Romano bit his lip as he tried to thread the needle. However, despite his concentration and efforts, all he managed to do was wear his lips thin and his patience even thinner. At his hundredth attempt to get the damned thread to get through the eye of the needle, he threw down his sewing supplies and made as if to get up.
"Are you leaving already?" England, the cocky island of the northern sea, glimpsed up from his crocheting and sent a little smirk in the Italian's direction. "I suppose since you're out of practice—"
"Shut up." Romano switched his posture slightly, in a way that almost seemed natural, before explaining, "I'm just stretching because I've been in the same damn position for so long."
England glanced at him slyly. "I'd say you were hunched over that needle for five minutes."
Romano blanched. "Bullshit! I was—"
England pointed to his wristwatch and made a slight clicking noise with his tongue. The sound was further accompanied with a few shakes of his head before he continued.
"Language, Italy, I can't have you swearing the ears off innocent passers by."
"You're one to talk." Romano crossed his arms as he glared at the blond. "Last time I checked, you've also got a tongue dirty tongue on you."
"Why—!" The British man placed his right hand over his heart, forgetting momentarily that he was supposed to be crocheting. "I am a born and bred gentl—"
"Dio mo—" Romano flung a needle in England's direction, not really caring if it hit its mark (it did) before settling down again with another needle and thread. "—shut up already about that. We get it; you like to wax poetic about how manly you are, even though being a sourpuss gentleman went out of fashion two centuries ago."
England made a faint choking noise.
"Also, knitting is loads better than crocheting."
At that, Romano turned to his work—
"I'll have you know that crocheting is an art form that—"
—and promptly found that this time, the thread was far more amenable to being threaded through the needle.