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hetalia2011-06-14 02:16 am
karuka-ikashi.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-06-14 02:16 am
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[FIC] Truth Be Told, Chapter Nine
Title: Title: Truth Be Told
Pairing: Spain/Romano
Genre: Comedy/Romance with a dash of Angst...yum
Rated: T
Summary: The Well of Uncomfortable Truths is discovered and deals Spain a hard fact: “Whenever you said you loved him, you didn’t really mean it. You were thinking of his brother. They were empty words.” But who was it talking about? And will Romano be convinced?
Chapter 9
Austria could never remember a time when he had been more nervous. Wars and other challenges he had faced held no comparison to the situation he found himself in now. He was losing his composure, and that for him, was a very frightening thing. The aristocrat looked down at himself and fixed his new cravat, still bitter at his idiot of a host for ruining the first one. That wine stain would be difficult to get out. He almost considered leaving the party out of spite, but he knew there was no way he could ever do so, for mainly three reasons. One, of course, being that he was a gentleman and would not do something so distasteful or undignified. Another was that though the host was a moron, the guests who had come here tonight did not deserve to be denied their entertainment or the chance to listen to his beautiful piano playing. And the last, of course, was much more personal than all that.
The man sighed, checking his appearance in the mirror once more. He looked refined and proper enough on the outside, but within, he was a disastrous mess. It was stressful and frustrating to think that he could be flustered so easily, by a person he had a great deal of history with and should be used to by now. He and Hungary had lived together, united, and then had drifted apart when their countries had separated, but now their relationship was more that of close friends. However, he could never deny that he had feelings for the woman. She had always supported him, and during his times of greatest trouble, she had been there by his side. He would always be grateful for that. The Austrian had denied having feelings stronger than friendship for so long that to suddenly come out and say it after so many centuries seemed a daunting and impossible task. Just stay calm, he told himself. Let the piano speak for you with its melodic notes as your words. Music had always seemed to be the best form of expression for him when whatever he had wanted to say just wasn’t enough.
Meanwhile, in the ballroom, Hungary was anxiously sipping her wine as she tried to help Germany calm down a restless Veneziano.
“But Germany! Romano-niichan ran away from the ball! How is Spain-niichan supposed to find him and live happily ever after if we don’t go after him?”
The German grunted.
“Your brother is not Cinderella,” he told the weepy-eyed Italian. “Spain has already gone after him. It’s not as if Romano will just disappear, and we need to trust Spain to bring him back himself rather than risk ruining France’s birthday party by piling out there after him too. Just relax and try to enjoy yourself.”
“Germany’s right,” Hungary said. “Romano and Spain can take care of themselves. We shouldn’t meddle in their business. The same goes for England and America. Sometimes having too many people involved can just make things worse and embarrassing for the two with the problem.”
Usually Hungary didn’t mind butting in to other people’s lives now and then, but in this case, she could relate. She was grateful no one had bothered her about Austria lately, and she wanted to return the favor. Speaking of the man, she was beginning to grow more concerned about him as she noticed the seat by the piano was still empty. Where had he gone off to? She had seen the accident that had happened with the wine and heard France’s announcement. Surely it didn’t take that long to change a silly cravat. As she thought about it more, her imagination started taking her to places she wished it wouldn’t. Maybe the Austrian had decided to leave the party early for some reason. Her stomach twisted at the thought, and she felt a depressing heaviness in her chest as she thought of how disappointed it would make her if she didn’t get to see him again that night.
And then, there he was. Hungary was almost certain she was the first person who saw him, but soon after, the room began to quiet down as the Austrian made his way over to the piano and stood by it. He looked so elegant, so refined, as he patiently waited for the guests to fall completely silent and listen to him. Hungary took a few steps closer to the piano, and her lips curved into a smile as she watched the aristocratic man sweep his form down into a bow and call out to the audience.
“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for allowing me the honor of playing for you tonight. I have prepared a special piece of my own creation that I would like to share with you this evening. It is dedicated to one very special person. I ask you to please listen and enjoy yourselves. Thank you.”
Without further ado, Austria took his place on the piano bench and set his fingers on the keys. He started with one of his regular original pieces, one he was sure Hungary could remember having heard several times before. This was the one from when they lived together under the Hapsburg family, the next was during the time they had shared a home with just the two of them under their united countries. Hungary listened quietly, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she associated each melody with its respective memory. Each song carried with it countless years of history and all the events and feelings tied within them. It was all so beautiful.
And then, Austria faltered. He had just finished the last song and was trying to begin his new one, the one he had recently created, when his fingers struck the wrong key, sending the offending note echoing throughout the room. He stared in shock at his hands, unable to believe he had made a mistake so early into the new piece.
The silence in the room was heavy. Everyone stared at the pianist, whose fingers twitched uncertainly as Austria willed himself to continue. Hungary took an anxious step towards him, but the man closed his eyes tightly, gave his head a shake as if to clear it, and with a single deep intake of breath, began to play again, sighing slowly as he did.
The music filled the room flawlessly once again, but there was something different about it this time. It was as if the sound was channeling all the tension Austria felt within himself as he increased the tempo and struck each key a little bit harder than usual. Hungary held her breath for a moment. This was all wrong. Instead of making her feel relaxed and happy, the music was making her nervous and unsettled. She couldn’t ignore the strained expression on Austria’s face. The man was trying so hard…His music was beautiful, but his aura was twisted and confused. Hungary had never found it hard to appreciate the sounds her friend had produced before, but she found herself frowning, biting on her lower lip, swaying on her feet as if still trying to decide whether or not to approach him.
And suddenly, Austria saw her. He saw the doubt and unease in her features as his wordless message reached her ears. Was his music that horrible? Did she despise him? Would her respect for him dissipate? The aristocrat’s head was filled with a multitude of dreaded possibilities. And yet, he kept playing, the insecurity and worry he felt seeping in through his fingers and changing the tune. Hushed voices murmured around the room. Even the most oblivious guests could tell by now that this wasn’t the piece Austria had intended to play. It was flowing in time with his emotions, untamed, unpredictable, and yet, never stopping or hitting a sour note.
Austria could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck and the heat on his cheeks. This wasn’t going at all as planned. Should he stop? Would he look like a fool if he continued? The sounds coming out of the piano now were light and questioning. He was having trouble focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. The rest of his body felt incredibly stiff. If he wasn’t able to relax soon, then the music would be-
Strong, yet gentle hands rested themselves on his shoulders. Austria froze, letting the room fall into complete silence. It was over, the music had stopped. All of his feelings were shut tight safely within him once again. Painfully within him. In spite of how reluctant Austria had been to express his emotions before, having them bottled up inside him again was far worse at the moment. He could feel the weight of the guests’ stares. It wasn’t until the fingers clenched around him started massaging him in a soothing motion that he was finally able to release some of his tension.
“Breathe,” a voice behind him said quietly. “You can do this. I know you can…”
Austria followed the advice and inhaled. His fingers went back into motion and the music became slow, gentle. Hungary was here. She was with him. All the fear he had felt when he had imagined her leaving him slowly disappeared. He felt comforted, secure. He could do this; he had her support, and it was really all he needed. The aristocrat became more confident, quickly filling his song with more passion, trying to express the warm glow within his chest as he felt his love’s hands on his shoulders. He could do this now. He was doing this. Smiles spread across the room as the guests watched the pair before them, a perfect partnership creating music for all of them to enjoy.
I love you, I love you, I love you… Austria wasn’t sure if he had only been imagining the words as he played or if he had managed to utter them out through his mouth as well as his fingers. All he knew was that a moment later, Hungary was leaning down close to his ear and whispering in a soft, loving voice.
“I love you, too.”
Meanwhile…elsewhere
Spain knelt on the cold stones of the courtyard floor as he continued to let out muffled cries of protest until his throat grew sore from it. His world was dark; he only knew he was still near France’s house because his captor hadn’t dragged him very far. The Spaniard was desperate and scared, but most of all he was overcome by a deep feeling of regret and sadness at the thought of Romano slipping further and further away. Please let me go, he begged silently. I still have to go after him…
Then all of a sudden, the world was visible again. Spain blinked, looking around at his moonlight-bathed surroundings. It was definitely his friend’s courtyard. The house wasn’t too far away, but it was still far enough that the other guests wouldn’t easily notice him. His eyes glanced over the rose bushes and other surrounding vegetation. For a moment, he almost thought he was alone until he turned his head back and saw his captor standing there, blindfold in his hand. Spain’s eyes widened, and he let out an incoherent shout of the other man’s name through the gag.
“Surprised, Espagne? I’m terribly sorry it had to come to this, but I saw no other way to get you to listen to me.”
The green-eyed man shook his head in disbelief and struggled against his bonds, as the man ran a hand down his cheek and stepped over to stand in front of him, squatting down so the two were at eye level.
“Seriously, mon ami, what do I have to do? I told you Romano would run again, and we agreed when we planned this that if he did, you wouldn’t chase him. Now why would you break our deal?”
Spain closed his eyes, which had begun to water and grunted something out. Frowning, his captor reached behind his head and undid the gag so the other man could answer him. Spain spit out the cloth and sucked his lip for a moment before looking up at his friend sadly.
“I’m sorry, France! But I can’t keep that promise anymore…” he said. “I can’t just forget about Romano! Even if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t stop trying!”
“You’re a fool!” France hissed. “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it? Romano doesn’t love you! He’s not coming back, so just forget about him and get over it!”
“No!” Spain argued, eyes glossy with tears. “I won’t! You don’t know him like I do, France! He does love me! He’s just…not so good at showing it.”
“Wake up, Espagne,” France said, shaking his head. “The boy wants nothing to do with you. You’re wasting your time chasing him. If you really want him to be happy, you’ll respect his wishes.”
Spain sniffed, his throat tightening.
“But,” he choked, “I want to be happy too…”
The Spaniard looked down at the cobblestones miserably. Was it true? Was chasing after Romano, who obviously didn’t want to see him anymore, such a selfish thing? Spain’s heart felt torn apart. What was the right thing to do? Imagining life without Romano was hard, almost impossible. But how could he force someone to stay with him who resisted him so much? He loves me; he does. He’s just denying it. However, the Spanish man could not hide the confusion and doubt on his own face even as he thought so.
France’s voice softened, and he met Spain’s eyes with gentle pity and a slight smile. He rubbed his friend’s shoulder before reaching up to cup his chin and forcing him to look back at him.
“You can be happy, mon ami, with someone who really loves you, not someone who pushes you away and runs from you on sight. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show his feelings for you. If you opened your eyes a little, you might see that that person is not so far away.”
Spain’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at first, soon followed by his eyes widening in shock as the Frenchman leaned forward and pressed his lips against his. France was gentle at first but soon became more passionate, capturing and claiming Spain’s mouth for his own. His friend was too surprised to even move right away. When the Frenchman attempted to shove his tongue down Spain’s throat, however, the other man finally came to his senses.
“F-france! Stop!” he sputtered, jerking his head away quickly. He gave the blonde a distressed look. “What are you doing?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?!” France demanded angrily, looking hurt at the other’s rejection. “You’re the one I want! The only one I want, but also, the one I can never have! And why? Because you’re still too busy chasing after your cute little henchman to even notice that I’m standing right here, waiting for you to come back and see me!”
Spain gaped at him for a moment, unsure about how to respond. All was silent save for one bird chirping up high in a tree somewhere nearby. He finally closed his mouth and looked back at his friend apologetically. He didn’t want to hurt France after the other nation had laid his feelings bare before him, but he felt like he didn’t have a choice. Thinking over his words carefully, he finally answered the blonde.
“I’m sorry, Francia,” he said, “but I don’t have anything more to give you. You’re my friend, and I love you, but not-, not the way I love him. There’s only one Romano. I’ve watched over him most of his life, and even though he yells at me, and swears at me…even though he calls me names, and complains about me, and even hits me sometimes, he’s mine. He’s always needed me. And even now that he’s all grown up and his own country, even though he’s independent and doesn’t rely on me for anything anymore…he’s still mine. I know he doesn’t think so, that’s how I feel. He’s the most important person to me, and there’s a part of my heart that no one but him can claim. He thought I wanted his brother instead of him, but Ita-chan never belonged to me the way he did. You can’t trade one Italy for another because they’re two very, very different people. I was such a fool…When he left me, I thought I could use Veneziano to fill that hole he left in my heart. But it was impossible. Every time I looked at him, every time I got close to him, every time I tried to tell him I loved him- I kept seeing my Romano. And Ita-chan didn’t even know what was going on! I was lucky…I finally stopped before it was too late. I thought I should just take some time to myself, some time to get over Romano…but then the Well happened. I found out Romano loved me. And I realized- I had to do whatever I could to get him back! No matter how stupid or crazy! That’s why I’ve tried everything, and I’m not done trying yet!”
“You fool!” France cried. “You might think you’re being heroic or romantic, but really, you’re just being stubborn! Do you really think he’s going to take you back if you keep pushing yourself on him? It’s over! Let it go and move on! You could if you tried.”
Spain shook his head and looked back up at his friend, crying openly now.
“I love him, France! Only him! And nothing’s ever going to change that!”
“Fine then! Let him trample on your heart until there’s nothing left! I tried, Espagne, but there’s just no reasoning with you,” the Frenchman said, getting dangerously close. “Perhaps I’m going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should try a different method of persuasion, hm?”
He ran a hand down Spain’s smooth tanned chest, desire filling his eyes. The other hand was around the back of the Spaniard’s neck, fingers curling around the short hairs at the base as France leaned closer. Spain took a moment to realize what was going on, but before he could even open his mouth to protest, France stopped suddenly. His face was stained red, and pieces of smashed tomato were falling down from his nose across his features. Spain knew that aim anywhere. It couldn’t be!
“R-ROMANO?!” he sputtered.
“Get your fucking hands off him, bastard!” the Italian snarled at France as he stepped out from behind one of the hedges, near the vegetable patch. In the trees, high above, Prussia’s bird chirped, staring down at them.
Spain couldn’t believe it. His Romano was here! He had come back! If he had not been tied up, he would have run over to hug him. For now, happiness was spread all across his features. France was far less amused.
“So, finally decided to come running back, did you? Well? What have you to say? That you love Spain? That you forgive your ex-lover and want to come home with him? It’s a bit late for that, I think. You have another obstacle now, mon ami. Moi.”
“I-I’m not afraid of you, dammit!” Romano growled, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Let him go, bastard!”
“Not until you say it. Say it, Roma,” the Frenchman mocked, making Romano twitch at the nickname he had only ever let Spain call him. “Tell Espagne here how you really feel. If you can.”
Romano squished one of the tomatoes he was holding as he clenched his hands furiously. France smirked back at him haughtily. He knew the Italian’s weakness well, and he wasn’t hesitant to use it against him. Maybe now Spain would finally see what Romano was incapable of…or at least acknowledge it.
“I…I…” the Italian began, trembling a bit, but he quickly screwed his eyes shut with anger and embarrassment. “N-no! Shut up! I’m not going to do it just because you told me to, you fucking wine bastard!”
He began pelting the fruits again, but France found that Spain made an excellent tomato shield and hid behind him. Romano glared at him as the blonde smirked and daringly leaned forward to lick some of the tomato juice from Spain’s cheek.
That did it. What happened next was rather unexpected on France’s part. One moment he was teasing the Italian, the next moment, he was pinned down underneath him as Romano lost all his inhibitions and assaulted France without hesitation. The usually weak and cowardly country was ablaze with powerful rage as he pummeled the Frenchman with both his fists and his words, a shocked and disbelieving Spain watching the two, wide-eyed.
“R-romano, stop! That’s enough!”
But the Italian wasn’t listening. Instead he was busy trying to keep the upper hand as France countered his attacks, the older and more experienced country refusing to take the abuse Romano was dealing. If this was a fight for Spain, neither was willing to lose.
“You brat!” France hissed, blocking Romano’s next punch and grabbing him roughly by the collar.
He attempted to throw the younger man off of him, but Romano already had a tight hold on the blonde’s long hair and yanked it painfully as he was shoved away. France gritted his teeth and kneed Romano hard in the ribs, causing the Italian to cry out and finally release him. The Frenchman took advantage of this moment and shifted all his weight to one side, effectively flipping them over and turning the tables as Romano struggled beneath him. France smirked and leaned close to him.
“Give it up, mon petite. You know you can’t win against me.”
“Damn you…Go to hell, bastard!” Romano yelled and rammed his forehead into France’s nose.
France reeled back and held his bleeding face, the look in his eyes turning from competitive to deadly.
“You…” he started, but was too angry to even finish his sentence. He gripped Romano’s neck with one hand and raised the other to strike him as the Italian gasped and tried to free himself, choking.
France’s hand came down. Romano squeezed his eyes shut. There was a thud above him as the blonde’s hand made contact with something, and then the Italian opened his eyes to see- Spain. And it wasn’t just the Spain he knew. It was a Spain he hadn’t seen for a long time, the Spain that fought more than he smiled...a conquistador.
“France,” he said, his voice far from the pleasant or pleading tone it usually was, “get off of him.”
If history had ever taught France anything about Spain, it was that fighting against him when he had that merciless look in his eyes was a very dangerous thing. Never as long as he could remember could he recall Spain ever having a look in his eyes that was as serious as death itself. A look that told him if he didn’t back away right at that instant, he would seriously regret it.
France immediately released his hold on Romano and withdrew. Spain, despite still being tied up with his arm in a sling, continued to give him the most intimidating look he could muster while Romano scrambled behind him and worked on releasing his bonds. France wiped the blood from under his nose as he looked at his friend coldly, a hurt expression on his face.
“Why him? You’ve been my friend for so long, Espagne. Surely you must understand what I feel for you.”
At that, the Spaniard’s gaze finally softened, but not by much.
“If you really love me, then, you’ll understand…It’s not a feeling that can be erased or adjusted. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I don’t want you to suffer, Francia. But this is a battle you can’t win. I love Romano, and I’ll fight for him, even if I have to break your heart to do it. I’m sorry.”
The rope fell to the floor, and Spain turned to face the Italian behind him.
“Roma…” He smiled sadly at the younger man, his eyes asking for forgiveness, hoping for acceptance, but it wasn’t necessary. Without warning, Romano suddenly thrust himself at Spain, throwing his arms around his neck and pulling him close in a movement that caught the Spaniard completely by surprise.
“Spain…” Romano muttered by his ear.
“R-romano!” Spain threw his good arm around him and hugged him fiercely. The tears that had stopped only moments ago resurfaced. He couldn’t believe it. He had his Romano back. He wanted to just hold onto him forever and never be separated from him again. After all the effort he had put into winning his love back, he had finally succeeded. “Roma…I missed you so much!”
“B-bastard!” Romano stuttered. “You stupid, stupid asshole.” He gripped him tighter. Spain had even missed being called those names.
“I’m sorry, Romanito. I want you to know I truly-”
“I heard you,” the Italian interrupted, surprising Spain. “I heard everything. But…did you really mean it, bastard?”
“Mean what?”
“What you said!” Romano snapped. “About me and Vene and…”
He trailed off, too embarrassed to go into the details of Spain’s words. The Spaniard looked at him quietly and then, giving a nod, held him closer, talking quietly as he pressed his cheek against Romano’s.
“I meant it all. You’re the one I’ve always loved, Roma. Not your brother. Not France. Not anyone. Only you. So please…will you love me again, too?”
“Stupid bastard,” Romano replied, his voice choking. “I’ve always…I still love you, dammit.”
That was what had made these past few weeks so hard- that even when he had been the most furious, even when he had cursed Spain’s name and sworn to never see him again- the Italian’s feelings had still been there, flickering behind his hardened heart. I love you, dammit.
He rested his chin on Spain’s shoulder and felt the other hold him close- as close as he could without smashing his arm in between them. Romano ran his fingers over the fabric of the red and yellow sling, and Spain smiled, pulling back slightly to kiss the Italian’s cheeks, stopping the flow of tears that ran there. Damn, how Romano had missed the feel of those lips against his skin…
France watched from a distance silently. He wouldn’t accept this loss. But he wouldn’t fight with Spain anymore either. No, he was finished here. There was nothing more that he could do. He couldn’t wrench Romano away or change Spain’s mind by talking to him. Not when those two were like this. The Frenchman stood, frowning, ideas flowing through his head, but not a single option he liked or thought useful came to mind. Is this fate, then? Have I done all I can? He let out a sigh, wiping at his eyes before anyone could see the effect his loss had had on him.
“Congratulations, Espagne,” he said quietly, “You got exactly what you wanted… Wasn’t I a good friend to you after all?”
Neither of the other two countries seemed to hear him, as they were too lost in their reunion. France forced a smile on his face and began to walking back to his house. There were guests waiting for him after all, and he would be a rude host indeed if he disappeared for too long.
“France!” Spain suddenly called out behind him. “Wait…”
The Frenchman paused but didn’t turn around. What good were words now? He had heard plenty for one night. The blonde waited for a moment longer, letting out a deep sigh. Before the Spaniard could say anything else, however, the trio were interrupted by a loud squawking overhead. Two birds were flying in circles above them. One was distinguishable as Gilbird, the other was France’s own bird, Pierre. Romano already knew why the duo was making such a racket. He had almost forgotten the reason Prussia’s annoying pet had assaulted him during his escape from France’s house and led him back here in the first place.
“The Potato Bastard’s brother is trapped in the Well,” he informed France. “This demented chick wouldn’t leave me alone till I did something about it. The whole reason I even came to your damn party was to tell you so you could go save him yourself.”
France looked at Romano unbelievingly and then back up at the birds.
“Is this true?”
The two squawked louder, and Pierre came down to land on France’s shoulder and chirp in his ear more urgently. The blonde gave a nod and prepared to leave right away. The guests would have to wait after all; this was important.
“Spain,” he said, turning to his friend. “Please tell the others that I had to leave suddenly and hope they’ll accept my deepest apologies. Let them know I’ll return as soon as possible with Prusse.”
The Spaniard nodded slowly.
“France, I-”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Espagne,” the other man said quickly. “I am happy so long as you are happy. Now please, do as I’ve asked.”
It was a lie, and even Spain could tell. Maybe it could be less painful…He knew France didn’t want to draw it out any longer, however, and right now, he too was concerned for their friend.
“Bring him back safe,” was all he said as he held Romano closer to him.
France gave a curt nod and was off at once, Pierre flapping behind him. Spain and Romano watched them go, finally alone together in the courtyard. The Spaniard held onto his lover as if he might disappear at any moment, but the Italian stayed still, thinking to himself. Finally, he spoke.
“This wasn’t just another set-up…right?”
Spain’s eyes widened unbelievingly.
“Of course not, mi amor! I had no idea you were even listening to me. That’s the truth! But I’m glad you were finally able to hear what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time.” He kissed him softly on the lips. “Really glad.”
Romano blushed, turning his eyes back towards the ground. He sighed, tracing his fingers over Spain’s shoulders. He muttered something under his breath that the other man would have had no hope of hearing had he not been so close to the Italian.
“I’m sorry, bastard…”
“For what?”
Another mumble.
“For not listening.”
“Don’t apologize,” Spain replied. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Too damn forgiving, Romano thought, but he didn’t want to think about the past anymore. Instead, he looked up into Spain’s emerald eyes and cupped his jaw before leaning in and kissing his lover. This is what he wanted. This felt right. Nothing else mattered anymore. Spain responded eagerly, pressing himself against the Italian, wrapping his arm around his waist tightly. The kiss grew more heated, and soon Romano’s hands were roaming all over the Spaniard’s bare torso as the other man slipped his hand beneath his shirt. Their moment was only interrupted when a sudden annoyed squawking came from above them and Spain stopped, blinking at the white excrement that the Italian’s head was now donning. Romano froze, putting a hand up to his hair and looking back at it before clenching it into a fist that trembled with rage.
“Dammit…I’LL KILL THAT FUCKING BIRD!”
“Isn’t that Prussia’s-?” Spain started before he was dragged away by the pissed off Italian.
“Ugh, come on, bastard! We’re going home.”
Spain was left dumbfounded for a moment as a single word repeated in his head. Home. His home. Their home. He couldn’t wipe the silly grin off his face as he followed Romano excitedly, almost making it all the way to their cars before he remembered what he had promised France and dragged a protesting Italian back to the house (“At least put some clothes on, you bastard!”). There, wearing Romano’s coat, he made an announcement to all the guests informing them of the situation, and while the mass erupted in whispers and private conversations, Romano said a quick goodbye to Veneziano and pulled Spain back outside.
“Do you think Romano-niichan and Spain-niichan finally made up?” the younger Italian asked as he watched the couple leave.
“It certainly looks that way,” Germany remarked. “I told you they didn’t need any of our help.”
“Ve~ Now they can live happily ever after!”
Germany just shook his head as the Italian began babbling to him. Austria played to piano while Hungary stood next to him and sang, her voice echoing from wall to wall. All of the couples began to dance in the center of the room as the night carried on, and somewhere far from the acres of Frances’ estate, an American finally caught up to the Briton he’d been chasing for a good stretch of time.
A/N:FINALLY. Well, you knew it was coming eventually. I'm sorry for the extremely long wait, but better late than never, right? ^^; I do hope it was at least partly worth it. This chapter gave me an especially difficult time, and I'm still not 100% sure I'm satisfied with it, but it's done! ...Almost! There will be one more chapter to wrap things up. A big thank you to everyone who's been following this story. I've really enjoyed writing it and am looking forward to starting something new once it's done!
Let me know what you think~
Pairing: Spain/Romano
Genre: Comedy/Romance with a dash of Angst...yum
Rated: T
Summary: The Well of Uncomfortable Truths is discovered and deals Spain a hard fact: “Whenever you said you loved him, you didn’t really mean it. You were thinking of his brother. They were empty words.” But who was it talking about? And will Romano be convinced?
Chapter 9
Austria could never remember a time when he had been more nervous. Wars and other challenges he had faced held no comparison to the situation he found himself in now. He was losing his composure, and that for him, was a very frightening thing. The aristocrat looked down at himself and fixed his new cravat, still bitter at his idiot of a host for ruining the first one. That wine stain would be difficult to get out. He almost considered leaving the party out of spite, but he knew there was no way he could ever do so, for mainly three reasons. One, of course, being that he was a gentleman and would not do something so distasteful or undignified. Another was that though the host was a moron, the guests who had come here tonight did not deserve to be denied their entertainment or the chance to listen to his beautiful piano playing. And the last, of course, was much more personal than all that.
The man sighed, checking his appearance in the mirror once more. He looked refined and proper enough on the outside, but within, he was a disastrous mess. It was stressful and frustrating to think that he could be flustered so easily, by a person he had a great deal of history with and should be used to by now. He and Hungary had lived together, united, and then had drifted apart when their countries had separated, but now their relationship was more that of close friends. However, he could never deny that he had feelings for the woman. She had always supported him, and during his times of greatest trouble, she had been there by his side. He would always be grateful for that. The Austrian had denied having feelings stronger than friendship for so long that to suddenly come out and say it after so many centuries seemed a daunting and impossible task. Just stay calm, he told himself. Let the piano speak for you with its melodic notes as your words. Music had always seemed to be the best form of expression for him when whatever he had wanted to say just wasn’t enough.
Meanwhile, in the ballroom, Hungary was anxiously sipping her wine as she tried to help Germany calm down a restless Veneziano.
“But Germany! Romano-niichan ran away from the ball! How is Spain-niichan supposed to find him and live happily ever after if we don’t go after him?”
The German grunted.
“Your brother is not Cinderella,” he told the weepy-eyed Italian. “Spain has already gone after him. It’s not as if Romano will just disappear, and we need to trust Spain to bring him back himself rather than risk ruining France’s birthday party by piling out there after him too. Just relax and try to enjoy yourself.”
“Germany’s right,” Hungary said. “Romano and Spain can take care of themselves. We shouldn’t meddle in their business. The same goes for England and America. Sometimes having too many people involved can just make things worse and embarrassing for the two with the problem.”
Usually Hungary didn’t mind butting in to other people’s lives now and then, but in this case, she could relate. She was grateful no one had bothered her about Austria lately, and she wanted to return the favor. Speaking of the man, she was beginning to grow more concerned about him as she noticed the seat by the piano was still empty. Where had he gone off to? She had seen the accident that had happened with the wine and heard France’s announcement. Surely it didn’t take that long to change a silly cravat. As she thought about it more, her imagination started taking her to places she wished it wouldn’t. Maybe the Austrian had decided to leave the party early for some reason. Her stomach twisted at the thought, and she felt a depressing heaviness in her chest as she thought of how disappointed it would make her if she didn’t get to see him again that night.
And then, there he was. Hungary was almost certain she was the first person who saw him, but soon after, the room began to quiet down as the Austrian made his way over to the piano and stood by it. He looked so elegant, so refined, as he patiently waited for the guests to fall completely silent and listen to him. Hungary took a few steps closer to the piano, and her lips curved into a smile as she watched the aristocratic man sweep his form down into a bow and call out to the audience.
“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for allowing me the honor of playing for you tonight. I have prepared a special piece of my own creation that I would like to share with you this evening. It is dedicated to one very special person. I ask you to please listen and enjoy yourselves. Thank you.”
Without further ado, Austria took his place on the piano bench and set his fingers on the keys. He started with one of his regular original pieces, one he was sure Hungary could remember having heard several times before. This was the one from when they lived together under the Hapsburg family, the next was during the time they had shared a home with just the two of them under their united countries. Hungary listened quietly, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she associated each melody with its respective memory. Each song carried with it countless years of history and all the events and feelings tied within them. It was all so beautiful.
And then, Austria faltered. He had just finished the last song and was trying to begin his new one, the one he had recently created, when his fingers struck the wrong key, sending the offending note echoing throughout the room. He stared in shock at his hands, unable to believe he had made a mistake so early into the new piece.
The silence in the room was heavy. Everyone stared at the pianist, whose fingers twitched uncertainly as Austria willed himself to continue. Hungary took an anxious step towards him, but the man closed his eyes tightly, gave his head a shake as if to clear it, and with a single deep intake of breath, began to play again, sighing slowly as he did.
The music filled the room flawlessly once again, but there was something different about it this time. It was as if the sound was channeling all the tension Austria felt within himself as he increased the tempo and struck each key a little bit harder than usual. Hungary held her breath for a moment. This was all wrong. Instead of making her feel relaxed and happy, the music was making her nervous and unsettled. She couldn’t ignore the strained expression on Austria’s face. The man was trying so hard…His music was beautiful, but his aura was twisted and confused. Hungary had never found it hard to appreciate the sounds her friend had produced before, but she found herself frowning, biting on her lower lip, swaying on her feet as if still trying to decide whether or not to approach him.
And suddenly, Austria saw her. He saw the doubt and unease in her features as his wordless message reached her ears. Was his music that horrible? Did she despise him? Would her respect for him dissipate? The aristocrat’s head was filled with a multitude of dreaded possibilities. And yet, he kept playing, the insecurity and worry he felt seeping in through his fingers and changing the tune. Hushed voices murmured around the room. Even the most oblivious guests could tell by now that this wasn’t the piece Austria had intended to play. It was flowing in time with his emotions, untamed, unpredictable, and yet, never stopping or hitting a sour note.
Austria could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck and the heat on his cheeks. This wasn’t going at all as planned. Should he stop? Would he look like a fool if he continued? The sounds coming out of the piano now were light and questioning. He was having trouble focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. The rest of his body felt incredibly stiff. If he wasn’t able to relax soon, then the music would be-
Strong, yet gentle hands rested themselves on his shoulders. Austria froze, letting the room fall into complete silence. It was over, the music had stopped. All of his feelings were shut tight safely within him once again. Painfully within him. In spite of how reluctant Austria had been to express his emotions before, having them bottled up inside him again was far worse at the moment. He could feel the weight of the guests’ stares. It wasn’t until the fingers clenched around him started massaging him in a soothing motion that he was finally able to release some of his tension.
“Breathe,” a voice behind him said quietly. “You can do this. I know you can…”
Austria followed the advice and inhaled. His fingers went back into motion and the music became slow, gentle. Hungary was here. She was with him. All the fear he had felt when he had imagined her leaving him slowly disappeared. He felt comforted, secure. He could do this; he had her support, and it was really all he needed. The aristocrat became more confident, quickly filling his song with more passion, trying to express the warm glow within his chest as he felt his love’s hands on his shoulders. He could do this now. He was doing this. Smiles spread across the room as the guests watched the pair before them, a perfect partnership creating music for all of them to enjoy.
I love you, I love you, I love you… Austria wasn’t sure if he had only been imagining the words as he played or if he had managed to utter them out through his mouth as well as his fingers. All he knew was that a moment later, Hungary was leaning down close to his ear and whispering in a soft, loving voice.
“I love you, too.”
Spain knelt on the cold stones of the courtyard floor as he continued to let out muffled cries of protest until his throat grew sore from it. His world was dark; he only knew he was still near France’s house because his captor hadn’t dragged him very far. The Spaniard was desperate and scared, but most of all he was overcome by a deep feeling of regret and sadness at the thought of Romano slipping further and further away. Please let me go, he begged silently. I still have to go after him…
Then all of a sudden, the world was visible again. Spain blinked, looking around at his moonlight-bathed surroundings. It was definitely his friend’s courtyard. The house wasn’t too far away, but it was still far enough that the other guests wouldn’t easily notice him. His eyes glanced over the rose bushes and other surrounding vegetation. For a moment, he almost thought he was alone until he turned his head back and saw his captor standing there, blindfold in his hand. Spain’s eyes widened, and he let out an incoherent shout of the other man’s name through the gag.
“Surprised, Espagne? I’m terribly sorry it had to come to this, but I saw no other way to get you to listen to me.”
The green-eyed man shook his head in disbelief and struggled against his bonds, as the man ran a hand down his cheek and stepped over to stand in front of him, squatting down so the two were at eye level.
“Seriously, mon ami, what do I have to do? I told you Romano would run again, and we agreed when we planned this that if he did, you wouldn’t chase him. Now why would you break our deal?”
Spain closed his eyes, which had begun to water and grunted something out. Frowning, his captor reached behind his head and undid the gag so the other man could answer him. Spain spit out the cloth and sucked his lip for a moment before looking up at his friend sadly.
“I’m sorry, France! But I can’t keep that promise anymore…” he said. “I can’t just forget about Romano! Even if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t stop trying!”
“You’re a fool!” France hissed. “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it? Romano doesn’t love you! He’s not coming back, so just forget about him and get over it!”
“No!” Spain argued, eyes glossy with tears. “I won’t! You don’t know him like I do, France! He does love me! He’s just…not so good at showing it.”
“Wake up, Espagne,” France said, shaking his head. “The boy wants nothing to do with you. You’re wasting your time chasing him. If you really want him to be happy, you’ll respect his wishes.”
Spain sniffed, his throat tightening.
“But,” he choked, “I want to be happy too…”
The Spaniard looked down at the cobblestones miserably. Was it true? Was chasing after Romano, who obviously didn’t want to see him anymore, such a selfish thing? Spain’s heart felt torn apart. What was the right thing to do? Imagining life without Romano was hard, almost impossible. But how could he force someone to stay with him who resisted him so much? He loves me; he does. He’s just denying it. However, the Spanish man could not hide the confusion and doubt on his own face even as he thought so.
France’s voice softened, and he met Spain’s eyes with gentle pity and a slight smile. He rubbed his friend’s shoulder before reaching up to cup his chin and forcing him to look back at him.
“You can be happy, mon ami, with someone who really loves you, not someone who pushes you away and runs from you on sight. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show his feelings for you. If you opened your eyes a little, you might see that that person is not so far away.”
Spain’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at first, soon followed by his eyes widening in shock as the Frenchman leaned forward and pressed his lips against his. France was gentle at first but soon became more passionate, capturing and claiming Spain’s mouth for his own. His friend was too surprised to even move right away. When the Frenchman attempted to shove his tongue down Spain’s throat, however, the other man finally came to his senses.
“F-france! Stop!” he sputtered, jerking his head away quickly. He gave the blonde a distressed look. “What are you doing?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?!” France demanded angrily, looking hurt at the other’s rejection. “You’re the one I want! The only one I want, but also, the one I can never have! And why? Because you’re still too busy chasing after your cute little henchman to even notice that I’m standing right here, waiting for you to come back and see me!”
Spain gaped at him for a moment, unsure about how to respond. All was silent save for one bird chirping up high in a tree somewhere nearby. He finally closed his mouth and looked back at his friend apologetically. He didn’t want to hurt France after the other nation had laid his feelings bare before him, but he felt like he didn’t have a choice. Thinking over his words carefully, he finally answered the blonde.
“I’m sorry, Francia,” he said, “but I don’t have anything more to give you. You’re my friend, and I love you, but not-, not the way I love him. There’s only one Romano. I’ve watched over him most of his life, and even though he yells at me, and swears at me…even though he calls me names, and complains about me, and even hits me sometimes, he’s mine. He’s always needed me. And even now that he’s all grown up and his own country, even though he’s independent and doesn’t rely on me for anything anymore…he’s still mine. I know he doesn’t think so, that’s how I feel. He’s the most important person to me, and there’s a part of my heart that no one but him can claim. He thought I wanted his brother instead of him, but Ita-chan never belonged to me the way he did. You can’t trade one Italy for another because they’re two very, very different people. I was such a fool…When he left me, I thought I could use Veneziano to fill that hole he left in my heart. But it was impossible. Every time I looked at him, every time I got close to him, every time I tried to tell him I loved him- I kept seeing my Romano. And Ita-chan didn’t even know what was going on! I was lucky…I finally stopped before it was too late. I thought I should just take some time to myself, some time to get over Romano…but then the Well happened. I found out Romano loved me. And I realized- I had to do whatever I could to get him back! No matter how stupid or crazy! That’s why I’ve tried everything, and I’m not done trying yet!”
“You fool!” France cried. “You might think you’re being heroic or romantic, but really, you’re just being stubborn! Do you really think he’s going to take you back if you keep pushing yourself on him? It’s over! Let it go and move on! You could if you tried.”
Spain shook his head and looked back up at his friend, crying openly now.
“I love him, France! Only him! And nothing’s ever going to change that!”
“Fine then! Let him trample on your heart until there’s nothing left! I tried, Espagne, but there’s just no reasoning with you,” the Frenchman said, getting dangerously close. “Perhaps I’m going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should try a different method of persuasion, hm?”
He ran a hand down Spain’s smooth tanned chest, desire filling his eyes. The other hand was around the back of the Spaniard’s neck, fingers curling around the short hairs at the base as France leaned closer. Spain took a moment to realize what was going on, but before he could even open his mouth to protest, France stopped suddenly. His face was stained red, and pieces of smashed tomato were falling down from his nose across his features. Spain knew that aim anywhere. It couldn’t be!
“R-ROMANO?!” he sputtered.
“Get your fucking hands off him, bastard!” the Italian snarled at France as he stepped out from behind one of the hedges, near the vegetable patch. In the trees, high above, Prussia’s bird chirped, staring down at them.
Spain couldn’t believe it. His Romano was here! He had come back! If he had not been tied up, he would have run over to hug him. For now, happiness was spread all across his features. France was far less amused.
“So, finally decided to come running back, did you? Well? What have you to say? That you love Spain? That you forgive your ex-lover and want to come home with him? It’s a bit late for that, I think. You have another obstacle now, mon ami. Moi.”
“I-I’m not afraid of you, dammit!” Romano growled, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Let him go, bastard!”
“Not until you say it. Say it, Roma,” the Frenchman mocked, making Romano twitch at the nickname he had only ever let Spain call him. “Tell Espagne here how you really feel. If you can.”
Romano squished one of the tomatoes he was holding as he clenched his hands furiously. France smirked back at him haughtily. He knew the Italian’s weakness well, and he wasn’t hesitant to use it against him. Maybe now Spain would finally see what Romano was incapable of…or at least acknowledge it.
“I…I…” the Italian began, trembling a bit, but he quickly screwed his eyes shut with anger and embarrassment. “N-no! Shut up! I’m not going to do it just because you told me to, you fucking wine bastard!”
He began pelting the fruits again, but France found that Spain made an excellent tomato shield and hid behind him. Romano glared at him as the blonde smirked and daringly leaned forward to lick some of the tomato juice from Spain’s cheek.
That did it. What happened next was rather unexpected on France’s part. One moment he was teasing the Italian, the next moment, he was pinned down underneath him as Romano lost all his inhibitions and assaulted France without hesitation. The usually weak and cowardly country was ablaze with powerful rage as he pummeled the Frenchman with both his fists and his words, a shocked and disbelieving Spain watching the two, wide-eyed.
“R-romano, stop! That’s enough!”
But the Italian wasn’t listening. Instead he was busy trying to keep the upper hand as France countered his attacks, the older and more experienced country refusing to take the abuse Romano was dealing. If this was a fight for Spain, neither was willing to lose.
“You brat!” France hissed, blocking Romano’s next punch and grabbing him roughly by the collar.
He attempted to throw the younger man off of him, but Romano already had a tight hold on the blonde’s long hair and yanked it painfully as he was shoved away. France gritted his teeth and kneed Romano hard in the ribs, causing the Italian to cry out and finally release him. The Frenchman took advantage of this moment and shifted all his weight to one side, effectively flipping them over and turning the tables as Romano struggled beneath him. France smirked and leaned close to him.
“Give it up, mon petite. You know you can’t win against me.”
“Damn you…Go to hell, bastard!” Romano yelled and rammed his forehead into France’s nose.
France reeled back and held his bleeding face, the look in his eyes turning from competitive to deadly.
“You…” he started, but was too angry to even finish his sentence. He gripped Romano’s neck with one hand and raised the other to strike him as the Italian gasped and tried to free himself, choking.
France’s hand came down. Romano squeezed his eyes shut. There was a thud above him as the blonde’s hand made contact with something, and then the Italian opened his eyes to see- Spain. And it wasn’t just the Spain he knew. It was a Spain he hadn’t seen for a long time, the Spain that fought more than he smiled...a conquistador.
“France,” he said, his voice far from the pleasant or pleading tone it usually was, “get off of him.”
If history had ever taught France anything about Spain, it was that fighting against him when he had that merciless look in his eyes was a very dangerous thing. Never as long as he could remember could he recall Spain ever having a look in his eyes that was as serious as death itself. A look that told him if he didn’t back away right at that instant, he would seriously regret it.
France immediately released his hold on Romano and withdrew. Spain, despite still being tied up with his arm in a sling, continued to give him the most intimidating look he could muster while Romano scrambled behind him and worked on releasing his bonds. France wiped the blood from under his nose as he looked at his friend coldly, a hurt expression on his face.
“Why him? You’ve been my friend for so long, Espagne. Surely you must understand what I feel for you.”
At that, the Spaniard’s gaze finally softened, but not by much.
“If you really love me, then, you’ll understand…It’s not a feeling that can be erased or adjusted. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I don’t want you to suffer, Francia. But this is a battle you can’t win. I love Romano, and I’ll fight for him, even if I have to break your heart to do it. I’m sorry.”
The rope fell to the floor, and Spain turned to face the Italian behind him.
“Roma…” He smiled sadly at the younger man, his eyes asking for forgiveness, hoping for acceptance, but it wasn’t necessary. Without warning, Romano suddenly thrust himself at Spain, throwing his arms around his neck and pulling him close in a movement that caught the Spaniard completely by surprise.
“Spain…” Romano muttered by his ear.
“R-romano!” Spain threw his good arm around him and hugged him fiercely. The tears that had stopped only moments ago resurfaced. He couldn’t believe it. He had his Romano back. He wanted to just hold onto him forever and never be separated from him again. After all the effort he had put into winning his love back, he had finally succeeded. “Roma…I missed you so much!”
“B-bastard!” Romano stuttered. “You stupid, stupid asshole.” He gripped him tighter. Spain had even missed being called those names.
“I’m sorry, Romanito. I want you to know I truly-”
“I heard you,” the Italian interrupted, surprising Spain. “I heard everything. But…did you really mean it, bastard?”
“Mean what?”
“What you said!” Romano snapped. “About me and Vene and…”
He trailed off, too embarrassed to go into the details of Spain’s words. The Spaniard looked at him quietly and then, giving a nod, held him closer, talking quietly as he pressed his cheek against Romano’s.
“I meant it all. You’re the one I’ve always loved, Roma. Not your brother. Not France. Not anyone. Only you. So please…will you love me again, too?”
“Stupid bastard,” Romano replied, his voice choking. “I’ve always…I still love you, dammit.”
That was what had made these past few weeks so hard- that even when he had been the most furious, even when he had cursed Spain’s name and sworn to never see him again- the Italian’s feelings had still been there, flickering behind his hardened heart. I love you, dammit.
He rested his chin on Spain’s shoulder and felt the other hold him close- as close as he could without smashing his arm in between them. Romano ran his fingers over the fabric of the red and yellow sling, and Spain smiled, pulling back slightly to kiss the Italian’s cheeks, stopping the flow of tears that ran there. Damn, how Romano had missed the feel of those lips against his skin…
France watched from a distance silently. He wouldn’t accept this loss. But he wouldn’t fight with Spain anymore either. No, he was finished here. There was nothing more that he could do. He couldn’t wrench Romano away or change Spain’s mind by talking to him. Not when those two were like this. The Frenchman stood, frowning, ideas flowing through his head, but not a single option he liked or thought useful came to mind. Is this fate, then? Have I done all I can? He let out a sigh, wiping at his eyes before anyone could see the effect his loss had had on him.
“Congratulations, Espagne,” he said quietly, “You got exactly what you wanted… Wasn’t I a good friend to you after all?”
Neither of the other two countries seemed to hear him, as they were too lost in their reunion. France forced a smile on his face and began to walking back to his house. There were guests waiting for him after all, and he would be a rude host indeed if he disappeared for too long.
“France!” Spain suddenly called out behind him. “Wait…”
The Frenchman paused but didn’t turn around. What good were words now? He had heard plenty for one night. The blonde waited for a moment longer, letting out a deep sigh. Before the Spaniard could say anything else, however, the trio were interrupted by a loud squawking overhead. Two birds were flying in circles above them. One was distinguishable as Gilbird, the other was France’s own bird, Pierre. Romano already knew why the duo was making such a racket. He had almost forgotten the reason Prussia’s annoying pet had assaulted him during his escape from France’s house and led him back here in the first place.
“The Potato Bastard’s brother is trapped in the Well,” he informed France. “This demented chick wouldn’t leave me alone till I did something about it. The whole reason I even came to your damn party was to tell you so you could go save him yourself.”
France looked at Romano unbelievingly and then back up at the birds.
“Is this true?”
The two squawked louder, and Pierre came down to land on France’s shoulder and chirp in his ear more urgently. The blonde gave a nod and prepared to leave right away. The guests would have to wait after all; this was important.
“Spain,” he said, turning to his friend. “Please tell the others that I had to leave suddenly and hope they’ll accept my deepest apologies. Let them know I’ll return as soon as possible with Prusse.”
The Spaniard nodded slowly.
“France, I-”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Espagne,” the other man said quickly. “I am happy so long as you are happy. Now please, do as I’ve asked.”
It was a lie, and even Spain could tell. Maybe it could be less painful…He knew France didn’t want to draw it out any longer, however, and right now, he too was concerned for their friend.
“Bring him back safe,” was all he said as he held Romano closer to him.
France gave a curt nod and was off at once, Pierre flapping behind him. Spain and Romano watched them go, finally alone together in the courtyard. The Spaniard held onto his lover as if he might disappear at any moment, but the Italian stayed still, thinking to himself. Finally, he spoke.
“This wasn’t just another set-up…right?”
Spain’s eyes widened unbelievingly.
“Of course not, mi amor! I had no idea you were even listening to me. That’s the truth! But I’m glad you were finally able to hear what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time.” He kissed him softly on the lips. “Really glad.”
Romano blushed, turning his eyes back towards the ground. He sighed, tracing his fingers over Spain’s shoulders. He muttered something under his breath that the other man would have had no hope of hearing had he not been so close to the Italian.
“I’m sorry, bastard…”
“For what?”
Another mumble.
“For not listening.”
“Don’t apologize,” Spain replied. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Too damn forgiving, Romano thought, but he didn’t want to think about the past anymore. Instead, he looked up into Spain’s emerald eyes and cupped his jaw before leaning in and kissing his lover. This is what he wanted. This felt right. Nothing else mattered anymore. Spain responded eagerly, pressing himself against the Italian, wrapping his arm around his waist tightly. The kiss grew more heated, and soon Romano’s hands were roaming all over the Spaniard’s bare torso as the other man slipped his hand beneath his shirt. Their moment was only interrupted when a sudden annoyed squawking came from above them and Spain stopped, blinking at the white excrement that the Italian’s head was now donning. Romano froze, putting a hand up to his hair and looking back at it before clenching it into a fist that trembled with rage.
“Dammit…I’LL KILL THAT FUCKING BIRD!”
“Isn’t that Prussia’s-?” Spain started before he was dragged away by the pissed off Italian.
“Ugh, come on, bastard! We’re going home.”
Spain was left dumbfounded for a moment as a single word repeated in his head. Home. His home. Their home. He couldn’t wipe the silly grin off his face as he followed Romano excitedly, almost making it all the way to their cars before he remembered what he had promised France and dragged a protesting Italian back to the house (“At least put some clothes on, you bastard!”). There, wearing Romano’s coat, he made an announcement to all the guests informing them of the situation, and while the mass erupted in whispers and private conversations, Romano said a quick goodbye to Veneziano and pulled Spain back outside.
“Do you think Romano-niichan and Spain-niichan finally made up?” the younger Italian asked as he watched the couple leave.
“It certainly looks that way,” Germany remarked. “I told you they didn’t need any of our help.”
“Ve~ Now they can live happily ever after!”
Germany just shook his head as the Italian began babbling to him. Austria played to piano while Hungary stood next to him and sang, her voice echoing from wall to wall. All of the couples began to dance in the center of the room as the night carried on, and somewhere far from the acres of Frances’ estate, an American finally caught up to the Briton he’d been chasing for a good stretch of time.
A/N:FINALLY. Well, you knew it was coming eventually. I'm sorry for the extremely long wait, but better late than never, right? ^^; I do hope it was at least partly worth it. This chapter gave me an especially difficult time, and I'm still not 100% sure I'm satisfied with it, but it's done! ...Almost! There will be one more chapter to wrap things up. A big thank you to everyone who's been following this story. I've really enjoyed writing it and am looking forward to starting something new once it's done!
Let me know what you think~