AN: I was watching Hetalia AMVs on Youtube to try and get inspiration for this chapter. I found a Prussia tribute video to Avril Lavigne's "Slipped Away". I never thought I'd listen to her music again…but I found that song very fitting for this story. If you haven't heard it I recommend you look it up.
Finally got to finish this chapter! I could only write a little each day...I miss school and school computers...
Chapter 3—Two Weeks
The last week had passed in relative peace. Well, it was as peaceful as it could be in a house holding an irritating, abrasive, attention-seeking Italian and a stiff, workaholic German.
At 11 AM, the door to Germany's large office smashed open. "Where are your pens, potato bastard?" demanded Romano. He was glaring with dark circles heavy under his eyes. His blue pajamas were a wrinkled mess (Germany was just thankful this Italy wore pajamas in the first place, although Germany was certain he had seen those pajamas on a certain missing albino before...) and from his left hand hung a hefty stack of equally wrinkled papers. "Answer me!"
"Well, the quiet was nice while it lasted," Germany thought as he opened a drawer and pulled out a black pen. Romano snatched it out of his hand and grabbed a chair. The Italian dragged it up to the front of Germany's desk and plopped down heavily as he dropped the stack of papers on top of the desk. Germany stared as Romano took the first paper and started to read it. The blond's eyebrows shot up as the man signed the paper and grabbed another one. "Are you…actually doing work?" asked Germany, not believing what he was seeing.
"Of course I'm doing work!" Romano snapped. He angrily signed the next paper. "Don't judge me, bastard!"
Germany stared a bit longer, amazed, then shook his head and looked back down at his own paperwork. Who knew Romano could actually focus on work? Then again, if Romano didn't do it, then all the nation's work would fall to North Italy…God knows what sort of disaster would befall them all if that happened.
A crumpled up paper hit the wall to Germany's left and fell to the floor, narrowly missing the empty trashcan. Germany's eyebrows furrowed. "You cannot just toss out your paperwork."
"I can do whatever the fuck I want! If I don't want to sign it then I don't have to!" Germany sighed. Of course Romano wasn't really doing all the work.
Out of curiosity the nation asked, "Why didn't you sign it?"
"Because it was written by that bastard France. I am not giving that pervert the satisfaction of signing it."
"…I see. I probably wouldn't sign it either," admitted Germany, holding in a chuckle. He could just imagine what sort of agreements the Frenchman would try to slip into the normally inattentive nation's papers. "But it would be better to shred the paper instead of tossing it out."
"No. I'm going to find all of them, put them in a bag with dog poop, and light it in the middle of France's rose garden," said Romano smugly. Germany held in a sigh. He had been impressed that Romano was acting mature for once. Of course that had been short lived.
"Just don't make a mess if you want to throw out more papers."
"I'll do what I want, bastardo patate!"
Germany shook his head and returned to his own paperwork. Romano sent an occasional paper ball to the trash can-his aim was atrocious-and would grumble curses under his breath in Italian.
Romano straightened up his stack of papers and smirked. He had finished all the paperwork his boss had sent up. That meant the jerk had no reason to call him anymore, especially early on a weekend. Everyone knew Romano slept in on weekends! The Italian snarled under his breath and looked up. At least he could gloat about finishing first.
Germany's seat was empty.
Romano frowned and slouched in the chair. He hadn't won after all. When did the potato bastard leave? Damn sneaky German... The doorbell rang and broke Romano's train of thought. He heard the door open and some mumbled talking. That was where the bastard had gone. Who the hell was he talking to? The other potato bastard? Romano doubted that jerk would come back so soon after having his overinflated ego bruised.
Footsteps echoed off of the stairs just before Germany walked back in. He carried two take out boxes and another giant stack of papers. "What's in the boxes?" Romano asked, then caught himself and added, "Bastard." Germany sighed and rolled his eyes, then places the papers and one of the boxes in front of Romano.
"One of your people brought those." Romano groaned and flipped through the papers. Economics. Great. At least the box of food smelled good.
"I thought I beat you," the Italian said with a slight pout.
Germany chuckled and put down his own take-out box . He sat down and pulled a stack of papers even larger than Romano's out from under his desk. "You might still have a chance."
Romano perked up and grabbed a pen. Germany copied him and the pair returned to work, Romano writing furiously and Germany being calm as usual. Their food was forgotten in the rush to be finished first.
An hour later Romano's burst of energy died. He growled and slammed his pen down on the table. Stupid economics. Stupid economy. Stupid confusing market net export import inflation shit.
"Give up?" asked Germany. The blond man sat at his desk, calm as before, slowly working his way through his paperwork. A pile of completed forms was beside him. Romano glared at it. Why the hell couldn't his paperwork be that easy?
"...maybe." Wait, did he just admit that out loud? The German bastard chuckled, so he must have. Romano's eyebrow twitched in irritation. He grabbed up his remaining papers and threw them at Germany. "Fine!" he shouted angrily, "If you're so good at it, then you finish them!"
The papers slowly drifted down onto the desk and floor. Germany sighed and pulled the paper he was last working on out of the scattered mess. "Pick them up," he said as calmly as he could.
"No, bastard."
"Pick your papers up now."
"I said no!"
"Then leave," Germany spat out, finally returning Romano's glare.
"Fine!" shouted Romano as he stood, throwing his chair down to the floor.
"Fine!"
"FINE!" Romano scowled and fled the room.
Germany glared after the nation. His eyes fell down to the mess of papers littering what was once his pristinely clean wooden floor and desk. The man sighed and pushed his chair back. He grabbed his take-out box and quickly walked to his room as he thought, "Why the hell haven't I kicked that child out of my house yet?" Germany shook his head and entered his room.
The take-out box was dropped on the bedside table and Germany began to eat. Why hadn't he kicked out South Italy yet? All that child did was make messes and complain about everything. Germany didn't even take that attitude from his brother...who had left. Because of Romano. Germany sighed and set his fork down. His anger dissipated and was replaced with confusion. "Why?" he asked himself again. He had no answer.
Romano stomped off to the front door and grabbed the blue suitcase. It was still lying on its side from when Prussia had kicked it one week ago. Romano dragged the suitcase up the stairs, making sure to hit each step as loudly and violently as possible with the wheels, and entered his brother's old room. The man's nose wrinkled in disgust as he surveyed the nearly empty room. How often did his brother even use it? He always snuck into the potato bastard's room. Romano shivered and walked to the closet.
Several button-up dress shirts, most of them dark blue and white, hung up on one side of the closet while three pairs of dress pants hung on the other. Romano tore the clothes off their hangers and stuffed them into the suitcase on top of the uncleaned t-shirts and jeans (Romano had to wear something in those past two weeks. He was lucky his brother's clothes fit so well). He zipped up the suitcase, grabbed the red, white, and green blanket off the bed, and was back down the stairs and out the front door in record time.
Romano's seatbelt had just clicked into place when his cell phone rang. The Italian stared at the device singing away in the passenger seat, oblivious of the radiating hatred. It would be so easy to just open the door and chuck it against the German's house. He picked it up, decided which window he was going to smash to bit with his hefty Nokia projectile-why else would he have the giant thing?-and then changed his mind and answered the call.
"Who is it?" Romano asked morosely. He slumped back against the black leather seat and picked at the steering wheel.
A chipper voice responded, "It's me, fratello! I haven't called in a while, did you forget my number? Oh! I'm sorry, I should have called more, but Spain and I were having so much fun visiting-"
"Don't care."
"Wah, you're mean," North Italy replied. Romano's lip twitched up. He could practically see his brother's pout on the other line. He could also see Spain wrapping his arms around Veneziano, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder with a giant smile, asking who he was talking to...
Romano's frown returned. His chest hurt. "I don't care if I'm mean."
"Ve~ it's okay! I know fratello never means it."
"I do mean it, you idiot! I don't care what you two are doing!"
"Are you feeling left out?" Yes, but not the way Veneziano was thinking. "We were talking about visiting soon. That's why I called! Wouldn't it be fun? Our plane got back yesterday so we already slept it off and we can hang out today without falling asleep and we can all have some wine and eat pasta and then go for a walk along the-"
"No."
"Ah, don't be like that! It's been forever since I've seen mio fratello! I know Spain wants to see you too." Romano sighed and sunk deeper into the leather seat.
"I'm busy. Paperwork and shit. I don't have time to hang out," said Romano, only slightly lying.
"Oh? Were you covering my work? I'm sorry, I'll come help!"
"No. It's almost done, I just need to sleep it off now. Stay there."
"B-but I wanted to see you! It's been so long!"
"You will eventually. Just not when I'm so exhausted." Romano could hear Feliciano sigh and pull away from the phone. He could a few intelligible mumbles of conversation and a whine. Romano flinched. His brother had probably told Spain.
Veneziano started to speak into the phone again. "What about tomorrow? Please, fratello?"
Romano sighed. "Fine," he said, "But I'm at the potato bastard's house." He hung up before his brother could respond. With another sigh Romano exited the car, grabbed the suitcase, and dragged it back up to Germany's front door. He walked inside and flopped back down on the couch. The tv was turned on and Romano zoned as he watched a soap opera.
Footsteps down the stairs and into the hall heralded Germany's arrival. The man stared at Romano for a minute before asking, "What are you still doing here?"
Romano snorted and looked away from the television. "I'm staying until tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Because Italy and Spain are coming here tomorrow." Germany froze. His eyebrows knitted together in concern. Romano shrugged and said, "They were going to visit both of us anyway. At least this way I can use you to distract them." And so I can distract myself by yelling at you when they get all lovey-dovey-bullshit.
"I...I understand," said Germany softly. He sat beside Romano on the couch and folded his arms. Thoughts of Italy's excited face rose up in his mind...then he saw that expression facing someone else. Oh yes, he understood perfectly. "Better to suffer with company, I suppose."
"...something like that," Romano muttered as he sunk deeper into the couch, eyes trained on the tv. Then he caught himself and added, "Bastard."
AN: My chapters keep getting longer! Makes me proud to see it. I'm sorry to anyone who may have checked for this update. Classes are out for the summer and I only have access to the family computer, which is in high demand. No promises on when the next update will be but I hope it will not be long.