Disclaimer: No, Hetalia is not mine. Neither is the old lady Prussia almost hit. Or that mailbox.
A/N: Haha, guess who felt SUPER productive today! Yeah, that's right, I did~! I got out another whole chapter! Yay me! Yay you guys! (And this is sort of because I felt bad about the long wait for chapters 4 & 5... xD) And... I haven't left for San Francisco yet! And... I really, really need to be working on my summer reading... ahaha... wow, I'm screwed... TT_TT; BUT! Read on!
\(^.^)/ - Spain!
I was ready to tear all my hair out.
Just to make it stop.
That included my pubic hair.
Yeah, I was that fucking desperate.
And to think, it was such a short ride to Spain's house. He was only just outside Madrid, after all. But since Karma hates me, she put shit-tons of traffic between here and there.
I just couldn't fathom why she hated me SO MUCH that she felt the need to desert me to my fate in this God-forsaken van with these complete imbeciles.
"Hey, Prussia, you are so lucky your aim sucks, because if it didn't, well... I hope you realize Mattie has a lot of very thick, very high-quality Canadian hockey sticks he would have been all too happy to stuff down your throat." America said cheerfully, patting Canada on the back as he did so.
Canada in turn smiled a little bitterly, and glanced past Spain on his right to look out the window. "You wouldn't really have hit her, would you, Gilbert?" he asked quietly.
"Yes he would have," France muttered sourly beneath his breath, resting his chin on his palms and his elbows on his knees (since I'd watched him grope Feliciano one too many times, and found duct tape on the floor beneath me, and decided to put it to good use on his wrists), but Canada didn't seem to have heard him.
"Oh, don't go there now, Canada, luv," England sighed, dropping his forehead onto the dashboard and crossing his arms above it. "This ride is going to be miserable enough without two of us sorting out relationship problems. Especially not while he's driving!"
"Yeah, we can't have the bleached vampire hitting anything now, can we?" I murmured sarcastically. "He might explode and blind us all with his sparkliness."
"Hey!" America snapped, whirling to face me, a childish pout on his face. "No Twilight cracks!"
"Oh, come off it America, the book was terrible," England chipped in, raising his head to glare at the offending defender of sparkling vampires. "Her characters had no depth and her vocabulary was disturbingly inconsistent. If I hadn't seen a picture of her I'd have thought her a sixteen year old girl with a masochistic streak, failing marks in all her classes, and a language professor for a parent."
"Once I sort that all out, I'll protest!" America proclaimed heroically, before falling silent.
The rest of us followed suit, France going so far as to let out a relieved sigh. England just replaced his head on the dashboard, clearly not expecting a response of any sort any time soon. Feliciano continued to snore peacefully against the rear left window of the van, and Spain watched the scenery pass slowly outside the tinted window.
...
Why were they all here again?
"You brought EVERYONE to come pick us up." I deadpanned, just to break the silence, and not really talking to any of the idiots in particular. "Why."
"Oh this isn't everyone," France chuckled darkly, his level of pervertedness seemingly drained by the present company. "Hungary and Austria are already at Spain's place, and I believe dear America let slip to Russia where we would all be today, and he said maybe he would drop by."
"F-Fucking hell, America, why would you tell Russia where we would be?" Prussia's shaking voice spoke up from the front of the van, startling us all. "I owe that fucker money! So unawesome!"
'Fucking hell America...' Why does that sound so familiar...?
"Fuck fuck fuck!" Prussia continued, banging his head on the top of the steering wheel. "Fucking unawesome bastard... Fucking America..."
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
The room was eerily- I mean, peacefully quiet for once, I realized as I looked up from the cookbook I was glaring a- I mean, reading. God, how quiet it actually was when those two fuckers weren't bothering the ever-living Jesus out of me. Chigi, maybe I liked this. Maybe it was... calming, or some shit like that.
...
If jumping like a freaking kitten on cat-nip (That shit was like crack to them!) every time someone walks past your hotel room constitutes as calm.
Just because I don't get a lot of alone time anymore doesn't mean I'm a wuss. I'm just... a survivor! That's right! My bad-ass survival skills have kept me alive for a long time now. Don't laugh at the Italian instincts. We all know you're just a jealous little bitch.
Speaking of bitches... God, I wished I had a bitch to cook for me. Maybe then I wouldn't have to send Feli out every time I needed ingredients for anything. Or maybe I would blackmai-ask Feli to cook for me one of these days...
And just because I spaced out totally didn't mean I freaked out and screamed somewhat-like a little girl when the hotel phone suddenly rang.
"Romano Vargas?"
"Yes, this is Romano Vargas," I said warily, clutching the phone receiver tightly between sweaty palms. "Why, what do you want?"
"We have your brother," A bored male voice said on the other end of the line, before he was heard audibly sighing. "He knocked over our largest can display, and he said we could call you to take care of it. Something about not having taken his medication this morning. All twenty one medications. Feliciano Vargas, right?"
"Che cazzo!" I cursed. Leave it to my fratellino to get into trouble in a fucking grocery store. "Yes, I'll be right there," I sighed.
Fucking America.
Fucking Feliciano.
Fucking Germany.
Fucking world meetings IN America.
FUCKING AMERICA!
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
...what the flying fuck was that?
"...you lost a bet with Russia over a closet?" England's dubious voice asked, and I saw his gaze directed at Prussia.
"Shit, yes, okay? The awesome me doesn't ever lose bets, and I thought I had this one in the bag, so I-"
"Are we talking sex in a closet, coming out of the closet- what sort of closet is this, cher, and why was I not informed of this occurrence sooner?" France asked curiously, straining his neck to see his friend's reply.
"What about sex, ve?" Feliciano asked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and staring right at the French nation.
"Feli, cher, you are either extremely gifted and have very selective hearing, or you have a very bizarre way of knowing just when you are not supposed to be hearing something," France sighed, already having given up on his usually flamboyant attitude.
It looked to me like England had noticed this also (OK, Grazie Dio, so it wasn't just me), and looked almost a little nervous as he eyed his boyfriend (or... Okay, I assumed they were dating... I didn't think England was the type to let just anyone fuck him in the back of a van with a dirty churro...) from the front seat.
"Oh, I have lots of those things," Feliciano said happily, pulling out his fingers as he prepared to list off all his mental issues. "I take twenty-one medications a day, big brother Francis! One for anxiety, one for bipolar disorder, one for ADHD..."
ADHD... again with this fucking deja vu feeling...
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
The news, which was still running on the television behind me, caught my attention for an instant, and I turned to see what it was about. I almost thought I'd heard...
"...Preparations are under way for the biggest snowstorm of the year, folks. If you're looking to travel anywhere for Christmas, you're going to want to do it soon, because we're predicting two feet of snow next week in most parts of the state. Have a wonderful Thursday evening everyone; this is NBC Connecticut, on December 13th, signing off."
I switched off the TV and slammed the phone back onto the shitty receiver, which broke, naturally, as went my luck. I cussed out the receiver and America some more before finally giving it a dejected, "Fuck you," and exiting the hotel room. It was way too late for this shit.
If four in the afternoon constitutes as late for any shit.
The room itself wasn't bad, really. It was just the fact that it was American that made everything in it not worth my while. Or my money. Thank God all of England's lovey-dovey shit made the hamburger bastard pay for all of our stays in this stupid hotel.
The meeting room wasn't even that big!
I'd been in larger rooms in Lichtenstein, which was fucking miniscule!
So tiny it was barely even mentioned! So fucking unnoticeable it was barely seen more often than Canada!
Even though Canada was fucking huge!
Come on, I mean, really. The dick didn't have a senate room we could use or anything?
...
Wow, maybe it was time I took Feli's meds too. I must be ADHD or something.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
Um. What?
It's summertime. Why the fuck is snow...
Wait a minute.
Connecticut?
That's in...
America? What the fuck is going on?
"Oh bollocks, Italy Veneziano, we get it already! Just -for the love of God- stop already!" England complained, apparently deciding what little remained of his sanity was safer from Feliciano being smashed on the dashboard than it was sitting upright in his head the way it was supposed to be.
"Oh, right, as if you don't have your own issues, Inglaterra," Spain said darkly, still not moving from his position staring out the side window.
"I-I beg your pardon?" England spluttered, turning completely around to look at Spain, and fix him with a rather angry glare. "Care to repeat that?"
"Oh, right," Spain said, turning to face England also now, "As if you don't have your own issues, Ing-la-ter-ra," he said slowly, enunciating each word so as to get his message across more clearly.
"Antoine," Francis said warningly, leaning forward in his seat and pressing a pair of duct-taped hands to his friend's shoulder. "Don't be hostile to Angleterre now, you were doing so well."
"SÃ, big brother Toni, and I thought you hated the Netherlands, not England!" Feliciano chirped.
The Netherlands...? Shit, what does he even have to do with anything...?
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
I passed the Netherlands in the hallway, smoking some sketchy shit in that damn pipe of his, but paid him no more mind than the wallpaper behind him.
It was rather nice wallpaper, by the way. All cream colored and floral and shit. With those nice little ice-cream-shop stripes on the base thingy, which was bordered by two decent quality wood banner strip thingies.
Okay, so I paid him some mind.
His hair was spiked.
And shit.
...
You know, the usual.
I don't know, dammit!
Where was I before? The tiny meeting room. Okay, yeah. That sounds about right. Hmm. Yeah, don't get me wrong, Connecticut is nice. Really. And so is the Residence Inn, by the Marriott, with a fucking Courtyard (also) by Marriott right across a restaurant from it.
But.
Yes, here's that bombshell you've all been waiting for since the whole "This place is really nice," bit.
Yeah.
BUT!
But I was a picky, Italian individual.
And America sucked.
And Connecticut was fucking tiny.
Like Lichtenstein.
It's tiny.
And did I mention tiny?
And cheesy.
And American.
And I couldn't STAND American things anymore.
They import too much shit from China.
Seriously.
That stuff sucks.
I thought I felt China's glare on my back the whole way through the lobby, but I ignored him as best I could. In a very manly and non-retreating fashion. And I totally didn't hurry out those motherfucking glass and completely not thick enough doors like I was scared he was going to burn a hole through my very soul with those brown eyes.
Nope, that never happened.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
And now I was sweating. My hands felt all clammy, and were those cramps coming on? I'm remembering this. I'm remembering the exact gaze China was fixing me with. It's all coming back to me now, I can see it-!
...Fuck, or I could have, if these idiots would shut the hell up already!
"...yes. Ah, you're right, lo siento Inglaterra," Spain said apologetically, rubbing at the back of his head absently. "I guess I was just a little deeper in thought than I'm used to, a second ago there."
"Hmph, a rare occurrence for you, I suppose," England muttered, but said no more on the matter.
"Have we gotten to the corner yet?" Canada asked, -probably more like a shout for him- trying to change the topic of conversation.
"Ah, I've no idea," France sighed. "Shouldn't we have, by now?"
"Should have isn't the same as does," England murmured. "We've not reached the intersection yet, no."
...intersection? Yes, yes another one! Bring it on! Bring on the memory-shit!
\(^.^)/ - Spain!
France's crotch monster.
(;*) - ...France?
I-I'm not really sure what that was about.
...
A-Anyway.
Carry on.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
So I made my way down to the freaking Walgreens on the corner of that-too-damn-busy-four-way-intersection, as I had dubbed it two days ago, when we drove down to this little hovel of a hotel from Bradley International Airport.
I mean, seriously. The dumb bastard couldn't have picked a closer McDonald's to pick to stick us a block away from if he'd tried.
He had to drive us -at extremely fast speeds, might I add, I mean, holy shit man, I drove fast when I was in my sports cars, but we could have died (temporarily)- from the Airport that even with the speeds we drove at, took 20 minutes to reach?
That was twenty minutes of my life I was never going to get back, you know.
Okay, I didn't miss it that much.
I'm sure it would have been as miserable as the rest of my life had proven to be until this point.
Well anyway. I got to the corner of that-too-damn-busy-four-way-intersection (on the McDonald's side) and waited for the cars to stop and let a badass Italian through. I even decided to give a few of them the one-fingered salute while cursing them all out in the motherfucking language I was brought up on, because it was better than their shitty English anyway, and none of them were fucking stopping.
It took a while.
Like, so long, (because they're fucking rude-ass Americans, and they all decided to flip me off as they went because they were probably brought up taught that as etiquette) that I decided to just sit down and wait for someone else to attempt to cross the street.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
What the hell, I did this...? Mio Dio, I...
Never mind, that does sound like something I'd do.
"...so unawesome," Prussia was complaining. "I'm seriously about to lose some awesome, here. All these cars are so unawesomely slow. Can't you speed them up or something, Antonio? It's like they're all asleep at the wheel or something!"
"Spanish people are relaxed, amigo, you know that," Spain chuckled, pressing his head to the window and sighing. "Who knows, maybe they are asleep."
Asleep... where was I before?
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
The sound of the cars was sort of comforting.
I mean, we always had motor-like noises in my business-place back in Italy.
Through the windows, you know.
'Cause it was on a busy street and stuff. And I'll be the first person to admit I was more likely to sleep than I was to work in my work place.
Hah, working in the work place. Who the hell would do that? Some crazy-shit, no doubt. But as a country's representative, (or at least half of one, shut up, okay?) I couldn't exactly be fired.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
I fell asleep at an intersection...?
"...got to get somewhere we can pull off, even if that means taking directions from Spain," England directed, before beginning to identify highway exits to Prussia.
"Hey, my directional skills are not that bad!" Spain protested weakly.
"Antoine, you could not find a horse in a barn if you were led right to it, cher. Consider it a gift." Francis deadpanned.
...find...
Hey! I resent that on behalf of my oblivious supposed boyfriend!
Wait... find.
...
Ugh, I knew all this deja vu shit would give me cramps.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
...
And, uh... okay, maybe I fell asleep.
Just a little.
But I was really fucking tired, okay?
That stupid potato bastard had dragged Feli out for drinks last night, and-
...fine, Feli dragged the potato bastard out for drinks, and Feli wasn't back until two in the morning!
Two in the morning, I mean, che cazzo, what the hell is there to do in Connecticut that keeps you up until two in the morning? And this is my fratellino we're talking about! He takes siestas! Lots of them! Like me!
(Shut up. Italians are very high-maintenance sexy motherfuckers who need their beauty sleep.)
Anyway, I was up worrying over the little fucker until that hotel room door opened again. Don't judge me. I worry about my fratellino. Any self-respecting, mother-loving, God-following, brother-taking-care-of-ing...
You know what? I give the fuck up. I just give up.
So I fell asleep.
And Spain found me there.
Asleep.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
...wow, that's happened more than once.
Usually when I'm supposed to be cleaning something.
...
Good times, good times.
"Fuck, albino dude, I think you missed the exit again!" America complained, brushing crumbs (from the huge-ass bag of churros he'd just polished off) off his shirt and onto the -ew, so glad I'm not sitting in the middle row- floor.
"I did not!" Prussia exclaimed, spinning the wheel in a complete 360 and sending us all crashing over to the right wall of the van, and illiciting one Italian-sounding giggle, one Italian string of curse-words, one French string of tongue-fucking nonsense, one British-sounding string of gibberish, one American-sounding scream of terror, one Spanish expletive I NEVER thought I would hear from those lips, and one barely-audible cry of "Maple!"
France was leaning on me, and Feliciano was leaning on him, and I could safely assume Spain was currently being crushed under the weight of both North American nations. I cursed again, trying to shove France back into his own seat, and he cursed as well, but tried to shove his hands down my pants. At which I screamed again.
After what seemed like ENTIRELY too long a period of time, the van righted itself, and France the fuckface slid back into his own seat, after which I smacked him in the nose.
"See? I made the exit," Prussia said proudly, turning to shoot us all a shit-eating grin. "And look! We're almost there!"
"Yes, and I think you made whatever makes the exhaust come out of the car explode," England scowled, staring out his window at the cloud of smoke now surrounding the vehicle. "Or else completely shredded our tires."
The exhaust of a car... deja vu again? (How fucking long is this memory?)
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"Lovi?" a very familiar, very startled-sounding voice exclaimed right by my ear. "Lovi, are you okay?"
"Fratello!" Feliciano's voice called worriedly, also near my ear. Except, near my other ear.
Twice the idiot.
What a fucking joy.
"Vaffanculo," I muttered sourly, turning over to lie on my side in the grass. "'M trying to sleep..."
"Ahaha, that's lovely, Lovi," Spain said, as a hand tapped my shoulder nervously. "But you're kind of right next to the highway exit so there are a lot of cars, and a lot of exhaust, and a McDonald's, and I don't think you want your nose to be permanently damaged by either of those scents."
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
...Shit, was it just me, or was it getting harder to open my eyes?
"Can't I rape him just a little bit...?" France's voice breathed lowly somewhere near me, before I heard an audible slap, and British-sounding curses accented by French complaints.
"Italy Romano? Can you hear us?" That was Canada's quiet voice. I seriously wonder why nobody remembers him. I mean, really. It's not that hard.
"Rude Italian brother?" ...and there's America.
"Is fratello still breathing? Do I get to be the only Italy now, ve?"
...
Feliciano, I hate you.
So much.
So... fucking much.
"Lovi, are you okay? Can you see me? Listen to Boss Spain..." Shit, he sounded worried... Ah, but wait...
Boss Spain...
Che palle, curse all this deja vu stuff... I feel sleepy again...
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"W-what?" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.
"Si, fratello," Feli exclaimed happily. "Big brother Spain came to pick me up when you didn't show up, and he even helped the nice people pick up the cans! And then we saw someone lying on the grass across the road, and we thought maybe we should go help them! And then we woke you up!"
"...we shall never speak of this again," I mumbled after a short pause, and expectant looks from both Spain and Feliciano. Spain nodded awkwardly and smiled, and Feli just laughed and clapped his hands.
I scrambled to my feet, and almost fell over again for the trouble, in my still half-sleeping body. Spain caught my arm, and I lurched forward another step anyway before properly catching myself. I swatted his hand away, and brushed off my uniform's pants, before strutting back towards the road up towards the hotel.
...
Like a motherfucking boss.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"Can we carry him into the house- er, mansion?" England asked awkwardly from somewhere above me.
"Quiet blond boy I'm not sure I've ever seen before, go inside and get Austria and Hungary, they should have something to help!"
...oh, Spain. He's Canada. Come on. You know Canada.
"I'm Canada!"
"...Canadia, bro, when did you get here?" America exclaimed.
"I hate you," Canada muttered, before I heard soft footfalls walking away from the -I was still in the van, right?- van and towards Spain's house.
"Ve, Big Brother Spain, this reminds me of the time Lovino had the plague!" Oh, Gesu Christo, I wish I didn't have those memories... thank you SO much, Feliciano, for bringing them back up... "Oh, that was so scary! He couldn't move or anything without crying for weeks!"
"Ay, I know, Feli... He looks so pale, just like then... I know Lovi's not my colony anymore, but... I still have to protect him!" Spain said softly.
Hell no I'm not his colony!
...
But even I just d'awwed at the clichéness of that statement.
...
Why can't I move to smack him for making me d'aww.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
A motherfucking boss...
Who hadn't just fallen asleep waiting to cross an intersection to a grocery store to pick up his little brother who needed meds, and fast, and whose former parental figure/almost-brother/caretaker hadn't just woke him up extremely awkwardly.
Yeah. I envied that dude.
I'm sure he had a really nice life right about now.
Yup.
Maybe the fucker was sipping lemonade while sitting in his Ferrari and watching his blonde wife mow the lawn to their mansion, in only a bikini.
"Lovi, you seem kind of out of it, did you sleep at all last night~?" Spain asked after a minute or two of walking up that damn hill towards the hotel. "I know Feli and Ludwig didn't go back to the room until late last night... you didn't stay up waiting for them, did you?"
"No!" I snapped, defensively. A blush spread across my cheeks instantly. Well, it was true. I didn't stay up waiting for them. No, it was just Feli I was waiting for.
"Okay, you didn't stay up waiting for Feli, did you~?" he clarified quickly.
Tricky bastard.
"That's none of your business!" I huffed. "My sleeping habits are my own concern. Not yours. I haven't been your fucking colony for over a hundred years."
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"Oh, poor sweet Roma! What did you do, Antonio! He's just out of the hospital, you should know better than to try to have any sexytimes until he feels better!"
Oh.
I guess Hungary's here.
So blunt. So painfully, painfully blunt.
"Hungary! He doesn't remember that yet!" Spain said frantically, and I could just imagine the startled look on his face, while he animatedly waved his arms in the air.
"Oh! Right, right of course. Well what's the matter with the dear?"
"Ve, fratello passed out in the car and he hasn't responded since! I might get to be the only Italy, Miss Hungary! Isn't that great?" Feliciano chirped.
I repeat.
I hate you.
So much.
Why. Why are we related.
"Italy Veneziano, that's a terrible thing to say!" Austria scolded him, and I could also imagine the look on the piano bastard's face while he frowned down his nose at my little brother.
"Ve... sorry Mister Austria..."
"FELICIANO! Stop SAYING that!" Spain rumbled darkly.
...holy shit, Spain's pirate voice is out again.
Two times in one day.
He must be stressed.
"V-Ve, I'm s-sorry! Don't hurt me!"
"Oh, Antonio, you're scaring him!" Hungary snapped. "Stop being an ass!"
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"Ve, you and big brother Spain had sex?" Feli asked, coming up next to me on the sidewalk, his brown eyes wide open, for once in a very long time. "Mister Austria never did that with me! I'm so glad, ohh, that would have scared me so much fratello! Did you ride him or was it just into the mattress? Ve, I want to try that with Germany one day, it looks like so much fun!"
"We- what? Che cazzo, Feli!" I spluttered. "I didn't say that- stupid tomato bastard- you know I didn't- where the fuck did you- no!"
"Ahaha, Feli, that's not polite to say to someone..." Spain said nervously. "And no, we never... did that."
"I'm going back to the room," I said quickly, before Feli could say anything else completely mortifying about Spain and I, "And I'm making a pizza, and I'm not leaving the room until very late in the morning, or whenever I'm forced to leave for the maids, because they're pretty, and you're both complete asses."
"Ve... I'm not an ass, am I fratello?" Feli's voice muttered shakily from behind me, and I actually stopped to turn and face him, just to shout "YES!" in his face.
But... he had those eyes going... the ones with the big shiny spots in them, that I don't even know how the fuck they got there because there's one sun, dammit, not three of them! And his curl was drooping now too... shit, I hated it when his curl drooped... he looked so sad...
"No, you're not an ass," I sighed, before turning around once again, and continuing the trek up the hill.
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
"There, now Italy and Austria (and Prussia, and France) are inside, what do we do, Hungary?" England asked, beginning to sound a little nervous.
"Don't rush the genius, England! Give me a moment to think. Now you're certain he's not just sleeping?" Hungary demanded, and I felt a sharp twang in my cheek, signifying her pinching it with those fucking talons all women seemed to have nowadays.
"No!" Spain said frantically, and I could hear the tell-tale sounds of footsteps on gravel that signified his pacing. "When Lovi sleeps, he always mumbles every few minutes! His breathing isn't even enough for him to be sleeping, which is why I don't understand why he's not awake!"
...I do that?
"Alright then... hmm, hand me my purse, will you, Alfred, dear?"
"Hand? You can't just say give?"
"America dear, give me the damn purse before you find a frying pan so far up your ass it will protrude from your nose."
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
On the one side of us was a large incline covered in rocks and bushes and shit, and a plastic sign advertising a puppy store just up the hill. A larger billboard also informed me there was a Christmas Tree Shoppe up there too. I didn't know what the fuck a Christmas store would be doing in a place like this year-round. And I didn't want to know.
Actually, I didn't really give a shit.
And then on the other side there were some more stores. And stuff. And an A. C. Moore, and a Bed Bath and Beyond, and a Babies R Us. And... there was our hotel. Finally. But... we had to cross the street again.
Cazzo.
I just stood there for a minute or so, staring at all the cars whizzing past us. A few teenagers jeered out at us from a Chevy's window, and I didn't even have the energy to flip them off. It was like all the energy had fucking leaked out of me on the walk up here, through the hole that was where my heart was supposed to have been.
It... it couldn't have been than remark about Spain and I.
There was no way.
I liked women.
Like Belgium.
I had to talk to her later.
Yes, that's what I'd do.
At the next meeting, I might...
"Come on Lovi," Spain said gently, taking my hand in his and dragging me across the road quickly.
He... He didn't even look both ways!
We probably almost got hit about ten times on the way across. And it was only a four-lane street! And... and it was like he had fucking locked my hand in his! It couldn't have been my lack of energy that made it so hard for me to pull out of his grip though. I wasn't that weak! Honestly! I was motherfucking South Italy! The badass one of the pair of us.
...
Right?
(Okay, you know what? I suffer from a chronic lack of self-confidence, so fuck off, you stupid shits.)
\(^.^)/ - Spain...?
...my peaceful walk down memory lane was ended like an old lady's walk ends when someone stabs her in the gut and steals her purse when some NASTY-ASS scent assaulted my nostrils, and I jolted into a sitting position, gasping for breath.
"HOLY MOTHER-FUCKING SHIT-EATING COCK-SUCKING JESUS-KICKING TITS!" I screamed, violently swatting away the tiny green-colored vial held under my nose by the manicured nails I recognized as Hungary's.
"Hello to you too, Roma dear," she smiled simply, before capping the vial, tucking it back into her purse, and strutting -yes strutting, in five inch tall wedge sandals- towards Spain's house.
"Lovi!" Spain exclaimed, sounding relieved, as he flung his arms around my neck and hugged me close to his chest.
"I'm fine, tomato bastard," I huffed, shoving him off and hopping out of the van, stalking towards the house to hide the blush covering my face.
\(^.^)/ - Spain!
A/N: Ahaha, there you have it! This is what YOU GUYS get when my sister is left alone with me all day, and is directed to clean her room. Which she does. Eventually. (read: bothers me until I flip an epic shit, and periodically gets her room done bit by bit between flip-out sessions.) Uh... I hope you liked it~! (It was SO hard trying to keep this away from my sister's prying eyes all day. She's not old enough for Hetalia. XD. You guys better be hella grateful.)