[FIC FILL]: Blue and Roses
TITLE: Blue and Roses
AUTHOR/ARTIST: mikazuki_kagami
RECIPIENT:haylerzz
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Spain
RATING: PG... I guess...?
NOTES: I fail at summary. Also, first time posting this, if something's wrong, please tell. orz
SUMMARY: On his way to visit France, Spain stumbled upon a troubled youth and decided to give the young one some help.
There had been no reason for him wanting to visit France that day. Absolutely no reason. If anything, he should have wanted to stay at his place for a while longer.
But for some reason he couldn't understand, that nagging feeling, that urge to visit... they just wouldn't stop bugging him, telling him to go, go, go and just go, no questions asked.
He tried to reason with himself, arguing that he can’t leave now, not yet. After all, he still had work to do, and, perhaps more importantly, he still needed to entertain his special guest - his beloved little henchman, the one who had grown so much in the time that they had been separated. He couldn't, shouldn't leave. But no, the feeling was still there despite his attempts at reasoning with it and, in the end, Antonio had given up and decided to just do exactly what he wanted. Though not before he had packed some things into his worn bag and left a small note for Lovino (oh, his cute little henchman, how he’d grown after all these years) to tell the pouty Italian of his leave, of course. The other wouldn't be pleased by this, but there’s nothing he could do…
Why, though…? Such a sudden and unexpected feeling…
His mind wandered as he watched the road roll by, tanned hands clutching tightly at his bag so that it would stay safely in its place.
Maybe he had just wanted to visit his old friend, to talk with him about the good old days; to remind themselves of a time when people died facing each other courageously, instead of being shot from afar by a cowardly enemy; to reminisce about the time when they had been in their glory, their clothes clad with gold and their throats thirsty for other’s blood; to conquer and have more and more and more to themselves; to-
The carriage stopped abruptly, snapping him out of his thoughts rather violently. The voice of the driver announcing that they'd arrived, in rough and barely-understandable French, made him frown.
He hadn't expected the journey to be so short…
Guess that meant he had fallen asleep midway, then.
Rubbing his forehead with a sweat-covered hand, Antonio slowly made his way towards the exit, only to blink in confusion at the sight which greeted him through the opened door.
“Eh?” Was this really the place he’d told the driver to go to? He turned around to give the other a questioning look before the shape of the building caught his attention.
It really was the right place.
Oh, wow. For a few seconds, Antonio could only stare at the building out of sheer amazement.
The hotel building itself had remained the same throughout the years, having only changed its function. But its surroundings… they had changed a lot.
France had really changed, huh?
Antonio quickly gathered all of his belongings (which was not much, really; just a few bottles of wine for his smooth-talking French friend and some clothes for himself) before walking over to where the driver stood. He beamed a thank you! and finally handed over the payment for the journey.
Humming, the Spaniard began to make his way towards the hotel’s entrance, not noticing the series of quick steps behind him which were getting closer and closer and- “Oh, please get out of the way, sir!”
“Huh…? Uwah!” He almost fell down from the impact when their body crashed - Almost being the keyword here. Antonio flailed, trying to balance himself so that he wouldn't fall onto the ground and watched, unsure of what to do, as papers scattered all around him. A young man, perhaps around twenty years old, groaned in pain as he tried to gather up the fallen pieces. “Need more help~?” he asked in his heavily accented French. His hand was extended, offering the other man some of the pieces of paper that he had been able to grab (after finally realizing what he was supposed to do in such a situation).
“Thank you,” the man muttered, his hands quickly snatching the papers from Antonio. “I apologise for earlier, I didn't mean to run into you…”
Antonio laughed at the obviously forced-out apology and shrugged, grinning at the other. “Nah, it’s not a problem. I should have paid more attention to what was happening around me.” His head tilted and an eyebrow is lifted as he gave the man a once over. “You alright? You sounded like you were in real pain earlier…” Worry slipped into his face when the other didn’t answer his question.
“Hello?” The Spaniard tried waving his hand in front of the shorter male, trying to get his attention. He wasn't going to feel too good if someone had been hurt because of his absent-mindedness.
“I’m fine. Sorry for my rudeness, it's just that I'm in a hurry… Now if you will excuse me, sir.” With that, the young man hurried on his way, swaying slightly on the first few steps before finally vanishing completely from his sight.
Scratching his head, Antonio frowned. Well, well, that… was unexpected. He hadn't even gotten a chance to apologise properly… Why were people these days so impatient? … Hmmm? Hey, what was that…?
He bowed down and picked up the piece of paper (must have slipped away when he had run off in hurry), eyes examining the content carefully before slipping it into his pocket.
Interesting young man, he smiled to himself. If they ever met again, Antonio would have to hand this particular piece of paper back.
---
And they did meet again.
“I just need the paper back. I know you have it.”
Antonio chuckled, ignoring the words purposefully, and gestured for the man to sit at the seat in front of him, offering his guest the menu book as soon as he had done so. “Ah, maybe I have it~. Maybe I don’t. Just sit down and enjoy the meal first, uh…” They never had told each other their names…
“Pablo.”
“Oh! Pablo sounds like a wonderful name. Mine’s Antonio. Nice to meet you! … Wait, are you a Spaniard…?”
No answer.
He shifted awkwardly on his seat when the other’s lips remain pursed even after a few minutes of silence. “Okay, you’re not going to answer me, I see… No need to answer then! Have you decided on your order yet…?”
The change of expression is so obvious that even someone as dense as Antonio can tell that the other is… weirded out by his, what, over-pleasantness…?
“Fine then, I’ll just order for you too if you don’t wanna order~. Let’s see…” Eyes skimming through the menu, Antonio finally settles on coffee and toast (the safest choice, he thought; after all, who doesn’t like coffee and toast?).
“Okay, so all we need to do is wait for our food to come now and-“
“The paper.”
“…” Sighing, Antonio reached into his pocket and fished the piece of paper out. “This, right?” He held it just outside of the other’s reach, a taunting smile playing on his lips. “Why are you so eager about this anyway…? It’s just a sketch, isn’t it?”
The answer came out right after he finished his question, in a firm, stubborn voice. “It’s an important one. I need it to finish my project.”
“What kind of project is it…?” The personification of Spain asked, slowly and carefully, his gaze fixed on the paper.
Who was this figure sketched on the paper…? No matter how many times he looked at it, he just doesn’t get it.
Was it a girl? A woman? A child? A man in his old age? A young man dying? He doesn’t know, doesn’t get it. The figure in the sketch was way too skinny, too gloomy, too harsh-looking and hopeless. It’s just… everything about it was bizarre. Not to mention the choice of colour, too. Black, blue, a faint mix of blue and green… nothing more. Just looking at it makes him feel a little sad.
“… Pablo?” He asked again when nothing comes out as an answer. The other sure was quiet for someone so young in age. Perhaps he just hadn't heard his question…? Was his voice too quiet to hear…?
When the answer comes out, it’s nothing more than a faint whisper. “A painting for a friend.” And that was it, nothing more.
“Oh? So you’re painting your friend then? But why would your friend want to be painted like this…? It’s so… sad. It’s just… I don’t know. It lacks the feeling of life in it…”
“My friend is dead. It’s not supposed to have any life in it.”
The bitter tone caught him by surprise and this time, it was Antonio’s turn to stay quiet.
A waiter came and carefully placed the order on the table, trying to make as little noise as he could. The Spaniard waited, patiently, until the man was out of his sight before finally letting out a sigh. “… I still don’t think you should do it like this though…” He lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip, finally placing the paper on the empty space of the table’s surface.
“See here?’ He pointed with his free hand, looking at Pablo to make sure he was paying attention before continuing. “I think a warm colour would work better with this part than a bluish green.” Well, yeah, okay, he'd admit he knew nothing about painting. Or colour theory. Or whatever. Antonio’s never really been into any of that artsy stuff, after all.
It's more in Francis’ area of expertise, he thought briefly.
“But then it won’t go well with the other part,” Pablo muttered quietly, stubbornly.
“Then just change the colour of the other part, too!” Antonio exclaimed without thinking it over. “Make everything more warm and lively. Not… cold and dead.” He grinned sheepishly, scratching his head. “I know nothing about painting, to be honest. But… don’t you want your friend to live through your painting…?”
A frown.
Oops, maybe he should have phrased it better.
“What I mean is… Uh…” What was that word again…? “Rather than keep reminding yourself of your friend’s death with painting stuff like this… You can try to-- no, I am not telling you to forget it, okay? You can try to remember your friend. Try to remember back then, when your friend was still alive.”
“That’s…” The other paused, and Antonio fidgeted with his shirt buttons. Well, did he say something wrong again…? “It’s actually…” Another pause. “Maybe you’re right…” The youth fiddled with his cup, looking away from him.
“I knew you’d agree with me!” Standing up, Antonio walked over and hugged the other, completely oblivious to the stares he was receiving because of it. “Just try to! Maybe you're too used to using sad colours like this, but after a while…” He flashed his optimistic grin at the frowning young man. Why, he certainly didn't look like he was enjoying the hug…
Releasing the other from his bone-crushing hug, the Spaniard walked back and flopped down onto his own seat again. “So hey, now that this is solved… can you answer my other question? Are you a Spaniard...?” He was still curious, really.
“Oh, that. Yes, I am a Spaniard. Pablo Ruiz Picasso… It’s nice to meet you too, Antonio.”
---
I hope this fill is okay and uh, I hope I did justice with the way Picasso's portrayed here. XD; Never written this kind of thing before, so... yeah. :'D I hope you enjoyed this though, haylerzz !
AUTHOR/ARTIST: mikazuki_kagami
RECIPIENT:haylerzz
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Spain
RATING: PG... I guess...?
NOTES: I fail at summary. Also, first time posting this, if something's wrong, please tell. orz
SUMMARY: On his way to visit France, Spain stumbled upon a troubled youth and decided to give the young one some help.
There had been no reason for him wanting to visit France that day. Absolutely no reason. If anything, he should have wanted to stay at his place for a while longer.
But for some reason he couldn't understand, that nagging feeling, that urge to visit... they just wouldn't stop bugging him, telling him to go, go, go and just go, no questions asked.
He tried to reason with himself, arguing that he can’t leave now, not yet. After all, he still had work to do, and, perhaps more importantly, he still needed to entertain his special guest - his beloved little henchman, the one who had grown so much in the time that they had been separated. He couldn't, shouldn't leave. But no, the feeling was still there despite his attempts at reasoning with it and, in the end, Antonio had given up and decided to just do exactly what he wanted. Though not before he had packed some things into his worn bag and left a small note for Lovino (oh, his cute little henchman, how he’d grown after all these years) to tell the pouty Italian of his leave, of course. The other wouldn't be pleased by this, but there’s nothing he could do…
Why, though…? Such a sudden and unexpected feeling…
His mind wandered as he watched the road roll by, tanned hands clutching tightly at his bag so that it would stay safely in its place.
Maybe he had just wanted to visit his old friend, to talk with him about the good old days; to remind themselves of a time when people died facing each other courageously, instead of being shot from afar by a cowardly enemy; to reminisce about the time when they had been in their glory, their clothes clad with gold and their throats thirsty for other’s blood; to conquer and have more and more and more to themselves; to-
The carriage stopped abruptly, snapping him out of his thoughts rather violently. The voice of the driver announcing that they'd arrived, in rough and barely-understandable French, made him frown.
He hadn't expected the journey to be so short…
Guess that meant he had fallen asleep midway, then.
Rubbing his forehead with a sweat-covered hand, Antonio slowly made his way towards the exit, only to blink in confusion at the sight which greeted him through the opened door.
“Eh?” Was this really the place he’d told the driver to go to? He turned around to give the other a questioning look before the shape of the building caught his attention.
It really was the right place.
Oh, wow. For a few seconds, Antonio could only stare at the building out of sheer amazement.
The hotel building itself had remained the same throughout the years, having only changed its function. But its surroundings… they had changed a lot.
France had really changed, huh?
Antonio quickly gathered all of his belongings (which was not much, really; just a few bottles of wine for his smooth-talking French friend and some clothes for himself) before walking over to where the driver stood. He beamed a thank you! and finally handed over the payment for the journey.
Humming, the Spaniard began to make his way towards the hotel’s entrance, not noticing the series of quick steps behind him which were getting closer and closer and- “Oh, please get out of the way, sir!”
“Huh…? Uwah!” He almost fell down from the impact when their body crashed - Almost being the keyword here. Antonio flailed, trying to balance himself so that he wouldn't fall onto the ground and watched, unsure of what to do, as papers scattered all around him. A young man, perhaps around twenty years old, groaned in pain as he tried to gather up the fallen pieces. “Need more help~?” he asked in his heavily accented French. His hand was extended, offering the other man some of the pieces of paper that he had been able to grab (after finally realizing what he was supposed to do in such a situation).
“Thank you,” the man muttered, his hands quickly snatching the papers from Antonio. “I apologise for earlier, I didn't mean to run into you…”
Antonio laughed at the obviously forced-out apology and shrugged, grinning at the other. “Nah, it’s not a problem. I should have paid more attention to what was happening around me.” His head tilted and an eyebrow is lifted as he gave the man a once over. “You alright? You sounded like you were in real pain earlier…” Worry slipped into his face when the other didn’t answer his question.
“Hello?” The Spaniard tried waving his hand in front of the shorter male, trying to get his attention. He wasn't going to feel too good if someone had been hurt because of his absent-mindedness.
“I’m fine. Sorry for my rudeness, it's just that I'm in a hurry… Now if you will excuse me, sir.” With that, the young man hurried on his way, swaying slightly on the first few steps before finally vanishing completely from his sight.
Scratching his head, Antonio frowned. Well, well, that… was unexpected. He hadn't even gotten a chance to apologise properly… Why were people these days so impatient? … Hmmm? Hey, what was that…?
He bowed down and picked up the piece of paper (must have slipped away when he had run off in hurry), eyes examining the content carefully before slipping it into his pocket.
Interesting young man, he smiled to himself. If they ever met again, Antonio would have to hand this particular piece of paper back.
---
And they did meet again.
“I just need the paper back. I know you have it.”
Antonio chuckled, ignoring the words purposefully, and gestured for the man to sit at the seat in front of him, offering his guest the menu book as soon as he had done so. “Ah, maybe I have it~. Maybe I don’t. Just sit down and enjoy the meal first, uh…” They never had told each other their names…
“Pablo.”
“Oh! Pablo sounds like a wonderful name. Mine’s Antonio. Nice to meet you! … Wait, are you a Spaniard…?”
No answer.
He shifted awkwardly on his seat when the other’s lips remain pursed even after a few minutes of silence. “Okay, you’re not going to answer me, I see… No need to answer then! Have you decided on your order yet…?”
The change of expression is so obvious that even someone as dense as Antonio can tell that the other is… weirded out by his, what, over-pleasantness…?
“Fine then, I’ll just order for you too if you don’t wanna order~. Let’s see…” Eyes skimming through the menu, Antonio finally settles on coffee and toast (the safest choice, he thought; after all, who doesn’t like coffee and toast?).
“Okay, so all we need to do is wait for our food to come now and-“
“The paper.”
“…” Sighing, Antonio reached into his pocket and fished the piece of paper out. “This, right?” He held it just outside of the other’s reach, a taunting smile playing on his lips. “Why are you so eager about this anyway…? It’s just a sketch, isn’t it?”
The answer came out right after he finished his question, in a firm, stubborn voice. “It’s an important one. I need it to finish my project.”
“What kind of project is it…?” The personification of Spain asked, slowly and carefully, his gaze fixed on the paper.
Who was this figure sketched on the paper…? No matter how many times he looked at it, he just doesn’t get it.
Was it a girl? A woman? A child? A man in his old age? A young man dying? He doesn’t know, doesn’t get it. The figure in the sketch was way too skinny, too gloomy, too harsh-looking and hopeless. It’s just… everything about it was bizarre. Not to mention the choice of colour, too. Black, blue, a faint mix of blue and green… nothing more. Just looking at it makes him feel a little sad.
“… Pablo?” He asked again when nothing comes out as an answer. The other sure was quiet for someone so young in age. Perhaps he just hadn't heard his question…? Was his voice too quiet to hear…?
When the answer comes out, it’s nothing more than a faint whisper. “A painting for a friend.” And that was it, nothing more.
“Oh? So you’re painting your friend then? But why would your friend want to be painted like this…? It’s so… sad. It’s just… I don’t know. It lacks the feeling of life in it…”
“My friend is dead. It’s not supposed to have any life in it.”
The bitter tone caught him by surprise and this time, it was Antonio’s turn to stay quiet.
A waiter came and carefully placed the order on the table, trying to make as little noise as he could. The Spaniard waited, patiently, until the man was out of his sight before finally letting out a sigh. “… I still don’t think you should do it like this though…” He lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip, finally placing the paper on the empty space of the table’s surface.
“See here?’ He pointed with his free hand, looking at Pablo to make sure he was paying attention before continuing. “I think a warm colour would work better with this part than a bluish green.” Well, yeah, okay, he'd admit he knew nothing about painting. Or colour theory. Or whatever. Antonio’s never really been into any of that artsy stuff, after all.
It's more in Francis’ area of expertise, he thought briefly.
“But then it won’t go well with the other part,” Pablo muttered quietly, stubbornly.
“Then just change the colour of the other part, too!” Antonio exclaimed without thinking it over. “Make everything more warm and lively. Not… cold and dead.” He grinned sheepishly, scratching his head. “I know nothing about painting, to be honest. But… don’t you want your friend to live through your painting…?”
A frown.
Oops, maybe he should have phrased it better.
“What I mean is… Uh…” What was that word again…? “Rather than keep reminding yourself of your friend’s death with painting stuff like this… You can try to-- no, I am not telling you to forget it, okay? You can try to remember your friend. Try to remember back then, when your friend was still alive.”
“That’s…” The other paused, and Antonio fidgeted with his shirt buttons. Well, did he say something wrong again…? “It’s actually…” Another pause. “Maybe you’re right…” The youth fiddled with his cup, looking away from him.
“I knew you’d agree with me!” Standing up, Antonio walked over and hugged the other, completely oblivious to the stares he was receiving because of it. “Just try to! Maybe you're too used to using sad colours like this, but after a while…” He flashed his optimistic grin at the frowning young man. Why, he certainly didn't look like he was enjoying the hug…
Releasing the other from his bone-crushing hug, the Spaniard walked back and flopped down onto his own seat again. “So hey, now that this is solved… can you answer my other question? Are you a Spaniard...?” He was still curious, really.
“Oh, that. Yes, I am a Spaniard. Pablo Ruiz Picasso… It’s nice to meet you too, Antonio.”
---
I hope this fill is okay and uh, I hope I did justice with the way Picasso's portrayed here. XD; Never written this kind of thing before, so... yeah. :'D I hope you enjoyed this though, haylerzz !