De-anon from the kink meme!

Prompt was "A nation gives another a tiger lily, and the second nation finds out that this type of lily carries the meaning of 'I dare you to love me.' What happens next is up to the author anon."

It has been so long, far too long, since Spain last saw the Southern half of Italy.

Before the fighting, Romano had visited often- well, as often as a nation could. He'd stopped by for the important festivals, certainly, and to exchange information about the rest of Europe; several times he'd asked for Spain's opinion on something or other that Veneziano had proposed; and sometimes he would just come by for a glass of wine and a lazy conversation in the Spanish sun. Spain had liked those times. Him, his old colony, some good Rioja and a quiet afternoon. But then the fighting had set in- the Spanish civil war ripped him apart, and Romano couldn't be found to comfort him. He'd snuck through the fighting once, towards the end of the fights, to offer his old Boss tears and apologies and a hand to hold; told him that it would be alright, eventually, everything would sort itself out. It always did.

But then Franco was in charge, and Romano was back in Italy, struggling with his brother and the new war that had taken most of Europe. Occasionally, letters would make it back to Spain. He tried not to mind the infrequency too much, because, as Romano once wrote, there is so much fucking fighting going on I don't know what to do. Veneziano's gone crazy- crazy with some kind of adoration for the damn kraut, or just crazy in general, I don't know. I wish this stupid war would end.

And then the second world war was over, and Spain had hope for a renewed era of visits and friendship. But Romano didn't come. The letters became more and more infrequent, less detailed and emotional, and eventually they stopped coming. Spain wondered if it was Franco, an unwelcome reminder of painful times past, or if (the thought made his heart twist rather painfully) Romano had found someone else, someone new to sip wine with and wonder over the world. He just tried to keep hope that it wasn't true.

In late November of 1975, Francisco Franco died.

Spain wanted to be remorseful for his fallen leader, but it was finally over- fascism was over, the painful reminders were over, and maybe- just maybe- with a little bit of luck, the heartbreaking silence from Romano was over, too.

He penned the letter not a week later and sent it off to Romano's apartment (if his address had changed since the last letter, Spain didn't know what he would do but dammit he was going to find a way to contact Romano). It was a simple letter. Hello again, are you well, how's your brother, would you like to come visit?

After two weeks, the answer came in the form of a letter and a bouquet resting innocently on his doorstep. Spain was a little confused at first. Romano had never been one for flowers between friends, had he? But the address on the envelope was Romano's, and the scribbled handwriting on the paper inside was definitely Romano's, so he supposed the younger nation had just had a change of heart. He glanced over the short message, scrawled in flawless Italian-

Spagna-

Verrò presto. Goditi i fiori.

Spero tu stia bene,

Sud Italia

Romano was coming!

Spain could hardly contain his excitement. Romano was coming! He'd sent flowers and a letter, and he hadn't forgotten Spain and he was coming to visit! Spain scooped up the bouquet and half-danced back into his house, dropping the letter on the kitchen table as he shuffled around for a vase. When he'd neatly arranged the bouquet on his table, he paused to wonder over the flowers again.

It couldn't be said that Romano disliked flowers. Perhaps he didn't like receiving them (Spain had tried, after he'd become independent- the Italian had protested strongly, and somewhere among the invectives Spain had managed to catch the phrase "I'm not a girl, bastard!"), but he'd never shown any disgust in giving roses and wildflowers to any pretty girl who happened to cross his path while he had them on hand. But there was the thing- Roma was so particular about his flowers. He preferred roses and carnations, vibrant flowers that were traditional to a country of love.

He had never liked lilies.

Spain couldn't remember expressing an interest in lilies, either. Had he complimented some of France's when they visited his greenhouse together so long ago? No, they'd both agreed that the lilies were pretty but generally useless. But here was a bouquet of lilies, meant for Spain, left on his doorstep with a note that was clearly from Romano. There was only one thing left to do here.

"Salut, Espagne," France laughed, and Spain smiled out of habit to hear his old friend's voice- even if it was only over the telephone. "Ah, it's been so long... To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"You know all about flowers, sì, Francia?" he wrapped the wire from the phone around his finger lazily. On the other end of the line, France hummed thoughtfully.

"Oui, you could say that. Pourquoi?"

"I was just wondering what you knew about lilies..." Spain trailed off, unsure if he should mention Romano's involvement. "Do they mean anything special?"

"Most flowers do, if you know what you're looking for," France said. "You have a particular kind of lily you wanted to ask about, n'avez-vous pas? Describe them to me."

"Well, they're orange, but they've got black specks towards the center of the petals..."

"Tiger lilies?"

"Ah, sì," Spain laughed easily, leaning back in his chair. "What do they mean, France?"

The Frenchman chuckled. "I think you have an admirer on your hands, cher. Who sent them?"

"That's not important," Spain insisted. His mind strayed. Romano? An admirer? "Por favor, Francia, I want to know."

"I believe the meaning you're looking for should be in the book I sent you several years ago," France said patiently. "Good luck, mon ami- and do tell me how this all turns out."

The line fell silent before Spain could find a reply. He frowned as he turned to his bookshelf. France was a good friend- an old friend to be sure- but sometimes Spain simply did not know what to make of his behavior. He tugged the book out of its place and began to flip through it. Why couldn't the Frenchman simply tell him the meaning? What was so- ah, there he was. Lilies. Pink lilies, white lilies, frog lilies (he was glad he hadn't gotten any of those, he reflected; Romano expressed his disgust often enough without sending flowers of the same nature)... Tiger lilies-!

The doorbell rang. Spain hastily dropped the book to the ground and sprinted to the front door. He threw it open, beaming when he was met with a familiar scowl and expressive amber eyes.

"Took you long enough, bastard, didn't you get my letter?"

"Roma!" Spain laughed in sheer delight, dragging Romano into a hug. The Italian was as cute as ever, if not more. "It's been so long, chico! Are you well? How was the trip over?"

"Answer my question!"

"Sì, sì. And thank you for the flowers," Spain grinned as he towed the younger nation into the house. Romano grimaced at the vase of lilies. "I didn't know you liked lilies, Roma."

"S-so you don't," Romano faltered, reaching out to rub the edge of a petal between his fingertips. "You d-don't know what they mean, right?"

"Eh? Not really, but I was looking it up when you arrived..." Spain's eyes wandered back to the book lying open on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, but Romano snatched it away. Spain looked up at his flustered expression in surprise. "Querido? Wh-"

"I-it's not that important, okay?" But God, it must have been, because as much as Spain delighted in seeing that familiar red blush painted across Romano's cheekbones, he knew that there was almost always a reason behind it. "It was a stupid idea and I should've thought over it more and you can just forget about them-"

"But I want to know," Spain insisted. He stepped closer and grabbed Romano's wrist when he tried to flee. "It means a lot to me, you know! I've missed you so much... "

"No!" Romano struggled valiantly, profanity streaming from his lips. "Dammit Spain, let me go! I-I didn't come so you could fuck around like thi- ah!"

Spain wrestled the book out of Romano's grip only to stumble back onto the couch, Romano collapsing clumsily on top of him. He pinned the younger nation there with his free hand, fumbling with the pages of the book with his other. Romano whined desperately as he finally found the lilies page again.

Lily (tiger)- I dare you to love me.

The book slid out of his grip, and he gaped at the writhing nation above him. Romano stilled at his expression, his face somehow even redder than it had been before. "Y-you found it, bastard?"

"Roma," he whispered, and then he yanked Romano down to him again, arms wrapped tightly around his back as Spain buried his face in the crook of his neck. His beautiful, adorable old colony, all amber eyes and auburn curls and not-quite-hidden affection, red blushes and feisty words that Spain had always known he hadn't meant, but to this degree- "Oh, Romano."

Romano trembled in the embrace, whimpering. "St-stupid, let me go...!"

Spain ignored him, because he didn't mean it and now Spain really knew he didn't mean it. He smiled against Romano's collarbone, and it must have been the right thing to do because after a moment, tentative hands slipped around his neck to brush through his hair. "Mi Romanito..."

"Don't call me that, dumbass," Romano growled halfheartedly. Spain chuckled, and revelled in the yelp he earned from kissing the younger nation's jawline. "Spagna!"

"You could have told me before," he told the young man in his arms. "You know I've always loved you."

Romano's blush had been fading, just a little bit, but now it was back full force. "H-how do you expect me to know shit when you say the same thing to every other person you meet?"

"Because you're beautiful," Spain told him, kissing at the edge of Romano's jaw. "Because you came to see me even when I was at war and my government told you not to, because you were so cute when you used to try to help clean, even if you just broke everything..."

"I did not," Romano protested, indignantly. Spain just laughed again.

"Whatever you say, querido."

They lay there in comfortable silence for a long while. Spain ignored the phone (and the consequential voicemail) when it rang, instead rolling onto his side so he could tangle into Romano more fully. Romano murmured sleepily, but let it slide. He'd been playing with the curly locks of Spain's hair when he finally spoke, hesitantly, "So... you... accept it?"

"Mmhmmm," Spain squeezed him reassuringly. "You sound so... surprised."

"Everyone's always said I'm too difficult," Romano muttered, and Spain felt a little guilty because once upon a time he had been part of that everyone, and he would do almost anything to go back in time and tell himself how perfect and adorable and wonderful Romano was now. He takes his time deciding how to reply. His next words would be important.

"Maybe they think so," he finally said, smiling as he pressed another kiss to the corner of Romano's mouth. "But I've always liked a challenge."

Romano's letter says-

Spain-

Will come soon. Enjoy the flowers.

I hope you are well,

South Italy