=7= CHAPTER 2 is finally here~ Sorry i take so long. I write this only when I have enough spare time for it. Im really glad so many people liked the first chapter. ^^ Im still apprehensive on how i shall write the later chapters but im sure i will figure it out.
Chapter 2
Lovino awoke from the siesta feeling much better. He stretched and yawned, turning over to look at his beloved Spaniard. He had planned to "unintentionally" roll in close to Antonio to cuddle; if the conquistador was awake, though, he'd really have to cover his story. He couldn't let him know he actually liked snuggling. He was going sticking to the story that he had unintentionally rolled up to him. His small plan was halted when he soon noticed there was no one there to snuggle, though still unsure, he patted the empty half of the bed to see if he was really gone, and it wasn't a lie. He really wasn't there.
He sat up abruptly, looking all around the room for Antonio. It was strange, he never woke up before Lovino, or when he did he remained in the bed to cuddle. He never just up and left without a word. Maybe he got up to get something to eat or along those lines, he didn't have anything when he arrived.
Lovino hopped out of the bed, getting a sudden chill from the cold hard floor. Did the damn floors always have to be so cold? He tried to ignore the fact that it was so frigid and walked to the kitchen to greet Antonio, the idiot probably hurting himself trying to make dinner. He used to always do that before he left. No matter how much the Italian whined and griped about it, he insisted on making dinner for the two of them. Lovino actually liked it when he did that, but his pride always blocked his ability to tell Antonio such things.
The kitchen was completely vacant when he arrived, no traces that Antonio even entered, because he hadn't. It was strange, where was the Spaniard if he wasn't making dinner?
Lovino exited the kitchen so he could search the rest of the house, the conquistador being in none of the rooms he searched, seriously frustrating the Italian. Where the fuck was Antonio? Never once had the damn Spanish bastard just up and left without a word to him, why would he now? What possible reason could he have to leave without as much as a word to him?
He stomped out of the room he'd been searching in, more annoyed than before. Stomping down to the waiting room once more, his plan consisted of waiting for Spain to return home, then chewing his ass out for it. Even if it was really late. He was going to wait. That was until he let his tiredness get the best of him.
Lovino had never been a heavy sleeper. When he heard the door open, his eyes lazily flicked open halfway to see who had arrived, too tired to actually get up. He watched as a shadowed figure, who he knew was Spain, walked up to the sofa he sat on. The Italian said not a word to him as he did the same, neither's expression able to be seen. Too dazed from barely being awake, Lovino fell back to sleep, not being able to get himself to currently care. Even though he knew he had planned on chewing out the Spaniard for leaving without a word. He was just too tired.
He didn't wake up until well past noon, sitting up and finally realizing what had happened in his brief moment of consciousness. He let Antonio off scott-free! In a fit of rage he stood up, stopping only when he watched a blanket fall off his lap. He glanced at it confused for a minute. When did that get there? He didn't recall ever getting a blanket for himself.. ..Antonio must have put it on him. He picked it up and gently set it back on the couch, slightly less angry with the Spaniard now, although that didn't mean he wasn't going to go and yell at him for not telling him where the hell he was going.
He marched upstairs the brunette's room, merely finding the bastard absent from the facinity. He cursed for a few minutes. The conquistador had left him again! He stormed downstairs to go make himself lunch, plotting to do something like use up all the food- that would get him back for leaving him alone. He was totally going to do it, too.. ..Or maybe not. He didn't want to starve at a later time because he ate all the food in one sitting. He grudgingly decided have a more simple lunch instead.
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No matter how long Lovino seemed to wait, Antonio always came home late in the night and left before he could ever have a chance to wake up. He hadn't seen him for well over four days now, and realized a country could be very busy, but Spain? Spain was actually busy? Why couldn't he take time from his schedule to see him? Even an hour would be fine, but this hasn't ever happened before! There had always been time made for him before this whole "new world" shit. He'd had enough of it! Lovino swore to himself he'd stay up just so he could argue with that man. There was no reason he should leave him alone all the time like this!
The waiting was tedious as always, but he refused to sleep, given his new goal. He was determined to stay awake; a man like Antonio needed to be yelled at for being an ass and leaving him alone. It wasn't much longer before he could hear the door creak open.
Lovino raced to his feet, a firm glare now plastered on his face, prepared to swear the bastard out. Everything he was going to say was already planned out, he'd had the time from the past couple of days he spent alone. The moment he saw the dark figure of the Spaniard enter the house he let loose,
"ANTONIO!" There was so much anger in his voice he made himself jump, but Antonio didn't so much as start, simply walking over to a candelabra and setting fire to the wicks on the candles inside it. He could see his facial expression clearly at that, a vicious glare on the man's face as he held up the candelabra. The Italian was going to yell again, but froze with his jaw gaped when he finally noticed the other's appearance. What…. What did he have stained all over his clothes? Was it… blood? It looked like blood. It was even on his face, some, too..
"You're actually awake for once, I'm surprised," Antonio informed in a cold tone, not really giving much notice to the fact Lovino was gawking at his filthy clothes.
He started to unbutton his shirt, slowly. The glare on his face turned to neutral as he pulled it off and briefly wandered away to toss it, the poor Italian still standing there wondering if that really was blood he saw on the Spaniard's clothes. It wasn't long before he returned, still shirtless, smirking casually at him.
"Well since you're up you should make me dinner," he more of demanded than suggested. Lovino answered him back with a glare but had turned and walked toward the kitchen. He knew that Antonio was still the same as when he returned. He didn't dare deny his requests. There was just something about him that he didn't want to mess with. Gathering all the ingredients he needed, he set them in their cookery. He was going to make the bastard pasta, since Italian food was all he knew, or let him figure out how to cook. He had too much pride to learn anything else.
Antonio joined him in the kitchen when he was about halfway through making the pasta, sitting at the small table that was placed opposite of where Lovino was cooking. He watched the boy cook with interest, Lovino not looking back at him for a while. He didn't want look at him right now. Regardless, curiosity got the best of him and he did glance back to see a shirtless Spaniard whose eyes were locked on his person. He winced a bit when he also realized that he hadn't washed his face yet.
"…S…Spain…What's on your face?" He asked nervously.
Antonio grinned in a mischievous manner. He set his chin to his palm and leaned into the table, the dark coldness in his eyes showing, letting Lovino know that wasn't a good question to ask.
"That's none of your business. Don't worry about it," he announced, the smile plastered to his face slowly fading, soon changing to a dangerous glare. "NEVER ask me again."
Lovino gulped, holding back his trembling. Turning away from the man, he went back to the pasta, which was at last done,dumping it onto a plate and quickly serving it. Antonio stared at it for a long while, then glanced back at him with a stern glare.
"I didn't want Italian food. Why would you ever think I wanted that?" He growled in a low tone, pushing the plate away from him. And now Romano was starting to get mad. He was too good for Italian food now? He knew very well that's all he knew how to make, why did he even ask if he knew that!
"Fuck you, Spain!" Lovino's voice rose, "I'm not making you anything but Italian food!"
Antonio became amused by his anger, "I want my own food. And you had better make it if you know what's good for you."
"Hell no! Make it yourself!" The raging Italian growled.
Like lightning Antonio got to his feet. Everything went by too quick after that. Lovino hadn't even caught onto what he was doing until he realized he had been turned around with his arm twisted painfully behind him, his face down into the pasta he just made. Spain was leaned down extremely close to him; a light iron scent clung to his skin. He pressed down harder on the Italian making him cry out.
"Make my dinner right. I will not hesitate to break your arm off," he whispered platonically.
"Ok, ok!" Cried the Italian as his arm became further twisted.
Spain finally let him go and sat back at the table, patiently going to wait for some "good" food now. He watched as Lovino shakily slid off the table, rubbing his arm, and going back to prepare the food he had not the slightest idea how to make. He didn't even bother wiping off the pasta sauce that was still on the right side of his face.
He kept looking at the floor. He had no idea what to do, he didn't know how to make Spanish food. He stood there for the longest time, staring, unable to figure it out.
He could hear Spain lightly chuckle in the background. When he spoke there was cruelty in his voice.
"Go back to bed and never stay up for me again," he demanded.
Somewhat distraught, Lovino left the kitchen without a second thought. He didn't want to stay another minute in that room. Not with Antonio who had shoved his face into a plate of pasta. Why did he even ask for him to make it? It only confused him the more he thought about it. What confused him the most was what had caused the conquistador to change in such a manner to make him to act like this? He knew now that he wasn't weary from his trip- this change was real. The old Spain he knew was gone.
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Before he decided to go to sleep he washed off the sauce that was drying on his face. As he did so he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He looked more than shaken. His eyes were still a little wide in shock, the pasta sauce stuck to his face, a little having gotten into his now largely unruly hair. He ran a rag through his locks to get it out. That was nice. He looked like such a mess.
After cleaning up, the young Italian wandered up to Antonio's bed. He wasn't sure why he had decided to sleep here again, he didn't really want to be in the same bed as that bastard, but he also didn't want to be alone still. Even though he'd just experienced something unlike he had ever seen from the Spaniard, he didn't like the feeling of being alone.
It was strange. Never once had Antonio so much as raised a hand against him, yet tonight he had put him in his place. He was bemused by the actions that had taken place- the thoughts all swirled around in his head, bothering him. There was just way too much for him to comprehend about this new personality.
Not long after Lovino had settled himself into the bed the Spaniard had come in to join him. He went stiff as Spain came in and lay next to him. He really hoped he couldn't tell he was still awake. And he didn't want him to find out, so he stayed as still as possible. The hint of iron no longer clung to the conquistador's skin and now he simply smelled of Spanish rice.
Lovino internally sighed. What was the point in ever having him make dinner he didn't even want? Especially when he was able to make it himself easily? He didn't understand this new Spain at all, and wasn't even sure if he really wanted to. He was scary. The kind of scary Antonio usually protected him from. But Romano was sure he hadn't even seen the worst part of what Spain could do yet, not by a longshot. He tried to get the thoughts out of his mind but they wouldn't go away. He didn't sleep very well that night.