'ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

7

It had been over seventy-two hours since the first sick nation had declared themselves so. It had rained heavily twice in Spain in that time: once on the afternoon a certain Italian had returned from Berlin, and then the night after, for a lengthy two or three hours in both instances.

Antonio had taken what Lovino had dubbed 'a dumb-ass vow of silence' unofficially, and basically hadn't spoken a word since the previous day. Each sound and syllable that he made felt like a dozen stabs in his throat, which was then washed down with an array of acids when he tried to drink some water to clear the way. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't talk, he couldn't laugh . . . He didn't even smile anymore. And it all frustrated Lovino beyond belief.

Romano looked at his phone as the screen lit up with the notification of a message. He unlocked the device, giving a brief glance to the ceiling, hoping that Antonio was at least getting sleep, and he read the text. It was from Ludwig.

'"Your brother is improving still. I think within 2 days he'll be fine. How's Spain?"' he read to himself.

Lovino could only sigh. He'd been up most of the night thanks to the Spaniard--not that he could be angry at him; that would be entirely unfair--and an almost constant stream of updates from the others, telling him how the rest of the affected personifications were getting on. Sure, he was more than relieved to hear that Feliciano was getting better, but he was one of few. Lovino just wished there was something he could do to contribute . . .

He sent a message back. 'No improvements yet. Both of us got basically no sleep. Keep me updated on Feli.'

And he left it there. As he placed his phone down, feet quietly slapped against the cool steps and then onto the softer floor of the living area. Lovino glanced to the noise and gave a faint smile to Antonio, who tried to return the gesture as best as he could.

"Feeling any better?" he questioned.

Antonio thought for a moment, shook his hand, saying that maybe only a little bit so, and then moved that hand to rub his tired eye. He yawned, thankful that a wild string of coughs didn't interrupt him like it had done the previous evening.

"That's definitely a no." Lovino sighed. "Do you need a drink or anything? Maybe something hot will help."

Spain shook his head.

"Yeah, because I'm really convinced by that," Romano responded offhandedly. "Come on, it might at least help you get some sleep. That's something you desperately need."

"But--"

"No! You can't deny it! It's as plain as day!" Lovino said, already getting up out of his seat and heading towards the kitchen. "You'll have to settle for normal decaf tea, though. I couldn't find anything fruity or herbal while I was away."

Antonio could only sigh, and he obliged, following Lovino into the kitchen silently. He didn't like being pitied (if that's what you'd even call it) and was determined to get better as quickly as possible with the least amount of Italian intervention as he could. Sure, it was sweet seeing that Romano cared, but there was always that voice in the background telling him that it was an act. That it was all for show. That Lovino could never truly care about someone like him . . .

A few minutes later, hot water filled a cup and was instantaneously infused by the bagged tea leaves, gently being stirred around in a whirlpool of golden-brown liquid. The cup was handed to the Spaniard, the smallest trickle of milk having been added to suit his tastes, and Lovino proceeded to make himself a coffee.

Antonio thanked him with a smile and decided to head outside into the warmth as opposed to the cooler air of inside. He felt more at home like that. Did that even make sense? He didn't know, but he didn't care either.

"The warmth here is always so different than it is in Italy . . ." Romano remarked as he stepped outside onto the veranda too. "Why is that?"

Antonio shrugged as he placed his cup down on the outdoor table, still standing. "No clue."

"Hmm."

"It's good though . . . Changes things up."

"No, you lost me . . ." Lovino said with a slight frown.

"Well, summer in Italy is great, but summer in Spain is just as unique," Antonio elaborated, before taking a sip of his drink and placing it down once more.

The pair paused, letting the heat and silence do their jobs. Lovino stared out across the greening landscape while swirling his coffee around the mug. He couldn't help but think about his brother. He knew that both he and Spain needed him, whether they liked it or not, but then he had to argue who needed him more.

Feliciano was strong but Antonio was stronger . . . But only physically. Feliciano was in an ideal position where he was being looked after by at least two others who Lovino knew cared for him deeply. But who else would look after Antonio? France and Prussia were ill too, and Belgium and the Netherlands were preoccupied, so they were no good, and he'd heard nothing from Portugal. At the end of the day, Lovino felt like his last hope.

That, and, Antonio needed his moral support. He was going through a rough patch emotionally and mentally, and he needed someone to keep him grounded. Someone who wouldn't judge him, or cast him aside . . . So Lovino had stepped forward. He could tell when bad thoughts were running through Spain's mind, and he sort of knew how to neutralise the situation. He just hoped it would be enough . . .

"Hey, what are you thinking about?"

The Spaniard pulled Romano from his mind, a slightly concerned look adorning his tanned face. That look didn't suit him at all, Lovino decided, those deep, green eyes shouldn't appear so worried--

"¿Hola?"

"Huh?" Lovino responded, feeling slightly flustered and embarrassed by his own thoughts. He hurried for an answer for a question he barely remembered. "Oh, just, uh . . . Thinking about what to make for lunch."

"I can cook," Antonio offered, "it just depends if you want something Spanish or Italian."

"I'm up for Spanish," Lovino replied as he put the cup down on the table too. "So long as it's not one of your omelettes, though. Those are weird . . ."

"Seafood paella it is," Antonio smiled modestly.

Lovino gave a small smile too. They both knew that was his favourite typical Spanish dish. It made him happy to know that Antonio cared enough to remember, and he silently decided that perhaps he should try and recreate one of Spain's favourite dishes from when he visited Rome the summer before. As Lovino thought of all this, however, another--a brighter--thought came to the forefront, and it quickly grew from fantasy into reality into realisation.

"Bastard . . ." Romano muttered, a sense of surprise and joy building up inside of him.

"¿Qué?" Spain said. "Is there something on my face?"

"Only idiocy!" Lovino answered, relief kicking in. "You're talking, and you don't sound like shit . . . You haven't even coughed!"

"Wait, really--?"

Before the question had even formed properly, Lovino found himself wrapping his arms around Antonio and just holding him for a moment. He was getting better! He smiled humbly to himself when he felt two arms hold him back, and he quietly thanked the heavens for granting them something so important.

Antonio smiled too. "Te quiero, Lovi."

"Ti amo anch'io . . ." he replied, hiding his happiness.

'He's lying to you . . .'

A mortified cough escaped into the air as the voice faded away again.

"Well, fuck . . ."