I Love You, You Jerk

A/N: Hey ya'll~! It's KazeRose again—I know I should be working on my Letters (apparently I'm famous around the Hetalia boards and such…?) and Lest We Forget but this is just a little one-shot that came to mind.

So don't kill me~!

Disclaimer: Yeah, don't own. Sadly.

Oh. And Portugal's OC rightfully belongs to Sorairo Warai

I Love You, You Jerk

Spain sniffled and tossed the tissue weakly across his bed, glaring at it when it landed by his feet. The Spaniard had caught a cold of all things and was now lying miserably in bed—by himself. No one there to smother him in love and affection.

Well. That wasn't all the way true. His sister Portugal had been there until that morning—but since he was the Host Nation for today's World Meeting, Spain had quickly handed off his duties to his sister, telling her to send the other nations his regards.

And now here he was. Sick as a dog, and lonely. "Great," Spain grumbled, coughing quietly. Sighing softly, Spain snuggled himself into this pillows and closed his heavy, bleary eyes. If he was going to be miserable and alone for awhile, might as well sleep, right?

It seemed like minutes before Spain was awoken again, by the soft 'click' of his door and the scratching of chair legs on his hard wood floors. Spain blinked sleepily and glanced over to the source of the noise. "Lovi…?" Spain asked, his unused voice raspy and hoarse.

"Go to sleep you jerk. I heard you were sick so I skipped the meeting to check on you."

Spain nodded against the pillows and allowed his eyes to slide shut once more, before waking up again to something cold being pressed against his lips. "W-what?" he asked, cracking an emerald orb.

Romano frowned down at the Spaniard, golden orbs narrowed. "I'm taking your temperature."

"O-oh…" Spain sputtered, glancing away, trying to hide his flushed face.

Romano stuck the thermometer in Spain's mouth and waited impatiently for the beeping sound. "Eh, 40.1…that's high, Antonio."

Spain once again nodded and sniffled, reaching weakly for a tissue.

"Let me do it."

The bleary-eyed Spaniard blinked tiredly and glanced up, seeing a tissue shoved in his face. "Lovi…?"

"Dammit, you bastard, have it."

"A-ah gracias Lovino…"

Romano made a "tch" sound and turned away from Spain. "Yeah, whatever, just get better you jerk."

Spain smiled weakly and shakily pulled a hand from underneath the covers, reaching for Romano's hand. "Sit with me…?" The Spaniard mumbled sleepily.

Lovino flushed and turned away from Spain, though he extended a hesitant hand. "J-just cause you're sick, you bastard." Sighing, Romano sat down on the edge of Spain's bed, the Spaniard's hand still clenched in his own. "You're hand's sweaty…" Romano commented quietly.

" 's 'cuz I'm hot…" Antonio slurred, shifting uncomfortably in his bed.

A frown made it's way to the Italian's face. "You're hot? Do you wanna change into something cooler? But wait, how're you hot? You're shivering."

It was Spain's turn to blush this time. "N-no, I don't need to change…I'm just hot." Antonio shifted his feet underneath the blankets, trying to kick the source of his discomfort off of his legs.

Romano sighed and pushed the top layer of blankets off. "Keep the sheet on. Maybe you can sweat out this fever."

Antonio weakly nodded in agreement and snuggled down into his bed. The Spaniard squeaked as he felt a hand against his forehead. "Lovi…?"

"Double checking your fever again, you jerk." Lovino pulled his hand away from Antonio's forehead. "Gross. You're all sweaty."

"Isn't that what you wanted…?"

Romano glared at Spain. "Yeah. But I don't want your disgusting sweat on my hands, you damn jerk!"

"So cold, Lovino…"

"Me or you?" The Italian asked, a look of worry creasing his face.

Antonio laughed, but it wasn't his normal laugh. It was a tired, exasperated laugh. "You, mi querido."

The personification of the Southern half of Italy made a face. "Don't call me "my dear", you damn Spanish pervert."

A small smile made it's way to Antonio's face, his emerald green eyes fluttering, unsure whether they wanted to close or not. "Lo siento, Lovino."

Romano made a disgruntled noise and nodded. "Yeah, you better be, damn asshole."

Spain yawned, eyes finally deciding to begin to slide shut. "Lovino…?" he asked, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.

The Italian turned and frowned down at the exhausted Spaniard. "What is it, you damn jerk?"

"I'm sleepy…"

"Obviously," Romano snapped, mentally slapping himself for his harshness towards the sick nation.

"W-will…w-will you sleep with me, Lovino? It'll make me feel better." Antonio mumbled, flustered. He fiddled with the blankets, fingering them quietly and softly, hoping that his movements were unnoticed by Lovino.

His hopes and dreams were crushed when Romano glanced down at the moving sheets. "Stop fiddling, and go to sleep," Lovino made his way around to the other side of Antonio's bed, fluffing the pillows against the Spaniard's wrought iron headboard. "This isn't because I want to," he grumbled, climbing onto Antonio's bed, sinking into the fluffy mattress. "It's just you're sick…and…yeah…" Lovino trailed off, throwing a sideways glance at Spain, noting that the other was sleeping.

Sighing, Romano turned off the lamp sitting on the side table and closed his eyes, easing into the comforts of sleep along with Antonio. "Damn jerk…" he murmured, sleepily. "Ti amo…you jerk."

Spain smiled in his sleep, nestling against Romano. "Te amo también…" he yawned, allowing the sweet, sweet arms of sleep to embrace him once more. Both nations snuggled against each other—Spain's head resting on Lovino's chest, his breaths ragged and strained—but comfortable all the same.

Lovino, on the other hand, had his arms wrapped around the sick Spaniard, his face loosely buried into Spain's curly brunette hair.

It was heaven.

After the meeting, Portugal rushed towards Antonio's sizeable home, quickly bursting in the front door and heading up the stairs. "Antonio?" She called, quietly opening the closed door to her brother's room.

The lights were off, causing Portugal to frown. She maneuvered her way to the bed, groping around for something to guide her to her brothers side. "Ah," She cooed, smiling slightly at the site once she made it to her brother's bedside. "So sweet…"

Sighing, Portugal kissed her sick brother's forehead, brushing his sweaty, curled bangs from his face. "Sleep well, my little brother—and you too, Lovino." Silvia smiled and shook her head, exiting the room, quietly shutting the door after her.

And this is called a fail ending. Because I can't end stories to save my life :"3 Read&Review pleasseee :D