Flower [Hetalia]

❥ chapter I

CONTENT WARNING(S):

drunkenness

not actually/temporarily unrequited love

Don't like, don't read!

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A/N:

Warning! This fanfic is unfinished (as of yet) and has been on hiatus for a long time now. I cannot promise that I will ever finish it, but I still wanted to share it with you, my dear readers. I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless~! ♥

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flow·er

/flaʊər/

noun

the part of a plant that is often brightly coloured and has a pleasant smell, or the type of plant that produces these

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buenas noches pichoncita :) would yolu please cvome pikc me up from mthe flux? I'gm far toao drunk to drive and i spent aill my money on booze. soryr ot disturb yuo i hopqe i didn't wake ouy up chica

The one who had sent you this text message indeed hadn't woken you up since you hadn't been asleep in the first place. It was barely 1am on a Friday night—or rather Saturday morning since it was already past midnight—and you usually went to bed in one or two hours.

Besides, you were already used to getting drunk texts from your friends—especially from your best friends Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, who went clubbing together every weekend without exception, and at least one of them in their drunken state ended up sending you messages. Some of those had been completely unintelligible for you at first, with mixed-up letters and all that stuff like in the text you had just received a few minutes ago (just far worse). But you had learned to decipher them over the time.

'Alright, I'm on my way,' you wrote back to Antonio and picked yourself off the floor where you had been lying comfortably while watching TV. 'Just stay put. And don't worry, I wasn't sleeping. See you in a bit!' Pocketing your smartphone with one hand, you turned off the TV with the other and then walked out of your room and downstairs into the main hallway.

After you had put on your favourite leather jacket and sneakers of the same colour, you grabbed your bunch of keys from the holder on the wall next to the front door and left your house. You got in your car and set off towards one of the nightclubs your best friends frequented. This night they were in The Flux. Considering the time you were out, there wasn't much traffic on the streets which were lit by the dim night-time city lights.

A short while later, you arrived at the nightclub The Flux. You parked your car right in front of a young man who was standing at the edge of the sidewalk and holding onto a lamp post for support. Leaning over, you opened the door on the passenger's side and motioned him to get in. "C'mon, get your sexy ass in here."

Antonio tore his emerald-green eyes away from some unfixed point in the distance and directed them at you, a big smile spreading over his lips. "¡Hola, guapa!" he greeted you, his words slurred. "There you are."

"Yep, here I am. You asked me to pick you up after all," you replied, returning his smile, and patted the passenger seat. "Get in, Toni. I'll bring you home."

He walked over to your car, surprisingly just with a slight stagger in his steps, and plopped down on the seat, pulling the car door closed behind him. "Can I perhaps crash at your place, pichoncita?" he asked as he leaned towards you. He nearly toppled over in the process if it weren't for you pushing him into an upright position again.

"Only if you buckle up," you answered. "And don't puke in my car like Gil once did. Ew." You grimaced at the still awfully vivid memory. "I spent two hours cleaning my car and trying to get rid of that godawful stench," you muttered, a sudden, bitter taste on your tongue. "Or at least try not to puke in here."

The smile on his face got even brighter. "Anything for you, pichoncita," he chimed happily. At the same time, he complied with your request to fasten his seatbelt, though rather slowly and clumsily. He needed five attempts to get the buckle to click into place. "I'd never throw up in your car like Gil did. Or really anything that belongs to you."

You started heading back to your house in the outskirts of the city. "That's good to hear. After that incident with Gil, I always keep a paper bag in the glove compartment, so if you really can't hold it in anymore, grab that bag."

"Will do, pichoncita."

You had met Antonio and his best friends—who liked to call themselves the "Bad Touch Trio" for reasons you didn't know and probably didn't want to know either—about two years ago in a pub. One of your friends had dragged you there because she had wanted you to get a taste of the urban nightlife although you very much preferred to stay at home, watch some movies, and drink with a small group of friends and not with a bunch of strangers in a bar or wherever.

Back then, you had ended up sitting at the far end of the bar alone, hunched over the same glass of beer you had already ordered hours ago and been sipping at since then, while your friend had been busy flirting with some random guys. Eventually, she had returned to you with three guys in tow and introduced you to them: an overly flirtatious Frenchman, a happy-go-lucky Spaniard, and an albino who claimed to be from Prussia.

You still didn't know why she had chosen them of all people, of all the other guys she had chatted up that night, to introduce to you. But in hindsight, you were really glad she had. It was impossible for you to imagine where you would be now if you hadn't met them.

You never accompanied them when they went to nightclubs and bars and the kind to get drunk and pick up women because you were, as mentioned before, more of an inside person. (Yet you didn't mind a nice walk in the forest or through another pretty landscape.) Plus, you weren't the type to pick up guys or get picked up by them for a one-night stand.

As of late, however, Antonio refrained from picking up women and sometimes called you in the middle of the night to ask you to pick him up after carelessly spending the money he had wanted to use for a cab ride on more alcohol, just like this night. You didn't know why he did that, but Francis and Gilbert seemed to know what was up with him. You had asked them, because Antonio usually avoided your questions and quickly changed the topic, but they had refused to tell you and merely smirked knowingly.

To this day, you still had no clue as to why Antonio wasn't following some woman to her apartment at the end of the night anymore like he had used to.

A sudden, firm pressure on your arm yanked you out of your thoughts when you were about to steer your car onto the driveway to your house. You jerked your head in Antonio's direction. The tanned skin in his face had a greenish hue, and his hand that wasn't seizing your arm was clamped over his mouth, as if—

Oh god.

Oh no.

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chica = girl

pichoncita = dove

hola, guapa = hello, beautiful