To be young and in love
There's an Italian flag (TWO NOW) on my flag counter and I feel obligated to write something with both Italies in it as a result. asdfghjlk;
“Spanien?” The boy asked quietly, poking his head out from behind the tomato plants and staring at the sleeping man on the ground.
Antonio stirred slightly in his sleep before raising the end of his straw hat and looking up at the awkward child. “Hm?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, “Ah, hola.” He greets with a sleepy smile.
The boy stood awkwardly in his stiff clothes, occasionally looking around at the rest of the garden. He had never been out here and everything was so strange-the smells, the sights, the way the air felt so alive.
Antonio chuckled at the look on the boy’s face. “It’s nice, no?” He asked, taking a look around the garden himself though when he looked at his ripening tomato plants, his chest swelled up a bit. His tomatoes-he was so glad they were able to grow in his home unlike so many of the plants he had brought from America.
The Germanic boy nodded his head yes but then his eyes flashed as he remembered something and he looked back at the Spanish Empire. He was sent to tell Antonio that his husband was looking for him (Italy hadn’t been around at the time) but when he opened his mouth to speak, Antonio spoke, “I wonder what everyone will want for dinner tonight.”
“I- pasta!” He exclaimed because he knew exactly what she would want. Realizing what he had said, he shut his mouth and looked down. Antonio hadn’t asked for him to speak so he had no business answering. “Sorry.” He apologized for his rudeness.
There was a hand on his head. The boy looked up and he was confused by how bright the Spaniard’s smile was. “Aye, lindo.” Antonio sighed, messing with the child’s hair.
“Excuse me?” He asked. He wasn’t very good at Spanish-German and Latin were the only languages he was really any good at though he was trying to learn Italian along with his English and French.
In accented German, the Spaniard teased, “Young love is so cute. Ah, if only. . . “ he sighed and the boy frowned.
“If only what, sir?”
“Do not worry about it, niño. Things are better this way.”
--
“Ve, what’s brother Antonio talking about, brother?” Feliciano asked curiously and Lovino howled.
Covering his red face with his hands, he cursed, “Damnit! The bastard! Why’s he gotta be so. . . !”
“Nice?” The younger Italian asked.
“No, idiot!”
Feliciano cried out in response to the harsh answer and behind the tomato plants, the Spanish and Holy Roman Empire stopped talking. “Italia?” The boy asked, poking around the plants until he grabbed onto the bow of the Italian’s apron.
“Ve!” Feliciano cried, running away as soon as he felt the tug.
“Wait, Italia!” And the Holy Roman Empire ran after the fleeing Italian.
Lovino also tried to flee because if the little bastard had heard them then surely that meant-
“Lovi?”
Damn it.
“What are you doing here, Lovi?”
“It’s none of your business!” He yelled, taking his basket of laundry and beginning to head back to the house. He could hear the Spaniard following after him and he growled to himself in Latin, “Young love. . . is cute. . . !” He couldn’t believe that man.
“Don’t you agree?” Antonio asked, speaking in the same forgotten language. It was so cute when Lovino forgot that he could understand and speak Latin just as well.
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what about true love, Lovi?”
“Stop talking to me!” And he took wider steps, reaching the house, opening the heavy doors and slamming it hard in the Spaniard’s face.
“Spanien?” The boy asked quietly, poking his head out from behind the tomato plants and staring at the sleeping man on the ground.
Antonio stirred slightly in his sleep before raising the end of his straw hat and looking up at the awkward child. “Hm?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, “Ah, hola.” He greets with a sleepy smile.
The boy stood awkwardly in his stiff clothes, occasionally looking around at the rest of the garden. He had never been out here and everything was so strange-the smells, the sights, the way the air felt so alive.
Antonio chuckled at the look on the boy’s face. “It’s nice, no?” He asked, taking a look around the garden himself though when he looked at his ripening tomato plants, his chest swelled up a bit. His tomatoes-he was so glad they were able to grow in his home unlike so many of the plants he had brought from America.
The Germanic boy nodded his head yes but then his eyes flashed as he remembered something and he looked back at the Spanish Empire. He was sent to tell Antonio that his husband was looking for him (Italy hadn’t been around at the time) but when he opened his mouth to speak, Antonio spoke, “I wonder what everyone will want for dinner tonight.”
“I- pasta!” He exclaimed because he knew exactly what she would want. Realizing what he had said, he shut his mouth and looked down. Antonio hadn’t asked for him to speak so he had no business answering. “Sorry.” He apologized for his rudeness.
There was a hand on his head. The boy looked up and he was confused by how bright the Spaniard’s smile was. “Aye, lindo.” Antonio sighed, messing with the child’s hair.
“Excuse me?” He asked. He wasn’t very good at Spanish-German and Latin were the only languages he was really any good at though he was trying to learn Italian along with his English and French.
In accented German, the Spaniard teased, “Young love is so cute. Ah, if only. . . “ he sighed and the boy frowned.
“If only what, sir?”
“Do not worry about it, niño. Things are better this way.”
--
“Ve, what’s brother Antonio talking about, brother?” Feliciano asked curiously and Lovino howled.
Covering his red face with his hands, he cursed, “Damnit! The bastard! Why’s he gotta be so. . . !”
“Nice?” The younger Italian asked.
“No, idiot!”
Feliciano cried out in response to the harsh answer and behind the tomato plants, the Spanish and Holy Roman Empire stopped talking. “Italia?” The boy asked, poking around the plants until he grabbed onto the bow of the Italian’s apron.
“Ve!” Feliciano cried, running away as soon as he felt the tug.
“Wait, Italia!” And the Holy Roman Empire ran after the fleeing Italian.
Lovino also tried to flee because if the little bastard had heard them then surely that meant-
“Lovi?”
Damn it.
“What are you doing here, Lovi?”
“It’s none of your business!” He yelled, taking his basket of laundry and beginning to head back to the house. He could hear the Spaniard following after him and he growled to himself in Latin, “Young love. . . is cute. . . !” He couldn’t believe that man.
“Don’t you agree?” Antonio asked, speaking in the same forgotten language. It was so cute when Lovino forgot that he could understand and speak Latin just as well.
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what about true love, Lovi?”
“Stop talking to me!” And he took wider steps, reaching the house, opening the heavy doors and slamming it hard in the Spaniard’s face.