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hetalia2011-07-06 04:28 am
kaasen.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-07-06 04:28 am
Entry tags:
[Fanfic] Culture Shock [Part 2/??]
Title: Culture Shock [Part 2/??]
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Germany/Italy, Spain/Romano
Warnings: Language. Later on there will be some mild sexuality.
Summary: Germany and North Italy vacation at Spain's house (relatively neutral ground) so everyone can bond and get to know each other better. Romano's not having it, and Germany is suddenly faced with having to deal with the culture clash of not just one, but three Mediterranean nations in one house. Awkward, funny, and sometimes heartwarming scenarios ensue. From the kink meme, now hopefully improved.
Part 1
Italy threw off his shirt and proudly announced, “and now for Germany’s first ever siesta!”
“I don’t think I want it to be,” said Germany. “If all three of you are going to sleep I’ll just get my laptop and get some work done in the meantime.”
“Working while you’re on vacation is illegal as long as you’re in this house.” Italy took him by the hands and dragged him into the bedroom. “Romano already went upstairs with Spain and he can’t complain if he doesn’t know you slept with me, right?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you. I’m not tired.”
“You’re gonna be tired,” Italy warned. “Dinner at Spain’s house is at ten and then bedtime’s around one in the morning.”
“…You’re joking.”
“Nope!” Italy dropped onto the bed and started pulling off his socks. “Around here we sleep when it’s hottest and stay up extra late! And since it’s the weekend Spain and my brother are probably gonna be up even later—”
“This is insane.” Germany had expected differences, coming here. He did not expect to be eating in the middle of the night and for his very routine sleep schedule to be turned on its head. “I’m used to eating dinner at six, for one thing. What am I supposed to do, just starve in the meantime?”
“Well, usually there’s snacks before dinner. But you should sleep with me so you can conserve energy!” Italy patted the other side of the bed and fluttered his eyelashes at him in an attempt to make it look enticing. “Naps are good for you Germany, didn’t you know? They help you think better and they reduce the risk of heart attacks!”
“You and I can’t have heart attacks.”
“Oh come on,” Italy said, laughing. “Doesn’t the heat like this make you feel tired?”
“The heat just makes me feel hot.” Germany raked his hand through his hair, wondering what he was going to do. He hadn’t taken a nap in years. “I swear I’m not tired. Even if I lay down and try I don’t think I’d be able to sleep.”
“You don’t know what’ll happen until you try, Germany. C’mon, if you don’t at least try to take a nap then you’re going to end up being the only one asleep while we’re all up. And then we can’t have fun together.”
Italy pouted at him. Germany sometimes wondered whether he knew the terrible power of that look or whether it just always made him resemble a sad puppy by accident.
“You look like a sad puppy,” Germany told him. “But fine, alright, alright.” He took a deep breath and came to sit on the bed as though it took a great deal of effort. “I’ll try it. I’ll lay down and close my eyes but I can’t promise anything.”
“Yay!” Italy wiggled out of his pants and underwear all at once, as though in celebration. “You’ll be glad you took a nap, Germany, I swear you will!”
He dived in under the sheets and reappeared a moment later, grinning. Germany sighed and took a couple pillows for himself, fluffing them up and stretching before he settled down on them.
“Hold on, Germany,” Italy said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You’re missing a very important step here.”
“What? I’m lying down and everything.”
Italy rolled over twice—he got the blankets twisted around him in the process—to put himself right up against Germany’s ear and grin playfully.
“To have a proper siesta you have to be naked.”
Germany flopped over onto his other side and kept his eyes firmly closed.
“I am not taking my clothes off in any way, shape, or form,” he said. “Especially not in someone else’s house.”
“What’s the matter? I did.”
“Yes, I noticed. You always take your clothes off in other people’s houses. But I’m still not going to do it.”
“Well you have to get comfortable so you can sleep or you’re not really trying.” Italy scooted even closer. “And you don’t normally sleep in your clothes, do you Germany?”
“I also don’t normally sleep in the nude.”
“Then you should sleep in your underwear at least! Come on, you’re gonna get marks on you if you sleep with everything still on.”
Germany sprung into a sitting position when Italy ran his hand over his abdomen and tugged demonstratively on his belt.
“For God’s sake, Italy. If I get into my underwear will you go to sleep and let me be?”
Italy smiled brightly.
“I’ll be extra good if you take your underwear off too.”
“Not a fair trade,” Germany muttered, but he stood up to undress anyway. It wasn’t as if he’d actually rather sleep in his clothes, or that he was a prude about these things—he had his share of nude beaches, after all—but he’d always preferred to be properly dressed at other people’s houses at least. It just seemed like good manners to him, as natural as please and thank you and putting down the toilet seat when he was finished. Still, Italy was always lazing around in as little clothing as possible, no matter how much Germany yelled, so maybe it was true that some people on this planet took no issue with trying to keep comfortable. Maybe Germany was the one being unreasonable, for once.
“You’re giggling back there,” said Germany, turning his head with suspicion. “I can hear you, you know.”
“Well, you’re acting all nervous!” Italy sat up and put his hand over his mouth, trying to control his laughter. “You’re just taking your clothes off, what’s the matter?”
“Well sorry,” Germany sighed, and went back to studying the opposite wall. He couldn’t really think of a good reason why he needed to turn the other way to take off his pants. It just seemed more decent that way, somehow. “I’m usually not being watched when I take off my clothes. It's not normal to me.”
Once Germany had kicked away his pants and returned to the bed, Italy wasted no time in snuggling up to him—Germany went a little red when his thigh touched Italy’s naked one.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Germany!” Italy told him. “You’ve let me see you a lot more naked than you are now, remember?”
“I do recall something like that happening, yes.” Germany sincerely hoped they were not about to get on this topic, because Italy was already very naked and he didn’t want to get too excited right now, thank you very much. “Just go to sleep, Italy. Don’t let me keep you up.”
“Okay.” Italy patted his cheek. “Stop worrying now, Germany. Just think relaxing thoughts and breathe deep and you’ll be asleep in no time.”
Germany sighed again.
“I’ll try.”
Italy smiled with his eyes closed.
“Sleep well, Germany.”
“You too.”
Germany shut his eyes and shifted around until he was more comfortable, but as he laid there all he could think about was how stupid this was, because if he wasn’t going to sleep this was all a waste of time. But if he was going to think that way, what was a vacation, really, if not already a massive and intentional waste of time? He decided he might as well try, since no matter what he did he wouldn’t be going back to his house and his dogs and his normal life until the weekend was over—
But now he was wondering whether Prussia was going to remember when his dogs needed let out. No, no, no, he told himself. He could call in an hour or two, but right now he had to relax and fall asleep or else he was going to be completely off schedule from anyone else and potentially ruin everything. Germany changed tactics and decided to do deep breathing exercises, like he’d read in books about managing stress. Take a breath, count to ten, let it out. Repeat. Repeat.
It still wasn’t working. Now he was even more stressed out that he couldn’t calm down. Italy’s breathing had evened out, so he was probably already asleep—how much time had passed? He opened his eyes but he couldn’t see a clock anywhere in the room. Who didn’t have a clock in their bedroom?
Germany shut his eyes again. He could still taste paella in his mouth. He licked his teeth and flopped over the other direction. He was used to sleeping on his right anyway, not his left.
He flopped back over.
He had a feeling he’d be lying awake for a long, long time.
-----
Germany opened his eyes and felt oddly sluggish as he turned over and saw that Italy was sitting on the bed beside him, already dressed.
“Germany!” he said. “Are you awake finally?”
“Oh God.” Germany drew his arm up over his eyes, realizing that something terrible had happened: he’d actually fallen asleep, and now rather than feeling refreshed and ready to handle the rest of the evening, he only felt groggy and exhausted. “How long was I out?”
“You slept for a couple hours.” Italy looked slightly concerned now. “I thought about getting you up a few times, but then your face looked like you really wanted to sleep some more and then I couldn’t do it. Was that bad?”
Germany groaned and dragged himself up, hair falling into his eyes. Italy crawled forward, either trying to assess the damage or how much Germany was about to yell at him.
“I think I have a headache from sleeping too much,” Germany said. “Is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Italy, chewing his lip. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad,” Germany sighed. “I’m just tired now, which I’m pretty sure is the opposite of how a nap is supposed to work.”
Italy looked at him guiltily and let himself fall into his lap, putting his arms around his waist and squeezing tight.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d get a headache! I know I should’ve woken you up, I’m sorry, I really am, but I got distracted because Spain decided to make a cake for later and we messed it up somehow even though it came out of a box and there were like three directions—”
“It’s alright,” Germany said. He patted him awkwardly on the head and wondered how he’d missed all that, assuming there’d been yelling and possibly explosions coming from the kitchen. “It’s really alright. I’m not mad, I just—people drink coffee around here, don’t they? I feel like I’m going to need some just to make it to dinner.”
“Oh!” Italy immediately perked back up, smiling his usual sunny smile. “Yes, of course we drink coffee here! Spain drinks lots of it, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind making you some!”
“Veneziano, where the hell is—”
The bedroom door abruptly opened and Romano burst in a moment later, looking fit to strangle the very first person he saw. Unfortunately, that person happened to be Germany, who Germany himself realized a second too late was in fact still in his underwear, still in Italy’s room, and Italy was still very much on top of him.
“Uh,” said Italy. Romano had frozen in place, mouth open. “Where’s what?”
“God dammit,” Romano groaned. “Sunday cannot come soon enough.”
He stormed back out, slamming the door shut behind him.
“I think Romano’s just in a bad mood today,” sighed Italy, and he hopped off the bed. “But maybe you should put your pants back on, Germany.”
-----
“That jackass just—fucking—left.” Italy handed Romano the carafe from the dishwasher, and he slammed it into place with an unnecessary amount of force. “He didn’t say a fucking word to me, and he’s just gone.”
“He probably just forgot to say anything before he left,” Italy said, trying to be helpful. “He does that sometimes. He’ll be back, Romano, don’t worry.”
“Fuck him and fuck you,” Romano told him. Germany idly wondered if he should start counting the number of expletives per minute coming out of his mouth. He was probably breaking some sort of record right about now. “He left me alone with you two assholes and what’s the first fucking thing I see when you’re alone together?”
“Germany just woke up, Romano, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Italy calmly pushed a button on the coffee maker and it started. “I swear we weren’t doing anything. Stop assuming things, okay?”
Romano threw up his arms and went to open the refrigerator, searching the shelves violently. Italy crossed his arms and huffed. Germany yawned.
“Romano, please stop getting upset, okay? Whenever you’re upset you always stop paying attention and you end up breaking something.”
“Shut up, no I don’t,” Romano snapped at him. “And I’m not getting upset, I’m—oh my God. That was glass, fuck.”
“Well don’t step in it, let me get a paper towel—”
Italy stooped down to clean it up for him, but this only seemed to serve to make Romano angrier. He reached into the refrigerator, finally found what he was looking for and slammed it down on the table.
“I’ve had enough of this shit,” he snarled. “I’m setting some ground rules, and you both better follow them if you don’t want me to personally have you thrown out of this house for all of eternity. Got it?”
“It’s Spain’s house,” Italy reminded him, but he sat anyway, ready to listen. “Romano, why did you get out frosting?”
“Because we ruined that fucking cake and now it’s just going to go to waste otherwise, isn’t it?” Romano went to get a spoon out of a drawer, and before Germany could even comprehend what he was about to do, he’d already peeled by the lid and shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.
“Ew,” moaned Italy. “Romano, that’s disgusting!”
“I’ll tell you what’s disgusting,” Romano said, loudly, using his spoon to point again. “What’s disgusting is you and him, prancing around like you’ve got no fucking sense of decency. You think I don’t know what kind of shit you and this asshole both go off and do when I’m not looking?”
“Here’s an idea,” Germany interrupted, rubbing his temples. “Can we pretend for a moment that we aren’t all in kindergarten and stop yelling at each other?”
“That’s right! I agree with Germany!” Italy glared at Romano, and Germany had an awful feeling this was not going to be conducive to ending the argument. “We weren’t even doing anything! Stop acting crazy, Romano!”
“I’m not crazy!” Romano shouted, though the chocolate smeared on his mouth and the hysterical edge to his voice certainly weren’t helping his case. “You two always get like this whenever you’re together and it makes me sick to my stomach! Spain’s expecting me to get along with you and I can’t fucking do it if all you’ve done since you’ve got here is piss me off on purpose!”
“Romano, I’m telling you we haven’t even done anything!” Italy cried, exasperated. “You’ve got everything wrong! You don’t even know how to listen!”
“Um,” said Spain, from the doorway, with a box in his hands and a newspaper under his arm, “is this a bad time? Why is Romano eating frosting, exactly?”
“Spain!” Italy scraped back his chair and jumped up while frosting fell unattractively from Romano’s mouth. “Welcome back! We were just making some coffee and wondering where you went.”
“That’s not exactly what I would have called it,” said Spain, dubiously. He put the box and newspaper down and smiled as he wiped a little sweat off his jaw. “Sorry, I was gone a lot longer than I thought I’d be. I went down to the bakery to get us another cake since we ruined the first but then I ended up running into France and he kept me for a while. Were there any casualties while I was out?”
“Just a jelly jar,” said Italy. “What was France doing in Madrid?”
“He said something about—um, the mysteries of the universe, I think?” Spain shrugged. “I don’t know why, I think he was just being France. Anyway, he asked me why he’d seen you and Germany come through earlier so I ended up having to tell him he wasn’t invited. He got all dramatic and said he’s part of the family too, and I know he is, but France would have kept things a little too friendly around here, I think—Romano, would you please stop eating that, that’s really gross.”
Germany looked back at him, fully expecting for Romano to be beside himself with rage and about to blow a gasket. But he wasn’t: Romano didn’t often look like his brother, but right now he was making a face that struck Germany as very familiar. It was the exact same face that Italy always made—same woeful eyes, same quivering lip, same everything—whenever Germany left him without saying where he’d gone. It was a completely stupid sort of reaction, Germany had always thought, considering how unlikely it was that he wouldn’t be coming back, but on Italy’s face it had always been kind of adorable. On Romano’s, it suddenly seemed sad.
“What? What’s with that look?” Spain asked, smiling. He plucked the spoon out of Romano’s hand and tossed it into the sink. “Are you going to tell me you don’t like coffee cake now?”
“Um, Spain,” Germany tried.
“We might as well have some now,” said Spain. He went over and opened the box as Romano’s mouth opened and shut uselessly. “We’ll sit and eat cake and try to get along again for a while.”
“Why the fuck,” Romano finally burst out, rumbling like a thunderstorm, “why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were leaving? You left me alone with them, you jackass!”
Spain thrust a slice of cake at him.
“Calm down and eat,” he said. “How big a slice would you like, Italy? Germany?”
-----
“Oooh!” Italy spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, letting the wind hit him. “Feel how much cooler it got! I wonder if it’s really gonna rain tomorrow.”
“It smells like it, so maybe,” said Germany. He leaned up against a vine-covered column and looked out on the lawn—it really was a lot cooler, and now that the sun had almost set and everything had darkened he could see fireflies blinking in the grass.
“You can smell rain? Really?”
“You’re telling me you’ve never noticed?” Germany cast a sidelong look at him. “And after how ever many years you’ve been alive?”
“Nearly two millenniums now!” Italy’s prideful look faded somewhat when he stopped to think about what he was saying. “Well, maybe I’ve just never really paid attention to it. Or maybe your nose is better than mine. What’s rain supposed to smell like, exactly?”
Germany shrugged.
“I don’t think I could describe it well.”
“Can you try?”
“Well it’s—crisp? I guess?” Germany tried gesturing with his hands but he realized that was probably the opposite of helpful. “Or it’s like how an old battery smells. If it hasn’t rained for a while sometimes it smells like dust, too.”
“Old batteries,” Italy said, blinking. “Old batteries have a smell too?”
“I think the smell of rain is actually the smell of ozone, though,” Germany pushed on. “Rain’s just water, and I don’t think water has a smell, so it’s something—something that has to do with ozone in the atmosphere. I don’t really know, it was kind of a scientific explanation I read somewhere—”
“So you’re saying rain doesn’t actually have a smell?” Italy’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Is that right?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore,” Germany sighed. “Forget it, I don’t know.”
Italy shrugged his shoulders and kept smiling.
“So do I have a smell?”
“I feel like our entire conversation thus far has been completely pointless,” declared Germany. “Let’s just go back in, maybe we can get into another fight with your brother or something.”
“Germany, I think you’re avoiding the question—”
“I’m not avoiding it as much as I’m refusing to answer.”
“So I do have a smell?” Italy pranced closer to him, grinning mischievously, and Germany took the opportunity to sit down on a patio chair and think about what he’d done to deserve this. “What do I smell like?”
“You can’t be serious. What if I say it’s a bad smell?”
“Then you’d probably lie about it, wouldn’t you?”
Germany raised an eyebrow at him.
“No I wouldn’t. Would I?”
“Well, I don’t think you’d say the truth if you thought it’d only hurt my feelings,” Italy amended. He put his hand on Germany’s knee. “Just to be nice and all.”
“That’s news to me,” said Germany, distantly. It was beginning to look very distinctly like they might be about to kiss, and this was concerning. Kissing Italy had always been very dangerous, after all. He knew that whenever Italy got close like this and started doing nice things with his mouth, all of Germany’s normally sensible thoughts tended to become very disoriented and confused and turn themselves the wrong way around. Increasingly mysterious things might happen next, like Germany kissing him back. They might end up being at it for far longer than any sane person should ever spend with his mouth on someone else’s.
“It’s true! You’re always trying very hard to be nice to me.” Italy suddenly dropped himself sideways into Germany’s lap and put both legs over the armrest. He laughed when he noticed the look on Germany’s face. “What? What did you think I was coming over here to do?”
“I don’t know, but there’s other chairs besides me, go find one,” Germany said. “There, that wasn’t nice at all.”
Italy laughed again as he wiggled closer.
“But you always make for the best kind of chair. Most chairs aren’t warm and don’t make for very good conversation.”
“Well heaven forbid you’d ever meet someone who makes a better chair than I do.”
“Of course I won’t,” said Italy, brightly. “I wouldn’t sit on just anyone.”
“I’m glad it’s quieter out here, at least,” Germany said, in an effort to change the subject. “I don’t think I could have stood another minute of all of you going on about the World Cup again.”
“I understand,” said Italy, nodding sagely. “I don’t think Spain was trying to rub it in or anything, it’s just that he still talks about it to anyone who’ll listen.”
“That’s what I was assuming. Romano, though—”
“At least he was acting better once Spain got back, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you were hearing the same conversation I was.” Germany frowned at him. “Did you not catch the part where he was trying to negotiate with Spain to make us leave before football comes on Sunday?”
“Well, I wasn’t paying that close attention to Romano. We were talking about football, after all.” Italy looked up at him through his hair. “So are you ready to answer my question now?”
“What question?”
“What do I smell like?” Italy grinned and made a sweeping gesture with his arms as though to present himself to him. “See, I’m right here you so you can take a big whiff and tell me.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” Germany said, a little faintly. “You’re not giving up on that are you?”
But Germany still cracked a smile, and Italy smiled right back.
“Can we hug now, Captain?”
Now hugging he could deal with. Germany considered hugging to be much safer than kissing, even if he didn’t particularly like to call it hugging: he liked to call it holding, because that way it sounded like it had more of a purpose. As long as he kept in mind that Italy might very well fall out of lap if he didn’t, he’d be happy to hold him in his arms for hours.
“This is nice,” Italy said, giggly. “I like this. We should go on lots more vacations together. You work too much and then there’s no time for stuff like this, you know?”
“I know.”
Italy swung his legs happily and held on extra tight. Germany breathed against Italy’s hair and considered that maybe he really should try to do this more often. It felt good, and that was reason enough, wasn’t it?
“I’m sorry about Romano, though,” Italy added, nuzzling his shoulder. “He’s been acting like a real jerk today.”
It took Germany a full minute after that statement to remember that there were other people in the world beside them. They were only the width of a glass door away from a house containing two particular individuals whom Germany did not want witnessing this, in fact.
“They’re in the sitting room, aren’t they,” said Germany, freezing.
“Mhmm,” Italy affirmed, with a lazy glance. “They’re talking on the sofa. I don’t think they realize we’re here though. I said we’d probably go see the tomatoes but we didn’t really get that far.”
“Whose fault is that?” Germany broke away from him and turned himself around far enough to see for himself, just in case. Fortunately they were facing the opposite direction and completely caught up in their conversation. “C’mon, Italy, let’s move away from here before they notice us.”
“Aw, why?” Italy put both arms around Germany’s neck. “I like the seating arrangements. Don’t worry about them, they’re just talking.”
“I’m not worried about what they’re doing,” Germany said, strained. “I’m worried about what we’re doing. If Romano sees us like this he’s going to come out here and strangle us both with our intestines.”
“No he wouldn’t. He’d only do that to you.”
“And that’s why I shouldn’t be worried about it?”
Italy pointed suddenly, eyes going wide.
“Ooh, Germany, look quick, bet you’ve never seen Romano do that before.”
Germany looked back again, curiosity getting the better of him, and for a second he was confused about what he was supposed to be seeing. It was just them talking animatedly to each other, gesturing, and then Spain said something else and—Romano was smiling. Smiling.
“I didn’t know Romano could do that with his face,” said Germany, amazed.
“That’s not really fair to say. He does smile some of the time,” Italy told him. “Mostly when he’s trying to talk to a pretty girl, but sometimes he smiles at me and Spain too.”
Germany thought it was really an unbelievable difference between the usual scowling or sulking Romano—suddenly he had a very pleasant look about him, and now that he was resembling his brother more than ever, he almost seemed like a very tolerable sort of person. Germany had always wondered why Spain hadn’t just given up on Romano a long time ago, but now he thought he might have understood.
The startling change in Romano’s face was probably why Germany was initially so confused when the smile faded and was replaced with an odd, tender look. He became far, far, far more intensely confused when Spain put his thumb on Romano’s jaw and Romano leaned in to kiss him.
Continue to Part 3
Notes:
*Siestas are a big tradition in Spain, even if today the time for siesta is often used to just relax or to spend time with family for a long midday meal. In summer in particular, though, lots of Spaniards do nap--when it's very hot and the big lunch you just had is making you drowsy, getting some sleep just makes sense. By the way, shops will close down during this period, (though restaurants tend to do so just a little later, to better serve people out for lunch), so if you're visiting Spain you might as well try napping yourself.
But don't think because Spaniards take naps they just want extra sleep. Because of the siesta, Spaniards also tend to stay up extra late at night, when it's cooler and more pleasant. In a big city like Madrid, people will still be out till three in the morning, enjoying the nightlife.
Please let me know what you think about this fic! Also, at the kink meme, I'm getting some critiques on future sections, so I'm getting very nervous about putting up sections past this. :D; If you are following the story there, I would love some honest feedback so that I can talk about what needs changing or what does and doesn't work for you. I'd be working with a beta except I have no writer friends (;_;) who could give me good feedback.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Germany/Italy, Spain/Romano
Warnings: Language. Later on there will be some mild sexuality.
Summary: Germany and North Italy vacation at Spain's house (relatively neutral ground) so everyone can bond and get to know each other better. Romano's not having it, and Germany is suddenly faced with having to deal with the culture clash of not just one, but three Mediterranean nations in one house. Awkward, funny, and sometimes heartwarming scenarios ensue. From the kink meme, now hopefully improved.
Part 1
Italy threw off his shirt and proudly announced, “and now for Germany’s first ever siesta!”
“I don’t think I want it to be,” said Germany. “If all three of you are going to sleep I’ll just get my laptop and get some work done in the meantime.”
“Working while you’re on vacation is illegal as long as you’re in this house.” Italy took him by the hands and dragged him into the bedroom. “Romano already went upstairs with Spain and he can’t complain if he doesn’t know you slept with me, right?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you. I’m not tired.”
“You’re gonna be tired,” Italy warned. “Dinner at Spain’s house is at ten and then bedtime’s around one in the morning.”
“…You’re joking.”
“Nope!” Italy dropped onto the bed and started pulling off his socks. “Around here we sleep when it’s hottest and stay up extra late! And since it’s the weekend Spain and my brother are probably gonna be up even later—”
“This is insane.” Germany had expected differences, coming here. He did not expect to be eating in the middle of the night and for his very routine sleep schedule to be turned on its head. “I’m used to eating dinner at six, for one thing. What am I supposed to do, just starve in the meantime?”
“Well, usually there’s snacks before dinner. But you should sleep with me so you can conserve energy!” Italy patted the other side of the bed and fluttered his eyelashes at him in an attempt to make it look enticing. “Naps are good for you Germany, didn’t you know? They help you think better and they reduce the risk of heart attacks!”
“You and I can’t have heart attacks.”
“Oh come on,” Italy said, laughing. “Doesn’t the heat like this make you feel tired?”
“The heat just makes me feel hot.” Germany raked his hand through his hair, wondering what he was going to do. He hadn’t taken a nap in years. “I swear I’m not tired. Even if I lay down and try I don’t think I’d be able to sleep.”
“You don’t know what’ll happen until you try, Germany. C’mon, if you don’t at least try to take a nap then you’re going to end up being the only one asleep while we’re all up. And then we can’t have fun together.”
Italy pouted at him. Germany sometimes wondered whether he knew the terrible power of that look or whether it just always made him resemble a sad puppy by accident.
“You look like a sad puppy,” Germany told him. “But fine, alright, alright.” He took a deep breath and came to sit on the bed as though it took a great deal of effort. “I’ll try it. I’ll lay down and close my eyes but I can’t promise anything.”
“Yay!” Italy wiggled out of his pants and underwear all at once, as though in celebration. “You’ll be glad you took a nap, Germany, I swear you will!”
He dived in under the sheets and reappeared a moment later, grinning. Germany sighed and took a couple pillows for himself, fluffing them up and stretching before he settled down on them.
“Hold on, Germany,” Italy said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You’re missing a very important step here.”
“What? I’m lying down and everything.”
Italy rolled over twice—he got the blankets twisted around him in the process—to put himself right up against Germany’s ear and grin playfully.
“To have a proper siesta you have to be naked.”
Germany flopped over onto his other side and kept his eyes firmly closed.
“I am not taking my clothes off in any way, shape, or form,” he said. “Especially not in someone else’s house.”
“What’s the matter? I did.”
“Yes, I noticed. You always take your clothes off in other people’s houses. But I’m still not going to do it.”
“Well you have to get comfortable so you can sleep or you’re not really trying.” Italy scooted even closer. “And you don’t normally sleep in your clothes, do you Germany?”
“I also don’t normally sleep in the nude.”
“Then you should sleep in your underwear at least! Come on, you’re gonna get marks on you if you sleep with everything still on.”
Germany sprung into a sitting position when Italy ran his hand over his abdomen and tugged demonstratively on his belt.
“For God’s sake, Italy. If I get into my underwear will you go to sleep and let me be?”
Italy smiled brightly.
“I’ll be extra good if you take your underwear off too.”
“Not a fair trade,” Germany muttered, but he stood up to undress anyway. It wasn’t as if he’d actually rather sleep in his clothes, or that he was a prude about these things—he had his share of nude beaches, after all—but he’d always preferred to be properly dressed at other people’s houses at least. It just seemed like good manners to him, as natural as please and thank you and putting down the toilet seat when he was finished. Still, Italy was always lazing around in as little clothing as possible, no matter how much Germany yelled, so maybe it was true that some people on this planet took no issue with trying to keep comfortable. Maybe Germany was the one being unreasonable, for once.
“You’re giggling back there,” said Germany, turning his head with suspicion. “I can hear you, you know.”
“Well, you’re acting all nervous!” Italy sat up and put his hand over his mouth, trying to control his laughter. “You’re just taking your clothes off, what’s the matter?”
“Well sorry,” Germany sighed, and went back to studying the opposite wall. He couldn’t really think of a good reason why he needed to turn the other way to take off his pants. It just seemed more decent that way, somehow. “I’m usually not being watched when I take off my clothes. It's not normal to me.”
Once Germany had kicked away his pants and returned to the bed, Italy wasted no time in snuggling up to him—Germany went a little red when his thigh touched Italy’s naked one.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Germany!” Italy told him. “You’ve let me see you a lot more naked than you are now, remember?”
“I do recall something like that happening, yes.” Germany sincerely hoped they were not about to get on this topic, because Italy was already very naked and he didn’t want to get too excited right now, thank you very much. “Just go to sleep, Italy. Don’t let me keep you up.”
“Okay.” Italy patted his cheek. “Stop worrying now, Germany. Just think relaxing thoughts and breathe deep and you’ll be asleep in no time.”
Germany sighed again.
“I’ll try.”
Italy smiled with his eyes closed.
“Sleep well, Germany.”
“You too.”
Germany shut his eyes and shifted around until he was more comfortable, but as he laid there all he could think about was how stupid this was, because if he wasn’t going to sleep this was all a waste of time. But if he was going to think that way, what was a vacation, really, if not already a massive and intentional waste of time? He decided he might as well try, since no matter what he did he wouldn’t be going back to his house and his dogs and his normal life until the weekend was over—
But now he was wondering whether Prussia was going to remember when his dogs needed let out. No, no, no, he told himself. He could call in an hour or two, but right now he had to relax and fall asleep or else he was going to be completely off schedule from anyone else and potentially ruin everything. Germany changed tactics and decided to do deep breathing exercises, like he’d read in books about managing stress. Take a breath, count to ten, let it out. Repeat. Repeat.
It still wasn’t working. Now he was even more stressed out that he couldn’t calm down. Italy’s breathing had evened out, so he was probably already asleep—how much time had passed? He opened his eyes but he couldn’t see a clock anywhere in the room. Who didn’t have a clock in their bedroom?
Germany shut his eyes again. He could still taste paella in his mouth. He licked his teeth and flopped over the other direction. He was used to sleeping on his right anyway, not his left.
He flopped back over.
He had a feeling he’d be lying awake for a long, long time.
-----
Germany opened his eyes and felt oddly sluggish as he turned over and saw that Italy was sitting on the bed beside him, already dressed.
“Germany!” he said. “Are you awake finally?”
“Oh God.” Germany drew his arm up over his eyes, realizing that something terrible had happened: he’d actually fallen asleep, and now rather than feeling refreshed and ready to handle the rest of the evening, he only felt groggy and exhausted. “How long was I out?”
“You slept for a couple hours.” Italy looked slightly concerned now. “I thought about getting you up a few times, but then your face looked like you really wanted to sleep some more and then I couldn’t do it. Was that bad?”
Germany groaned and dragged himself up, hair falling into his eyes. Italy crawled forward, either trying to assess the damage or how much Germany was about to yell at him.
“I think I have a headache from sleeping too much,” Germany said. “Is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Italy, chewing his lip. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad,” Germany sighed. “I’m just tired now, which I’m pretty sure is the opposite of how a nap is supposed to work.”
Italy looked at him guiltily and let himself fall into his lap, putting his arms around his waist and squeezing tight.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d get a headache! I know I should’ve woken you up, I’m sorry, I really am, but I got distracted because Spain decided to make a cake for later and we messed it up somehow even though it came out of a box and there were like three directions—”
“It’s alright,” Germany said. He patted him awkwardly on the head and wondered how he’d missed all that, assuming there’d been yelling and possibly explosions coming from the kitchen. “It’s really alright. I’m not mad, I just—people drink coffee around here, don’t they? I feel like I’m going to need some just to make it to dinner.”
“Oh!” Italy immediately perked back up, smiling his usual sunny smile. “Yes, of course we drink coffee here! Spain drinks lots of it, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind making you some!”
“Veneziano, where the hell is—”
The bedroom door abruptly opened and Romano burst in a moment later, looking fit to strangle the very first person he saw. Unfortunately, that person happened to be Germany, who Germany himself realized a second too late was in fact still in his underwear, still in Italy’s room, and Italy was still very much on top of him.
“Uh,” said Italy. Romano had frozen in place, mouth open. “Where’s what?”
“God dammit,” Romano groaned. “Sunday cannot come soon enough.”
He stormed back out, slamming the door shut behind him.
“I think Romano’s just in a bad mood today,” sighed Italy, and he hopped off the bed. “But maybe you should put your pants back on, Germany.”
-----
“That jackass just—fucking—left.” Italy handed Romano the carafe from the dishwasher, and he slammed it into place with an unnecessary amount of force. “He didn’t say a fucking word to me, and he’s just gone.”
“He probably just forgot to say anything before he left,” Italy said, trying to be helpful. “He does that sometimes. He’ll be back, Romano, don’t worry.”
“Fuck him and fuck you,” Romano told him. Germany idly wondered if he should start counting the number of expletives per minute coming out of his mouth. He was probably breaking some sort of record right about now. “He left me alone with you two assholes and what’s the first fucking thing I see when you’re alone together?”
“Germany just woke up, Romano, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Italy calmly pushed a button on the coffee maker and it started. “I swear we weren’t doing anything. Stop assuming things, okay?”
Romano threw up his arms and went to open the refrigerator, searching the shelves violently. Italy crossed his arms and huffed. Germany yawned.
“Romano, please stop getting upset, okay? Whenever you’re upset you always stop paying attention and you end up breaking something.”
“Shut up, no I don’t,” Romano snapped at him. “And I’m not getting upset, I’m—oh my God. That was glass, fuck.”
“Well don’t step in it, let me get a paper towel—”
Italy stooped down to clean it up for him, but this only seemed to serve to make Romano angrier. He reached into the refrigerator, finally found what he was looking for and slammed it down on the table.
“I’ve had enough of this shit,” he snarled. “I’m setting some ground rules, and you both better follow them if you don’t want me to personally have you thrown out of this house for all of eternity. Got it?”
“It’s Spain’s house,” Italy reminded him, but he sat anyway, ready to listen. “Romano, why did you get out frosting?”
“Because we ruined that fucking cake and now it’s just going to go to waste otherwise, isn’t it?” Romano went to get a spoon out of a drawer, and before Germany could even comprehend what he was about to do, he’d already peeled by the lid and shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.
“Ew,” moaned Italy. “Romano, that’s disgusting!”
“I’ll tell you what’s disgusting,” Romano said, loudly, using his spoon to point again. “What’s disgusting is you and him, prancing around like you’ve got no fucking sense of decency. You think I don’t know what kind of shit you and this asshole both go off and do when I’m not looking?”
“Here’s an idea,” Germany interrupted, rubbing his temples. “Can we pretend for a moment that we aren’t all in kindergarten and stop yelling at each other?”
“That’s right! I agree with Germany!” Italy glared at Romano, and Germany had an awful feeling this was not going to be conducive to ending the argument. “We weren’t even doing anything! Stop acting crazy, Romano!”
“I’m not crazy!” Romano shouted, though the chocolate smeared on his mouth and the hysterical edge to his voice certainly weren’t helping his case. “You two always get like this whenever you’re together and it makes me sick to my stomach! Spain’s expecting me to get along with you and I can’t fucking do it if all you’ve done since you’ve got here is piss me off on purpose!”
“Romano, I’m telling you we haven’t even done anything!” Italy cried, exasperated. “You’ve got everything wrong! You don’t even know how to listen!”
“Um,” said Spain, from the doorway, with a box in his hands and a newspaper under his arm, “is this a bad time? Why is Romano eating frosting, exactly?”
“Spain!” Italy scraped back his chair and jumped up while frosting fell unattractively from Romano’s mouth. “Welcome back! We were just making some coffee and wondering where you went.”
“That’s not exactly what I would have called it,” said Spain, dubiously. He put the box and newspaper down and smiled as he wiped a little sweat off his jaw. “Sorry, I was gone a lot longer than I thought I’d be. I went down to the bakery to get us another cake since we ruined the first but then I ended up running into France and he kept me for a while. Were there any casualties while I was out?”
“Just a jelly jar,” said Italy. “What was France doing in Madrid?”
“He said something about—um, the mysteries of the universe, I think?” Spain shrugged. “I don’t know why, I think he was just being France. Anyway, he asked me why he’d seen you and Germany come through earlier so I ended up having to tell him he wasn’t invited. He got all dramatic and said he’s part of the family too, and I know he is, but France would have kept things a little too friendly around here, I think—Romano, would you please stop eating that, that’s really gross.”
Germany looked back at him, fully expecting for Romano to be beside himself with rage and about to blow a gasket. But he wasn’t: Romano didn’t often look like his brother, but right now he was making a face that struck Germany as very familiar. It was the exact same face that Italy always made—same woeful eyes, same quivering lip, same everything—whenever Germany left him without saying where he’d gone. It was a completely stupid sort of reaction, Germany had always thought, considering how unlikely it was that he wouldn’t be coming back, but on Italy’s face it had always been kind of adorable. On Romano’s, it suddenly seemed sad.
“What? What’s with that look?” Spain asked, smiling. He plucked the spoon out of Romano’s hand and tossed it into the sink. “Are you going to tell me you don’t like coffee cake now?”
“Um, Spain,” Germany tried.
“We might as well have some now,” said Spain. He went over and opened the box as Romano’s mouth opened and shut uselessly. “We’ll sit and eat cake and try to get along again for a while.”
“Why the fuck,” Romano finally burst out, rumbling like a thunderstorm, “why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were leaving? You left me alone with them, you jackass!”
Spain thrust a slice of cake at him.
“Calm down and eat,” he said. “How big a slice would you like, Italy? Germany?”
-----
“Oooh!” Italy spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, letting the wind hit him. “Feel how much cooler it got! I wonder if it’s really gonna rain tomorrow.”
“It smells like it, so maybe,” said Germany. He leaned up against a vine-covered column and looked out on the lawn—it really was a lot cooler, and now that the sun had almost set and everything had darkened he could see fireflies blinking in the grass.
“You can smell rain? Really?”
“You’re telling me you’ve never noticed?” Germany cast a sidelong look at him. “And after how ever many years you’ve been alive?”
“Nearly two millenniums now!” Italy’s prideful look faded somewhat when he stopped to think about what he was saying. “Well, maybe I’ve just never really paid attention to it. Or maybe your nose is better than mine. What’s rain supposed to smell like, exactly?”
Germany shrugged.
“I don’t think I could describe it well.”
“Can you try?”
“Well it’s—crisp? I guess?” Germany tried gesturing with his hands but he realized that was probably the opposite of helpful. “Or it’s like how an old battery smells. If it hasn’t rained for a while sometimes it smells like dust, too.”
“Old batteries,” Italy said, blinking. “Old batteries have a smell too?”
“I think the smell of rain is actually the smell of ozone, though,” Germany pushed on. “Rain’s just water, and I don’t think water has a smell, so it’s something—something that has to do with ozone in the atmosphere. I don’t really know, it was kind of a scientific explanation I read somewhere—”
“So you’re saying rain doesn’t actually have a smell?” Italy’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Is that right?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore,” Germany sighed. “Forget it, I don’t know.”
Italy shrugged his shoulders and kept smiling.
“So do I have a smell?”
“I feel like our entire conversation thus far has been completely pointless,” declared Germany. “Let’s just go back in, maybe we can get into another fight with your brother or something.”
“Germany, I think you’re avoiding the question—”
“I’m not avoiding it as much as I’m refusing to answer.”
“So I do have a smell?” Italy pranced closer to him, grinning mischievously, and Germany took the opportunity to sit down on a patio chair and think about what he’d done to deserve this. “What do I smell like?”
“You can’t be serious. What if I say it’s a bad smell?”
“Then you’d probably lie about it, wouldn’t you?”
Germany raised an eyebrow at him.
“No I wouldn’t. Would I?”
“Well, I don’t think you’d say the truth if you thought it’d only hurt my feelings,” Italy amended. He put his hand on Germany’s knee. “Just to be nice and all.”
“That’s news to me,” said Germany, distantly. It was beginning to look very distinctly like they might be about to kiss, and this was concerning. Kissing Italy had always been very dangerous, after all. He knew that whenever Italy got close like this and started doing nice things with his mouth, all of Germany’s normally sensible thoughts tended to become very disoriented and confused and turn themselves the wrong way around. Increasingly mysterious things might happen next, like Germany kissing him back. They might end up being at it for far longer than any sane person should ever spend with his mouth on someone else’s.
“It’s true! You’re always trying very hard to be nice to me.” Italy suddenly dropped himself sideways into Germany’s lap and put both legs over the armrest. He laughed when he noticed the look on Germany’s face. “What? What did you think I was coming over here to do?”
“I don’t know, but there’s other chairs besides me, go find one,” Germany said. “There, that wasn’t nice at all.”
Italy laughed again as he wiggled closer.
“But you always make for the best kind of chair. Most chairs aren’t warm and don’t make for very good conversation.”
“Well heaven forbid you’d ever meet someone who makes a better chair than I do.”
“Of course I won’t,” said Italy, brightly. “I wouldn’t sit on just anyone.”
“I’m glad it’s quieter out here, at least,” Germany said, in an effort to change the subject. “I don’t think I could have stood another minute of all of you going on about the World Cup again.”
“I understand,” said Italy, nodding sagely. “I don’t think Spain was trying to rub it in or anything, it’s just that he still talks about it to anyone who’ll listen.”
“That’s what I was assuming. Romano, though—”
“At least he was acting better once Spain got back, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you were hearing the same conversation I was.” Germany frowned at him. “Did you not catch the part where he was trying to negotiate with Spain to make us leave before football comes on Sunday?”
“Well, I wasn’t paying that close attention to Romano. We were talking about football, after all.” Italy looked up at him through his hair. “So are you ready to answer my question now?”
“What question?”
“What do I smell like?” Italy grinned and made a sweeping gesture with his arms as though to present himself to him. “See, I’m right here you so you can take a big whiff and tell me.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” Germany said, a little faintly. “You’re not giving up on that are you?”
But Germany still cracked a smile, and Italy smiled right back.
“Can we hug now, Captain?”
Now hugging he could deal with. Germany considered hugging to be much safer than kissing, even if he didn’t particularly like to call it hugging: he liked to call it holding, because that way it sounded like it had more of a purpose. As long as he kept in mind that Italy might very well fall out of lap if he didn’t, he’d be happy to hold him in his arms for hours.
“This is nice,” Italy said, giggly. “I like this. We should go on lots more vacations together. You work too much and then there’s no time for stuff like this, you know?”
“I know.”
Italy swung his legs happily and held on extra tight. Germany breathed against Italy’s hair and considered that maybe he really should try to do this more often. It felt good, and that was reason enough, wasn’t it?
“I’m sorry about Romano, though,” Italy added, nuzzling his shoulder. “He’s been acting like a real jerk today.”
It took Germany a full minute after that statement to remember that there were other people in the world beside them. They were only the width of a glass door away from a house containing two particular individuals whom Germany did not want witnessing this, in fact.
“They’re in the sitting room, aren’t they,” said Germany, freezing.
“Mhmm,” Italy affirmed, with a lazy glance. “They’re talking on the sofa. I don’t think they realize we’re here though. I said we’d probably go see the tomatoes but we didn’t really get that far.”
“Whose fault is that?” Germany broke away from him and turned himself around far enough to see for himself, just in case. Fortunately they were facing the opposite direction and completely caught up in their conversation. “C’mon, Italy, let’s move away from here before they notice us.”
“Aw, why?” Italy put both arms around Germany’s neck. “I like the seating arrangements. Don’t worry about them, they’re just talking.”
“I’m not worried about what they’re doing,” Germany said, strained. “I’m worried about what we’re doing. If Romano sees us like this he’s going to come out here and strangle us both with our intestines.”
“No he wouldn’t. He’d only do that to you.”
“And that’s why I shouldn’t be worried about it?”
Italy pointed suddenly, eyes going wide.
“Ooh, Germany, look quick, bet you’ve never seen Romano do that before.”
Germany looked back again, curiosity getting the better of him, and for a second he was confused about what he was supposed to be seeing. It was just them talking animatedly to each other, gesturing, and then Spain said something else and—Romano was smiling. Smiling.
“I didn’t know Romano could do that with his face,” said Germany, amazed.
“That’s not really fair to say. He does smile some of the time,” Italy told him. “Mostly when he’s trying to talk to a pretty girl, but sometimes he smiles at me and Spain too.”
Germany thought it was really an unbelievable difference between the usual scowling or sulking Romano—suddenly he had a very pleasant look about him, and now that he was resembling his brother more than ever, he almost seemed like a very tolerable sort of person. Germany had always wondered why Spain hadn’t just given up on Romano a long time ago, but now he thought he might have understood.
The startling change in Romano’s face was probably why Germany was initially so confused when the smile faded and was replaced with an odd, tender look. He became far, far, far more intensely confused when Spain put his thumb on Romano’s jaw and Romano leaned in to kiss him.
Continue to Part 3
Notes:
*Siestas are a big tradition in Spain, even if today the time for siesta is often used to just relax or to spend time with family for a long midday meal. In summer in particular, though, lots of Spaniards do nap--when it's very hot and the big lunch you just had is making you drowsy, getting some sleep just makes sense. By the way, shops will close down during this period, (though restaurants tend to do so just a little later, to better serve people out for lunch), so if you're visiting Spain you might as well try napping yourself.
But don't think because Spaniards take naps they just want extra sleep. Because of the siesta, Spaniards also tend to stay up extra late at night, when it's cooler and more pleasant. In a big city like Madrid, people will still be out till three in the morning, enjoying the nightlife.
Please let me know what you think about this fic! Also, at the kink meme, I'm getting some critiques on future sections, so I'm getting very nervous about putting up sections past this. :D; If you are following the story there, I would love some honest feedback so that I can talk about what needs changing or what does and doesn't work for you. I'd be working with a beta except I have no writer friends (;_;) who could give me good feedback.
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The pacing is a fair point, though. Fortunately the next section in the story will start a new day with new events, though. When I go back to edit, one of the things I think I'll do is try to trim stuff that slowed down the story and allowed people to get bored and frustrated along with the characters.
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I'm surprised that people have criticized you for your characterization, because I always thought that was this fic's strongest point. Granted, I see characterization as a very subjective thing, because each person will interpret the canon characters in a different way. But the characters in your fic feel very believable and they are certainly a lot deeper than in most fics I've read in this fandom. I feel that too many fans are used to seeing mere "caricatures" of the characters, and when they see something deeper, they think there's something wrong with it. But there isn't! It's actually a good thing! You should be very proud of your writing. :D
Moreover, I don't think your story is moving slowly at all. I think the pacing is perfect; it really suits the mood of the story as a whole. After all, aren't they on holidays? Why rush anything? To be honest, I don't like it when fics move too fast. It feels kind of cheap, somehow. And any faster than this would probably be too fast.
In a nutshell, I don't think you need to change anything in the fic or feel nervous at all, because this fic is awesome the way it is! ♥
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Oh man, I never realized Germany's expectations might be a different kind of culture shock for Mediterranean readers! I don't know how familiar you are with how things go in the states, but let's see here... being an American, Germany's dinner time seems very normal to me (5:30 to 6pm is typical, 7pm is already approaching a late dinner in my mind, 8pm would be pretty unusual), and those with normal work/school hours tend to go to bed at 10-11pm.
In America dinner is the biggest meal we have (you probably know this), so as far as lunch is concerned we get a 30 minute to an hour long break around noon. With 30 minutes you really don't have much time to do anything at all other than to buy/warm up your food and then eat, so I think that's part of why Americans tend to eat so fast compared to others. We do at least tend to eat with coworkers and classmates though, so that's a good thing. Also napping on lunch break would be considered pretty strange, unless you were dead tired and it was a once in a blue moon thing.
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...
Not one of my proudest moments.
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To address your other points: I like that characterization in Hetalia can be very flexible and seeing all the different ways that people interpret the characters. This fandom is great because the source material is based on real nations, so anyone can put their own spin on things and have it be just as right as anyone else's ideas.
I'm not going to say anyone's wrong for disliking my personal take, but I wish the people who have criticized me wouldn't treat the issue like their own opinions are indisputable canon, or maybe they're just overlooking certain moments of characterization within the series that shows these characters have more depth than they might appear to have at first. Also I think there's an issue of context: the nations are all in a bizarre situation, of course they're going to be reacting differently! Sheesh!
Also thanks for letting me know the pace is working for you. Yeah, I'm fully aware the story is pretty lethargic, but vacations in the Mediterranean make me think of pretty much nothing but slow and chill.
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Also it's my understanding that you eat tiny, tiny breakfasts or no breakfasts at all? (Though maybe I'm confusing a Spanish tradition for a Portuguese one, and in that case, sorry.) The traditional American breakfast is huge--pancakes, waffles, sausages, bacon, eggs, toast, hashbrowns, biscuits, oatmeal, pick whatever you like, but your plate is going to be loaded. Nowadays unless its a special occasion we usually just eat something small and sugary for breakfast (cereal, muffins, poptarts, donuts) with juice or milk, but I think at least half of us skip breakfast altogether.
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...
:D
And wow, in America several of the meats on that list are pretty unusual to be eating regularly. I'd say America loves both its traditional dishes and the dishes that immigrants have brought to the country, but we aren't very adventurous eaters and we tend to Americanize most foreign cuisine. Also we are very unhealthy eaters, but that's a different subject.
I don't know if you have these in Portugal, but there's entire restaurant chains here in America with a focus on breakfast foods that are either served all day, served All-You-Can-Eat buffet style, or both. Occasionally I'll go to one of them with my family and you can just watch people loading up their plates on all those heavy breakfast foods over and over and over to try to get their money's worth. It's a wonder we don't all just drop dead from heart attacks when we go to those places.
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For whatever reason I've just never been a huge fan of fish and seafood though I guess there's nothing really wrong with it either. Lots of people in the middle of the country with little access to the really good stuff just aren't crazy about it either.
But yay sangria! My mom used to make my sister and I a non-alcoholic version when we were little. Those were the days.
Also I think I had a heart attack just looking at that Francesinha thing. The closest thing to it in America would probably be the beef hotshot, which is a roast beef sandwich with a side of mashed potatoes or fries, and all of it is soaked in gravy. It still doesn't seem as bad as Francesinha, though. D: