"Great passions, my dear, don't exist: they're liars' fantasies. What do exist are little loves that may last for a short or a longer while."

Anna Magnani

Section V

"What?"

How long has it been? Lovina hadn't even realized she had been staring at him. Up until Holland actually looked at her and lifted a brow at her. His deep, almost mechanical voice made her snap in attention and she immediately looked away. If anything was embarrassing, it was being caught staring. Looking down at the dirt, she made a scowl.

"I was just expecting some sort of fucking token of advice or some shit." She cursed rather angrily this time. Holland stopped, and placed a steady foot on the ground. Lovina stopped as well and looked at the dirty blond curiously. The tall Dutchman released a sigh (Lovina actually found this odd, she didn't think Netherlands actually breathed clean oxygen, but only breathed in smoke from either marijuana or tobacco.) and set a hand on his thigh. His strong, muscular thigh; which Lovina had no doubt that that one thigh could support all of her weight alone. Odd. The Italian had no business thinking such thoughts like that.

"Listen, just get in the basket." Thank God he was actually talking. Lovina might have thought she was a fucking freak or something, complaining and talking about her problems with him and then finding some sort of weird attraction to his thigh.

Wait. What did he just say?

Holland looked away momentarily, almost like he was posing for some photo that was never going to happen. The number one reason because Lovina didn't have a camera. And the second reason was because the Italian just wasn't a freak like that. …Other than checking out his thigh or whatever. But that was a complete fluke.

"Are you going to take a picture or what?"

"What!"

"Nothing. Are you going to get in the basket?" Holland turned his head at the brunette who just looked around awkwardly. Was he actually talking to her? Was he giving Lovina the ridiculous command/ or rather an inquiry? Lovina looked at the basket, in consideration; it really wasn't all that big. Maybe big enough to fit a few groceries and a couple of books perhaps, which Lovina assumed how he carried his daily meal. But it was just a regular cubical, woken basket. Surely she couldn't-

And suddenly, Lovina could feel herself being lifted like a kitten. Strong hands picked her up by her waist and lifted her up. She felt almost frightened, as she didn't even notice Netherlands use the kickstand on the pathetic little bike and get off. While she was inspecting the piece of mediocre machinery she found apparently she could, in fact, fit inside the little basket. But… just her waist. And her long, tan legs stuck out awkwardly.

And the one emotion she felt struck her heart unexpectedly. Like, the little hammer thing that hit the chord in the piano whenever Austria played one of his famous symphonies. Just one little hammer-like emotion. And, what was more confusing was that it was a feeling that she didn't belong there. She didn't belong in that little basket, because she was obviously not fit or small enough for it. Like she didn't fit in Spain's love life. Her language ran a little too foul… Or her refusal to ever accept (or even admit) that she truly was in love with the idiot at one point of time. And the only thing that eroded that affection away was the constant mantra of "He doesn't love me." Or even the occasional, "It'll never work," if she happened to feel particularly masochistic.

Lovina jolted a little when her whole body shifted to her left, and she grabbed the edges of the woven thing (she was actually surprised the bottom hadn't collapsed from under her weight, maybe her new diet was working?) and she heard a slight chuckle behind her.

Did Netherland's just chuckle?

"Calm down, I just moved the kickstand." Lovina stopped to turn her face, mostly to scowl at the rude bastard, but she stopped. She could feel his warm, peachy breathe of her cheek. She could feel him just so… close. And to think she actually wasn't already screaming at him for bursting her personal bubble. Netherlands shifted once more and he actually started to move the damn contraption.

She would have much rather be transported around in a Bentley or even a Lincoln if Netherlands wasn't such an informal man. They had rather large trunks actually.

Lovina was definitely spoiled.

"Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not fucking blushing." Yes she was.

"Yes you are."

"Shut the fuck up." The wind felt nice though. Spain never owned a convertible. He was a man more for practicality than looks. Though he did spoil her with goose-feather comforters and the Bentley to go for drives in when he would give her a tomato and not care if she spilled some of the precious juice, the most she ever got was just having the window open. Lovina hated how her hair got messy without a roof anyway.

"If it makes you feel any better. I have an idea of what you're going through." Holland said after a while. His voice no longer felt weird when she could hear it directly behind her. Lovina made sure to stare at the road ahead of them. But the tiny statement made by the Dutchman made her a bit curious. Curious enough anyway to actually make her want to know what he was talking about. Was he talking about Veronica? Was his affections towards his sister wasted because he knew deep inside that she actually only put up with him because they were related? It must have been hard. To try and try and fucking try to make their relationship as siblings comfortable and easy once more, only to have it taken with a weak smile and pathetically taken because what else could Veronica do?

Belgium was way too nice to just tell her brother she didn't even want to talk to him on a daily basis. But, Lovina didn't want to ask. She really didn't. And it especially wasn't her role to really open that can of worms anyway, if Holland even answered her.

"Here, I know what can make you feel better." What the hell. Netherlands didn't know a thing about her. How the hell would he know how to make her feel better? She opened her mouth to speak like a sailor once more, but a sudden turn on Netherland's bike made her outburst turn into nothing but a gasp and Netherland's even sped up the damn thing!

"You're gonna fucking crash!" Lovina yelled, trying desperately to scoot herself deeper in the basket. What caused even more fear in her was the sadistic laugh Netherlands released from his mouth as he sped up even more, even going as far as standing on the pedals! The leaves that were on the road were blown off and scattered by the wind of the rushing bike. This bastard was definitely on something, and she half-wished that she was on something too so she wouldn't be currently dying of a heart attack.

He suddenly turned, and Lovina was more than sure that she was close to fucking pissing herself. Netherlands hurriedly kicked the kickstand down and he swung his leg over. His strong, powerful legs… I wouldn't mind being put over one knee- Oh what the fuck.

"You okay, hun?" Lovina's eyes finally re-focused and she noticed Netherlands, stupid, stupid Netherlands looking at her, with his gloved hands on his waist. One eyebrow lifted just a bit in weird curiosity. The brunette country looked at him, her eyes wide in fright and trauma. Then her look of fear was quickly exchanged for a huge scowl and just a plain face of unrated anger and fury.

"No! I'm not fucking okay!" She screamed. Holland nearly winced at the mere tone Southern Italy was hitting. There was no way any normal person, except maybe opera singers could reach that high of a pitch on a normal basis. Then the girl focused on her position in the weaved basket. Lovina struggled and she would have tipped over, screaming if not for Holland's quick and focused hands.

And there it was.

A quiet moment swept over the two as the blond druggie, both of his hands on the edge of the basket that Lovina was stuck in, and Lovina… the delicate brunette when she was quiet… her face tilted down a bit. And the sunlight hit her face in such an odd way Netherlands was sure nobody had ever seen before. Her cheeks started to flare up… making it a glow a pink tinge. Her arms shook a little before she brought them up, her thin arms –probably thinner than usual thanks to her recent diet splurge-. She her hands made their way onto Netherlands' biceps, holding onto him for support.

He could hear her breathe. His hands left the basket and eased up to Lovina's waist. Southern Italy gave no protest as he lifted her out. Lovina could feel the muscles through Holland's jacket. But she refused to look at him in the eye. She simply kept her eyesight straight ahead, actually looking at the blue and white scarf he almost always wore for as long as she could remember.

HOLLLYYYY FUCKING CRAAAAAAP. This took fucking forever to get out! And I apologize for my language. But I've been like... on Twitter and DA and with my boyfriend and *ahem*, yeah. So sorry guys this took so long. I left it for the longest time and just now I added like six paragraphs and said, "this is okay" and now posting because I know a certain someone may have already passed out by now! XD Love ya!