Romania's Dragobete Adventure

Editor's Note: In Romania we celebrate Dragobete, which is like our own version of Valentine's Day. Of course, now that all of Europe is more westernised, we celebrate Valentine's Day too, but Dragobete, celebrated on the 24th of February, is a specific Romanian tradition and has a very old history, having been celebrated as far back as the Middle Ages.

Yesterday ago my brother said, "Hey, I just realised. The day after tomorrow is Dragobete!" It took me by surprise and I just had to write a fic about APH Romania on Dragobete.

P.S.: I call Romania Iancu Popescu, his good, good pal Bulgaria is Gheorghiev Ivanov and the name I use for Ukraine is Anya Braginskaya (I know this is Nyotalia Russia's name but personally I think it suits Ukraine).

P.S.: I've always imagined Romania to have a crush on Ukraine...? I don't know if it suits, but I like it and I couldn't care less.

Thx 4 reading my stories. Faves, follows and reviews are pure love!

Blow your proud Romanian author a kiss or two for Dragobete Day!

Romania awoke with a start. A wind played in the white rippling curtains hanging by the window of his hotel room, caressing his face. The alarm on his phone was playing Mai Frumoasă*.

Dragobete, he thought with reverence.

The celebration of Dragobete was one of Iancu's personal favourites. He didn't like Valentine's Day with its pink cardboard hearts in shop windows, its general buy-more atmosphere, the corny spam ads he received on gmail or the vulgar jokes teenagers cracked on the occasion. But he'd always loved Dragobete. You could smell the scent of love and kindness in the February air. When he closed his eyes he could almost imagine voivodes, kings and queens of old dancing and loving and celebrating this beautiful day of tradition, culture and beauty.

On any other day he would have shut his alarm off and gone back to sleep immediately, not caring that today there was a World Meeting which he had to attend to. But not today. He slipped out of bed and dressed slowly, as if dancing thoughtfully to the famous love song playing over to him from his cell phone. Every movement he made reminded him of that most beautiful of emotions, l'amour.

Finally he finished dressing and slipped on his red overcoat. It was his favourite piece of clothing, closely followed by a t-shirt on which was printed 'HUNGARY SUCKS - 1956'. But today the red colour held a new meaning for him.

He dreamed of stretching fields of nothing but poppies, bowing in the breeze. He dreamed of majestic mountains, like towering giants basking in the crimson glow of the sunset. He dreamed of kisses and the scent of roses wafting through a candlelit bedroom.

He dreamed of love.

It wasn't too hard finding the bus-stop, even in the dreamlike, euphoric state Iancu was in. He found himself missing his own home back in Romania and loathed the fact that he was at the moment in the UK for a World Meeting, in this country where none observed this beautiful celebration. But to him Dragobete was a thing of the heart – and if it wasn't in his, Iancu didn't know what was.

Iancu paid awkwardly, forgetting that bus drivers in England were paid differently than in Romania, where you simply touched your travel card to the handy orange machines and boom. The further you got from a place you knew, the stranger things become, and the more homesick you get.

"There's no place like home," Romania whispered to himself with a sigh.

"Feeling homesick, Dorothy?"

Iancu whipped around and was met by a pair of gleaming witch-green eyes, belonging to a chestnut-haired girl with a flower tucked behind her ear.

"Aaah! Elisabeta! So good to see you!"

The surprise that illuminated Hungary's formerly mocking eyes matched Iancu's.

"Since when are you glad to see me?" she slowly asked, her voice unreadable.

Iancu got up from his seat and sat beside the bewildered nation.

"Today is Dragobete," he easily told her as he draped his arm around Elisabeta's slim shoulders. "I love everyone."

Elisabeta's made-up lips curled into a wry smile. "Really?"

"100 percent."

"OK, then you won't kill me for doing this."

Elisabeta leaned over and gave him a long, blossoming kiss.

"Hunga-"

"Dare," she swiftly explained, a flush illuminating her face better than any make-up could have.

"Tottenham Hale!" called the bus driver. Iancu and Elisabeta simultaneously remembered that Tottenham Hale was their stop, as they were both attending the same world meeting, and hastily clambered down the stairs and off the double-decker bus that was as red as both of their cheeks.

As Switzerland ranted on about the need to increase security in international airports, Romania's attention turned on and off. His thoughts were somewhere else…

He looked over at Hungary, who was coincidentally seated just four nations to his right. He winked at her and she rolled her eyes, but Iancu saw her lift her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Does anyone have any suggestions?" Switzerland hopefully inquired, glancing up from his clipboard.

Romania's hand involuntarily shot up, taking Iancu himself by surprise.

"Yes?"

"How about we just LOVE everyone?" he exclaimed. "If there were more love in the world, no airports would get attacked!"

Every nation present besides Switzerland exploded with laughter, and Romania laughed hardest of all as he playfully punched France in the shoulder.

The tedious World Meeting being finally over, Romania rushed out the door, hunger gnawing at his stomach. America chugged up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder as they silently stepped out into the street.

"Romeo, I'm starving!" America whined. Romania smiled at being called Romeo – he knew that America was reminding him of his joke.

"Same," Iancu replied. "Let's find somewhere to eat. I'll treat you-"

Italy sauntered past intentionally.

Romania sighed. "-and Italy - to a meal."

"Free food! Awesome!" America yelled. He leapt up and punched the air, his face radiating bliss.

"Ve, feeling generous today…uh…who are you again?"

Normally Romania would have taken Feliciano's failure to recognise him as an insult, seeing as he was his fellow descendant of Grandpa Rome. But today he simply laughed copiously and said "România! And yes, I am feeling very generous! Any other day I would have never risked treating an Italian to a meal."

Alfred howled with laughter. Italy's bottom lip trembled dangerously.

Iancu smiled and squeezed the redhead's hand.

"It was a joke, Feliciano dear," he told him. "Don't be offended. Let's go eat, drink and be merry!"

Iancu was lying in his pristine hotel four-poster bed, feeling like a prince. The new pyjamas America had bought for him, red ones with a pattern of bats and garlic were so comfortable and silky that Romania was scared of drowning in them. After well over half a day of wearing a suit, tie and crisply ironed shirt, he felt the need to 'whip zem all off and relax as Mother Nature intended', as Francis had once said.

He had already written a poem about all the things that Dragobete reminded him of, and now he was lying back and feeling like a poetic genius.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Iancu rolled over reluctantly and picked it up as he popped a heart-shaped candy into his mouth. He had simply had to get them after the more than satisfactory meal at a Lebanese restaurant with his two friends.

"Yo," Romania answered, holding the phone to his ear.

Chocolate…

"Hi, Iancu!" Anya's soft voice lilted. "I-I know it's Dragobete Day back in Romania, and I-I thought you might be feeling a little homesick and lonely, in a foreign country on your favourite celebration."

Oh, Ukraine knew him so well!

"Well?" Iancu whispered, touched by her sensitivity and increasingly interested in what the dazzlingly beautiful Ukrainian girl had to say.

"I was thinking," she whispered, her voice becoming warm and husky, "do you have anything important you need to do tonight?"

Iancu's eyes glowed.

"Of course not, my love," he replied in a soft, inviting voice.

He could almost feel Anya's beautiful smile in the magical moment of silence that ensued

"Good," came her answer at last. "I love you."

"I love you too!" Iancu exclaimed.

Romania heard shuffling footsteps outside the door of his hotel room, and then the doorbell rang.

A wide smile transformed Iancu's normally serious face.

Anya had never doubted him for a second.

THE END

Romanian words used:

România = Romania (duh)

Mai Frumoasă = More Beautiful. A famous Romanian love song.