Title: It Takes Two — To Keep It Hidden (Chapter 2)
Pairing: Spamano, just shōnen-ai again.
Summary: Finding Antonio's journal helped to kick-start a supposedly normal enough fight between Antonio and Lovino, not that Antonio knows that. What does Romano do next?
Warning: May contain country personification implied boyxboy, a.k.a. B.L. or yaoi. Both human and country names used.
Rating: T for multilingual cussing.
Word Count: 793
Continued straight from Chapter 1 of "It Takes Two" — ("To Keep A Secret")
Curled up on the bed, the auburn-haired Italian listened to the sound of the elder man's footsteps making his way back up the hall, then retreating downstairs. Although Romano was quite sure that Antonio had gone to eat down below, he didn't make a move, nor a sound. His body felt like it was stretched and twisted to the point of implosion, and his cheeks felt so hot that he was certain that if the curly-headed man downstairs were to see them he'd smile and call Lovino cute. "Ay, Roma, you look just like a tomate!" The thought of which, according to a sudden upward flare in room temperature, just made it worse.
Glancing down at his hands, Lovino Vargas stared down at them for a couple of seconds before he realized: What the fuck? My whole body's shaking. . . It couldn't be from when Spain touched him, could it? He closed his eyes and insinuated himself deeper into the mattress. You're horny, that's all it is. It's just a hormonal reaction from Spagna touching your curl, he tried to rationalize it to himself. But in the back of his mental process, another voice nagged: "Really? And it's not because it was Antonio who touched you?" Opening his eyes, Romano found nothing to distract his thoughts, except for the ceiling. No answers there. With no other alternative, he got up and started to pace around the room.
Unfortunately, however: as he did so, his thoughts kept leading to one thing above all else. ". . . — Merda!" All visions of Antonio vanished abruptly as soon as he slammed his foot into a desk leg.
Lovino wasn't paying any attention at all when he moved around the room, so he hadn't realized how close he was to the furniture. Damn, I hit it so hard it knocked me right on my ass. — What the hell? The impact caused by the collision had been enough to jar one of the desk drawers loose. From the floor, Romano tried to shove it back in, but discovered that the collision had also knocked something loose in the drawer below it. To put the drawer back, he'd have to get whatever-it-is out of there first. I haven't gone through this shit in ages. Gingerly reaching a hand into the innards of the desk, he fumbled around a bit before feeling a dusty, straight edge. Grasping it, he gently pried it out until he could look at it out in the open.
Un libro? South Italy flipped through the pages with one hand while the other hand slid the drawer back in, dusting it off as he looked through the book. Interestingly enough, the book was blank. It wasn't a sketchbook, though. This book was meant to be written in, Lovino thought. Maybe. . . He thumbed through the pages a second time, taking in how the edges of each page were yellowed with age and how they faded into their original creamy, rich white towards the centers. Running his fingers along the printed lines, Lovino sat down at the desk and reached for a pencil. Hesitating, but making his decision, he put the pencil back and took out a pen instead. Skipping a few pages from the front, Lovino started to write.
Weird, he thought as the pen moved across the paper. Che palle. Never thought I'd be one for writing. But the emotional conflict unlocked by reading Antonio's journal poured itself out with every sentence that he penned. It wasn't completely easy — Romano had a healthy distrust for anything that seemed too good to be true — and he had to stop at times to figure out how to best express his thoughts into coherent words, crossing out things here, or scribbling in the margins there. But it still seemed to flow surprisingly well for a guy who had never bothered to be terribly adept at it.
After what seemed to be a relatively short time later, Lovino dropped the pen on the desk. Pushing the chair out, he inhaled deeply while propping his feet up on the desk's surface, taking care not to bump the book. I'll wait for the ink to dry and then hide it. Since he also hadn't heard Spain come back upstairs, he assumed that the elder was still downstairs eating. Well. The Italian man allowed a snort of impatience to escape his thoughts. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Besides, that's not the problem right now. Swinging his legs off the top of the desk, Lovino Vargas frowned, biting his lower lip as he pondered the question currently at hand:
"Where the fuck am I supposed to hide this thing?"
Translations:
tomate — "tomato" (Spanish)
Spagna — "Spain" (Italian)
Merda! — "Shit!" (Spanish & Italian)
Un libro? — "A book?" (Spanish & Italian)
Che palle — literal translation: "that balls"; usual meaning: "what a drag"; used here as an expression of surprise
A/N:
Again, if I've made any mistakes whatsoever in my usage of Italian or Spanish, it is entirely my fault, and I will fix it if you leave a review correcting me.
Also: if you fave or follow this, I am very grateful that you have taken the time to read it, but if you want to make me a truly happy writer, leave a review telling me your favorite lines, or maybe a guess at plotline, or maybe even something that stands out the most to you in my writing.
(I'm sorry that this chapter is so short in comparison to the first, but I've made it that way for a reason, trust me.) ^^;