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hetalia2011-01-22 10:40 pm
[Fanfic] Educating America 8
Title: Educating America
Author: coffeefate
Genre: Humor/Romance(?)
Characters/Pairings: America, Romano. Some background pairings in passing.
Ratings/Warnings: PG13 for language, I guess. Rapid tense change. Awkwardness!
Summary: America wants to get to know Romano better. Romano just wants to fix the idiot's tastebuds.
Notes: Again, I'm not sure how this works yet, so if I screw anything up, just let me know.
The drive is uneventful. Romano doesn't speak, except when necessary to give directions. He's too preoccupied with trying to deny that his face is still burning under his helmet for reasons unrelated to heat, or that the fluttering in his stomach and the odd flips his heart is doing isn't caused by America's driving. The way America keeps making him feel like he actually gives a damn about Romano is disconcerting. It's an unfamiliar feeling, and it's confusing the hell out of him. America is silent as well, focusing on driving safely (and trying not to be distracted by Romano's arms around his middle, or the heat of the smaller nation's body radiating against his back).
"Pull up here." Romano finally says, and America obediently stops where indicated. He leaves his helmet and gloves with his motorcycle, and after some persuasion, convinces a reluctant Romano to leave his helmet behind as well. He agrees on the condition that America leave his jacket behind, which he does with surprisingly minimal pouting.
"So what is this place?" America questions, as he follows Romano to the unexpectedly nondescript building they've arrived at. It's dull, built of grey and brown stone, and there are no signs or displays outside, no clothes in the surprisingly small windows- in short, nothing to indicate that it's even a business. It almost appears abandoned, and America wonders nervously if maybe he pissed Romano off more than he'd thought, and the small Italian was bringing him somewhere out-of-the-way where no-one would hear him scream...but, Romano wanted to teach him about Italian food, right? And the Italys (Italii? Italuses?) took food-related matters very seriously, so he wouldn't hurt America until after dinner, at least. So he was probably safe, for now. Until after dessert, anyway.
At least he'd die well-fed.
"This," the small Italian announces gravely (oblivious to America's internal ramblings), flinging open the door, "is Nino's." With that unilluminating statement, he steps inside.
'Nino's' is much more impressive inside than out. The interior is tastefully decorated in warm reds and creams, and the lighting is bright without being harsh, suffusing the room with a welcoming glow. There are a few displays here and there, small glass cases containing accessories such as cufflinks, pocket handkerchiefs, or tie clips. One wall is lined with racks of ties. A small table occupies the center of the room, surrounded by a couch and several comfortable-looking chairs.
"Lovino!" an elderly Italian man calls out, arms flung wide in welcome, as they cross the threshold.
"Ah! Nino." Romano responds in kind. The man approaches, speaking rapidly.
"Ah~, Lovino, Lovino, Lovino~!" he cries joyfully, gathering the half-nation in an embrace, kissing his cheeks. "it is good to see you! And look at you," he holds Romano out at arm's length, "So handsome! I told you the double-collar was the right choice for you, you have such bone structure. And you brought a friend!" he exclaims delightedly, catching sight of America. "I must call Amata, she will want to see this. AMATA!" he hollers over his shoulder, the volume making both the nations wince, "COME AND SEE WHO'S HERE!"
"Nino." says Romano, who's suffered all this with a grace that surprises America.
"She will be thrilled to see you." The other man effuses.
"Who is it?" A feminine voice yells from another room.
"LOVINO'S COME! AND HE'S BROUGHT A FRIEND!"
"Nino." says Romano, trying again to get the man's attention.
A joyful cry, "Oh!" and an older woman enters the room, face shining. She claps her hands together as soon as she sees Romano in her husband's arms. "Oh, Lovino!" she crosses to throw her own arms around him, beaming, "And look at you, how handsome you are~!" she coos, taking his face in her hands. "Such a beautiful boy. But so scrawny, all skin and bones! You need to eat more." she catches sight of America, who is standing off to the side watching all this with fascination, grinning ear-to-ear. "And you must be his friend!" she crosses to America, taking his face, as well, into her hands. "So tall, and handsome, too! But skinny," she frowns. "You both sit, sit! I'll make you something nice to eat."
"Amata." Romano interrupts firmly, face in his palm. "Nino. We can't stay. We're here on business."
"Ah~, young people today, always rushing around. It's not good for you, you should learn to take things easy sometimes. Enjoy your youth while you can!" Amata chides, pinching America's cheeks. "Especially when you're with such a charming young man!"
"Now, Amata," Nino interjects, waving her off, "If the boy says he can't stay, then he can't stay. You can feed them another time. What can we do for you today, Lovino?" he asks, turning to Romano.
"It's kind of an emergency." Romano explains. "We have reservations this evening, and this idiot," he gestures to America, "needs something to wear. Since I don't have anything that would fit him, we came to you."
The older couple turn to frown at America. "Dinner with such a lovely young man, and this is what you wear?" Amata scolds, plucking at his uniform shirt. Nino clucks his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head.
"American." Romano says simply, rolling his eyes.
"Ahhh." they say in understanding. America shifts and rubs his neck, grin turning sheepish.
"Well," Nino says, stepping forward to look America over, stroking his chin thoughtfully."It's good you've come to me. He's a big boy, but I have some things in the back you can look through. Come."
He leads them into a backroom, where he pulls out several racks of menswear. "There. Anything on these racks can be made to fit," he beams. "You look through these, find what you like, and bring it to me. I'll go now and make preparations. Just call me when you're ready." With a wink, he leaves them to it.
"Thanks!" America calls after him, and turns to see Romano already rifling through the racks, examining suits. The half-nation pulls suit after suit out, testing the material, running his hands over them as he checks them for...America isn't sure what, really, they all look the same to him. Occasionally Romano nods, satisfied with something he's found, or frowns, brow furrowed, ultimately rejecting first this one, then that, replacing them on the racks to pull out others. After watching for a while, America decides to ask something he's been wondering about since he arrived at Romano's place.
"Hey, Romano?"
"Hm?" the other replies absently, preoccupied with his search.
"Um, I don't understand why I need a new suit." he confesses. "Not that I'm complaining!" he clarifies quickly when Romano scowls, "I really don't mind, but...I'm curious why what I wear or don't wear is so important. It doesn't really matter much where I'm from- well, it does a bit, sometimes, but- I wear this all the time and it's never been a problem, before. But, you and everyone else seems upset, and I'd like to understand what I did wrong."
Romano glances sidelong at him, and seeing the confused but hopeful look, gives in with a sigh. "It's true in your country nobody cares much what you wear. But in Italy," he says, stroking a charcoal sleeve consideringly, "the first thing anyone notices about you is how you dress, how you present yourself. What you wear, how you wear it, is very important."
"Here, your clothes are as much a part of who you are as your face, your body. And like your body," he adds, pulling out a dark suit (indigo or black, America can't tell) and lifting it up, head canted, "it has a language. What it's made of, how it's cut," (he indicates different parts of the suit he's holding to illustrate his explanation, but it's all Greek to the taller nation), "color, flow, how you coordinate, how you accessorize, it all speaks volumes- your social status, background, personality, how you feel about those you're with," he continues, placing the suit back on the rack. "all these things and more an Italian can read from your clothes."
"That seems kind of...shallow." America frowns, and Romano's face darkens.
"It may seem shallow to you," he grinds out, pushing hangers aside with unnecessary force, shoulders tense, "but here, in Italy, it's just another form of communication. A way to show that you have respect for those around you."
"Oh." America's brows furrow. "So, what do my clothes say?"
The Italian's jaw clenches for a second, and he exhales deeply through his nose. "Nothing good." he answers dryly. "Leave it at that."
"...Okay." he's quiet for a moment, before admitting, "I still don't really understand," causing the other to roll his eyes, unsurprised, "but, I'm sorry I upset you. And if it makes you happy, I'll wear anything you want me to, Romano. 'Cause your opinion is important to me." he finishes earnestly.
"O-of, course it is, bastard. And don't you forget it."
"Haha, of course not! A hero never forgets!"
Romano has to snort at that, rolling his eyes once more. How can one person drive him so many different kinds of nuts? "Hold that." he orders, thrusting a dark suit into the blond's arms.
'''Kay." they move over to a rack of formal shirts, where the Italian resumes his search.
"Hey, Romano?"
"...What now?"
"You said the way you dress shows how you feel about the people you're with, right?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that, but sure, close enough."
"So..." the American ponders, lips quirking. "You look pretty amazing." (and Romano freezes, hands tightening around the shirt in his hands), "Does that mean you dressed up for me?"
He stumbles back a bit when a dark teal button-up hits him in the face.
"Chigi! Bastard! Who would dress up for you, jackass? I just, haven't done laundry in a while, ok? This was the only thing that was clean!" he yells, cheeks darkening.
"Haha, okay, Romano, whatever you say." America grins, pulling the shirt off his head.
"We're done here." Romano growls, dragging him back into the main room. "Let's go get you fitted. And don't. say. anything."
---
The Italian couple watches in amusement as the still-blushing Italian emerges hauling a ridiculously beaming American behind him. He stomps over to the tie rack, angrily plucking one from the array, and snatches a pair of cufflinks from a display, turning to slam both violently into the pile of clothes in America's arms, and shoves the tall blond at Nino. "There."
The elderly man chuckles. "I take it you're ready for fitting?"
"I guess so." America agrees, looking down at the pile in his arms."Will it hurt?"
"Not at all," Nino laughs, and waves him to follow. "You just follow me. I'll take good care of you."
"'Kay!" is his cheerful response, and he looks over his shoulder as he goes. "See you soon, Romano!"
"Cheh." Romano huffs, arms crossed and staring resolutely away. Amata smiles at him knowingly.
"Come," she says, waving him over to the table already set with cups, a carafe of coffee, and a plate of chocolate-dipped biscotti. "let's have some coffee and catch up while we wait."
He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. He could do with some coffee right now. "Alright." He offers her an almost-smile. "That sounds good."
"So," she says, as they sit. "An American." Her eyes sparkle mischieviously.
"I-it's not what you think." he defends, face coloring slightly."He's just a business partner. We work together, sometimes."
"Oh, so this is a business dinner?" she asks, pouring out the coffee.
"Well, no." he admits reluctantly, "Not exactly. But, well," he looks down at his sleeve, idly twisting a cufflink, "All he eats is fast food. Hamburgers," he explains, and she makes a face."So, well, I thought I should show him what real food is. 'Cause, you know..." he trails off, awkwardly.
"I understand." Amata smiles warmly, placing a hand on his arm. "My Nino used to be the same way. Oh yes," she assures when he looks up, surprised. "When I first met him, he was living off of balogna sandwiches and coffee." They both wrinkle their noses in distaste. "Naturally, I was horrified. I had to save the poor man from himself." she smiles wider, patting his arm and handing him a cup. "Some men need someone to take care of them. Your American is lucky you're looking out for him."
"Who's looking out for that bastard?" Romano scoffs, taking it with a nod of thanks. "It's just disgusting watching him stuff his face with that junk, that's all. And he's not mine."
"Of course." she agrees with a fond smile, handing him a plate of biscotti. "A word of advice from an old woman? Next time, you cook for him. A restaurant dinner is good," she reassures with a wave of the hand when he frowns, "but nothing speaks to the heart quite so clearly as a meal made with your own hands."
"I'm not cooking for that idiot." he scowls into his coffee."And there won't be a 'next time'."
"Oh? You do not like him, this American who is not yours?" she asks, knowingly.
"Of course I don't! Well," he amends, "I don't hate him, but..." he glances up, then looks away. "He's so annoying. He's always smiling, and obnoxiously happy, and he's even stupider than Feliciano." he hesitates, "Okay, maybe not that stupid, but still." He puts his cup down to wave both hands in emphasis. "And he's loud, and he eats terribly, and he can't dress himself properly, and really, he's just completely clueless."
"Oh, my."
"He's already decided that we're going to hang out again sometime, without even asking. His manners are terrible, and he can't read the atmosphere at all." he complains, warming to his subject, "He drags me along with him, and I get pulled into his pace. And then he turns around and says or does something that-" he gestures wildly, searching for words, "just...throws me off-balance, and I don't know how I'm supposed to react! It-, he's confusing the hell out of me." he finishes, frustrated.
"That sounds terrible." she says sympathetically, hiding a smile behind her cup.
"Right?" he gestures emphatically.
"No redeeming qualities at all, then?"
"Not really. Well..." Romano looks down, fidgeting with his cuff again. "He can be kind of thoughtful, I guess. Sometimes. And he works hard... and the way he tries to be a hero all the time is kind of...cute, maybe. Annoying as hell, but cute."
"Ah." she hums. "Well, I can see why you wouldn't want him around, then. If he's as bad as all that."
"Y-yeah." he nods, a little uncertainly. They sit in comfortable, reflective silence, sipping coffee, lost in their own thoughts.
"Though, it's kind of... nice, that he listens to me. A little." he confesses quietly after a while. "And, well, he's been rediculously excited, about tonight." he toys with his now-empty coffee cup for a moment, and places it back on the table, adding, "He's still irritating, though."
"Well," she says after a moment, as she stands to begin clearing the table, "He'll be out soon, all dressed up and ready, and you can take him to dinner and teach him about our food, and then after tonight, you won't have to deal with him again." she pats his arm, kindly. "If you don't want to."
"Yeah." he agrees, and the churning in his middle isn't because he's depressed thinking about that, dammit, it's just that he's been drinking coffee on an empty stomach, that's all.
"But I wonder," Amata muses, clearing up the last of the cups, "If he'll be so easy to get rid of? It seems to me he's taken an interest in you, this American. And he doesn't strike me as the type to give up so easily. That is, if he's as irritating and clueless as you say."
"That's... true." he says, irritated at the warm feeling that spreads through him."The idiot never knows when to give up."
"Well then," she winks at him, "It seems you'll have your work cut out for you."
A reluctant half-smile tugs at Romano's lips. "Yeah, I guess so."
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That's always a relief to hear. OCs are so chancy, you know?
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Mod here
Re: Mod here
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*half sicilian, so i have a thing for them haha*
Nino and Amata are really cute too <3
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