Better Late

Part 2

ChiaroscuroEffect

Summary: AU. In the modern world, Spain meets Romano for the first time. Romano, on the other hand, isn't pleased to have Spain running around after him.

AU: In this particular universe, the nations exist as we know them, but Austria, when given control over the Italies, decided Spain couldn't be trusted to take care of himself, let alone another person, so Romano got bounced around a lot, but was never under Spanish control.

Disclaimer: Hetalia Axis Powers belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.

Romano had never been to anyone's home on a friendly visit before.

He stood, awkwardly, in front of Spain's house, clutching his bottle of 'thank you for inviting me to your place' red wine in one hand and the strap of his helmet in the other. It was bigger than his home in Sicily, and at least as big as the one he technically shared with Veniziano in Rome. It was a cheerful yellow, and full of huge windows with fluttering curtains.

Intimidated, Romano slunk off to the back of the House to see the garden instead. He'd had his brother call Spain so that the idiot would know he was on his way, but still, a little more time to collect himself would be nice. He wasn't sure how to deal with his pounding heart. Fuck, he wasn't even sure exactly why it was pounding. But it was important to Spain that he come here, and that was what friends did, right?

He rounded the corner to be met with a jungle of plants. Spain had tomatoes, yes, but also a tangle of autumnal flowers in bright colors, and other vegetables in rows. Some of them had already been plowed under, or prepared for winter. It was beautiful. Maybe the tomato bastard hadn't been too far off the mark wanting to talk to him about gardening.

He heard humming, and ducked behind a trellis trailing vines as Spain straightened from where he'd been picking the last of the bright red tomatoes. He bent over again to pick up the basket, and Romano may or may not have admired the sunny nation's ass just a little. Even if he had, it was only fair, after the eyeful Spain had gotten of his.

"Ok, so I cleaned, and I weeded, and I have tomatoes to make something yummy for Roma…" Spain ticked the tasks off on the fingers of his free hand. "And he should be here soon!"

Behind his trellis, Romano tensed. No one had ever sounded so pleased to see him before…

You'd let him hurt you for this, wouldn't you? For a taste of this, you fucking masochist.

He tried to block out his subconscious. Spain was nice. He said he liked Romano, that he wanted to be friends. He had to be willing to believe that, or he might as well just go home now.

He stepped out. "C…ciao."

"Roma! You're here!" Spain ran up to him, basket clutched in one hand, beaming as he gestured at the garden. "Look, look! Isn't it great?"

"Yeah, yeah. What kind of sun do you get here?"

That got Spain off and running, and he walked alongside the other man and thought maybe he wasn't so bad at this whole conversation thing.

After his tour of the gardens, and tour of the still giant house, most of which was dusty and closed up, they ended up in Spain's kitchen, which was nicely appointed, and painted in the same sunshine-y yellow. The man bustled about as Romano leaned back against the counter and listened to the idiot go on about paella and all its permutations. The pan he was unhooking was flat and battered-looking, as opposed to the rest of the shiny cookware.

"Hey," he said, interrupting the other man's monologue about how paella mariscos was really his favorite, but shh don't tell the Valencians that. "How come it's just you in this big house…?"

"Oh…I used to have a lot of colonies, back in the day, but they're all gone now," Spain said over his shoulder, adding a handful of shrimp to the stuff he had sautéing. "Independent. France and Prussia and I hang out a lot, but not usually at the house. We go drinking."

"Colonies, huh…never met any of them. I was a protectorate during that time."

"I had them too! Belgium, and the Netherlands. Until they rebelled and got their independence. And my colonies…well. It was a different time and I was different then too. The Netherlands and I still don't really get along. But the Empire days are long over. I really should clean up the rest of the place, but I don't really need it now…" There was a hint of something sad in the other man's voice, one that Romano recognized. He'd spent a lot of time with it.

"Don't you get lonely?" Romano asked before he could think better of it.

"Yeah," Spain said softly. "But it's not so bad, really, I have France and Prussia, like I said, and there's the World Conferences, and sometimes I get to go see people on business! And now there's you too, Roma!"

He could feel the blush spread over his face, and to distract the Spaniard, he shoved off the counter. "So what goes in this…paella thing…?"

Romano really, really liked paella. Sure, he'd mostly mumbled something like "S'okay," in response to Spain's query on whether he was enjoying it, but he'd put away about four servings and two glasses of wine, and he was starting to think that Roma's actions spoke louder than his words.

"Ahh, that was good," he sighed contentedly. "Do you do siestas in South Italy?"

"No…Veneziano does something like that, though. I could go for a nap," Romano decided. Spain had meant to go to his room, but Roma fell asleep so quickly, right there on the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders, and while he told himself he was being weird again, Roma looked…peaceful. Less tense. And Spain had had a couple of glasses of the wine Roma'd brought him himself, so maybe he could get away with saying he wasn't sleepy, if the other nation asked. He curled up on the loveseat with another blanket and just watched the younger nation sleep.

He looked so much younger asleep. But really, they were close to the same age, even if the other man had been stuck in a child's body for so much longer. All the tension seemed to drain out, and Spain suddenly wondered what it would look like if he smiled.

What had France said about Romano? No grace, no appreciation for fine things? But he'd spent some time with him, now, and Romano was South Italy, tourism and agriculture, long summer days, tomatoes and grapes from the vine, strong red wine, bread with good olive oil and sea salt, warm earth and old architecture. Maybe it wasn't grace or elegance as the other nations saw it, but Romano was something different, something special. Maybe it was just because a lot of the nations thought Spain, himself, was just a country bumpkin with a big smile and lots of tomatoes.

Also maybe he was a little drunk after all, and feeling kind of poetic.

He really wanted to kiss him. He really wished Romano wanted to date him. It had been very hard to restrain himself, but he had, even though restraint was not his strong suit and never had been. Lost in thought, he didn't realize that the younger nation's sudden distress.

Romano shot up from his prone position, blanket slipping off. After a moment, he started breathing again. After another, longer moment, he muttered a half-hearted "Fuck…"

"Roma?"

"Oh, fuck." He watched Romano become tense again, eyes narrowing. "Nothing. Go back to sleep. I'll just go…walk around the garden or something."

"You're crying."

"No, I'm not," he automatically denied. "My eyes…just get dry sometimes…"

There was a quiet moment. Romano turned his head and ran his sleeve over his eyes as discreetly as possible.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Fucking hell, haven't I been clear enough? I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you okay?" Spain persisted. "I know a cheer-up charm if that would help!" He made a move to get up.

"Don't. Stay there. I said- Spain, sit the fuck back down where I can see you!"

Spain froze at the commanding tone, staring at him almost in shock. Romano took a deep breath.

"Sit. Don't argue with me, just sit." Spain sat. "Thank you," he added, after a moment, regaining a little composure. "Just stay still for a little bit. Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

He could still smell the smoke, still feel the bombs impacting his land. It figured he'd have a dream about World War Two when he wasn't home.

He looked up when he heard a strange noise.

"Fusosososo…fusosososo…" Spain was waving his hands gently in the air, and Romano could have sworn he saw sparkles coming off the overly-cheery nation.

Against all odds, he could feel the corners of his mouth threatening to twitch upwards in a smile. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Staying still and sitting and doing a cheer-up charm for you! Is it working?"

Yes, Romano wanted to say, because now I'm thinking what an idiot you are instead of about ash and rubble. "No. Idiot. And…I still smell smoke. Is something burning…?"

"Burning?" Spain tilted his head, thinking. "Oh! Did I leave the stove on?"

After saving Spain's house from burning down due to an improperly placed dishcloth, Romano decided it was probably time to call it a day before he had to answer any awkward questions or things started to go even worse.

"Thanks for coming over, Roma, it meant a lot to me." Spain gave him another one of those impossibly sweet smiles as he walked him to his Vespa.

"S-sure. I mean…it was nice." Romano bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything else stupid. "Maybe you could come visit sometime. You know. Properly." And failed. Not sure what else to say, he shut his mouth, and looked at the ground.

"I can come visit? Of course I will!" Spain pulled him into a hug, arms locked around him tightly.

His breath caught, and this time the other man definitely saw the embarrassing red flush on his cheeks. It was too much, and he was still too on edge from earlier. Damn it…Spain didn't know how screwed up he was yet. Was it too much to ask that he never find out?

"You're so red, Roma…are you okay…? You look just like a tomato…" Spain murmured into his hair.

"Stop it."

"Friends hug," the other man argued.

"I don't hug."

"Why don't you like it when people are nice to you? You get even angrier than if they're not."

"I'm just not like that." Romano tried to pull out of the warm arms surrounding him.

"Veneziano likes to hug and-"

"I'm not Veneziano!" He finally succeeded in breaking free, and snatched up his helmet. He didn't turn around. Spain would be disappointed, and he didn't want to see it. Fuck. "I'm Italia Romano. Why doesn't anyone fucking understand that? We're not the same!"

There was no answer, and he buckled the helmet. He wanted to turn and look at the man who barely knew him, to see if he'd ruined everything, like he was so good at doing.

Fuck. Spain wouldn't want to hang out after this, after he'd proved France and Austria right. Spain would know better than that now. Because Romano was Romano.

Even if sometimes he would rather be anyone but himself.

"Romano."

He turned automatically at the sound of his name. Spain looked very serious and kind of thoughtful as he leaned forwards. And leaned forwards. And…and he was getting really really close…

When their lips met, he could only stare in shock. It wasn't a good kiss. He wasn't moving at all, his eyes were still open, and Spain was trying, he was pretty sure, but he could only do so much with no cooperation.

He stood still until it ended.

And then backed off slowly, like Spain had turned into something venomous, and got on his Vespa, and drove off as quickly as possible.

Spain stood there for a while, and then made his way slowly back inside.

"Romano, you're home! Ve, I was going to make tagliatelle for dinner, would you make your pomodoro e basilico sauce?"

Romano didn't bother answering. He dropped his helmet on the floor by the coat rack and peeled off his jacket as Veneziano appeared in the foyer. The house in Rome was a lot bigger than his one in Sicily, as befitted the capital, but it just brought back bad memories.

Veneziano didn't get that it wasn't home for him anymore, though, so he spent time there now and then just so the idiot didn't kick up a fuss.

"Romano?"

He would have gone all the way to Sicily except he'd promised to stop by.

"Romaaaaaa~!"

His head snapped up. "What?"

Veneziano pouted. "I just wanted to know if you'd make that sauce to go with the pasta. Did something go wrong at big brother Spain's?"

"He's an idiot." That was really all Veneziano needed to know. God, it was so embarrassing…

"He's really funny though, and super nice, and a great cook, and I hear he's good in bed!" Veneziano beamed at him. "So you should give him a chance!"

"What." He did his best not to snarl the word, but given the panicked look stealing over his brother's face, he hadn't succeeded.

"He said he wanted to impress you so you'd want to go out with him but I guess that didn't work, ve…so sad. Was it the trainers? I could always take him shoe shopping if that's it! We could make him over, and then he'd be so handsome that you would swoon and then you'd want to kiss him lots and lots and tell him how nice he looks and then he'd blush and then you could get married and have kids and then I'd be an uncle, ve!"

"I don't even want to know what goes on in your mind," Romano muttered, giving it up as a lost cause. He hadn't been impressed. The whole damn trip had just driven it further and further in that he wasn't worth the other nation's time, and that somehow, somewhere, Spain was making a terrible, foolish mistake.

He should have stayed home.

"Spain?" France called gently, letting himself into the house. "Spaiiiin, we're supposed to go out tonight, remember? Is your…visitor…still here?"

"I…don't really feel like it, France. You guys should go ahead." Spain was lying on the couch, an arm over his eyes.

"Did something happen with Romano?" France said, comfortingly. "I know you were very excited, but he is a difficult child. No one will be surprised."

Behind him, the door opened and closed. "What's taking so loooong? Spain, you sick?"

"He is lovesick. His date did not go as well as he hoped." France tried not to interject a note of 'I told you so', but it was very difficult.

"It wasn't a date," Spain moaned. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Prussia and France exchanged glances.

"He didn't do anything wrong?" France said skeptically.

"Who are we talking about?" Prussia asked.

"Romano." Spain shoved himself up. "He was shy and cute and he liked my paella and he was just…just wonderful, and then I think he had a nightmare during his siesta. And then I think I messed everything up."

"How so?" France leaned forward. "The way you were carrying on, I was certain it was a date."

"He doesn't want to date," Spain said patiently. He'd explained this, he was sure. "We were friends. Doing friend things. We are friends, if he isn't too mad."

"Because you screwed up?" Prussia interjected.

"I hugged him, and-"

"You hugged Romano?" Prussia's eyes got wide. "And you still have both balls, right? All internal organs intact? Woah. He likes you."

"What would you know about Romano?" France sighed.

"His brother's dating mine. I know a lot. I tried to hug him once because he looked like Italy, and yeah. He doesn't like to be touched."

"He just told me to let go," Spain chimed in, sounding a little confused. "But I don't think I really screwed it up until I kissed him."

"You kissed him." France flopped on the couch next to him and snorted elegantly. "That is all? That is what ruined everything?"

"It could have been his first." Prussia suggested. "I don't think he gets out much."

"He was very still," Spain agreed. "But…I think it was more than that. Oh, and he said he wasn't Veneziano, but…I didn't want to hug Veneziano, I wanted to hug him. And kiss him. Um. But hug him mostly, because you can hug friends."

"You can kiss them too, Spain, I don't mind…"

"Stop it, France. Hey, I bet he just needs some more convincing. Between the three of us, we could do a good job of it." Prussia nodded to himself. "Let's go drink and think of a good plan!"

"I don't know…" Spain said doubtfully.

"He is not worth the trouble," France sniffed.

"He is so worth the trouble," Spain corrected. Prussia pulled them off the couch and started moving them towards the door. "He's just shy."

"Shy is not exactly the wording I would use. Belligerent, yes. Angry for no reason, yes. Rude, yes. Shy? Really?"

"Less talking," Prussia demanded, shoving them. "More drinking."

It was late by the time Spain made it to bed, and he was drunk enough that the room was a little swirly. He nestled into the covers, and then it was dark and quiet and he was alone.

'Don't you get lonely?'

The empty house creaked a little around him.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, Roma. All the time."

And then he slept.

A/N: Well, that took forever. Happy holidays?

Next Chapter: Romano realizes that Spain is nothing if not persistent, and Spain learns that Romano is nothing if not stubborn. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.