Disclaimer: obviously, Hetalia and its characters are not mine in any way. People and countries' names mentioned.

Count to ten

One, Antonio is forever smiling, and an outsider would take it as a permanent state that goes between stupidity and friendliness, the line too vague to be able to decide if you can take him seriously or not.

Although he is not as perceptive as the French bastard, when it comes to Spain and his smiles Romano knows better. Sometimes the man will goofily grin with sparkles almost coming out of him, but the green in his eyes will be, if just a tad, dim. Maybe his carefree laughter will falter unnoticeably at the end of his breath, and it will whisper expertly hidden nervousness for Romano's trained senses. There are those shy kind of smiles meant to break a tense situation, and the light-hearted jokes that silently ask if everything is ok or there is something wrong. Solely once or twice, Romano has seen in this well-known face an indefinable, unforgettable smirk that, together with a strangely dangerous edge on Antonio's gaze, makes him shiver with fear and something else that he just can't put into words.

...

Two, "I'm sorry" is written with tomato sauce forming childish letters over his spaghetti, Antonio realises, and his fork stops in mid air, unable to reach its goal. Across the table, Romano is stabbing his pasta as if it had done some horrendous crime and deserved punishment, red on his face giving away the shame he feels because of the things his moronic pride doesn't let him do openly. Like apologizing. The fork restarts its movement to bring some neatly curled spaghetti, with sauce that implores forgiveness, to the elder's one mouth, who chews thoughtfully. "What did you put in the pasta, Lovi? It has a special taste tonight". The Spanish ducks, laughing, in order to avoid a plate still full of the delicious food thrown his way.

...

Three, there are those dreams tinted in red. Red of passion, warmth, tomatoes, courage, yes. But also red of blood, suffering and despair.

Romano gasps as his eyes open wide, breath ragged, mind trying to escape from the wild nightmare –memory?- while his eyes still see the trail of blood that welcomed him in some past occasions when returning home. A vivid, painted-like path that lead him to a broken man, a mere shadow of his ever strong caretaker, who, once away from intruders' eyes, could let himself shatter and cry, mourn the loss of his people, ferociously curse his enemies, beg mercy for the sins that rotted his heart. His bare feet and white clothes got stained, his fingers drowned in that endless red when he decided for the first time not to run away as he had done countless days, and hugged Antonio. It was painfully warm, so horrid it had burnt him deep inside. Although now sun kissed hands soothe gently his ache away when this happens, lingering warmth always manages to stay for a while, a warning, and a reminder.

...

Four, when Feliciano calls, Antonio gets to see an entirely different facade of the Italian he lives with. He looks forward to these talks between the pair of brothers through the wires, and usually does all he can to observe Romano without being noticed -even if that means pretending that he has the urgent need to clean a collection of dusty, ugly trophies they still keep in the living room for some unknown reason. The Spanish knows Lovino loves his twin, but isn't as bright as to sense the cause of the bursts of jealousy that take over him when Feliciano visits and the cheery man goes all hyper about the younger Italian and his cuteness.

However, a phone call is completely different, since Antonio doesn't get involved in any way, and so, Romano smiles –smiles!- and chats contently through the machine, admonishing his brother occasionally, or staying silent to hear what must be one of the other's long rants. The Spanish has had many times a most absurd feeling of rancour towards the phone for it being the receiver of those unusual smiles; but then he recalls that he gets to be a privileged spectator, after all, and resumes his cleaning, grinning happily at the ugly objects before him while listening intently.

...

Five, Antonio's face is suddenly serious as he tilts Romano's chin to face him, his gaze piercing through the younger man with such passion –oh, how typical it seems to use that word when talking about Spain, but how appropriate it becomes in these situations- that he feels his legs threatening to stop supporting him at any moment. Few people have had the chance to see this man's face without his trademark smile, and only one person has ever received such a focus of attention coming from him. Said person fails to keep his shivers under control as Antonio softly kisses his neck, the slow movement strongly contrasting against the tense silence that surrounds them and the shine of demand that glints in those olive eyes. Romano still blushes like mad as the cooking book he was glancing at falls noisily on the floor and lets the other have free access to him, right then and there. Looks like there won't be need for supper tonight.

...

Six, "bastard", and its equivalents in Italian, Latin, Spanish, and even French or German, is the word that comes more often out of Romano's mouth, with such a naturalness that it becomes rather scary if you are someone who values polite speaking. Bastard this, bastard that, you aren't listening to me, bastard, how can you be so hopelessly oblivious, bastard? Its omnipresence in the Italian's sentences has, eventually, made it something neither of them minds, and it could be translated –if you learn how to decipher the actual meanings that hide behind Romano's words, which is something that requires a lot of practice- as any of the "dear", "darling", "love" that Antonio uses with the same ease when they talk.

The problem comes when Romano is truly angry and actually means the foul words he says. After a blow of the most dreadful multilingual vocabulary he has in stock, Antonio will probably turn over the newspaper's page he was reading and, if he's over-perceptive that day, maybe he will ask with an absent-minded smile something like "Anything else, dear?" That's when any fragile object within Romano's reach begins to fear for its wholeness. (The funny fact is that neither of the two has ever suspected that what would probably upset Antonio would be precisely the lack of insults in Romano's speech.)

...

Seven, Romano is perfectly aware that Antonio really, really loves it when he speaks Spanish, and so, he hardly ever does it, reserving his Spanish words for specific moments. They can understand each other's language easily, partly thanks to their studying in some point of their lives, partly thanks to the similarities their idioms share, and that's why they are able to reach understanding without any impediment, even if they stick to their respective mother tongues in their conversations. However, as we were saying, it isn't always a matter of just understanding things, that is, what you say, but a matter of how you say it, and if Romano grabs abruptly Antonio's shirt and pulls him down so as to hiss a commanding "bésame" in his ear, he can be completely sure that the hand he is playing will win. No doubts.

...

Eight, Romano has never been known for being a valiant man –however this truth might hurt him. He isn't the fearful child he used to be anymore, of course, and he keeps telling himself that there's no reason to be afraid of the intense storm that is howling around the house or the growling thunder that is shaking the windows implacably. His mind also adds that he doesn't care about the sinister sound rain makes when plummeting heavily on the roof, and, evidently, the darkened corridors of the house aren't a problem, either. Not at all.

Nevertheless, it won't harm anybody if he lets Antonio lead him to the sofa and hug him softly, and listen the Spanish chatting happily about innumerable –and random- things so as to make him forget his uneasiness. Suddenly the storm seems to be rather far away from the cozy refuge his lover builds around him with his words and his presence.

...

Nine, old habits die hard, and if you have shared not years but centuries with someone, then they become as natural as breathing, and thus, are difficult to erase or re-adapt to a changing situation. It is particularly complicated for Antonio, maybe due to his devotion for children and the great importance looking for Lovino had in his life. Now and then, he still tidies Romano's auburn hair when he considers it is too messy, or pulls down his shirt so as to ease its wrinkles, buttoning a forgotten button immediately after -unconsciously made actions that often earn him a scowl and a half-hearted slap from the Italian, not to mention one of his familiar blushes.

It's no wonder that the younger man wants to reaffirm in any way he can the fact that he is a fully-grown adult now, since it was so difficult for him to make Antonio understand he was no longer a kid but should be considered an equal. In spite of that, if these anachronistic acts come to Romano's memory when he's by himself, he can't help but heartily smile at the memory.

...

Ten, the stereotype dictates that Spanish people are lazy per se, and, be it true or not, Antonio would be a good example of it. Still, there are some nights when he doesn't let himself fall immediately asleep, as he would usually do, and stays alert, even though he calms down his breathing and feigns to be about to sink into Morpheus' arms.

Then there's that cautious movement next to him, coming to him, and the warm embrace that follows, all of it foretold by a special look in Romano's eyes during the whole dinner, a somewhat longing gaze that no one else would actually notice, because the mere thought of it would appear quite misplaced knowing the cactus-like personality of the Italian. "Quit pretending you're asleep, bastard", and the Spanish chuckles in response. It makes Antonio completely lose it, when his small, cute Lovi gets dominant like this and looms over him, all the might Romano can muster reaching him despite he can't see his face the darkness, only feel his breath on the skin. He lets the other pin his wrists over his head, but he gladly fights back in the heated kisses, because, honestly, if Romano wants something, it's only fair that he has to put effort into getting it. That's when the younger man starts to take it even more seriously than before, and, inevitably, the Conquistador becomes the conquered one.