Hide & Seek [Spain x Romano]

I do not own Hetalia or any characters. All rights go to the respectful owners.

A/N: Believe it or not, I really SUCK at putting thoughts onto paper. So I have an idea, but then when I try and put it into words it just doesn't make any sense … which leads me to re-writing a single paragraph at least a dozen times before I move onto the next one. Which then leads me to writing this 1700 something words over 2 days. Oh yeah, funny thing is I find it so hard to get started-started (despite trying not to procrastinate), and then at midnight the ideas just suddenly pop in my head. Anyone else get this?

If anyone has any tips on getting stuff started or where to find inspiration, I'm definitely lending an ear! Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this second fic of mine. Need to get back into my writing habit, it's been too long since I wrote something out of pure enjoyment. :] Please R&R, and most of all, enjoy. Ta~

10 … 9 …

Dammit, where the fuck had that bastard Spain run off to? He was quickly growing tired (not to mention extremely irritated), aimlessly wandering around the house. Who did the bastard take him for, leading him on a wild goose chase. That asshole.

8 … 7 …

Romano's stomach growled, voicing his rising frustration. All this searching for Spain was making him extremely hungry, although all he had been doing for the past few hours was only walking - walking from one room to another, taking a look around for the tell-tale chocolate curly top, before proceeding with the blind search.

There had better be a reward after all this, and a fucking good one. By that, Romano was talking about food ... at the very least. Heck, make it a feast … with a load of tomatoes. No way was he allowing that bastard to live if he wasn't getting that much. It wasn't like he was doing this all for free. Hell no.

6 …

Fuck, where was he? He had to admit, the damn bastard was good at hiding; not that Romano would ever say so out loud.

Screw it all. Just wait until the Italian got his hands on him. Tomatoes or not, he was going to wring out Spain's neck, crack open his skull, head-butt him to death, WHATEVER. He'd force Spain onto his knees, kissing his feet and hopelessly begging for mercy by the end of this.

It had been hours and STILL no sign of the idiot's stupid face. Just where had he hidden himself? An idiot like him couldn't possibly be THAT good. This was Spain for god's sake!

Romano nearly smacked himself in the head. Idiot!

This was SPAIN'S house; of course he knew where all the good hiding spots were! Then again, being the idiot that he was, Spain was the kind of person to get lost … in his own house.

Wait, hang on. Thinking back and reflecting on it, he began to wonder. Usually it had been him that always ended up lost. In the past, it was Romano who had spent most of the time wandering around Spain's house. Of course, that was solely for the purpose of finding good hiding spots so as to avoid doing as much work, if any, as possible.

But even after all this time had passed, Romano still knew his way around the place like the back of his hand. He smirked to himself. Guess he wasn't so useless at everything after all.

Sure, it had taken a while for him to get this far … 300 years, in fact. He had lost count of the number of times he had lost his way trying to find the toilet, and when Spain would hunt him down for making a mess on the floor. It wasn't his fault. Back then, everything just seemed so … BIG.

5 … 4 …

Romano stopped. Another dead end. Well, fuck. Okay, now he was OFFICIALLY pissed off (as if he hadn't been the whole time).

It was always like this. He was getting fucking tired of this stupid charade both of them played. Except it wasn't just then. No, this game of chase was something they had been playing throughout history. Dammit! Why did it always turn out like this?

Cazzo Spagna. He was, had, always been chasing after that bastard. Even back when Spain had thrown himself into bloody war after bloody war – with Turkey, France and England – just to protect him. Romano had wanted to follow him into battle; he didn't want him to leave and just disappear … He couldn't bear to watch Spain befall the same fate as Grandpa Rome – to just fade away and be forgotten …

And then several years later, when he had to make that painful decision. That fateful day when Romano had to leave - leave everything, leave Spain, his past home, his past everything - for good.

But he only did that so he could be closer to the nation, to be more like him. Romano wanted to show Spain, to prove, that he wasn't a helpless child who needed defending. He was going to grow up and become a bigger, stronger country that Spain had ever seen. He was going to become a country that Spain would be proud of.

That was always the case, wasn't it? A man chasing a dream – chasing after Spain. The realisation had only fully hit him now.

Romano had always been chasing after Spain.

And yet, the closer he got to him, the further he seemed to be. Perché?

3 … 2 …

Just how long was this going to continue? And how in the hell did they start playing this ridiculous game, anyway? His mind was reeling, closed doors flying by as Romano broke into a run.

Oh right. It had all been Spain's idea. Of course.

"Can we play hide and seek, Lovi?" Spain had suddenly announced over lunch, earlier that day. Romano had rolled his eyes in response, mouth stuffed with penne to answer properly. That, and he was too lazy to answer such a dumb question from the fool. The answer was obvious – HELL NO.

Yet somehow in that thick skull of his, Spain had taken the death-glare and savage kick under the table as a cue for him to keep talking. "Remember Lovi? You used to be really good at this game. It'll be like back in the old times~"

Old times, huh. Romano had thought, draining the last of his wine.


Reverting his attention back to the stupid face across the table, the Italian froze. Merdi. He knew he shouldn't have turned to look back at Spain, but instead jump up from the table, run out of the house, the country and keep running until he had passed over the border and safely reached his home again.

"You look like an adorable tomato~" Too late, the Spain had blocked his escape and was now pinching his cheeks. Ouch.

"Aaaah~ My little tomate," the idiot cooed in his ear, cradling the ticking bomb. Goddammit, now they were rubbing cheeks.

What. The. Fuck.

He hadn't thought much about it then, begrudgingly bending to the idocracy of the Spaniard and agreeing to such a lunatic idea. But he was definitely regretting that decision now.

The wine, the food … that damn bastard had planned it all from the start! It was practically blackmail.

Romano frowned at the past memory. Oh mio dio, what was he thinking? He had let a wild Spain loose, running rampant in the house.

His fist suddenly struck out, smashing its poor unfortunate victim into the wall.

Shit. There goes another priceless antique broken by yours truly.

"LOVI! DID I JUST HEAR SOMETHING BREAK?" a voice thundered from somewhere down the hall, right on cue.

Romano winced. Yes.

"NO!" he hollered back, high-tailing away from the scene of the crime before Spain caught him red-handed. Damn that bastard and his good hearing!

Frantic. Mere moments ago he had been determined to find Spain, but now he was desperate to escape his clutches.

The game had to come to an end. Every game had an end.

1 …

"I caught you~!"

Arms suddenly materialised out of thin air, grabbing him around the waist. Startled, Romano stumbled backwards into the warm embrace of his attacker. Looking up, he came eye-to-eye with the grinning face of non-other than Antonio Carriedo Fernandez.

"Vaffanculo! Vai in culo!" Romano hissed under his breath. He tried to wriggle free, squirming around in a panicked attempt to break out of Spain's arms, whilst at the same time, trying to hide the red blush he knew was spreading across his cheeks. But there was no letting go, and Spain made sure of that, squeezing Romano tighter.

Porca vacca, the embarrassment of being found and caught so easily.

"You sure run fast Lovi, I had trouble trying to catch up to mi tomate muy poco."

"Idiota! I'm supposed to chase YOU!" Romano snapped back. He cringed slightly as Spain crushed him against his chest.

"Oh, really?" came the surprised voice of Spain, as if this was the first time hearing this. Eio, la Spagna è stato così idiota.

Honestly. He could be as daft as his dumb little brother, Feliciano, sometimes.

Romano would have slapped the Spanish idiot, had he not had his limbs pinned to his sides. Spain was such a fucking dense bast-

Wait a second. Did Spain just say that he had been chasing him all this time?


Perhaps Romano had had it wrong all along. He had been so busy chasing his own dream to be like Spain, he hadn't realised .. that at the same time, HE was the one being chased.


"Of course I have. I've been chasing you for all these years, mi único amor. I'm so happy that my little Romano is all grown up!"

Shit. That voice in his head swore again. Had he said that loud?

Romano glared back at Spain. There he went with the smiling and how the fuck could he be so damn happy all the time?

"Te amo, Lovi."

Before he could even react, Spain had planted a kiss smack on the lips.

T-t-that ... bastard ...

"Mmf-!" Romano mumbled against the gentle warmth he felt. He leaned into the kiss, rolling onto the tips of his toes so he could a better reach for the Spaniard. Lacing his fingers through the soft curls, he pulled him downwards, closer towards him. He needed more, more-

"Tag, you're it!" Spain exclaimed, abruptly pulling back.

"Huh?" Shock flashed across Romano's face.

Seizing the opportunity, Spain's lips brushed a light kiss over his once again.

"Come find me, Lovi~!" he sang, laughing as he took off, and leaving Romano behind like a blushing bride. It took his poor brain a moment to register just what had happened before the Italian blew up.

Why that little-!

Without a second's notice, Romano was running him down at breakneck speed. But as he ran after the man he loved, he couldn't help but to join in the laughter.

As if Spain stood a chance of outrunning Romano. The Italians were the fastest at running away, after all.

Translation: (I sincerely apologise for any wrong translations. I'm not very familiar with Italian/Spanish, save for the occasional short phrases, and the insults were pulled up from Google Translate.)

Cazzo Spagna = fuck Spain

Perché = why?

Merdi = shit

Vaffanculo! Vai in culo = Fuck it! Fuck off! Fuck you!

Porca vacca! = Well, dammit!

Mi tomate muy poco = my little tomato

Idiota! = Idiot!

Eio, la Spagna è stato così idiota. = God, Spain was such an idiot.

mi único amor = my only love