Mio sole. Chapter 6. Spamano

Rating: T+
Summary: Spain reminisces about Romano as a kid, and Romano has a dream….there's stuff in-between that but you have to read to find out.

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With Romano in his arms, Spain smelled the top of his hair and allowed his fingers to roam over the pink-silk shirt that lay over Romano's shoulders. His nostrils tingled with the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon that Spain had grown accustomed to. Spain's fingertips swam in the softness of the shirt and the warmth of the skin just underneath. He could feel the petite, but muscular, physique Romano had under his fingertips through the shirt.

He wished he could feel them without the interference…

After several minutes Romano pushed out of Spain's embrace and went to make himself a drink. He hid his face by looking down, but Spain could still tell there was a slight redness in Romano's ears. He wanted nothing more than to grab Romano by the back and hold him close for only a few more minutes.

'Miracles don't happen more than once a day,' Spain thought to himself as he began changing the tablecloth. He grabbed the green-plaid cloth and entered the garage, placing the blood-stained item in the washing-machine.

After setting them in the water to soak off the blood he re-entered the house only to hear loud gunshots. Instinctively he ducked and covered his head. His heart raced faster as he heard yelling and gunshots from the next room. He army-crawled into the kitchen, horrified to see Romano not there. Spain stood and ran toward the gunshots and burst down the door to the living-room.

"R-Romano!" he screamed frantically looking around the room.

"What the hell ya screaming for? Bastard," Romano replied sitting on the couch taking a long sip from his drink.

Spain nearly fell to the floor in embarrassment as he noticed the mafia movie playing on the TV in front of Romano. His cheeks were burning and he held a lump in his throat, but he still felt like his heart was lifted from the worry.

If something happened to Romano…

"I would be lost," Spain muttered to himself at the thought as he stood back up.

"What are you talking about? I'm trying to watch this asshole!"

"I was just gonna say how I'm going to go to bed. So, g'night Romano!" Spain laughed as he sauntered down the hall to his room.

Spain locked the door to his room once he entered. Despite the room being many times smaller than the one he had at home, he felt more relaxed here. He could feel his shoulders slack as he readied for bed. He felt free not needing to worry about any attacks in Romano's house. This was his haven.

He pulled a large book from under the bed and placed it atop his mattress. The first few pages were filled with boring pictures of local architecture and handwritten notes. After turning a few pages he finally found his treasure.  

Pages held pictures of little Romano around Spain's giant house. His tiny face was covered in tiny scowls towards the photographer. His little white vestments only accentuated the scowl on the tiny boys face. Hate-filled eyes covered the first few pages and sent Spain's heart in a grip-lock.

However, as he kept turning the pages he saw the gaze become apathetic towards him. His tiny body being caught in hilarious dancing positions by the camera. Spain looked upon these photos with a smile as he remembered Romano dancing wildly to his guitar and how he had to hire someone to take these photos.

The last of the child photos was of Romano as a child sleeping on Spain's bed in his tiny tomato-patterned pajamas. That day, Spain discovered Romano and couldn't keep himself from being astounded at the little man in his bed. He wondered when Romano had become so comfortable around him. But still, he remembered that little face with someone tugging at his heart strings.

"dulces suenos, mi poco de tomate.*"


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Translations:
* dulces suenos, mi poco de tomate = sweet dreams my little tomato (Spanish)