Wow, 232 ended up so much longer than I intended! Anyway, I'm really sorry for the incredibly long wait for an update. If old readers are still there, I hope you enjoy (and thanks for staying!) New readers, hello! :)

Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Days: Part 6

Three hundred: 15:44

Hoarding insignificant trinkets had become a very cruel irony. Spain was in the habit of keeping mementos; love letters, tokens of affection and anything that gave him that burst of sunshine in his chest was kept closely guarded and safe for his eyes only.

In Spain's favourite photo of Romano, he was smiling and showing off a cheque for an enormous sum of money, something to do with investors and business and a load of stuff Spain didn't really understand but was happy about anyway because it had made Romano happy and when Romano was happy, well...

He flicked the page to the next photo, thumbnail grazing the line of Romano's jaw. He was fast asleep, a book on his chest. Spain had laughed because he was snoring and murmuring a lot of cute things that had made him even more irresistible than he already was. The next moment he was kissing him awake and demanding attention and Romano was wide awake and telling him to get the fuck off him before he bit his dick off. After that was a photo of them Spain adored, an accidental shot of the two of them taken from an angle on the floor, nothing false, just their tangled bodies.

There were the tears again, great, breath-heaving tears. Spain couldn't remember the last day he hadn't sobbed like this, bent double like he was desperately holding his heart inside in his chest. He'd just about managed to do laundry that morning, but after hanging it on the line he forgot all about it. It had rained torrentially since half past twelve. Yet to notice, Spain had rescued his trinket box from its precarious position on top of the wardrobe and had sunk to the floor with it nestled on his lap, lifting the lid with great care and lining up every item in front of him to examine one at a time.

It was painful, but therapeutic. One of Romano's empty bottles of aftershave was just about holding its scent. He held it under his nose for a few minutes, closing his eyes and imagining sleeping beside him again. It was a small comfort, but it had been enough until Spain had moved on to the hand-carved, wooden photo album he'd made as a gift to Romano to honour the day they moved in together.

17:52

France found him curled up on the floor in his boxers, hoisted him up and frog-marched him to the shower. Washing and drying him, he put him back to bed and told him to get some sleep, lying down beside him and lulling him with soothing words and fingers in his hair.

"I forgot about the washing," Spain said when he awoke, one of France's arms around him, the other holding a book aloft to read. He lowered it to the bedside table, smooshing a kiss to Spain's forehead.

"Not to worry," he said, lying back down, arms around his middle. "I put it back in the wash when I came in."

Spain nodded, casting his eyes over the room. His trinket box was nowhere in sight. He didn't ask where it was.

Two Hundred and Thirty-Two: 20:32

France was flirting with Belgium. Spain was aware enough to know Romano was bothered by it. After he'd torn three napkins into tiny little pieces, he moved on to irately hammering his knife against the table, failing to inconspicuously spy on them around the decorative statuette in the centre. "Baby, why don't you have some wine, eh?" Spain said, refilling his glass and practically lifting it to his lips, leaning as far forward as he could to block Romano's view. "It's one of your favourites, isn't it? Mains will be here soon, so you-"

"Why did you invite him?" Romano growled, downing half his glass and slamming it down. He reached for the bottle and filled it again, Spain watching the movement with a small, somewhat irritated frown. When Romano put it down, he moved it aside.

"Well, why not? France is my best friend," Spain answered, put out. "You said you wanted a sophisticated dinner date for a change and you told me I could bring someone, and next to you, France is the most sophisticated person I know."

"He's a philandering flirt who can't keep his dick in his trousers." Spain grit his teeth, valiantly ignoring the bait dangling in front of him. "You should have brought the other idiot with you, make it a proper night out. Hell, invite them to my family's house this weekend, even better! Bring all your friends!"

"Well you brought Netherlands here and there's nothing sophisticated about that pot smoking oaf!" Spain snapped. Immediately he felt guilty, sinking when Romano gave him a positively disdainful look, crossing his arms petulantly. Lowering his tone, Spain, touched his knee lightly, trying to be reassuring even if he didn't quite understand what reason Romano had to be so concerned about who Belgium potentially went home with. "I don't see what the problem is. France is really nice and he's just being friendly. I know how he works. If he was interested in Belgium, it would be pretty obvious by now."

Romano peered around him to see for himself. France was peppering kisses across her knuckles and brushing blonde curls behind her ear. When Romano looked back to him, Spain had the decency to look a little sheepish. "He won't do anything bad!" he insisted, waving his hands. "He's a good guy, honestly!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Romano scoffed. "And by the way, Bel brought Netherlands, not me. At least Netherlands won't spend the evening trying to get someone into bed."

"Even if that's what he's doing, what does it matter? Belgium can take care of herself, she's a grown woman," Spain reasoned, shrugging helplessly. He poured himself a very large glass of wine. As it happened, Netherlands was nowhere in sight and hadn't been seen since after the starter dishes had been taken away; Spain suspected his university habit had grown into a greater addiction over the years.

"What do you know about Belgium, she's my friend," Romano accused, eyeing him.

"Oh yeah, isn't she just."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me!"

"I don't want to."

"You're such a child!"

"I'm the child?"

"You're the child."

"Gentleman." France was standing between them with a benign smile on his lips, a hand on each of their shoulders.. "If you would kindly save your arguments for a less upstanding establishment; your main meals have arrived. You are also getting stares from the other patrons."

Both of them looked suitably embarrassed, jerking their respective seats further under the table and composing themselves. They cast accusing glares at one another when they realised all three bottles of wine on the table were empty and then proceeded to concentrate exceptionally hard on their meals. Ordinarily Romano would be picking bits off Spain's plate to try for himself; ordinarily Spain would smile serenely and watch the way his lips moved and his throat bobbed and that soft, half smile of enjoyment that trickled into his expression whenever he ate his favourite things. Then he would dab his lips and sigh and stretch and moan and tell Spain to open another bottle of Rustenberg and massage his toes while he dozed on the sofa.

Spain made an irritated noise. No wonder Romano got away with never apologising for being an ass when, if left to his own thoughts, all he thought about was how wonderful the man was. Not today, he decided, pointedly ignoring Romano with every ounce of his ability.

Unfortunately, Romano was the king of silent treatment, which only got Spain's back up even more. He wasn't the one flirting with a pretty blonde all the time. He wasn't the one buying pretty blondes pretty diamond earrings. He wasn't the one constantly casting adoring looks her way or holding her hand or leaning in to whisper sweet nothings-

Netherlands sat down next to him again. The distinctive odour of weed wafted over. "What's with the weird tension?" he asked, stuffing a piece of steak into his mouth. He grinned a little, waving his fork between Romano and Spain. "You two had another row? Why don't you just break up already? Romano, you know you're dating a coke-head scumbag, dont you?"

21:45

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Romano was complaining, swinging off the handle above the door in the taxi as it rounded a corner. "You've got some serious fucking issues, do you realise that? My God, who does that? Do you know how much you just embarrassed me?"

Spain resisted a derisive snort. "Is that all you care about?" he asked softly, thumb brushing his grazed knuckle. "And didn't you punch him yourself not so long ago?"

"I know he can be an asshole, but we were in the middle of a restaurant and it was completely uncalled for!" he continued, hand waving wildly. "I can never fucking go back there again! I take customers and clients there! They know me!"

Spain felt at least a tiny bit guilty about the whole affair, sighing heavily. Snatching Romano's hand out of the air, he brought it to his lips to pepper kisses over his palm. "I'm sorry, Roma. Can we just forget tonight happened and move on? I'll make you a nice dinner and-"

Romano snatched his hand back. "I'm not hungry."

Full of wine confidence, Spain growled, "how do you think I fucking feel? You spent the whole evening staring at Belgium and talking about Belgium and complaining about France talking to Belgium."

It was too late to think about it before saying it. Romano looked as though a vein was about to burst in his forehead. "Are you seriously bringing that up again?"

"Yeah, I'm 'seriously bringing that up again'."

Romano laughed. It hurt.

"What the hell do you want from me, Spain? Declarations of my undying love?"

"Yeah, maybe that'd be nice once in a while. Or just once!"

The taxi pulled to a halt at the bottom of the drive. Romano gave the driver a twenty and stepped out, muttering, "sorry, I'm in love with Belgium."

Spain followed him out, grabbing his arm halfway up the path. "That's not funny."

Wrenching his arm free, Romano growled, "who's laughing?" and shoved his key into the front door, near slamming it in Spain's face. He slipped inside just in time, the noise making the floor tremble. "You should really stop trying to turn this on me and just fucking apologise for what you did back there," Romano continued, hooking his jacket on the bannister. Toeing his shoes off, he left them where they were, hanging his keys on the wall hook.

"I should apologise? Doesn't it even bother you what he called me?"

"Well it's half true, isn't it? So why-"

Romano was cut short when Spain shoved him, feet missing their footing, sending him sprawling to his arse with a thud the neighbours would later complain about. "Fucking bastard!" he yelled, picking up a shoe neatly placed on the rack beside the stairs, hurling it with strength and absolutely no precision. Spain ducked to avoid it regardless, eyes flickering when it crashed into the table beside the front door, sending the vase minding its own business tumbling and shattering.

"Romano, calm the fuck down!" Spain said, kicking aside shards of pottery so neither of them got injured, bending forward to offer his hand. The shoe to make a pair was thrown at his chest (albeit with less aggression), bouncing off and hitting Romano square in the face.

Spain's irritation cracked. Romano's didn't. Catching sight of his trickling grin, Romano unleashed a storm of shoes, Spain battling his way through to snatch both of his arms, hoisting him to his feet and thrusting him against the hallway wall, holding him there. "Calm, down," he demanded, voice acid hot.

"Fuck you," Romano spat, panting. "Get the fuck out of my house and don't come back."

Spain's eyes swept over him; tousled hair; dark eyes; swollen lips; red cheeks; untucked shirt. He looked halfway to being a state and suddenly Spain wanted him to be all the way there, shoving a thigh between his legs and diving forward to claim him. Romano made a noise of surprise that filtered to a growl, teeth sinking into his lip.

Spain recoiled with a cry. Romano dived up the stairs, fuming. Taking a quick look around the hallway and deciding chasing after Romano instead of cleaning up after their fight would be much more enjoyable, he hurried up the stairs after him, catching hold of his middle and tossing him over his shoulder.

"Ack- bastard, put me the fuck do-" Spain wasted little time dumping Romano on the enormous bed, clambering over him, miraculously avoiding knees to the groin and fists to the stomach and pinning both arms beside his head.

"You look so hot right now, Roma," he said breathlessly, tongue digging into the corner of his lips. "You have no idea how much I wanna fuck you."

"No fucking chance!" Spain laughed, bending to nip his throat, sprinkling kisses up to his lips. He jerked away when Romano gnashed, wanting blood. "Get the hell off me."

Spain acquiesced for the amusement, waiting until Romano was on his feet (and taking a brief moment to grab strawberry scented lube from the bedside table) before attacking again, blood hot. The first instance Romano wrestled free, the second found him face first on the carpet, Spain sitting comfortably on his thighs, self-satisfied. "I know you're excited, too, y'know," he simpered in his ear, licking the shell.

"Like...like hell I am."

"Why dontcha just behave and enjoy yourself," Spain said, wiggling both hands under him to fiddle with his belt. It wasn't easy, but it worked despite Romano's fingernails digging into his hands in protest - not with enough to tell Spain he really wasn't keen. Spain had his trousers halfway down his thighs before Romano could do anything about it, rolling onto his front, scrabbling for a foothold.

Spain grabbed a handful of each arse cheek, squeezing eagerly. When he squeezed the growing bulge between Romano's legs, Romano's foot connected with his chest, shoving him backwards. It only made his lover laugh, hands tugging Romano back to him by the ankles, wrapping his legs around his waist. "Do you realise how fucking sexy you're being right now?" he whispered, dragging teeth over his shoulder. "God, I wanna do terrible things to you."

Just beginning to give in to the teasing, Romano asked, "what things are they...?"

Two Hundred and Sixty: 11:25

"You're not putting that there, Spain," Romano said the moment Spain placed a garish ornament on the bay windowsill of his living room. It was quickly snatched away and shoved back into the box it had come from, other bits and bobs tumbling on top of it. Spain's cheeks ballooned.

"Don't I get to have any of my stuff out?" he complained, picking up a tatty, plush rabbit he'd had on his bed for as long as he could remember. It was missing one eye and had been sun-washed grey. He held it up like a puppet, moving the head in time with his own. "Meanie, meanie woma, won't you let me sweep in your bed~?"

"Oh my God, don't do that voice, yuck," Romano grumbled, rearranging the items on his windowsill, just for good measure. He looked around the room, irritated by box upon box of stuff that wasn't his and had no place to be and no place to go. "Disgusting, tatty, disease-riddled things are not allowed in my bed."

Spain gasped. "Roma! Mister Twinkle-Tummy is not 'disease-riddled' or 'tatty' or 'disgusting'! He had a wash just last week! I like watching him going around the tumble dryer. Plus, he's super warm when he comes out and extra cuddleable, which is great when I don't have you around for cuddles."

"Who said I was talking about him? And I don't do cuddling, we've been over this already."

Spain took a moment to process that and then wailed, protectively squeezing the rabbit to his chest, "Mean! You're so mean!"

Romano laughed softly, nudging him aside to get to the bedside cabinet. One at a time he opened and cleared the drawers of his own things, tossing them over the bed where they were likely to remain until they were deposited to the floor when bedtime came around. Spain, taking the hint with a pleased grin and depositing his childhood toy in a box, haphazardly shared bedside knickknacks between each drawer, sliding the bottom one shut with a satisfied hum.

Ten more boxes remained, lined up from the bedroom door to the stairs where the last one had been dumped because neither of them had the energy remaining to at least find the right room for it.

Cushions bounced to the floor when both of them unceremoniously flopped to the bed. Romano let out an enormous, universe altering sigh, rolling onto his side, head propped on the crook of his elbow. "I suppose it'll be nice having someone around more often again," he said, picking fluff off Spain's t-shirt. "Even if it's just you."

Spain snorted. "I could still move out again. The lease on my place isn't up for a month."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't move out."

"You're right." Spain turned and smiled, leaning in to peck his lips. "I wouldn't. Though for my company, I- wait, 'again'?"

Romano was already sitting up, the slip unnoticed. He stretched and cracked his back, satisfied noise easing from deep in his chest. "Come on, you've got more boxes to move yet. This place looks like a shithole and I want it tidy before lunchtime and since it's your stuff and my house, it's your responsibility. Then you're making me food."

Spain groaned, rolling to his feet and muttering, "fine," like he hadn't made lunch every day for as long as they'd been together. Food was Romano's priority; his questions could wait until later.

23:25

Mister Twinkle-Tummy mysteriously migrated back to the bed before the evening drew in. Promptly he was dumped on the floor amongst belongings and pillows when Spain and Romano were fed, watered, wined and ready to share their first night together as official housemates, exhausted from a day of moving.

"Why...why do you have so many pillows and cushions, anyway?" Spain said breathlessly, gripping Romano's hips, his own fluid and firm in pursuit of contact. Dragging him down by the back of the neck, he grazed sharp teeth over the sensitive jut of his collar, tongue tickling the hollow, lips seeking a fluttering pulse above and trickling back down. "Fuck, you taste really good."

"I like to be comfortable," Romano answered, plucking the remaining cushion from the bed and tossing it amongst the rest. Spain laughed as he lifted to find his lips, suckling hungrily. "What's funny, bastard?"

"You always chuck them on the floor before bed, you never lie on them."

"What do I need pillows for when I have you, fatty?"

Spain bellowed with laughter, tickling his sides mercilessly in retaliation. "Look who's talking!" he cried, Romano squirming on top of him, dimpled cheeks quivering. Spain grabbed a handful of the delicious flesh on each hip, squeezing it delightedly. "Look at all of this, eh?"

Romano half laughed, half growled, pinching Spain all over in an attempt to find just one little bit of fat to tease. "God dammit, you need to stop playing so much football!" he grumbled, giving up and leaning over him, hand either side of his head.

"Wasn't it only last week you were telling me how sexy you find my back because it's all muscly and stuff. And my arms. And my legs."

"I was drunk. Anything I say when drunk doesn't count. It's a rule."

Spain laughed again, dragging him flush to his chest. It hadn't seemed that way when Romano was all over him, littering filthy kisses from head to toe and moaning in delight each time he found a spot that was particularly pleasing to him. Not that Spain had been complaining. "God, I love you," he admitted wearily, squeezing him.

"I know, you told me already," Romano said, voice muffled by Spain's unGodly chiseled chest. Fingers threaded through Romano's hair, drawing a little shiver from him that made him smile.

"And I'll tell you every day for the rest of my life," he said, squeezing him a bit harder. "Can I ask you something, though?"

Romano made a noise of affirmation, the noise telling Spain he was about ready to drift to sleep. He gave him a little shake to grab his attention, Romano blinking up at him, only half annoyed. "What, fucking hell...?"

"This morning, when you were saying how you were glad you'd have someone around more often," Spain began, heart beginning to thud. "You said 'again'. I know that this is stuff you don't really like to discuss, but I really need to-"

He paused when Romano sat up slowly, suddenly afraid he'd screwed things up again by pushing too hard. But Romano only slid to his side, tiredly sinking against the headboard. "I know I've gotta tell you this eventually. I know I should have told you this already, too, but...you're not allowed to be angry, okay?"

Spain nodded, dread filling his chest.

Two-Hundred and Sixty-Five: 10:57

They were in the supermarket doing the weekly grocery shop when Romano had said it. No airs or graces, no romance, no candles; just Spain and his lover, both of them reaching for the paella rice at the same moment, fingers finding each other instead and clinging and staring at one another like worlds had collided, like the universe had paused to appreciate them both.

Spain knew Romano would yell at him for making their relationship sound like Mills and Boon.

"I love you," Romano said, the words so effortless and simple Spain wondered if he'd misheard; and as if realising the dangerous 'l-word' had just flung itself out of his mouth without asking him first, Romano flushed right the way down his neck, pulling free of Spain's touch. He coughed into his fist and plucked the rice from the shelf, tossing it into the trolley and hurrying off with it like a mad motorist, wheels squealing around the corner of the aisle.

Spain's heart thudded for fifteen minutes after. Part of him was trying to work out what sounded like 'I love you', but I 'dove' you made no sense at all and that was as far as he got in the alphabet before hurrying after Romano, excited.

Having followed him in somewhat of a daze around the supermarket (paying no attention to the food being piled and piled and piled...) and his own cheeks a vibrant and sunny red, he finally caught Romano's hand, pulling it to his lips to kiss his fingers and return the sentiment with every inch of sincerity. A proper kiss had followed, slow and sweet and unintentionally and exceptionally public.

Curtly shoved to an appropriate, respectable distance, Romano grumbled, "What was that for?" Spain yelped when he pinched his arm for no reason other than he was standing there. "And don't just grab me in public! There are children around! And this is a supermarket! It's unhygienic to do that kind of thing."

"You said you love me!" Spain announced, ignoring his concerns and nearby customers chuckling at his braziness. He was swaying with glee. "You said you love~ me~! You, love, me."

"I did not say that," Romano answered, head tipped to conceal his red cheeks. Grabbing the trolley handle, he aggressively wheeled it away, narrowly avoiding a little, old lady. Spain hurried after him, pausing to apologise to the poor dear, and then curling an arm around Romano's middle. "Even if I did say something that soppy, I thought it was obvious already anyway. I didn't realise I had to fucking say it! Though you're pretty damn dense, so I suppose that makes a lot of sense."

Spain didn't care how much Romano insulted his intelligence for the rest of the day. It wasn't as though he really meant it anyway. "And besides, I didn't say it, so there's really nothing at all to talk about," he continued, half-heartedly wiggling out of his grip. "Stop looking so damn happy, will you?"

Spain nodded, putting his face absolutely straight for precisely three seconds before his smile erupted again. "I'm sorry, Romano, I can't help it!" he laughed when Romano elbowed him in the ribs. He pulled him to a halt in front of the frozen vegetables, taking his hands. Leaning in, he nuzzled his nose affectionately. "You've made me so happy, do you know that? And just for the record, I love you, too."

When he dipped to catch his lips, an enormous bag of frozen peas was shoved in his face.

TBC