid for a few months and had never seen winter. He remembered that winter back home in the Americas had been wet, not cold. He searched for the right words to explain and managed to say, "It's like rain, but cold."New Spain looked doubtful, but he finally said, "Can we go touch it?" Cuba felt the infectious wonder and he smiled at the other, "Only if you get dressed first."

It took little time for New Spain to pull on clothing and rush to the nearest door to the outside, with Cuba following on his heels. He knew that New Spain was not wearing enough clothing for the cold, but he was impossible to stop.

Cuba had no choice but to follow the boy and make sure he didn't get himself in trouble. But as they reached the door, an all too familiar voice spoke behind them, "Stop." New Spain turned with fear in his eyes to face Spain. The man who controlled both of them walked towards them imperiously.

When he reached them, Spain kneeled down in front of New Spain, and said, "You will get sick if you go out there dressed like that." He pulled a fur-lined coat that Cuba had not noticed he was holding over New Spain's shoulders. Then Spain kissed New Spain softly on the forehead before saying, "Now you may go outside." As he watched, Cuba felt one of Spain's servants put a coat over his shoulders to.

New Spain rushed to the door and pulled it open. Cuba followed him out. He wasn't about to miss his friend seeing the snow for the first time. New Spain was shivering as soon as he was outside. But, he bounded to the nearest snow and stuck both hands in it.

Cuba waited for a moment until New Spain recoiled like it had burned him. Cuba laughed, "I told you it was cold!"New Spain turned to him and said, placing unnecessary emphasis on every word, "It is the coldest thing I have ever felt!"

Unable to contain himself, Cuba let out another, louder laugh. New Spain ruffled, offended by being laughed at. He retaliated by reaching down and grabbing a whole handful of snow, which he then threw at Cuba.

16th Century

Cuba walked back from one of his many lessons. It was miserable to spend time in a room with an overbearing priest who did not accept how quickly he was learning. He just wanted to return to his bedroom and escape it.

He opened the door to his room and did not understand initially what he was looking at. At first glance, he thought that some earthquake had stripped the beds. It looked like both the blankets from the beds had been strung between them to create a space in the middle that was covered. All the pillows were piled inside like columns to support the blanket roof.

Cuba stepped closer and New Spain's head emerged from the tangle of blankets. Cuba could only imagine what idea had gotten into roommate's head that had led to this.
New Spain said, "Come see what I made!" He looked so earnest and excited. Cuba smiled at his infectious enthusiasm and decided to duck under the blankets.

Once inside, he could see what New Spain had done. He had put one blanket on the floor so that it was comfortable to sit. He had also used the pillows to support the top. New Spain was sitting in the middle of his own little castle, holding a blanket and looking resolutely at one section of the ceiling.

Cuba said, "You were busy."
New Spain nodded, "I thought I would build us a castle and we could stay here today. Do you like it?"

Cuba was certainly impressed by how much his little friend had been able do on his own. But he did not understand why New Spain was still holding a blanket and looking thoughtful. He said, "I like it. Do you want to make it bigger? A castle should be big." New Spain nodded and said, "I want to use this one-" He held up the blanket "- but I ran out of pillows."

Cuba thought about this. They did only have their pillows in this room, and that might not be enough to support any bigger building. But, they weren't the only pillows in the house. He said, slowly, "This is an intricately constructed blanket fort. It'd be a shame if it went to waste."

He chewed on his lower lip as he though. He said, "You know, Francisco and his brothers have gone out for the day. So, no one is in their room."

New Spain got his meaning and a mischievous smirk appeared on his face. He said, "You are a genius! Let's go get some pillows!"

He put down the blanket and crawled out from under the blanket fort. Cuba followed him as he left the room and walked down the hall to the door that belonged to Peru and his brothers. With one last conspiratorial look, New Spain pushed it open.

Cuba felt his heart beating fast. This was their own little secret mission, and they might get in trouble if they were caught.

New Spain turned to him and put his finger to his own lips, making it clear that they should be completely silent. But, Cuba couldn't help but giggle as New Spain snuck over to Peru's bed and grabbed the pillows. He looked like the smallest, cutest saboteur.

Cuba walked over to Bolivia's bed and did the same. With pillows in hand, New Spain nodded to him and led him back to their own room with no one knowing about their theft.
Minutes later. they had used the pillows to prop up the weak parts of the blanket fort. They used the last two pillows to make the floor even more comfortable. New Spain used the last blanket to drape across the entrance to close them off in their own world.

Then, satisfied with that done, he laid down on the floor and looked at the patchwork of blankets above him. New Spain patted the spot on the ground next to him impatiently. Cuba found it cute that he was so determined.

He laid next to New Spain and looked over at him. He was smiling and that erased any of the frustration of his tutors being harsh. This was the best way to spend a day.
New Spain said, "How long do you think we have before Francisco wants his pillows back?" Cuba shrugged, even if his companion could not see it. Then he said, "I don't know. Maybe a couple hours?"

New Spain laughed, "We don't have to give them back, do we?" Cuba shrugged again. He knew that Peru would be annoyed, but it didn't seem like it mattered at all.

He replied, "We might get in trouble for taking them. If we put them back before they get home, no one will know." New Spain put up his hand, "Promise me that it will be our secret." Cuba linked his pinkie finger with New Spain's and replied, "I promise."

Late 16th Century

Cuba rolled over to see New Spain stealthily getting out of bed. The little boy was sneaking over to his chest of drawers where he kept his clothing. He watched and slowly rubbed his eyes as he watched New Spain pull on enough clothing to keep himself warm.

Cuba glanced at the window to see if he had mistaken the hour. It was definitely still dark out. There was nowhere that a little boy like New Spain could be going in the middle of the night. He whispered, "Where are you going? It's late."

New Spain looked over at him and flashed him a mischievous smile. He pressed his finger to his lips and said, "Shhh…I'll be right back."
Cuba was not happy with the answer and repeated more insistently, "But where are you going?"

Before he could get a satisfactory answer, New Spain slipped quietly out of the door. Cuba was forced to sit in his bed and hope that his friend would come back soon and not get caught doing whatever he was doing.

He stared out of the window, and noticed that there was snow drifting down. It was a very pleasant winter night, and he hoped that it would be able to stay that way.

He thought that maybe he should have gone with New Spain, just to make sure that his friend was not getting himself in trouble. He was older and should have been more responsible. But, he couldn't change that now. He wouldn't even know where to look if he were to follow New Spain.

After several quiet minutes, he heard the quiet noise of little feet outside the door. He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. If New Spain was back now, then he could be sure that he would not get in trouble.

He watched as the boy's head poke back into the room, with an even wider smile that spoke of mischief. Cuba said, "Get back here and tell me what you were doing!"
New Spain nodded and walked over to Cuba's bed. He said, "No one saw me. Don't worry."

Cuba did not find that particularly reassuring. But, as New Spain squeezed in beside him, he found it impossible to be mad.

Then, New Spain produced a linen napkin from inside the shirt. When he unfolded it, he revealed little squares of marzipan as well as pieces of candied fruit. Cuba gasped and said, "Where did you get those? It isn't Christmas yet."

Sweets were usually given out sparingly, and only on holidays. Spain said that temperance was good for the soul. It may be winter, but Christmas was still at least a month away.

New Spain smiled again and said, "Tony told me that he was having a party. I knew there would be leftover sweets in the kitchen, and I know you like marzipan."

Cuba had a sweet tooth, and his best friend knew it well. He took one of the squares of marzipan and put it in his mouth. It had such a lovely flavor of almonds.
He said, the sweet paste still sticking to his teeth, "Thank you. You're so clever."

New Spain took one of the candied fruits, his own personal favorite, and put it in his mouth. As he sucked the sugar from his fingers, New Spain said, "Are you happy?"

His wide eyes were fixed on Cuba like he was looking for approval. Cuba laughed at how seriously his little friend seemed to be taking a few pieces of marzipan and fruit. He replied, "Yes, I'm very happy."

The broadest, happiest smile broke across New Spain's face.

Later 16th Century

Cuba had felt anxious all day because he had chosen to tell Spain about Colombia's escapades with his roommate. He felt in his gut that it had been the right thing to do, because New Spain could be so trusting, and it was better to keep him from these kinds of advances.

Spain had promised that he would be gentle and not punish New Spain too harshly for something that was not his fault. Cuba trusted that he had told the truth and would be kind to New Spain.
He returned to his room, hoping that he would be able to see New Spain and ask him how everything had gone. He opened the door and saw New Spain lying on his side on his bed.
He could immediately tell that something was wrong. New Spain's knees were curled up to his chest and he was looking at the wall next to his bed. He didn't seem to hear Cuba opening the door. He at least didn't move or turn his head towards the sound.

He stayed where he was, and Cuba had to wonder if he was asleep. But, that was not the position that he slept in, so that could not be the case. Cuba was concerned that something had happened. Perhaps Spain had not been as gentle as he promised he would be.
Cuba said, "Ale, are you awake?"

New Spain moved, only enough to shift his position, but not turn to look at his friend. Cuba did not understand. New Spain usually greeted him with teasing and smiles, not this cold quiet. The boy's voice was barely audible as he replied, "I'm awake."

There was nothing else, just the long silence where Cuba had expected an explanation. He felt the concern growing. His usually talkative friend was dead silent, and it was making him uncomfortable. He walked over and sat on the edge of New Spain's bed.

Even though New Spain was a perfectionist, he had not thought that Spain's scolding would effect him so much. Spain had always treated the boy like his favorite, and Cuba had thought that would mediate his punishment.

He said, trying to get some reassurance, "Are you okay? Talk to me, please. Tell me you're okay." New Spain shook his head and said, "I am -" His voice caught in his throat and it sounded like he was about to burst into tears. He couldn't get the sentence out, and he pulled his knees closer to his chest as he tried to speak.
His eyes had not moved off of the wall, but they were slowly filling with tears. He finally managed to say, "I can't say that."

Cuba's heart hurt. He hadn't meant to cause New Spain this pain. He wondered what could have possibly happened in Spain's office to make New Spain act so strangely. He asked, his voice as soft and gentle as he could manage with his growing concern, "What did Antonio say?"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say because New Spain curled in on himself more. New Spain said, still looking at the same blank spot, "I can't tell you." Cuba replied immediately, "But we tell each other everything." New Spain shook his head again, harder this time. He said, "Not this. It's better if you don't know this."

Cuba wanted to hold him at least, if he could not know what was wrong. He brushed one hand against the arm that was closest to him, hoping that it would be comforting. But he could feel New Spain shudder against the touch and pull away. New Spain said, "I don't want to be touched."

Though Cuba could not see it, he could hear that his friend was crying now. He couldn't understand what was happening. New Spain always wanted physical comfort when he was sad. When he had his nightmares, being held was always enough to get him back to sleep. He habitually gave casual physical affection, little kisses on the cheek and hugs. How could a boy who liked all of that be running away from affection when he seemed so hurt?

The terrible thought came to him that Spain had told him who had told, so New Spain knew that Cuba had been the one to tell. Perhaps it wasn't that New Spain did not want affection but that he no longer wanted affection from him.

Cuba said, trying as much as he could to be comforting, "What do you need right now?" New Spain shook his head and said, "I don't know."
Cuba could not stand the thought of moving or leaving this bed. His friend was unhappy and he did not want to leave him like that. He let the silence lapse again as he attempted to think of what he could possibly do or say.

In the silence, New Spain finally turned to him and said, "Do you think I'm bad for kissing Enrique?" Cuba immediately said, "No, Ale, I don't."

He wanted to touch him, and hold him. But, he would respect that New Spain did not want that. New Spain drew in a shaky breath and said, "Could you ever hate me?"

Cuba shook his head, wondering what could possibly have caused these questions. Spain must have been so harsh to him. New Spain said, "Please, stay with me. I don't want to be alone."
Cuba nodded, though he was still confused and laid down on the bed next to his friend and decided he would stay that way as long as New Spain needed him to.

Early 17th Century

New Spain felt like he had just escaped as he walked down the hall. He had told Spain that he needed to return because his roommate would be worried about him and there would be gossip. It had been an excuse, but it was enough to get Spain to let him go of him.

He could still taste Spain's tongue in his mouth and it made him want to gag. Since the first time they had kissed, it seemed that he could not avoid the older man wanting to touch him and stealing moments to kiss him. It felt like Spain was only a few minutes from insisting that they go to bed together, and New Spain was petrified at the prospect.

New Spain balled his hands into fists, trying to disguise the fact that they were shaking. He felt like he might cry as he thought about the way Spain had been touching him.

He had no idea how late it was, but the sky outside of the windows was inky black. It must have been later than he realized.

He placed his hand on the door handle and pushed it open. He wanted to finally get back to his room and be safe.

Opening the door let a sliver of light into the room, and Cuba stirred in the other bed. He sat up and looked blearily at New Spain. The fact that he had woken Cuba made him feel a bit more guilty. He had been trying to be quiet and unobtrusive.

Cuba said, sleepily, "Do you know how late it is?" New Spain nodded and said, "I know. I'm sorry that I woke you."
Cuba sighed and asked, "Were you with him?"

New Spain felt a cold chill race down his spine at the question. Was Spain's new infatuation so obvious? He had tried not to show anything around the other colonies. He knew he could not answer the question honestly. Spain had already made it clear that he would get rid of anyone who got in the way. If Cuba knew the truth, then he would definitely react and Spain would do something to him.

New Spain realized he was standing stock still in the doorway, terrified of saying the wrong thing. He tried to find words to lie, and only managed, "What do you mean?"

Cuba groaned and laid back down. He said, sounding frustrated, "You know what I'm talking about. The whole court knows. I thought you would at least tell me. so I don't look like an idiot when I say that you aren't like that."

Then he turned on his side and seemed to try to go back to sleep.

New Spain felt his heart drop. It couldn't be that everyone already knew, when it felt like a secret shame to him. He felt like he was hardly feeling his limbs as he walked over to his own bed and sat down. He couldn't imagine what as already being said about him.

He felt all of the feelings he was trying to repress coming up at once. Even his best friend believed that he was having an affair with Spain, and the feeling of betrayal stung. The tears he had been holding back started rolling down his cheeks.

He let out a sob and realized a moment too late that he should be stifling the sound. Cuba turned back to look at him, and said, "Ale?"

New Spain couldn't summon another lie. Before he could say anything else, Cuba got out of bed and came over to him. He sat next to him on his bed and put one arm around him.
Cuba said, now seemingly awake, "I'm sorry. That was too harsh. If you are happy with Antonio, then I'm not mad. I just wanted you to tell me."

Now that New Spain had let himself start crying, he could not get himself to stop. He managed to get out between sobs, "I am scared."

Cuba's eyes widened. He said, "What are you scared of Ale?" New Spain looked at him, and realized that he couldn't possibly say more or else he would risk losing his friend.

Cuba asked, sounding even more worried, "Are you scared of him?"

New Spain shook his head and replied, "I can't tell you." Cuba looked pained, but he nodded and hugged New Spain closer.

-1916-

Cuba took a deep breath and looked at his best friend, trying to find the right words to say. It could not be clearer that he was struggling. His hair was chopped short, there was stubble on his chin, and there were deep dark circles under his eyes.

Mexico was not someone to look this rough. He had never been vain; that was another unfair accusation hurled at him. But, he had always been meticulous about himself.
Cuba said, hoping that Mexico would understand, "How long have you been like this?" Mexico didn't even meet his eyes as he said, "Been like what?"

His tone was hollow, like it would have been sharp or witty but there was nothing behind it. It sounded like he was out of emotion to spare.

Cuba felt himself biting his lower lip as he tried to find the word to say it. He decided on, "How long have you been in this much pain?" Mexico shrugged and countered, "How long have I been gone?"

While he waited for an answer, he poured himself another drink. Cuba had already noticed that he was drinking more than he ever had before. It could not be an indication of anything good.
Cuba said, dryly, "It's been six years."Mexico stared into his glass without taking a drink yet. He said, like he was barely speaking to anyone else, "Has it been that long?" Cuba tried to be gentle as he said, "You didn't start feeling this way when you left."

He had spent enough time while he looked for Mexico wondering what he had missed, because his friend must have been in a desperate place to leave in the middle of the night and vanish without a trace. He hadn't seen any of it and that thought had haunted him. He was Mexico's friend and he should have known.

Mexico looked up at him, and it was clear from his bloodshot eyes that he was not sleeping well. Cuba was struck by how lost he looked. Mexico said, "I couldn't say when it started…."
He trailed off and started to wring his hands together. He continued, "It has been little pieces. I lost something with Max, but that wasn't it. With Porfirio, I couldn't live like that anymore. I-"
He broke off, and he shook his head. Cuba wanted to push further for his own satisfaction of knowing what he may have missed. But, he saw that it was painful and he wouldn't continue for his own sake. But, Mexico finished his thought without any prompting, "I don't think the rest of the world needs me. They only want to use me and I am done being used."

Cuba didn't need Mexico to say America's name to know who he was talking about. But, it hurt his heart to hear it.

Mexico wiped away a stray tear that had escaped with the back of his hand. It reminded Cuba, for a moment, so strongly of when they had been children. He had to say, "Ale, I still need you."
Mexico put the glass aside with the drink still untouched, which Cuba took as a small sign of encouragement.

As soon as his hands were free, Cuba took them firmly in his own. Cuba said, trying to keep his tone calming, "I remember when we met you were so sad and alone in the world. Do you remember that?"

Mexico nodded. Cuba squeezed his hands and continued, "I know you feel like you are alone again. But, you weren't then and you aren't now. I will be here for you."
Mexico's eyes met his own, and then the smaller man let out a pained sob. Cuba pulled him into a tight hug. He hoped this was the start of something better.

1916

Mexico woke to a slightly panicked voice saying, "Ale, wake up! Wake up!" He opened his eyes and emerged from one of his most terrible dreams that plagued him.
Reality returned slowly in the dark room that was so like the one where the memory had happened. He tried to focus on the moment, instead of the feeling of hands against him and that old hopelessness when he knew that he was trapped and that a simple 'no' would not be enough.

Slowly, his mind was able to focus on the face of his best friend right in front of him. He could see every line of worry in Cuba's face, and it brought him back to the present. That, at least, made the feeling of touches disappear.

As the feeling of the place and time came back, his stomach felt like it flipped. There was a sudden, terrible surge of nausea. Mexico had no idea whether it was the memory of the dream turning his stomach, or his sudden sobriety.

He sat up, and felt Cuba's hands still firmly holding his shoulders like he was afraid he would run. Mexico pulled in a shaky breath and attempted to steady himself. He closed his eyes and attempted to swallow down the nausea.

But, that only brought back the vivid feelings of the dream. He could feel the hands tight on his wrist and the lips on his neck. The urge to vomit came roaring back. He could feel his hands starting to shake.

Cuba took his hands firmly in his own and said, "Are you here with me?"

Mexico opened his eyes and saw his best friend looking at him with concern and compassion in his eyes. For a moment, Mexico was able to fight down the terrible sensations and focus. He wanted to cry or vomit, or both.

He said, trying to let Cuba bring him back, "I'm here. I-" He cut off as he attempted again to repress the feeling of sickness. It was stronger than his willpower in the moment, and he broke down and said, "I need a drink."

He knew that would at least settle his stomach and stop some of the shaking. And, if he drank enough, it would stop any dreams. That had always been the reason to drink: enough made the feelings and the dreams fade. Cuba squeezed his hands and said firmly, "You do not. You need to stay with me. It will pass if you wait."

Mexico wanted so badly to leave the bed and find a bottle of mezcal. At any other time in the past five years, he would have done exactly that. But, he had made a promise to Cuba, and he intended to keep it.

He took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He said, his voice coming out unexpectedly strained, "I'll stay."
He felt suddenly absurd. He had been a country for a century, a terrible century, and here he was sitting on a bed with his closest friend, like they did when they were children. Yet, at the same time, it was so horribly different.

Cuba said, his voice calm and measured, "What were you dreaming about? You were pleading in your sleep." Mexico wanted to tell him, but speaking it aloud would be a terrible thing. He had never brought it to his lips, and had no intention to.

Cuba said, gently, "Was it about Antonio?" Mexico replied, feeling like this was little enough to admit to, "Yes, it was." Cuba continued, squeezing his hands affectionately again, "What did he do?"

That was a step too far, and Mexico could not say it. The memory was bad enough, and having to say it was even worse. There would be no way to keep the tears back, and he could not cry now, not after holding it back for a century. He shook his head and felt the shaking in his hands intensify.

Cuba seemed to understand what that meant. He reached out and pulled his smaller friend into a hug. His voice was soft in Mexico's ear, "You don't have to say it. I understand."
It felt warm and safe in his arms, like they were still children and he could chase away all the demons. Mexico cuddled closer against the other's chest and began to feel a bit better.
Cuba leaned back onto the pillows, not releasing the other for a moment. Then, he pulled the blanket back up around his friend's shoulders.

Mexico said, "I wish I didn't have these memories. They're never going to fade. I'm always going to feel it." He heard the visceral pain in his own voice, and he hated it for every little bit of weakness it betrayed.

Cuba ran one big hand comfortingly over his shoulder and said, "You aren't alone. I will be here when you feel like you can tell me." He paused briefly before adding, "It doesn't make you weak to feel."

Mexico put his head against the other's shoulder and closed his eyes. It felt safe right here, with strong, caring arms around him. He let himself start to drift back to sleep

1920s
Cuba was sleeping on a bed in one of Mexico's spare rooms. He was sleeping very uneasily. He found it hard to close his eyes when he knew that he would immediately be filled with anxiety about his friend as soon as he did.

It had only been a short time since Mexico had returned to the capital, and his mental state was only slowly recovering. Stopping the fighting, drinking and reckless sex had been an important step, but it had failed to cure everything that was wrong with him. The pain ran so much deeper, and Cuba couldn't help but worry about what demons Mexico was fighting in his own head.

Cuba could feel his own exhaustion dueling with his desire to stay up another night and watch over Mexico. As he laid with his eyes closed in an imitation of sleep, he tried to decide what to do.

In the silence, he could make out the sound of soft footfalls in the hallway, followed by the jingling of the tags of a dog.

His eyes shot open. Mexico was awake and trying to sneak around. It was just the presence of his faithful pets that had given him away. There could be no good reason that Mexico was walking through the house in secret.

Cuba quietly got out of bed and followed the sound of footsteps. He eventually found Mexico in the kitchen opening a cabinet gently so it wouldn't make a noise. He pushed the contents of the cabinet one way and then the other, like he was searching for something. Cuba was pretty sure he knew what he was looking for.

He said, "Ale, why are you up?"
Mexico's shoulders fell as he realized that he was not alone. He turned so that they were facing each other and he said, "There used to be a bottle of tequila right here."

He pointed to the spot where he had been looking. Cuba sighed and replied, "I know. I got rid of it." He had known that Mexico would have trouble being sober, and it had seemed logical to him to get rid of the temptations. It had been a bottle of expensive tequila, but he had not felt bad about throwing it away.

Mexico said, looking like he wanted to be angry but didn't have the emotion for it, "Why? It was my tequila."
Cuba looked at him as sternly as he could and said, "You are supposed to be recovering."
Mexico's eyes were full of pain as he said, "Screw recovery. I want a drink."

Cuba took a deep breath to calm himself and then took a step towards his friend. He said, "Tell me what is on your mind. It will feel better if you talk about it."

Mexico's defensive demeanor fell as a spasm of pain passed across his face. He said, like he was still trying to hold himself together, "I was thinking about Max"

His facade cracked as tears started forming in his eyes. Cuba closed the distance between them and pulled Mexico into a hug. He already knew what the second emperor meant to Mexico, and how painful the thought of him must still be.

He felt the smaller man return the hug and start to shake. Mexico said, his head against Cuba's shoulder, "He died because of me. I loved him and I couldn't save him."

Cuba said, rubbing his back comfortingly, "You did everything you could. You can't blame yourself."
He could feel moisture on his shoulder and he knew that Mexico was crying.
Mexico pulled in sharp breaths and said, his voice shaking, "I still miss him so much. I can't be sober on the anniversary of when he..."

Mexico trailed off into sobs, and Cuba hugged him closer. Cuba said, "You are strong enough for that day. I promise you that you are. Let me take you back to bed."

—

1955

Cuba took several gasping breaths as he tried to catch his breath. Training to fight was so much harder than he had expected it to be. The strain was pulling at every muscle in his body, and he was currently wondering how anyone did this easily. He had spent too long being someone else's subject, and he needed to learn to fight if he was ever going to escape it.

He put his hands on his knees and tried to pull in a breath. Over the sound of his own labored breath, he heard footsteps as Mexico walked towards him. He looked up to see his best friend looking concerned. Mexico said, "Are you alright?"

Cuba tried to straighten up to assure Mexico that there was nothing wrong with him. But, he let out an involuntary groan as he did. He didn't want Mexico to think he was weak, especially now that he was making this effort to train him. The fear came that Mexico might start to think he wasn't capable.

He said, "I am just tired."

He didn't know what to expect from Mexico, but what he got was a compassionate smile. Mexico spoke, and his voice sounded so kind when he said, "You have been working hard all morning. It's normal to be tired."

He extended a hand to Cuba, who gladly took it and finished straightening up. His body was complaining after so many days of hard work learning how to shoot a gun with precision, how to fight with just a knife, or no weapon at all.

But, it was worth every pain for the giant he was looking to topple. No one had defeated America in recent memory, and facing the prospect of ridding himself of his interest would be difficult. But, Mexico, beyond being his best friend, was the last person to blacken American's eye and he knew how to fight better than anyone in the Americas.

He let Mexico take him by the hand and lead him to a chair. Cuba sat and felt some relief. Mexico released his hand and said, "I am going to get you something to drink."

As he walked away, Cuba looked after him. Mexico looked like he had healed so much in the years since he had found him falling apart. He smiled now, and that was a good change.

As Cuba sat there, he couldn't help but let his mind slip back to himself. He so wanted to be free of America, who ruthlessly drained every drop of income that he could. This had no been what he thought being free of Spain would be like. He had hoped for so much, and it had all come to nothing. But, if he could get away from America, then perhaps he could start again.

But, then the thought came back that he was hoping for something that could never happen. He was a little island who hadn't been able to fight Spain on his own. What hope did he have to defeat America, who was so strong now?

He felt the doubt coming back so strongly. Mexico reappeared with a cup in his hand, which he tried to offer to Cuba. But, he saw that Cuba put his head in his hands.
Cuba ran one hand through his hair, which he was growing out for the first time in a long time. Mexico told him that it looked handsome with his hair longer. Cuba had noticed his friend wanting to touch it more often, and he took it as a good sign.

His fingers caught in the curls. He didn't even notice that Mexico had knelt in front of him, until Mexico reached out and took his free hand. Cuba said, staring down at his friend's fingers on his hands, "If I can't do this, how will I ever win?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his confidence dropping, and he hated to show this side of himself in front of Mexico. Mexico spoke, his voice was firm, "Look at me."
Cuba looked up and met his eyes. There was a fire in the depths of his eyes, playing off the gold flecks. Mexico had a steady intensity that held his attention and made it impossible to look away. Mexico said, "You are strong and determined, and you will succeed."

Cuba nodded. Mexico continued, "I pushed you too hard. You are doing so well." The words, spoken so firmly, made Cuba feel like they must be the truth.
A small smile turned up the corner of Cuba's mouth. He said, "Thank you, Ale, for everything."

Mexico gave him one more warm smile and said, "Let's take the rest of the day off. It won't hurt to let you rest." Cuba nodded one more time.

1956

Mexico looked across the room at Cuba, who currently had his shirt off and was unbraiding his hair, which he had put up for the night. As he worked, Mexico could see the rippling of the muscles in his back. His skin was so smooth and beautiful and every movement showed the muscles underneath.

He had gotten so muscular working hard during his Revolution. Mexico bit his lower lip as he contemplating his friend's new physique. He was glad that it wasn't all hard muscle though. He loved how soft and comfortable Cuba had always been, and him getting stronger had not changed that. But he did look so handsome.

His work was going slowly and there was still pieces braided and curling against the back of his head. Mexico smiled a little at how it looked. The curls were so unruly and Cuba was clearly still not used to this length.

Cuba turned around and noticed the smile. He asked, "What are you smiling about?"Mexico said, "Come here, let me brush your hair."

Cuba smiled warmly and walked back to the bed. He spoke as he walked, "Just be gentle." Cuba settled himself on the side of the bed and turned the back of his head to Mexico.
Mexico moved closer and took one of the braids and started to unbraid it and run his fingers through the curls to make sure they weren't too tangled. The braids had clearly been an imperfect solution, because there were still plenty of tangles.

The tangles caught on his fingers and he tried to gently pull them apart. He said, "Tell me if it hurts."Cuba responded, leaning his head back a little, "It doesn't. That feels nice."
He loved the feeling of Cuba's soft hair around his fingers. It had been so short their whole childhood, and he had never had a chance to run his fingers through it before. And it was so soft and beautiful.

Cuba smiled and said, "You have very gentle hands." Mexico was certain it was a compliment and he took it as such. He slowly tried to work a single set of tangles around his fingers, but he was so aware of how much it might hurt if he pulled too hard. He very gently teased the tangle apart with his fingers.
He spoke, "Your hair is so beautiful. Why didn't you ever grow it out before?"

He suspected that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it. Cuba replied, "Antonio never let me. He said it should be short all the time." Mexico believed that. He had also been subjected to Spain's whims about his hair. He knew it must have been just as bad for Cuba. It was even worse considering how much longer Cuba had been a colony. He had been subjected to some of Spain's worst period.

He prompted, "And Alfred?" That was no great mystery either, especially to scoffed, "I think you know. He told me it made me look like 'one of those people' if it was too long."
His voice dripped with scorn as he recounted America's words. Mexico started on another of the braids as he said, "You don't have to listen to either of them anymore. You're free." He combed his fingers through the curls of the section he had just unbraided. Cuba let out a low appreciative groan. It must have felt good to have the tension released.

Cuba said, "I'm thinking of doing something different with my hair." Mexico paused with his hand still buried in the soft curls. He said, "Please don't tell me you are going to cut it off again. I may cry if you cut it off." Cuba laughed and said, "No, I am not going to cut it. I was thinking of dreadlocks."

Mexico was surprised, but he was not going to try to dissuade his friend. Freedom meant that he could do what he pleased with his own appearance. Mexico was also of the opinion that Cuba would look handsome whatever he chose.

He started on unbraiding the last section of hair and said, "Will it make you happy?" Cuba seemed to contemplate nodding before remembering that he should keep his head in place. Instead, he said, "Yes, I think it would." Mexico finished untangling the last section of his hair and said, "Then I support you doing it. You are so handsome that anything will look good on you." He finished by running his hand through the now loose curls.

1960

Mexico heard the phone ringing from the other room, and guessed that the call was from America. That knowledge made him walk slowly, half hoping that he would miss the call.

Since their last fight, he had been in no mood to talk to America. Once he was closer, he heard someone else pick up the phone. There was a pause and then a voice said, "It's a call from Havana."

Mexico took the few remaining steps quickly. He knew now that he gladly wanted to take the call. He took the phone in hand and said brightly, "Carlos! How are you?"

He wound the curled cord of the phone around his finger. There was not enough room for him to make it all the way to one of his many couches and chaises, so he leaned against the desk. It was not as comfortable as he would like, but there was not a better option. He made a mental note to move the phone.

Cuba spoke on the other end of the line, "I want to see you. You should come see my home now. Everything has calmed down since the Revolution."

Mexico smiled at the warmth that he could hear in his friend's voice. It was so much sweeter than how he had sounded before the revolution. It made him feel like every decision he had made to help his friend escape America's yoke had been the right one.

He smiled to himself. He would like to see how life was settling down for his friend. He replied, in a tone that made sure that Cuba would know he was not serious, "Alfred says I'm not supposed to be associating with communists."

The response came in a playful tone that mirrored his own, "Since when do you listen to what he says?"

Mexico laughed to himself. He had already made himself the promise that he would not let America dictate what he did. They had patched their relationship back together during the second world war, but his autonomy and his friendship came first. He could also not be bothered to care about the ongoing contest between America and the Soviet Union. It seemed to him that it was a facade for them to continue their own imperialist ambitions.

America had given Mexico a long lecture on why he should not associate with Cuba. Mexico replied, "If he wants to throw a fit, then I will tell him that you're more important than him anyway. Keeping us apart doesn't prove his dick is bigger than Ivan's anyway."

Cuba responded, still sounding quite happy, "Thank you, Ale. I miss sleeping with you."

Mexico looped the cord of the phone. He said, "I miss you too, Carlos."

He meant every word of it. He felt like he had been away from Cuba far too long. There was a long pause and then Cuba said, his tone more serious, "Thank you for not abandoning me, Ale. You're very important to me."

Mexico took a deep breath and said, completely earnestly, "I wouldn't choose anyone in the world over you. Not Alfred, not anybody."

There was a short silence and Cuba added, "And I don't know for sure, but I think Ivan's dick is bigger."

Mexico chuckled, "You would say that."

—-

1960

Mexico woke from a nightmare with a jerk. As he looked around the room, he slowly remembered that he was visiting Cuba and the unfamiliar room belonged to his best friend.
He took a deep breath and leaned back against Cuba's chest, and tried to calm himself. It was such an old memory and such an old nightmare.

He heard Cuba's breathing change and he sighed to himself. His moving had disturbed his friend. Cuba said, sleepily, "You say the scariest stuff in your sleep."
Mexico sighed and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He felt Cuba's hand on his hair, gently stroking it. It was a gesture of comfort that he remembered it well. He leaned against Cuba's hand. Cuba said, "What was the nightmare about?"

Mexico shook his head. He didn't want to admit what exactly the dream was about. He could already imagine what Cuba would say once he knew what was bothering him. He chose to say, "It isn't important."

He didn't want to have that conversation quite yet. Cuba sighed and responded, "I know it was about Alfred. I heard his name."

Mexico chewed on his lower lip as he tried to think of what to say. The truth was that it had been about the years before the Revolution, and the strain that America had put him through. He took a deep breath and said, "It was about him."

He felt Cuba put his arm around him protectively. Cuba said, "You told me that he had stopped having nightmares about him."

Mexico took another deep breath and tried to think of a way to explain it. He hadn't been lying, but the nightmares had only abated for a little while. He decided it was best to say, "They did stop for a while. Alfred was being so much better."

He meant to continue his explanation. But, Cuba said sharply, "What happened?"

Mexico could swear that his hold was getting even more protective. He didn't mind; he knew what kind of loyalty came with it. He said, "We had a fight over me refusing to cut you off. I don't know if he has really gotten better."

He said the words and they already tasted bitter. He had really believed that the "hero" had learned the pain he might cause with the way he acted. Certainly, during the war America had seemed quite contrite about his mistakes. But, all the anger over Mexico's loyalty to Cuba had reminded too strongly of the earlier America, the one who wouldn't let him have his own government. The memories had come back in the form of nightmares again. It felt painful to admit it to Cuba.

But, he was surprised when Cuba put a hand on his face, and said gently, " I'm so sorry you went through that for me." He gently turned Mexico so their eyes met. Mexico said, "You are going to tell me to leave him?"

He expected that to be the response, and he had heard it many times before. He could see the answer that Cuba wanted to say, but instead he got, "I never wanted you to go back to him. But-"

He paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath that Mexico could feel in his moving chest beneath him. Then Cuba finally said, "I understand that the world isn't that simple right now. Alfred sees any disagreement as a threat, and I know it as well as anyone."

He brushed back a piece of Mexico's hair. He looked like he was thinking about something important, and Mexico didn't want to interrupt. But, he had to say something hen Cuba was being so vulnerable. He said, reaching for his friend's face, "No matter what games Alfred plays with power, I'll be here for you."

Cuba found the right words and said, "If you could leave him and be safe, I would want that more than anything."

He took the hand that Mexico was reaching with and kissed the fingers. Mexico felt an unbidden twinge of guilt. He had chosen to be romantically involved with America, even when he knew how it might go.

Cuba spoke again, "I didn't know if I would mention this to you, but Ivan wants to speak to you. If you aren't comfortable, I will tell him no."

Mexico thought on this for a moment. He only thought slightly more of the Soviet Union than he did of America, and that had only been earned by helping Cuba. But, a conversation was no commitment, and perhaps it was a good idea to speak to the other side. If it could be hidden from America, there was no danger. He replied, "You can tell Ivan that I will talk to him, but don't promise him anything else."

—

The Cold War

Cuba was laying in bed after a long day of work. It had been hard work playing Russia's agent in North America, even if it was fulfilling. He had no personal problem with working to undermine America, but the days left him drained.

He had a book on his lap and was trying to read it without falling asleep. The pillows behind his back were calling to him. His eyes were slowly refusing to stay open.

His concentration was broken by the sound of a phone ringing in the other room. He could get up and answer it, but the energy was hard to muster. If it was something important, there would be a second call and he would answer it then. He let the ringing continue until it stopped.

Then, he turned back to his book and tried to focus on it. He suspected that he was going to remember nothing the next day. He heard a door open and then close. That was enough to force him to get up. He sighed and closed the book.

He looked up to see Mexico leaning against the door frame of his bedroom. Cuba said, shocked to see his friend, "What are you doing here?"

Mexico replied, not moving yet, "I needed company. I called." Cuba let out a sigh as he realized that he had missed that call. He said, "I am sorry, Ale. Good thing you have a key."

Mexico nodded and smiled in a slightly lopsided way. He pushed himself off of the the door frame and the way that he wobbled told Cuba that he was drunk. That made his heart drop. It was never a good sign when Mexico relapsed into heavy drinking.

He flopped onto the bed next to Cuba. It was not unusual for him, even when he was sober. Mexico then pushed the book off of Cuba's lap and settled himself in the spot. For a moment, he absurdly resembled a cat pushing things off a shelf.

Cuba said, as Mexico cuddled up against him, "Why do you need company? Did something happen?"
Mexico's eyes were closed and he slurred his words as he said, "I want to go to sleep but I can't find any sheep. So, I decided that I would rather have a big cuddly teddy bear."

He nuzzled against Cuba's chest and smiled. Cuba felt like this was an attempted dodge. Mexico never got this drunk casually. Something must have happened for him to want to be drunk and not alone.

He said again, "What happened?"
Mexico sighed and didn't open his eyes as he said, "I had a fight with Alfred. He said that if I love him, I wouldn't talk to you. I told him to go fuck himself."

Cuba pulled a blanket over Mexico's shoulders. His heart ached for his friend. America could be so cunning and manipulative, and Mexico tended to withdraw into himself when they clashed. He wished he could be more than a soft place for Mexico to land.

He brushed Mexico's hair with his hand and said, "I'm sorry. You don't have to fight with him for me."
Mexico replied quickly, "Yes, I do."

Cuba wrapped his arms around Mexico and kissed him on the forehead. The smaller man smiled contentedly and snuggled closer to Cuba's chest.

—-

The Cold War

Mexico stepped out into the cold of a mid December day in New York and regretted it almost immediately. It was so cold, and he did not want to be subjected to this weather.

Why couldn't Alfred put the headquarters of the UN in one of his warmer cities? Why did he force anyone to come here when it was so cold? Mexico's tropical heart reacted very badly to this kind of cold.

He shoved his ungloved hands into the pockets of his coat, trying to protect his flesh from the brutal cold. There were small flakes of snow were floating down softly. He let out a breath and it turned into fog in the cold air.

A voice spoke behind him, "You look cold."

He knew the voice and turned around with a smile one his face. Cuba was standing behind him, wearing a thick coat. He looked very warm, certainly warmer than Mexico felt. Mexico said, "I am cold. But I'm happy to see you."

Cuba walked closer with a look on his face that Mexico might think was shyness. He said, "Remember when you first saw snow? You thought the sky was falling."

Mexico felt himself flush a little at the old memory, but it was a pleasant feeling. He replied, "Are you just here to tease me?"

Cuba shook his head, and Mexico noticed the way the snow clung to his dark hair. He said, "I wanted to give you something, since it is almost Christmas."

He pulled a small package out of the pocket of his jacket. It was neatly wrapped in paper and tied with a ribbon. Mexico thought it looked adorable, like Cuba had taken painstaking time to wrap it.

Mexico said, "Can I ask what it is?"

The other man chuckled. There was a wonderful warmth in his face when he laughed that made Mexico feel less cold. Cuba said, "It's just chocolates and candied oranges. I know they are your favorites."

The thought was touching. Mexico was surprised that Cuba still remembered his childhood favorite after all of these years. Cuba continued, "I am sorry I couldn't get you more."
Mexico reached out and took the package. He said, "You don't have to. This is more than enough."

He noticed that Cuba was looking at his hands. Cuba said, "Your poor hands!"

He pulled off his own gloves and put his hands on top of Mexico's. They were pleasantly warm. Mexico said, "Your hands are so warm."
Cuba replied, "I am a natural furnace."

Mexico felt like he was obliged as his best friend to make a joke about him being hot.

But, before he could, America cut in, "Get away from my boyfriend, commie!"

Cuba recoiled and his hand slipped off of Mexico's. He glanced at Mexico. He seemed to be weighing the options. Mexico said quietly, "You should probably go."

Cuba nodded and walked away.

America immediately turned his attention to Mexico, "Why were you talking to him?" Mexico put the present in his pocket before he responded.
Then he said, calmly, "He is my friend."

America scoffed, "He thinks that I am the devil." Mexico shoved his hands back into his pockets, trying to retain the heat from Cuba's hands.
He said, "I'm sure you proved him wrong with that outburst."

America let out an angry breath through his nose, which was obvious in the cold. He said, "What was he talking to you about anyway? The glory of Marxism?"

Mexico replied, trying not to say that America was being completely irrational, "He wished me a marry Christmas and gave me sweets." Privately, Mexico thought America's competition with the Soviet Union was making him paranoid.

America said, with the air of a man saying something obvious, "He was flirting with you." This was a tediously familiar accusation that seemed to come with anything Cuba did.

Mexico shook his head, "No, he was being a good friend."

America repeated, as if making a point, "He was flirting with you."
Then, without waiting for a response, he added, "Let's go inside. It's cold out here."

—

2016

Mexico poured himself another another shot of tequila, while Cuba eyed the bottle with a degree of trepidation. It was rare that he could go through this much alcohol this quickly, and it meant that he was really upset. Like clockwork, once Mexico downed the shot, he said, "He's a fucking asshole, you know that?"

As Cuba suspected, some of the rage slipped out, though he could tell that even more existed below it. Mexico continued talking, apparently carrying on a dialogue with himself, "But you've always told me that, haven't you?" Cuba said, his voice level, "Ale, I have no idea who you are talking about."

Mexico made a face that was very familiar from their childhood together, it was one of profound frustration. He let out a long sigh and said, "Alfred. My jackass of a neighbor. My soon to be ex-boyfriend."

Cuba had suspected as much, but he wasn't going to assume. He had never agreed with the relationship, and these periodic rants did nothing to change his mind.

Mexico started pacing angrily. Cuba didn't need to say anything, as Mexico said, "Do you want to say that you told me so? You've earned it." Cuba could feel his own temper rising, but he kept it in check.

He was forcing himself to stay calm when he said, "When you are upset and you ask to come over, I have two rules. First, I'm never going to say 'I told you so.'" Mexico's expression softened and he asked, "And what is the other one?" Cuba said, attempting to smile comfortingly, "Never let you get more than a quarter of the way through a bottle of tequila."

He then gestured at the bottle, which was getting close to the point where he would take it away for his friends sake. He then said, "Now, what did he do this time?" He added, his tone darkening, "If he hit you, I'm going to kill him."

Mexico shook his head quickly, "He didn't." He paused for a moment and contemplated the tequila before deciding to continue at the same level of drunkenness, "He gave me that whole, 'it's politics; it's not about us' speech. All I ask is that he stands up for me for once. I defend him all the time, and he can't just say something when his politicians start with their shit! He can take that fucking speech and shove it!"

The anger rose in his voice as he spoke, to the point where he yelling. Cuba nodded as sympathetically as possible, he knew what it was like to have Alfred make promises and break them. He said, choosing his words as to not blame his friend, "If he isn't willing to defend you, then he isn't worth the time you are spending thinking about him."

The other sighed and said, "You're right."

Cuba could see the conflict just beneath Mexico's carefully crafted facade. He decided not to push it further. Instead he said, "Ale, do you want to stay tonight? I'll make dinner and we can play cards or chess if you want."

Mexico smiled for the first time since he had come over. He nodded and said, "I'll check with my boss. He might need me tonight." His smile widened a little and he added, "Thanks for listening."

With a kind of sweet recklessness that only he could pull off, Mexico walked over and kissed his friend on the cheek. Cuba tried not to feel the warmth in his cheeks.

Modern

Mexico lounged comfortably against his friend's chest, a slightly drunken smile on his face. He looked incredibly charming without saying a word.

For once, he had not called Cuba expressly for the sake of complaining or ranting. He had just wanted to spend time in the comforting presence of his friend. Cuba usually dreaded seeing Mexico's number on his phone because he knew it meant something had gone wrong. But, it had been a rare pleasant day, and Cuba had enjoyed it.

They had gone to the beach and enjoyed the Caribbean. It was simple, but it gave them a chance to talk. It had been thoroughly pleasant, and now Mexico was leaning against him as the light of the day slowly failed. His hair was wet and sticking to Cuba's chest, but he didn't mind.

Mexico reached up and brushed back a few locks of Cuba's hair and said, "You know what?" Cuba smiled and said, "What?" Mexico shifted his weight slightly before he said, "I don't understand why you are still single. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend."

Cuba lightly put his hand on Mexico's where it was still playing with his hair. Then he said, trying to explain without saying what he really thought,. He didn't dare say the first thing that actually came to mind. Instead, he deflected, "Why does it matter?"Mexico responded quickly, "I want you to be happy." Cuba put his other hand on his friend's shoulder, which was still a little wet with sea water. He said, "Do you think a boyfriend makes someone happy?"

The other scoffed and said, "Well mine haven't. Except for Vicente. But that isn't the point. I have terrible taste in men You deserve someone who will treat you well."

Cuba smiled again, but it didn't feel as real. He had heard enough about the way Mexico's past lovers had hurt him, and he didn't like the idea of Mexico making light of those experiences. If he didn't joke about it, then perhaps he would be able to see that he should leave America.

Cuba replied with, "I am happy with my friends." Mexico shifted again like he was either getting restless or more comfortable, and Cuba wrapped his arm around his shoulders. The sun was setting and turning the skies a deep orange. Mexico, as he was his tendency, refused to let it go, "Didn't you on a few dates with Matthew?"

Cuba sighed. They had been nice enough, but he much preferred to have Canada as a friend. The expectation of romance between them had made them both uncomfortable and strained their conversation. He said, "I don't feel that way about him."

The smile that appeared on his friend's face immediately told Cuba that he was about to say something mischievous. Mexico didn't disappoint that expectation when he said, "I could set you up with someone. Just tell me your type. I know enough eligible single men. But, if you date Fransisco, I will have to stop being your friend."

The last sentence was paired with a slight pout that reminded Cuba of when they had both been children. Cuba said, "You wouldn't do that."
The other replied, playfully, "What?"
Cuba pulled him closer and said, "You wouldn't stop being my friend."
Mexico cuddled closer and said, "You're right. I would be lonely without you."

Cuba decided to avoid the rivalry between Peru and Mexico entirely. He said, "You don't have to worry. I don't find him that attractive."
Mexico's eyes were beginning to close, as he gave in to the tiredness that usually set in when he was comfortable. Cuba knew very well that his friend had nightmares that kept him awake, and these moments of quiet and safety always brought on sleep eventually.

As he unconsciously cuddled even closer, Mexico resembled a tired kitten. Mexico said, his voice full of sleep, "Good, he's a jerk." Cuba ran his free hand through Mexico's hair. He just wanted to make Mexico comfortable enough to that he could get some sleep. He said, "I have enough love in my life."

Mexico's eyes were already closed and he had pulled himself tightly against Cuba's chest, where he had nestled himself comfortably. But, he still spoke, "Of course, you have me."
Carefully, Cuba picked up the other, who had fallen asleep. He leaned over and kissed Mexico's forehead tenderly. He said, quietly so that he was sure that Mexico would not hear him and wake up, "I love you."

Modern

Cuba's phone rang on bis bedside table and the sound woke him. The screen was lit up and a familiar ringtone was sounding. He knew this ringtone well. He had set a specific ringtone for Mexico, so he would never forget to pick up his call.

He was still half asleep, but he picked up the phone and swiped to answer. He put it to his ear as he used his other hand to brush two dreadlocks out of his face and tried to tuck them back into the wrap he wore to protect his hair.

Mexico's voice sounded on the other side of the phone, "Did I wake you up?"
He knew something must be wrong. Mexico never called in the middle of the night unless something was wrong. He replied, slowly gathering himself, "Yes, but it doesn't matter. What's wrong?"

He knew that if he did not ask, Mexico would not immediately say. Years of stubborn independence had made him hesitant to reveal any weakness. There was a momentary pause and then Mexico said, "I just need someone else here, right now."

Cuba knew that tone. He sounded scared. It was amazing how much he could still sound like the scared little boy he had met so long ago. He had won wars and could fight better than anyone Cuba knew, but he could still be scared in these dark hours of the morning.

Cuba hardly had to think about his response. He would never leave Mexico alone to deal with whatever dark thoughts were frightening him. He said, "Don't worry. I will be right over." Mexico's voice came again after another short pause, "Thank you."

Cuba knew how much Mexico agonized about asking, and how relieved he was to be met with compassion instead of condemnation. Cuba got out of bed and pulled a jacket on over his pajamas.

He could get dressed, but he was certain that Mexico would want to sleep again once he got there. At the very least, he would want to be in bed cuddling. There was no point in taking the time to put on clothing that would be less comfortable when it was not necessary. He grabbed his keys and walked out.

He arrived at Mexico's house and pulled out his set of keys. Mexico had given him a set of keys to his home years ago. But, he knew he probably would not need them.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. It opened after the second knock and Mexico looked up at him. His eyes were slightly red, and Cuba immediately wanted to hold him. He looked so upset, and the expression was heartrendingly tragic on his handsome face.

But, instead, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. But, he had barely turned back when Mexico hugged him.

It was so natural to return the hug and let Mexico rest his head against his chest. Mexico spoke, "I'm so glad you came."Cuba responded, "Of course I did. I will always be here for you." He paused for a moment before saying, "Do you want me to help you sleep?"

It was usually the reason that he called, and even if he could not sleep, they would have the chance to talk. He could hold Mexico and let him know that everything would be alright.
He felt Mexico nod against his chest. For all the rampant gossip about his selfishness, Mexico was so bad at asking for what was best for him.

Cuba felt Mexico take hold of his hand and pull him gently in the direction of the bedroom. It was not necessary, since Cuba was well aware of where Mexico slept, but he suspected that Mexico did not want to break contact.

He followed his friend into the bedroom. It was such a familiar place, the soft bed and the half-finished mural over it. Hunahpú and Ixbalanqué, two of Mexico's chihuahuas who looked so much alike that they were indistinguishable from each other, were on the bed.

Mexico only released Cuba's hand to pick up the little dogs and place them gently on the floor. As soon as he did, another of the five jumped up on the bed. Mexico cast a frustrated eye at him. Cuba settled into bed and said, "Ale, come here. Don't worry about the dogs."

Mexico sighed and decided that he would rather be in bed. He laid down next to Cuba and again put his head on his chest. Cuba put one arm around his shoulders and used the other to pull up the blankets to cover them both.

Mexico said, "I'm glad you're here. You are the only person in the world who believes that I am good."
Cuba looked down at him. He was so handsome and so sweet, and so few people understood it. It was terrible that someone who was as genuine and caring as him felt so alone in the world. But, that couldn't be the only reason he had called at this hour.

Cuba rubbed his back comfortingly and said, "What happened?"Mexico cuddled closer, moving from being next to Cuba to being on top of him. Then, he said, "It was another nightmare."
Cuba was about to press for more details when Mexico continued, "It was about Tony. I woke up and I could still feel his hands on my wrists and I could hear him saying that this is what sluts like me deserve."

Tears welled up in his eyes and Cuba could hear the way that his voice was breaking. It broke his heart to hear Mexico like this. He was so deeply hurt, and it was so hard to soothe that. He pulled him more firmly into his arms. He felt like he was trying to protect Mexico from these horrible memories. He knew it was absurd to think that he could do that with just his arms, but he was so compelled to do something.

He said, softly, "Shhh…he isn't here anymore. I am here, and I will take care of you." Mexico tightened his hold on Cuba.

His eyes were slowly closing, and Cuba could tell that he was exhausted. Now that he felt he was with someone safe, his body was quickly giving in to the urge to sleep.

He rubbed Mexico's back and let him get comfortable. Mexico let out a satisfied sound and closed his eyes completely.

Modern

The light came in through the half-closed shutters and Cuba groaned as it hit his eyes. He was warm and comfortable and didn't want to be woken by this intrusion. He didn't even want to open his eyes to see the source of the light, but he knew that the light was not going away.

He opened his eyes and glanced over at the window, trying to measure the distance to the window, and whether he could reach it without actually moving. To his frustration, it was too far.
He reconciled himself with being awake and looked around. Mexico was across his chest with his arms wrapped around a ball of sheets. Cuba was surprised that Mexico's arms weren't not around his arm, because that was where they would usually be. Mexico's had always had the urge to wrap him arms around the closest person when he slept. When they had been boys, it had meant that Cuba regularly woke up with his friend holding firmly onto him.

Cuba looked down at Mexico's face, so perfectly serene when he was asleep. There was a little smile on his lips. So, Cuba thought, it is a good dream for once.

He thought it would be a crime to wake Mexico from a good dream, when he had them so rarely. Mexico mumbled something in his sleep, and Cuba couldn't catch what it was. If he was happy, then it didn't matter.

He thought it would be nice for Mexico to wake up to have breakfast already prepared. Cuba could at least make coffee before Mexico woke up. It would make him smile, and that would be worth it.

He slowly started to move, which was not the easiest task with Mexico comfortably cuddled against his chest. As gently as he could, he tried to move Mexico onto the pile of pillows at the head of the bed without waking him.

He had always been a deep sleeper, but was oddly sensitive to having his comforts removed. If there was one time when he was really entitled, it was when he was asleep.
As Cuba placed him on two pillows, Mexico let out a grumble like he knew his comfortable source of heat was leaving.

Cuba then started to slowly slide out from under the blankets. As both of his feet touched the worn wood floor, he thought that he had made his escape. But, then Mexico grabbed his hand.
Mexico's eyes were still half-closed as he said, "Stay in bed please?"

Cuba turned back to look at him. He was undoubtedly awake now. The look on his face was cute, like he was tired and pleading. Cuba leaned back over and said, "Go back to sleep. I'm going to make you a nice breakfast."

Mexico stubbornly responded, his eyes still not entirely open, "I want you here more than I want breakfast."

Cuba sighed to himself. He would be annoyed with this if it was not so cute. And he was tempted to take the offer and get back in bed. But, Mexico would be happy to have food when he got out of bed.

Cuba kissed him softly on the forehead and then said, "Let me go. I'm not going that far."
Mexico put one arm around Cuba's shoulders and said, "No, stay with me. It's your fault you're too lovable to let go."

Cuba couldn't help but laugh at how Mexico's usual eloquence deserted him when he was still half asleep. But, it was not worth this one-sided argument when one side was still not awake enough to be reasoned with.

Cuba pulled his legs back up into bed and laid back down next to Mexico. The other immediately pulled himself comfortably against his chest, and said softly, "I win." Cuba brushed back a piece of his hair and said,"You're spoiled."Mexico closed his eyes and replied, "But you love me."

With that, he fell back asleep and Cuba kissed him one more time softly on the forehead.

Modern

Cuba had been never particularly enjoyed that world meetings were sometimes accompanied by formal parties, gatherings, and galas. It seemed to be some holdover from when all European politics had been carried out at these kind of gatherings.

Usually, Cuba would turn down the invitations with some excuse. But, they were in Moscow and Russia's invitation was not one he could turn down. The man had been his friend and ally, and turning him down because of his own dislike of formal events was not an option.

But, he would not be without pleasant company because he knew that Mexico had been invited as well, and he was never one to turn down a chance to show himself off in public. He did love to parade his beauty, but Cuba could not blame him. He had always thought that he would show off too if he was as beautiful as Mexico.

Russia had not been particularly subtle about his intentions either. He had winked and said, "You should invite Mexico to come with you. Dance with each other. Enjoy the night. I think you would both enjoy that."

He seemed convinced that their friendship was to his advantage, but Cuba wasn't going to complain.

As he pulled on his pants and a white shirt, he heard his phone vibrate. He picked it up and looked at the text. It was from Mexico. It read, "I'm ready and on my way over."

Carlos smiled at it. They spent plenty of time together, but a night out was always enjoyable. It made the prospect of socializing so much more pleasant.

The phone vibrated again as another text from Mexico appeared. This one read, "I may have overdone it" For a moment, he wondered what that could possibly mean. The next text simply said, "You judge."

Cuba raised one eyebrow at the row of messages like they might explain themselves. But, the meaning remained complete impossible to surmise.

He turned back to finding his tie and started fumbling with it. He managed to get it into a passable knot before he heard the knock at the door. He hurried over to open it. Mexico was standing right outside.

He smiled up at Cuba as he walked in and said, "So, what do you think?" He gestured at what he was wearing and then turned so that Cuba could see it all.
He had on a black suit with a black shirt and vest. The jacket had a raised pattern in velvet that looked like abstract florals. He was wearing a gold tie and a hold handkerchief in his suit pocket.
As stunning as his outfit was, Cuba was drawn to the way the jacket hugged his waist and the way in which the gold in the tie and the handkerchief reflected in his mischievous eyes. It made him need to catch his breath.

Mexico was so stunningly handsome and the way he was dressed emphasized all his best features.

Cuba found himself struggling to find the right words to express what he thought. He said, ineloquently, "You look….wow. Yeah, it works for the gala."Mexico flashed him a mischievous smirk and said, "I'm glad you like it."

Cuba said, trying to pretend that his eyes weren't drawn to his friend's waist and he was not imagining putting his hands there, "I feel under-dressed next to you."
He felt like his plain black suit and black tie looked like he had not made an effort.

Mexico shook his head. He stepped closer and gently took his tie in his hand and started to straighten it and adjust the knot. He said, "Don't say that. You don't need all the embellishment."
He finished with the knot and reached up to touch Cuba's dreadlocks, which were gathered into a ponytail. He continued, "You look handsome and masculine." Cuba scoffed and was about to speak as Mexico add, with a provocative raised eyebrow, "And so sexy."

Cuba felt his face getting hot. Nothing got his blood pumping quite like Mexico calling him sexy. He gathered himself and said, "I will get my jacket and we can go." Mexico nodded and said, "I expect you to dance with me at least once. You are the best partner." Cuba found his suit jacket and pulled it on before saying, "You can have as many dances as you want."

Modern

The streets of Havana were always lovely at night, but Cuba found them even more wonderful as he watched his best friend walk slightly ahead of him. It had been a good night, full of frivolity and dancing.

Cuba wished he could tell Mexico how much he loved watching him dance, but he couldn't let loose that secret, or he might tell him that he wished he could pull him close and slow dance with him.

Mexico was still walking with a carefree music in his step, and it made Cuba smile. His friend was so rarely this happy, especially with current politics. But, in this moment, when he had a few drinks and a night of dancing to cheer him up, there was a light about him that no one could replicate.

Mexico spun around on his heel, and faced Cuba. He smiled and said, "What else should we do? We could get another drink." Cuba shook his head. He knew that Mexico did not have the best relationship with alcohol over the years, and he felt like they were both a comfortable level of intoxicated.

He shook his head, "I think we have both had enough." Mexico pouted, but it was playful, and said, "That's disappointing."

Cuba stepped towards him and put one arm around Mexico's shoulders. He said, "Come on. Let's go home." Mexico leaned against him, comfortingly tactile. Mexico responded, "I don't want the night to be over yet."

With a touch of dramatic flare, Cuba checked his watch. He was well aware of the time, but it was worth a little bit of theater. Then, he said, "Well, it is after midnight. The night is over already."
They started walking again, Cuba keeping his arm around Mexico's shoulders and Mexico slipping his arm around his friend's waist. Mexico looked at him and pouted in the kind of faux disappointment that only he was capable of making endearing instead of bratty.

Cuba had some suspicion that Mexico did not want this to end because he was enjoying the distance from his responsibilities as a country. But, it was so worth the late nights to see him like this. He looked like the weight of the years had lifted off of his shoulders, like he was as carefree as he had been when they were children.

It was the very best side of him, and so few people got to see it. Cuba felt like it was a rare gift that he got to have these moments. He smiled and said, "I promise it will still be nice at home." Mexico smiled and replied, " It always is with you."

Cuba busied himself as soon as he got home, first by stepping into the bedroom and making sure that the bed was in order. He knew that his friend was going to stay the night, and he wanted to make sure that the place felt comfortable.

Then, he took a step into the bathroom and closed the door. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to summon his courage. He had thought long and hard about this, and tonight was a good opportunity. Mexico was single for the first time in quite a while, and it brought a very old affection to the surface.

There was no way to deny that he loved Mexico, and had loved him since they were both very young. He loved his steadfast independence, his wonderful wit, and his kind heart.

He fixed his eyes firmly on his own reflection and said, his voice a whisper so that it didn't carry, "You need to tell him. This is your chance." Then, he took a deep breath and resolved that he was going to say it tonight. He was going to be clear about his feelings for the first time.

He pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the kitchen. Mexico was leaning against the kitchen table with a bowl of ice cream in one hand. Cuba's plans for what he was going to say vanished in a moment and he said, "Did you get that out of my fridge?"

He hadn't exactly been saving the ice cream, but he was surprised to see it. Mexico smirked mischievously and gestured with the spoon, "You should know not to keep sweets around me."

Then he plunged the spoon back into the ice cream and took another bite. He looked so handsome, but there was also something impish and inviting about him. Cuba walked closer and said, trying to sound stern, "Shouldn't you have asked first? What if I wanted to eat that?" Mexico laughed and said, "Maybe. But you weren't here. You can't blame me."

Then, he paused and Cuba felt his own heart stop for a moment in anticipation of what his friend was going to say. Mexico said, his tone softer, "Come here."

Without a second thought, Cuba did just that. Once they were close enough, Mexico offered him a spoonful of ice cream. Cuba opened his mouth to accept it. Mexico smiled and said, "See? I can share."

Cuba had to wait until he swallowed to respond. Once he could speak again, he said, "It doesn't count if it was mine to start with." The shorter man continued to smirk and said, "I thought you didn't believe in private property." This was accompanied by the cutest chuckle and the offering of another spoonful of ice cream.

Cuba was slowly becoming aware of how close they were standing together. It wasn't unusual, but his mind started the usual reminder that he could so easily kiss his friend. He resisted the urge and instead said, "I should get my own spoon."

Mexico waited patiently as he got another spoon from another part of the kitchen and returned. There were a couple of minutes of silence before Mexico said, "I was serious, you know." Cuba asked, puzzled, "Serious about what?"

Mexico let out a sigh that made Cuba think it was something that was actually bothering him. He was looking down into the bowl as he said, "I don't like when these nights end."
He poked at the ice cream like he was trying to distract himself. Cuba felt the need to hug him, and he would have if there wasn't a bowl between them. He asked, "Why?"
Mexico looked up at him and said, "Because you make me happy, and I wish we could be like this all the time."

Cuba felt his heart beat a little faster. He couldn't help but think that if he could just say what he felt, maybe they could have this all the time. But, as he thought about saying it, the words died in his throat. Instead, he said, "You can visit me whenever you want."

Mexico leaned forward, somehow managing to avoid dropping the bowl, and kissed Cuba on the cheek. He was standing on his toes to attempt to be tall enough to reach.
When he settled back down fully on his feet, he said, "I love you. You know I love you." Cuba wished the sentiment did not sound so familial. He would do anything for his best friend, but he wished it could be different. Romance would be beautiful between them.

But, pushing the issue was difficult. And, above all, he was so scared of the idea that Mexico would tell him no. It was too terrible to imagine the damage it might do on their friendship if Mexico rejected him. So, he settled with kissing Mexico on the forehead and saying, "I love you too."

Modern

Cuba was sitting in his best friend's living room, with one of Mexico's prized Chihuahuas sitting on his lap. He was scratching the little dog absentmindedly on the head. The other four were playing on the floor in front of him.

He checked his phone again. The most recent message was from Mexico, who had just gotten back from a long business trip to the Philippines and was on his way home.
Cuba had gladly taken on the task of looking after the dogs while Mexico was away. He knew them well and they seemed to enjoy his company. He had known them all since they were tiny puppies that Spain had just given to Mexico.

The little dog in his lap was wagging his tail contentedly as Cuba scratched his head.

There was the sound outside that Cuba recognized as Mexico returning home. All five of the dogs immediately stopped moving at the sound and turned their heads towards it. The dog on his lap, who had been sitting quietly sat bolt upright, with his ears keenly turned towards the door.

After a couple minutes of weighty silence, Mexico opened the door. The dogs all rushed towards him, wagging their tails excitedly. Cuba only managed to keep the one on his lap because there was such a large distance to the floor and he didn't want the small dog to fall that far.

Mexico looked tired, more so than usual. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was slightly disheveled. But he smiled at his chihuahuas clustered around his feet. He knelt down and kissed and pet each of them in turn. He seemed to be counting them, and then he realized that one was missing.

He looked up at Cuba and saw the last of his dogs on his lap. His smile got even warmer. Mexico walked over to him and leaned down to pick up the chihuahua.

The dog happily flung himself into Mexico's arms. Mexico said, his voice taking on the cutesy tone that he only ever used on his dogs, "How is my little boy? Did you look after your brothers."
The dog was wagging his tail so hard that his whole little body was moving. Once Mexico held him close enough to his face, the dog started licking any piece of Mexico's face that he could reach. Mexico let out a sigh that sounded equal parts happy and exhausted.

Cuba patted the couch next to him to encourage Mexico to sit. The man gladly flopped down onto his own comfortable sofa. He set the chihuahua he was holding back into Cuba's lap, and then reached down and picked up two more from those who were waiting patiently at his feet. Cuba recognized them as the two that Mexico referred to as "the twins."

Then, he leaned heavily against Cuba. He said, his eyes partially closing, "Thank you for looking after them." Cuba smiled and shifted how he was sitting so Mexico could cuddle closer to him. He said, "I am always happy to dogsit. They are good boys."

Mexico was petting his dogs with one hand on each of their heads. He looked very tired and his eyes were slowly closing. Cuba thought he knew why, and he asked, "Did you sleep on the flight from Manila?"

Mexico's eyes were still only half closed as he responded, cuddling closer as Cuba knew he would, "No. I don't sleep when I fly. There are too many people there and I don't like that."

Cuba could have guessed that. somewhere like a plane would not make Mexico feel comfortable enough to sleep. But, it must have been so long from the Philippines and he had not slept.
He snaked his arm around Mexico and pulled him even closer. The dogs scrambled to rearrange themselves across both of their laps. Cuba glanced at Mexico and saw that his eyes were closed entirely, and he seemed so much more comfortable that way. It looked like he had been holding himself up with pure willpower before.

Cuba moved one of the dogs off of Mexico's lap and onto his own, and then he said, "I suppose I am now requisitioned to being a napping spot." Mexico made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, "Mmhmm."

Then he finally gave in to his exhaustion. One of the dogs made a whining noise and prodded at Mexico's hand. Cuba said softly, "Shhh, your dad needs his rest."
Mexico slept comfortably against Cuba for two hours. Cuba found it adorable that the dogs soon either returned to their play or cuddled up next to their dad to sleep. They were so like their dad.

He was perfectly content letting Mexico sleep, and petting the sleeping dogs in their lap. There was nothing cuter than Mexico sleeping with the pets that he treated like his children.
After a couple silent, happy hours, Mexico started to stir. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he woke up. Cuba loved the little gesture, because Mexico had always done it while he was waking up, even when they were children. It was so cute, even now that he was an adult.

He blinked blearily up at Cuba, and seemed to understand what had happened. He said, "… Sorry. I took a nap on you"
Cuba didn't mind at all. He had almost been prepared for it after such a long flight. He squeezed his friend with his arm comfortingly and said, "Don't worry about it. You were tired and you need your sleep."

Mexico was still half asleep and he said, with a smile that made Cuba's heart race, "And you are so comfy."

Cuba took it as a compliment. He kissed Mexico on the forehead. He couldn't help but find him so sweet when he acted like this. Mexico made a happy noise in the back of his throat.
Then he looked down at his dogs, and smiled. Mexico said, "I have missed them." Cuba responded, "And I have missed you. If you will get off of me, I will go make you some dinner."
Mexico leaned back so that Cuba could stand up and he said, "I would like that very much."

Modern

Mexico opened the door to Cuba's house, and swayed slightly. He had a little too much to drink, and Cuba had meant to stop him sooner. He had ordered a few too many shots, and no one else was going to cut him off.

Cuba put one hand on Mexico's shoulder to steady him. Mexico turned around and gave him the warmest smile which made Cuba's heart start pounding.

Mexico managed not to stumble on the threshold, which seemed to be some feat of strength. Certain that Mexico would hardly mind, Cuba dared to put one hand on Mexico's waist and to steer him to the bed. He needed to sleep off his binge, and there was no better place to do it.

Mexico flashed him another soft smile and said, "You're so sweet." He reached up and drunkenly stroked Cuba's face. Cuba was tempted to kiss Mexico, just once softly. But, he had firm standards about not pushing any boundaries while Mexico was drunk.

He sat next to Mexico on the bed and said, "Is there anything else you need before you go to sleep?" Mexico reached out and stroked his arm, and said, "I'm cold. Give me your sweatshirt."

Cuba chuckled and responded, "I have plenty of blankets." Mexico stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout that Cuba found a little too familiar. He knew how Mexico was when he wanted his way; it had been the same since they were boys.
Mexico repeated, "Please give me your sweatshirt." Cuba sighed and took off the garment and gave it to Mexico.

Cuba knocked on his best friend's door, and hoped that Mexico would be home and completely clothed. This visit had been unplanned, but Cuba had been close by and he wanted to take the chance to see Mexico. But, he knew that Mexico wasn't always prepared to have people visit. He sometimes had the tendency to wander around his own house in as little clothing as he possibly could.

Cuba hoped that it would not be the case this time, because it was the middle of winder and there was a chill in the air. Mexico had never been one to suffer even the slightest cold.
As the door opened, Cuba saw that he was right about his friend's aversion to the cold. Mexico was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and pants. His hands were tucked resolutely into the pocket of the sweatshirt.

Cuba said, "May I come in?" Mexico looked up at him and responded, "Of course you can. You are always welcome."

Cuba followed him into the house and found a familiar seat on one of the many pieces of furniture. He knew what would happen and he left space next to him. Mexico almost immediately sat next to him and started curling up against him. Mexico could be so much like an adorable house cat sometimes, and there was something so sweet about seeing how he looked when he had not been expecting anyone to see him.

He was wearing his long hair in a messy bun, and his clothing was surely meant to be comfortable. Mexico said, his head against Cuba's shoulder, "This is such a nice surprise."
Cuba looked at him, and then stared at him for a moment longer. The sweatshirt he was wearing was familiar. Cuba finally said, "Is that my sweatshirt?"

Mexico looked up at him with a mischievous smile, and said, "You caught me."

There was absolutely no regret in his face, and Cuba had not really expected any. He replied, "Did you steal that?"Mexico gasped in a faux shock and said, "You gave it to me!"
Cuba put his arm around his friend and said, "The way I remember it, you asked for it, and you were too cute for me to say no."

Mexico smiled at the compliment, the sort of smile that reminded Cuba how cunning he was, even in these little things. He had known what he was doing when he asked for the sweatshirt. But, he didn't respond. He just smiled knowingly.

Cuba said, "Is my sweatshirt ever going to be returned?" Mexico replied, looking down at the sweatshirt, "If you want it back, I can give it to you."

Cuba heard the word "but…" in Mexico's voice before he even spoke. He was not surprised when Mexico pulled his head into the sweatshirt a little and said, "But, I like it so much. It's so warm, and it smells like you, so it is like you are here even when you aren't."

He pulled the sweatshirt up over his nose, and Cuba couldn't help but smile. Mexico looked so cute wrapped up in the big sweatshirt, and there was no harm in leaving it with him. His reason also made Cuba adore him even more; he was such a sweetheart beneath the facade that everyone knew. He said, "You can keep it, Ale. I don't mind."

Modern

Mexico flopped down face first on his own couch with a long sigh. He had spent far too long at a diplomatic meeting for North America, and it had weighed on his very last frayed nerve.
His boss had felt the need before to tell him that he needed to be polite to America, no matter what he personally felt for America. It had been terrible to spend so long in a conference room with America staring at him. America always gave him the same stupid look when he thought he was about to charm him back into his bed. It made Mexico want to punch him right in his perfect face.

Without moving from where his face was pressed against the pillow, he blindly untied his tie. He wouldn't have usually worn one, but there had been photo opportunities. He pulled it off and threw it away from himself, not caring where it was going to land. He said, still speaking into the pillow, "I hate suits."
He heard Cuba's voice, "Bad day?"

Cuba had been at his house all afternoon watching the dogs, and he was sitting on one of the armchairs. Mexico turned his head on the pillow so that he was looking at Cuba. He felt completely exhausted from restraining himself all day, but he could still appreciate how sweet it was to see one of his tiny dogs on Cuba's big lap. He recognized that the dog was the smallest of the five, making the size difference even more apparent.

He said, in response to the question, "I had to spend the whole day with Alfred." Cuba looked concerned as he said, giving the dog a pet, "Did he try anything with you?"
Mexico responded, still refusing to move from the spot on the couch, "No, but he was completely insufferable. I think if I had given him the chance, he would have cornered me and demanded answers about why I am ignoring him. But, I'm not that stupid."

Cuba nodded, and seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then he said, "Emergency plans are in order." Mexico finally moved enough to turn himself over onto his back.
He said, "I don't think I have the energy to go out anywhere." He would love to go out dancing or to the beach like they often did, but he wasn't sure he had the energy to even get up. But, he wanted to have some sort of solace after the day he had endured.

Cuba stood up and said, "We don't have to go anywhere. I can make the night good right here." He held the little dog up and said, "Hercules, give your dad kisses. I'm going to set something up in the other room."

He placed the dog down on Mexico's chest. The dog walked up to Mexico's face and started licking him. Mexico laughed and reached up to pet the wiggling dog. He could feel the tiny dog shaking from excitement.

He was curious what Cuba could possibly be preparing in the other room, but he trusted him enough to wait for whatever was coming. It made him feel better to have a happy dog on his chest.
He slowly sat up and made sure to keep the dog securely in his arms. He looked around just as Cuba came back into the room. He smiled at Mexico and said, "It's ready."

Mexico nodded, and followed Cuba into the next room. He smiled when he saw that Cuba had set up a table full of snacks and had draped the couch with blankets.

Cuba put one arm around Mexico's shoulders and steered him towards the couch. Once there, he wrapped one of the blankets around Mexico's shoulders and eased him to sit down.
Mexico gladly let himself be guided to sit against Cuba. He let out a sigh and cuddled against his friend's shoulder with a contented sigh. Only once there, did he realize that Cuba had a romance movie already set up on the television.

Mexico felt himself smile. Only his best friend knew how much he enjoyed a shallow romantic comedy. It would certainly make him feel better to have something soft and sweet to watch.
Cuba said, keeping his arm around him, "Are you comfortable?" Mexico replied, "Yes, this is very nice." Cuba kissed him on the forehead and said, "I think that it needs one more thing."

He then whistled, which was followed by the unmistakable sound of four more little sets of paws. Cuba reached down and scooped one dog after another onto the couch to be closer to Mexico.
Mexico smiled even wider and said, "These are very good emergency plans." He saw a look of pride on Cuba's face. Mexico cuddled up with the person who knew him best and his dear pets and prepared to have a thoroughly relaxing night.

Modern

Mexico awoke to the feeling of little paws on his back. He refused to open his eyes, because if he did he would also have to admit that he was awake and that he had to take care of the owner of the paws. The dog, not believing he was still asleep, padded up to his shoulder and started to lick his ear.

He groaned and opened his eyes and looked up at his dog. The tiny animal looked like it was feigning innocence. Then he gave Mexico another lick on the side of the face. Mexico sighed and said softly, "Alright, little one, you can be here."

He picked up the dog, who was already vibrating with excitement and settled the tiny animal in his arms between himself and Cuba.

The other man was still asleep and snoring lightly. Mexico thought it was adorable that Cuba snored like a purring cat. As his chest moved, the soft sound continued to rumble with each movement. It was such a good, soothing noise.

Cuba's arms were securely around Mexico and holding him. There was just enough room for Mexico to hold his dog between their two bodies. It was warm and comfortable and Mexico slowly closed his eyes again.

It was such a small moment, but being held by his best friend and cuddled against his dog was very pleasant.

After a few quiet moments, Mexico could feel Cuba starting to stir. He felt Cuba move one of his arms off of his waist. His first thought was to tell Cuba to put it back. He didn't want the contact gone.

Cuba scratched the dog behind the ear with his newly free hand and said, "When did you get here?"

The dog wiggled happily in response to the scratching, and Mexico felt like he might slip from his arms. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at Cuba, who was looking down at the dog.
But, he then looked up at Mexico and gave him the warmest smile. He was still half asleep and he said, sleep still in his voice, "It looks like we have an intruder."

He gave the dog one more pet with his big hand. Mexico responded, "We are lucky that it is only one."
He added, speaking to the dog, "You didn't feel like bringing your brothers with you?"

He didn't expect any answer, but he did get another look of innocence. Cuba said, "How long before they all are here?"

Mexico laughed. He was already surprised that it was only one of his many dogs. The only way to avoid more uninvited company was to make sure they couldn't get into the room. He offered, "I can close the door. I'll just have to get up."

He started to move, but Cuba said, "Don't leave. I love cuddling you first thing in the morning. If you get up, it will ruin the moment."

Mexico looked in his eyes and saw how earnest he was. He could not possibly disagree with the sentiment. This was his favorite moment of the day too.

He nestled against Cuba's chest, being careful not to squish the dog between them. He would feel guilty if he had hurt one of his dogs.

The dog between them managed to shake happily and lick Mexico's face and then Cuba's, so Mexico assumed that he was comfortable.

Mexico said, "We're going to have so much company soon."
Cuba kissed him on the forehead and said, "I think there is enough room for all of us."

—

Modern

Cuba opened the door to his car, and carefully helped Mexico inside. He was sober, but Mexico had too much to drink. He was giving Mexico a steady hand to make sure he didn't trip.
it was difficult to limit him, since he could get drinks easily as soon as Cuba turned his back. It was frustrating that he could be so determined and stubborn when he wanted to be. He had always had such a thick skull and such a strong urge to self destruct. Cuba had seen him in a worse state, but he was still glad that he was able to intercede when he did.

Cuba had made an effort to make sure that Mexico did not end up near anyone who might try to exploit him. He felt a bit like a bodyguard, but it was not a burden to do it for Mexico.
He got into the driver's seat and turned to Mexico. The man was looking at him with a small smile. Cuba smiled back at him and said, "Do you want to drive to the beach and watch the sunrise."
Mexico replied, leaning back in the seat, "I would like that."

Cuba started the car and pulled out, taking a moment to glance at Mexico only once he was sure that he wouldn't hit anything if he looked away from the road.

Mexico had taken his hair out of the low ponytail he usually wore it in and was running his hands It looked like he was enjoying the feeling.

Cuba turned his eyes back to the road. He would love to watch the other man, but he had to be careful. It was a short drive, and it didn't take long for them to arrive. Once he was safely parked, Cuba looked back at Mexico.

Mexico had taken his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it. He was biting his lower lip and one of his eyebrows was slightly raised. Cuba knew that look; it was the look of knew that Mexico had gotten some idea in his head that he would regret in the morning.

He said, "What are you doing?" Mexico said, not yet looking up from his phone, "I should call Alfred."

Cuba clenched his teeth. He had expected a bad idea, but he had not expected such a terrible idea. Mexico had done well with keeping his distance from his ex-boyfriend so far, and Cuba had hoped that it would stay that way.

He said, trying to talk sense into his drunk friend, "You have him blocked."

Mexico looked up at him, and his thumb paused on his phone screen. He said, "I could unblock him. It isn't that hard."

Cuba's hands tightened on the wheel as he tried not to overreact. He said, "You are not going to give him another chance."

Mexico ran one hand over his face and said, "I'm not going to. I was just thinking that I should have a conversation with him about why I ended things."

Cuba turned to him and responded, "You don't need to have one. He is just going to try to manipulate you into listening to him."

Mexico fell silent and looked from his phone to Cuba and back again. Slowly, he said, "But, Carlos-"
Cuba cut him off and said, "If you call Alfred, I will throw your phone in the ocean."

Mexico looked at him with wide eyes. Then, like a chastised child, he shook his head. He said, "My head isn't clear right now."

Cuba could have told him that based on the fact that he even thought about Alfred. But he would not say that to a drunk man.

He extended his hand to Mexico and said, "Why don't you give me the phone? I will give it back to you when you are sober."

Mexico nodded and put the phone in Cuba's hand. Cuba took the phone and put it in his pocket, then he said, "Now, let's go watch the sun come up."

—

Modern

Mexico knew that he should have known better than to let Cuba match him drink for drink. Usually Cuba was the sober one who looked after him. But, in this case, no one needed to drive, and Mexico had promised to behave himself.

But, he realized that he should have known that his friend would get drunk so much more quickly. Cuba hadn't spent years drowning his liver in alcohol, so the natural result of them drinking together was that Mexico felt almost completely sober, and Cuba was clearly feeling it.

Cuba had a big smile on his face as Mexico held the door open for him. Mexico made sure to close the door and lock it, since he was sure that Cuba would not think to do it.
Before he could even finish, he heard, "Ale, come here. I want to cuddle."
Mexico replied, talking over his shoulder, "Just a second."

As soon as he was sure that was done, he returned to Cuba, who had taken to leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked like he was slightly unsteady on his feet and had decided that the kitchen counter was the best support.

Once Mexico got close enough, Cuba said, "Why aren't you drunk?"

He was slurring his words slightly, and Mexico couldn't help but find it very endearing. He so rarely got to turn the tables on Cuba. He leaned forward and kissed Cuba on the cheek, and he said, "I have more practice than you."

While he was leaning forward, Cuba took the chance to put his arms around waist and pull him into a hug. He said, a huge smile on his face, "I feel good."

He tightened his hug and leaned forward to kiss Mexico on one cheek. It was unrestrained and slightly sloppy. Mexico smiled at how sweet Cuba was being. It was genuinely touching that when he had no restraint, the best parts of his personality came out.

Mexico had also had enough drinks to really enjoy the touch. It was pleasant and sweet. He chuckled, "Of course you do. You're drunk."

Cuba kissed him again, this time on his jawline, and then on his temple. Then he said, right in Mexico's ear, "And you're so hot."

Mexico felt a shiver go down his spine at the tone that Cuba was using. He thought that maybe he was more drunk than he felt, because he couldn't help but feel like there was something sexual about the tone and he didn't object to it. The hug felt so nice, and his mind supplied the idea that Cuba could be just as sort with something more intimate.

He felt Cuba's large hand on his ponytail, slowly running his fingers through it. Cuba nuzzled his shoulder and said, "You have the prettiest hair. When we were kids, I used to want hair like yours so badly." Mexico replied, trying to comfort him, "Your hair is beautiful too."

He ran his hand through Cuba's dreadlocks, and tangled his fingers in them. He loved the way that they felt.

Cuba didn't seem to be listening, and was instead busying himself by peppering Mexico's face with light kisses. Mexico could feel his own face getting hot.

He loved the feeling of being held, firmly but gently, and being kissed. Part of his mind was longing for Cuba to find his lips, and the tequila had done enough work that he did not question the thought.

Cuba said, between sweet kisses, "I love you so much. More than anyone." Mexico couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. He responded, "I love you too, my big bear."

—

Modern

Cuba looked over at Mexico, who was driving with a look of quiet determination on his face. He spoke, "I really don't mind surprises, but when are you planning to tell where we are going?"

It was easy to trust in Mexico, since he would never do anything harmful, and he had been clear over the phone that it was a date. He hadn't said where they were going or what they were going to do, but he wouldn't plan anything bad.

Mexico had just told him to dress casual, and his tone when he said it sounded like he was saying it with a mischievous smirk. Cuba had not guessed that they would be driving through the jungle in the afternoon, with the heat of the summer's day just beginning to wane.

Mexico answered without turning to look at him, "Just a little further and we will be there. Trust me, it will be fun."

Cuba could only see half of his face, but the half he was seeing was smiling in a way that was quite self satisfied. Resigned to whatever his partner had in store for him, he leaned back in the seat and kept his eyes on Mexico.

He liked to watch his partner in moments like this, when he was handsome and determined. Mexico had a face that he could stare at forever. It was so uniquely attractive, and not even because of his unique eyes. Every single one of his lovers commented on his eyes and always had. Those striking Aztec gold eyes that everyone wanted to praise.

There was far more about him to praise. Cuba thought that his strong cheekbones and the distinctive profile of his nose were far more worth praising than his eyes.

He was a handsome man, and it was hard not to see it. It seemed like all of the world knew it, and was always looking to exploit it.

There was a slight smile on Mexico's face, and it made him look so cute. He always looked more himself when he would smile, especially that real smile when he was genuinely enjoying himself. It was a pity he could never see him the way that Cuba could see him, and he seemed to think he needed artifice to be cute.

Mexico seemed to be looking for some specific place to turn, and the look on his face slowly shifted to one of concentration. Then, he seemed to find it, and then turned gently onto a small side road.

Then, he brought the car to a stop, and turned to Cuba with a smile. He said, "We're here."
Cuba replied, "Are you going to tell me where here is?"
Mexico gave him a flash of a sly smile and said, "Trust me. You'll love this place."

Cuba sighed and decided that he had to take his word for it. He opened the door and stepped out. Mexico pulled a bag from the back seat and locked the car.
Then he took Cuba's hand and said, "Come on, let's go."

The knowing smile on his face was charming in a way that Cuba was sure he wasn't even aware of. He followed Mexico down a path that was not immediately obvious for a short distance.
The path stopped at the edge of a shallow cenote. It went down a few feet, and it was full of clear blue water at the bottom, looking almost otherworldly.

Cuba looked over the edge and said, "Ah. This is what you were being so mysterious about."
Mexico smiled mischievously back at him, and said, "It's beautiful, isn't it? As far as I know, very few people know where this is."

Cuba turned to him, and Mexico immediately used as an opportunity to put his hand tenderly to his face. Mexico said, looking the other in the eyes, "It's a private place for us."

Then he leaned forward, and Cuba knew that he wanted a kiss. He was always happy to give it. Every time their lips met, it felt like his boyhood dreams made flesh. He had always wanted this, and it felt like a delirious dream that Mexico wanted it too.

But there had been far too many kisses to doubt it now. He could remember each of them so clearly. The hesitant first one, when usually confident Mexico had trembled. The soft ones they stole when they could have a moment alone between meetings. The deep lusty ones when they were in bed together. This one was quick, but soft and meaningful.

When they broke apart, Cuba said, "Can we get closer?"

He meant closer to the water, but he was also content with Mexico taking it to mean he wanted to be closer together. But, Mexico seemed to take the first meaning, because he took one of Cuba's hands in his own and responded, "I'll show you the path down."

They reached the bottom of the cenote, and it was even more stunning from the bottom. The deep blue of the water reminded Cuba so strongly of his own coastal waters. It was the same beautiful, brilliant blue that he found remarkably familiar.

He wished he could dive into the water. It would be a good time for it, since there was a sticky, humid heat in the air. A swim would feel quite nice. But he was not prepared for that.
Voicing his thoughts, Cuba said, "I wish you had told me before. I would have brought something to swim in."

Mexico was standing behind him, slightly further back. There was a sound as he put down the bag he had taken from the car. Cuba heard him say, "Who said anything about wearing anything to swim?"

He turned and saw that Mexico had already taking off his shirt, like he was preparing to get completely naked. He could now see that the bag was full of towels, like Mexico did intend to swim.

Cuba felt his cheeks get warm as he blushed. He said, "We can't do that. What if someone sees us?"

It felt mortifying to think of someone stumbling across them and seeing his body unclothed. He could understand why Mexico did not care. His body was perfect, and anyone who saw it would see that.

Cuba felt like he did not have the same luxury. He had always felt like people would not want to see the extra weight he carried in his midsection. It seemed to him that it was not the world's most attractive body.

Mexico finished taking off his shirt and said, "No one is going to. I told you, this is a private place for us." He stepped closer and said, "I thought about that. I want you to feel comfortable."

Cuba glanced around at the walls of the cenote and realized that it would be hard for anyone to see them. It was far enough down that someone would have to be specifically looking for them. That was not very likely if few people knew of this place.

He swallowed his own concern and insecurity and tried to focus on enjoying himself. It was a special outing that Mexico had planned for both of them, and he was not going to reject that. He was going to let himself relax and enjoy it.

Mexico started working on pulling off his pants, and Cuba took a moment to enjoy watching the way that the muscles worked in his back. He was so muscular, but was not bulky like some men.

Mexico slipped off his pants, leaving himself completely naked. He caught Cuba looking at him, and said, "Stop staring and join me."

Cuba smirked at him and replied, "But I like staring at you." It was a brazen flirtation, but he was comfortable saying it.

Mexico gave him a truly seductive look and stepped closer. He said, leaning in to be close to Cuba, "You can look all you want."

He then pressed his lips quickly to Cuba's again, quick but soft. Cuba put his hands almost habitually on Mexico's waist, which was now bare. He loved the way that his hands seemed to fit perfectly there, like they were made for each other.

Mexico said, pulling out of the kiss, "But you have to swim with me."

Then, he used his hands to unbutton the top button on Cuba's shirt. Cuba wanted to pull him into another kiss, but Mexico backed away coyly. Then, in a single graceful motion, Mexico turned and plunged into the water.

Cuba decided to not argue about it. Instead he started working on his shirt. The buttons made him feel like it was frustratingly slow progress.

As he watched, Mexico surfaced , and ran one hand through his wet hair to get the stray hairs off of his face. Mexico swam like a man who had been born in a city on a lake. He always looked so comfortable in the water.

Cuba finished taking off his shirt as Mexico perched himself on the edge of the water with one arm on the edge. He looked very much like a mermaid. He would certainly tempt a sailor.
Mexico looked like he was waiting somewhat impatiently, but he didn't say anything. Cuba managed to take off the rest of his clothing, and then swept his dreadlocks into a ponytail. They would take too long to dry if he didn't.

He realized that Mexico was watching him, and biting his lower lip. There was something lusty about his gaze. As their eyes met, Mexico confirmed it by saying, "You're so sexy. I love your body."

Cuba still found that somewhat hard to believe, even though he knew that Mexico would not lie to him. He replied, "I'm not as sexy as you."
Mexico shook his head and replied, "I think you're one of the sexiest men I have ever seen. Now get in with me."

Cuba nodded, and then lowered himself into the water. He expected it to be deep water, and was pleasantly surprised to realize that there was a shelf beneath the water.

It was just far enough down that Cuba could stand on it and have his head above water. Mexico was clearly treading water, since he was not tall enough to reach.

The cool water felt incredibly refreshing, but he hardly had time to dwell on it. Mexico took the chance to embrace him, and to wrap his legs around Cuba's hips. He had a smirk on his lips like a mischievous cat.

Cuba was not going to complain about being so close though. He put his hands on Mexico's hips. Mexico said softly, "I really do love your body. I love all of you."
Cuba laughed and said, "You don't have to take skinny dipping to see me naked."

He was beginning to suspect that was part of this plan. Mexico shook his head and said, "Oh, I know that. I wanted to swim." Then he smirked even more widely and said, "Getting to see you naked is a very nice bonus."

Cuba blushed and said, "I love you." Then he locked lips with his partner again.

Modern

The sun was beginning to set over the ocean, staining the sky an array of orange and pink. It was pleasantly warm out and Cuba could think of nowhere else he would rather be than sitting on his own porch on a pleasant early summer afternoon.

He was comfortable leaning against pillows and feeling the humid warmth on his skin. He was not alone either.

Mexico was sitting with his legs crossed, and a few plump pillows behind his back. He had a Spanish guitar in his lap, and he was looking down at it as he tuned it. He would pluck one of the strings and then twist the tuning pegs in response to what he heard.

Cuba was watching him with a slight smile. There was something so captivating about the look of concentration on Mexico's face as he worked. He looked so handsome, and it was effortless. Since it was just going to be the two of them tonight, Mexico had allowed himself to look more casual. His dark hair was tied up in a low ponytail to keep it out of his face as he worked.

As much as Mexico looked stunning when he made an effort to be, Cuba liked him best like this. He was very attractive without any of the artifice.

Cuba said, "I am surprised that you brought that with you. It's been so long since I heard you play."

Mexico looked up from what he was doing with a devious smirk. He replied, "Oh, I have my reasons. In fact, I have a plan."

Cuba hasn't sure what he could possibly be talking about. He had known that Mexico could play the guitar, and could sing quite well on occasion too. Though, Cuba rarely heard him singing when anyone else could hear. He seemed self conscious about his voice, even if there was no reason to be.

The guitar lessons had been at Spain's insistence. Apparently hearing Austria play had given him the idea that it would cute for his little prince to have a musical talent.

Cuba found it distasteful that Spain had treated Mexico like a trophy, and forced him to learn skills because they amused him. He had never cared how tired it made Mexico to have to pick up new talents on a whim.

But, Mexico had kept the guitar and continued to play it, so he must not have resented it. Cuba asked, taking the bait, "And what are you planning?"

He knew that Mexico must have something in mind if he was being so cryptic. Being his best friend since they were both boys had at least taught him that. Mexico smiled and said, "I wanted to do something to show you that I love you."

Cuba felt himself blush at the words. Even though they had been dating for months, hearing Mexico say that he loved him so plainly made him feel his heart skip a beat.

He knew he was smiling instinctively, as he always did when Mexico said those words. He replied, "You don't need to do anything. I know that you love me."

He was being honest. There was no need for any sort of grand gesture when he knew that his partner loved him. And he was not certain if he could take a grand gesture; he felt like he would combust on the spot if Mexico did anything to overt. The idea of his life long crush doing something for him was overwhelming.

Mexico responded, "You have done so much for me. Let me do something for you-" He paused for half a second and there was a glimmer in his eye as he added, "mi amor."

Cuba felt himself start to blush in earnest. He was sure that Mexico could see it. He momentarily thought of putting his hands to his face to hide the blush, but that would betray how he was feeling. He said, momentarily too flustered to stop himself, "I am not used to you calling me that."

Mexico was looking at him with an endearing smile and a look of unmistakable mischief. He said, "Then you are going to enjoy my surprise."

He ran one hand over all of the strings on the guitar, seemingly testing how they sounded together. Mexico said, "They're ready now."

The look on his face made Cuba feel like he had something fluttering in his chest. It was a strange kind of happy anticipation. Mexico readjusted himself so that the guitar was even more firmly on his lap.

Cuba said, trying to preempt what he thought was coming, "You don't have to play-"

His voice trailed off as Mexico played the first few notes. That was enough to confirm that there was nothing he could do to stop it. The first few notes were sweet, and he could guess where this may be going.

Then Mexico met his eyes and smiled. Then he started to sing, "Voy a apagar la luz para pensar en ti"

His voice was pleasant and melodic, and it seemed suited for the song. Even on the first line, Cuba could feel himself becoming flustered. He could not believe that Mexico was sitting in front of him launching into a love song. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, and he could not stop himself from beaming ear to ear.

Mexico continued, "Y así dejar volar a mi imaginación."

Cuba could feel himself getting hotter, from his ears to his chin. He felt like he must be obviously blushing. He pressed the palm of one of his hands to his cheek as Mexico finished out the verse.

The heat of his cheeks was so apparent against his hand. Cuba was glad that it was just the two of them. It would be so embarrassing for anyone to see him blushing and flustered like a teenager because his partner was singing to him.

He was too old to be reacting like this, but he couldn't help it. He had wished for this since he was a teenager. The reality was proving to be more overwhelming than his daydreams. In his daydreams he could be suave and composed, but it was impossible with his heart pounding happily in his chest.

Mexico gave him a handsome smile as he continued into the next verse, "¿Cómo te abrazaré? ¿Cuánto te besaré?"

The lyrics, so saccharine, but sincere, were also overwhelming. Though he had dated before, this kind of open and shameless affection was new. Mexico continued, his voice getting steadily louder as he sang, "Mis más ardientes anhelos en ti realizaré, Te morderé los labios, me llenaré de ti."

Cuba gave into his own embarrassment and covered his face with both of his hands, and said quietly, "Ale, this is embarrassing."

It was too much, and he felt like anyone walking by would see steam rising from him. He loved Mexico deeply, but this was making him feel so acutely aware of it. This was not the kind of romance he ever thought he could have, least of all with someone he loved with his whole heart.

As Mexico started the chorus, Cuba slowly lowered his hands and looked at him. He looked so handsome sitting comfortably with the multicolored halo of the setting sun behind him.

In a moment of inspiration, Cuba knew how he could get Mexico to stop, and show that he did appreciate this display.

Mexico sang, "Contigo aprendí Que existen nuevas y mejores emociones. Contigo-"

Cuba pressed his lips against Mexico's, cutting off the next word.

The way that Mexico leaned into the kiss and started kissing back made Cuba sure that he had not minded the interruption. He seemed enthusiastically ready to abandon his song.

When they broke off the kiss, Mexico said with a sly smile, "My plan worked perfectly."
Cuba laughed and said, "What was your plan? To kill me with how cute you are?"

Mexico's hand was on his cheek, and his thumb was stroking Cuba's stubble on his chin. He responded, looking up at Cuba, "I wanted to sing you a love song and have you kiss me."

Cuba chuckled again at the idea that this had all been to get a kiss, when asking for one would have worked just as well. He said, "You did get that."

Mexico gently put the guitar aside and said, "The next part of my plan was that you would kiss me again and again, and then we would-"

Cuba cut him off by kissing him again.