Disclaimer: Nothing. I OWN NOTHING.

Huge thanks to my beta~ you know who you are!
If it wasn't for them, this story would have quite some awkward errors~

It's quiet in the large house, and a swelling urge to break the unnerving silence rises in the Italian's throat. Why is it always so quiet, especially when he cleans? Sure, it's nice to work without interruptions, but this is getting far too ridiculous. It's the same thing every time he comes over. He doesn't have to clean up when he comes visit Spain's house, but some nostalgic feeling in him takes over and he cleans anyway, just as he used to when he was younger and wearing those despicable maid clothes.

And, every time he cleans, Spain is in the other room, reading, or maybe just staring out the window in silence. It's one of the few times that he sees the sunny nation in a solemn mood, almost as if he's reminiscing and thinking of younger, more carefree times."

Romano does not like this.

He supposes that, of course, the best way to break the silence is to hurt Spain and annoy him.

Sometimes, he comes up to him and smacks him upside the head, emitting a cry of "Oy! Get up and do something productive, dammit!".

Once he poked him with his own deck brush, hard, and yelled something about him being too lazy and never cleaning his own home.

Every time, Spain does nothing but smile and laugh. It's as if there is absolutely no anger in the brown-haired nation. There is no rage, no lashing out at his Italy.

Today is the same. Romano goes over and bumps his shoulder with a fist, muttering curses and insults at the other, telling him to go get him some food or something. The other laughs and, naturally, nods and leaves to get them tomatoes.

And after a while, when Spain comes back from the kitchen claiming that he's out of tomatoes at the moment and they should go get some at the market, the Italian's hair bristles and he bounces to his feet, yelling at the other.

"DAMMIT, you even forget to stock up on your own groceries?! How incredibly stupid are you, anyway!?!"

Spain's mouth twitches slightly.

"Ah, but Lovi, that's why we're going righ-"

"NO, there is no 'we'. It should really be just YOU, you bastard! YOU go get your own food, and don't drag me along like I'm your little bitch or something!"

It twitches again. And it's not tilting upwards.

"Lovino, that's not cute at all-"

"FUCKING DAMMIT, stop acting like I'm still a child! " And now Romano's stomped his way over to Spain, and he's slapped the older nation across his face, hard, wanting to teach him a lesson. However, there is no lesson to teach, Romano is simply angry.

Spain takes the blow and is astounded. Romano had attacked quickly- he hadn't seen that coming at all. He stands there, unsure of what to do as the older Italian brother shouts "I'm not a kid anymore! You have to understand, dammit!" and he listens, eyes wide, not knowing what to feel or how to react. But then, instinct begins to take over and something begins to bubble in the Spaniard…something he… he hasn't felt in years, in centuries. The last time he recalls feeling anything even remotely close to this was during the conquering of those Aztecs, those Incas, those natives down in parts that had been unknown to him at the time. It's some sort of strength, and his eyes narrow as they become jaded, dull. Then, the next thing he knows, he's grabbed the Italian's neck, and he's pushed him off and whirled them around and Romano is slammed into the wall.

Romano's breath hitches in his throat, caught helplessly as hands press into his neck and keep him pinned to the cold wall behind him. His eyes widen and they search Spain's eyes, hoping to see them change, hoping that they'll widen as well and he'll jump back and cry out 'I'm sorry, Lovi! and he'll see that weak Spain again.

But it doesn't happen. The green eyes he's looking into don't appear to be regretting anything. He's staring into the eyes of a true conquistador, a true conqueror.

"Don't you dare hit me like that again," comes Spain's voice. It's hushed, almost threatening--so different from what Romano's used to.

It sends frozen shivers down his spine.

Then, just like that, Spain has pulled back, his hands gone to rest by his sides and he moves towards the door. Romano watches as Spain grabs an odd pouch and the keys from the table, and when the green eyed man opens the door, the Italian tries to call out his name, but the door has already closed. There is no doubt in Romano's mind that Spain is probably going to the market or something...alone, just as the Italian has oh-so politely screamed at him.

Now alone in the house, Romano shudders and he stands there for a few seconds before reaching up to rub at his neck, his fingers skimming over the area where Spain's hands had been not too long ago. "...You bastard..." he begins to choke out, his hands slowly beginning to trail up to his face, where warm tears slowly crawl down and slither atop them.

"I'm so sorry."

For an hour, Romano sits on the couch, waiting for the Spaniard to come back. He's still waiting to see him running to him, saying he's sorry and possibly coming over and hugging him to death. He's never wanted Spain's hugs- they're always so tight and they almost crush him. But right now, he really needs one.

He hears the doorknob rattle a bit and his head jolts up, his heart races and all that goes through his mind is shit shit shit I really hope that's him.

It is.

In comes Spain, carrying a brown paper sack which he places on the nearest table, setting the keys down beside it. Afterwards his hand is running through his hair, and a sigh escapes him as he turns to look at the figure on the couch. His eyes aren't hazed over anymore, and Romano's eyes widen as he realizes that they're actually shining, they're puffy... he's been crying. Spain's been crying.

"Lovino," Spain says, and this time there is no threat. His voice is soft, and it's the calm voice that the Italian is used to. Thus, Spain doesn't even get a chance to finish his statement, for the other has run into his arms and he's clinging close, holding him tightly and burying his nose in his shoulder, nuzzling, tears breaking the dam and flowing again.

"I'm sorry, dammit! Don't do that to me again!" he almost, almost wants to hit him, because this last hour has been hell for his heart and he wants to release some of that anger at Spain. But he can't because if he does, history will repeat itself, and Romano isn't sure if his heart could take something like that.

Spain is quiet, still, and the emotion that bubbles up inside this time is not that of a conqueror. It's not of a conquistador at all. It's of a father, a caretaker, a friend who smiles sadly and hugs the boy affectionately, reaches down and kisses his head.

"Compre tomates romanos. ¿Quieres uno?"

Romano nods, and he grumbles a string of curses while his cheeks flare red, mainly due to the fact that Spain has picked him up in a bride-hold and taken him over to the kitchen, where he sets Romano on the countertop and allows him to help wash tomatoes. It's silent again, and again, Romano feels the urge to break it. This time, however, he doesn't yell at Spain or even poke him. He simply leans over and gives him a small kiss on the cheek, then turns away and blushes brightly while Spain's laugh echoes throughout the kitchen.

A laugh is a better way to break a silence.

And there we go~! Hmm. I wish more people showed Spain's conquistador side... it's actually quite awesome.


-"Compre tomates romanos. ¿Quieres uno?" - "I bought 'Roman Tomatoes'. Want one?"
[Yes, I have seen 'tomates romanos' before, so... heheh. :] ]

Thanks for reading~!