Chapter 2: pond scum and secrets

France was fun! Spain really liked him, but then again Spain liked just about everybody so that didn't say much.

He adored living with a boy his age, it was so exiting! They would climb trees together, and go into the woods and hunt rabbits, and all sorts of things!

Today, like most days, the duo was outside; outside and drenched in water and pond scum.

"Spain, why did you push me into the duck pond? It is disgusting in there!"

"Aww, come on Franny, you can't hate it that much. It's a hot summer's day, let's go swimming."

Before France could protest Spain flung himself into the water. He was just a bit too much for France to handle, he knew that, and he applauded himself for it.

"Ugh! Spain, you splashed water all over my clothes!"

"So, what's the problem? Your clothes are already wet, come swimming with me, Franny."

"FINE! I WILL!" France seemed rather irritated, but that wasn't Spain's problem "and then my clothes will be all wet, and then I can die of hypothermia, and then…"

Spain cut the ranting boy off with a hardy chuckle "France, it's 35 degrees Celsius out, I don't think we have to worry about hypothermia."

Spain watched France give an unattractive frown before moseying his already wet pant leg into the water. "It's cold."

"That's the point."

…

Spain and France were cradled against a large grey bolder. Their sopping wet clothes and hair made dark, moist prints across it as they stared at the shimmering sunset. Pinks, and reds and oranges, and soft purple hue all rolled into one and Spain felt like worshiping the colors.

"Spain?" France's voice was soft and questioning and Spain had to turn had to turn his head to hear well.

"Yeah, what is it."

"Well, I was wondering why you're always so happy. You were taken away from your home, you must be sad about ii."

Spain gulped, how could he explain this. It was hard and on the tip of his tongue at the very same time. He sat in his thoughts for a minute and then the words splashed out of his mouth like waves on a beach. "I am sad, but I like to hide it. I don't want Rome to feel guilty and I don't want the rest of you to feel bad for me," he took a breath of clean starry oxygen and continued, lowering his voice as he went. "But not all of it is sad. Lots of things here are happy, the Italy brothers are both so cute you have to smile around them….and you, France."

"Yes Spain?"

"You make me happy."

France gave him a dazzling and heart warming smile. "I'm glad."

Spain's chest fluttered with delight. He was only seven and it was hard for him to put his emotions into words. He was thrilled that France understood.

He startled out of his thoughts as France wrapped him into a hug. Spain shivered at the touch of France's cold wet clothing, but he hugged back anyways, he didn't know why.

"Thank you for telling me," it was a barley audible whisper and it snaked into Spain's ears the way a thread forces its self into a sewing needle.

Before he could answer he heard the hushed conversation of feet on grass and a dark figure lurked out of the shadowy trees.

The two boys looked up at the cloaked figure as grinning ivory fangs glinted in the now moonlit night. "Sorry to interrupt the love fest, but Rome wanted me to come find you. It's time for dinner," the person spoke in a cocky prepubescent voice. Romania.

The two boys stretched into an upright position and sauntered home, with their clothes dripping water onto the grass.

i don't own Hetalia