One of these nights (1/?)
anonymous
March 9 2010, 09:29:29 UTC
The door slammed shut behind him. For a moment his ears were filled with the deafening sound and then nothing. Nothing, but precious silence.
Antonio sighed deeply and slid on the floor, leaning his head on the door behind him. His ears were still buzzing with all those languages spoken during the World Meeting. English, French, German and so many more mixed and mingled in his ears, making it nearly impossible to tell the difference.
His fingers went to his temples and he started slowly rubbing them. He had felt his brain melting into a mush. A few more minutes and it would have oozed through his ears and on the table. If that had happened at least for once England would have been happy with him. Antonio scoffed at the thought.
English.
He groaned and thumped his head in the surface behind him. As if that could erase the sound of that language from his memory. Antonio could swear that America could talk on and on and on… until his burgers ware gone and he had to go take some more. For the most part he could tune out English as easily as he could breath, but then Germany had started barking orders, and France had jumped in to say god knows what and… Antonio groaned.
“You are late!” He could hear the unspoken “bastard” at the end of the sentence. But his brain melted even more at the sound. Italian.
Romano appeared at door frame that led to the living - room and glared at him.
“You were supposed to be home two hours ago!” Romano crossed his arms and somehow his glare intensified.
Only two hours ago? Antonio was quite impressed. Dutch. It had taken a small eternity to drag the giggly Dutchman all the way to his house.
“Lo siento, pero por favor, Roma, ¡háblame en español!” Spanish sounded good. Really, really good. Almost as good as a hot bath and a warm bed did.
Romano’s eyes narrowed at the plea and when he opened his mouth what he said was anything but Spanish. It was some Italian dialect that Antonio could barely get the gist of. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the door, trying to turn off the sound of the world, but every world pierced his mind and he could feel his brain becoming more and more like that potato mash Gilbert seemed so fond of.
“Are you listening to me?! Bastard!” Suddenly his whole body was shaken violently and his eyes snapped open to meet angry green ones. “Don’t you dare ignore me, tomatoes for brains!”
“Roma, por favor, me duele la cabeza. Te pido…”
“Save it, old man. I’m not speaking that shitty language of yours and that’s that!”
Antonio blinked, the words repeating in his head. Shitty. Was he hearing things? Shitty.
Antonio sighed deeply and slid on the floor, leaning his head on the door behind him. His ears were still buzzing with all those languages spoken during the World Meeting. English, French, German and so many more mixed and mingled in his ears, making it nearly impossible to tell the difference.
His fingers went to his temples and he started slowly rubbing them. He had felt his brain melting into a mush. A few more minutes and it would have oozed through his ears and on the table. If that had happened at least for once England would have been happy with him. Antonio scoffed at the thought.
English.
He groaned and thumped his head in the surface behind him. As if that could erase the sound of that language from his memory. Antonio could swear that America could talk on and on and on… until his burgers ware gone and he had to go take some more. For the most part he could tune out English as easily as he could breath, but then Germany had started barking orders, and France had jumped in to say god knows what and… Antonio groaned.
“You are late!” He could hear the unspoken “bastard” at the end of the sentence. But his brain melted even more at the sound. Italian.
Romano appeared at door frame that led to the living - room and glared at him.
“You were supposed to be home two hours ago!” Romano crossed his arms and somehow his glare intensified.
Only two hours ago? Antonio was quite impressed. Dutch. It had taken a small eternity to drag the giggly Dutchman all the way to his house.
“Lo siento, pero por favor, Roma, ¡háblame en español!” Spanish sounded good. Really, really good. Almost as good as a hot bath and a warm bed did.
Romano’s eyes narrowed at the plea and when he opened his mouth what he said was anything but Spanish. It was some Italian dialect that Antonio could barely get the gist of. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the door, trying to turn off the sound of the world, but every world pierced his mind and he could feel his brain becoming more and more like that potato mash Gilbert seemed so fond of.
“Are you listening to me?! Bastard!” Suddenly his whole body was shaken violently and his eyes snapped open to meet angry green ones. “Don’t you dare ignore me, tomatoes for brains!”
“Roma, por favor, me duele la cabeza. Te pido…”
“Save it, old man. I’m not speaking that shitty language of yours and that’s that!”
Antonio blinked, the words repeating in his head. Shitty. Was he hearing things? Shitty.
Shitty.
Shitty.
Shitty.
That really wouldn’t do, now would it?
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