Hetalia kink meme part 21
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hetalia kink meme
part 21
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“Vene and I haven't gotten along with Vatican for quite some time, but he still holds sway over us. So every night that I don't pray, I feel ashamed. And every Sunday I don't attend church...” he trailed off, voice unusually soft.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
“I'd like us to go, and for you to come with me, even if it's just every other week.” Romano lowered the rosary over my head, gently brushing my hair behind an ear. “We aren't married, I know, but I love you the same.”
Goosebumps slithered up my arms.
“I see no sin in our relationship. My people might be able to make me feel guilty about a lot of things,” he smiled, “but not even Benedetto himself could convince me that what we share isn't sacred.” A kiss to my temple, a whisper in my ear, “I love you.”
Staring at the two of us in my mirror, I picked up my tube of mascara. Slowly unscrewing the cap, I resignedly murmured, “Okay. I'll go. Today. Next Sunday. The Sunday after that...”
“Thank you.” Romano flopped onto our bed and began pulling on a thick pair of black wool socks. There was an odd, unnerving silence that settled between us for a while, before he came back to the mirror to fuss with his hair. I smiled at the resilient curl as it bobbed out from between his fingers, refusing to do anything less than stand out. “It isn't about the medium, you know,” he said. “The Protestants had that much right. As long as you find time for God in your day, as long as you stay true, it doesn't matter which book you read or how you pray.” That last bit looked as though it pained him to say, but I didn't pry. “It rained last night; wear that coat I bough you, hmm?”
I frowned. “Aren't fur and pearls a bit extravagant? Isn't there something about thriftiness and humility or something of the like?”
“Oh please,” Romano scoffed, now leisurely pacing around the room, waiting on me. “You should see the getups on the clergy sometime.” There was no arguing with Romano on a point concerning fashion. It humbled (and somewhat annoyed) me to know that he probably surpassed me in the ways of trends and runways.
“You remember the protocol,” he said offhandedly, though I could hear a stitch of panic budding beneath his voice.
“Yes, yes. And I remember everyone's name.” I wasn't to address the Nations as such in public. I'd never quite worked out why, as it seemed they weren't a big secret. And though 'Lovino' was a sweet name, I much preferred Romano. It felt more natural on the tongue.
Romano had me recite the names anyway.
“I'm going to warm up the car. I'll come back and get you; we can practice the Rosary on the drive, if you like.” He paused in the doorway, and I realized he was waiting for an answer.
“Yes, alright. That's a good idea.” I knew I'd never memorize the whole thing - especially not in Latin. Just the same, it was worth it to try, I supposed.
“And you know,” he added, the light from the bathroom window cresting his chestnut hair like a halo, “Veneziano will be happy to see you.” He said this begrudgingly. Seeing my shoulders slump in a muffled sigh, he added, “You look beautiful.”
I listened until I heard the front door swing forth on its hinges and shut. For the first time in over a decade, I sat awake, in full dress on a Sunday, a rosary around my neck. My fingers fumbled around the crucifix and awkwardly, I made the sign of the cross. The gesture felt foreign and empty to me, until it occurred to me that this was not something I was doing for God so much as it was something I was doing for Romano.
I wondered if, within Rome and Naples and Sicily and every place in between, there might be thousands - no, millions - of other people doing exactly the same thing.
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I actually am a quarter Southern Italian and it's true that I haven't been to any mass - let alone Christmas mass - in eight years or more. I just wanted to explore the tension between Romano the faithful but not religious person versus Romano the Roman Catholic nation and how it would affect a relationship. I had difficulty balancing the Romano we all know and love with his trait of being kind around women.
On another note, I did not use my name because I thought it would pose a distraction even though this is technically a self-insert fic. And Benedetto refers here to Pope Benedict XVI - the current Pope, if I remember right. Also, most rosaries are simple and made from wood, but Romano strikes me as the fashionable type, if you couldn't tell - not to mention the fact that Italy is one of the few places in the world known for the manufacture and sale of high-end rosaries. The one Romano gives “me” in the fic actually exists and is hilariously expensive.
Anyway, this didn't turn out how I'd intended, and I'm not sure it's entirely what OP wanted, but I did my best and I hope it's enjoyable!
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Oh, and that ending was just plain adorable, anon <3
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