Flower [Hetalia]

❥ chapter III

The front door was opened as you stepped into the light of the lamp hanging from the wall right next to the door. Tim, only dressed in a bathrobe and briefs (and thus showing off his well-toned chest), appeared in the doorway. A waft of earth, freshly cut grass, and smoke came along with him, engulfing you. His usually blonde, spiky hair was all mussed up, and his piercing green, yet bleary eyes stared down at you.

"Good, uh, morning, Mr. de Vries," you greeted him, to which he replied with a simple nod of his head. Trailing off, you found yourself ogling his abs and cleared your throat awkwardly while lifting your gaze back up to his face, successfully suppressing a blush. "I'm awfully sorry for bothering you this late at night and for the ruckus in front of your house. My friend is drunk and just threw up in front of your garden. I will clean this mess up right away."

Tim looked at you in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, and an unpleasant thought began preying on your mind. Perhaps you had angered him in some way. Was he contemplating suing you and Antonio? Oh god, you really hoped he wasn't.

"Alright," he finally said with another brief nod, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding in, quietly sighing in relief that he didn't want to sue you after all. "You can use my garden hose," he added, pointing to a neatly coiled hose lying on the cut grass a few feet away. It was connected with the water tap protruding from the wall right above it.

"Thank you very much." You gave him a friendly smile. This went better than you had expected—you didn't have to get your own cleaning utensils. "Again, I'm very sorry for bothering you, Mr. de Vries. Good night."

"Good night, Ms. [Surname]." He closed the door. You could hear his heavy footsteps moving away from the front door.

You quickly got to work, taking the hose and walking over to the nasty mess Antonio had left on the pavement, luckily near a street drain. The sooner you got over with it, the sooner you could return to your other duties—like parking your car properly on the driveway and making sure that Antonio didn't mess things up again, especially not in your house.

You had intentionally sent Antonio to your house before facing Tim and also refrained from mentioning his name because Tim didn't seem to like him at all, and you weren't sure how he would have reacted if he had known that Antonio was this friend of yours who had nearly ruined his dear flowers.

One time, a few weeks ago, Antonio and you had walked past Tim's house as he had been watering his flowers. While Tim had returned your polite greeting, he had just narrowed his eyes at Antonio and hadn't said anything to him. Antonio had assured you that he had never met Tim before, and you had had the feeling that he hadn't lied. Maybe there was something like hate at first sight.

When the deed was finally done and the vomit had been washed away into the drain (hopefully along with the terrible smell), you put the water hose back. You tried to roll it up as neatly as it had been before, but failed to do so. Hence, you just put it on the ground beneath the tap as neatly coiled as you could manage and hoped that Tim wouldn't be annoyed by finding this in the morning.

You returned to your car to continue where you had left off when Antonio had been overwhelmed by an unexpected nausea, driving onto the driveway of your house and parking it there. Then, you entered your house through the ajar front door. Apparently, Antonio had forgot to take your keys with him and just left them outside dangling from the lock. After you had taken your bunch of keys, you pulled the door shut behind you.

The very first thing you noticed was the fact that it was quiet—too quiet for your liking, considering there was supposed to be a very drunk and also a bit hyper Spaniard in here.

Cue a cold shiver running down your back and your eyes widening as sudden fear struck you. What if Antonio had hurt himself? Maybe he had tripped and hit his head and was now unconscious. Or what if he had climbed through a window and was running around in the neighbourhood? You had to catch him before he got up to nonsense. But first, you had to check your house to see if he was still in here.

Without even bothering to take off your shoes and jacket, you blindly chucked the bunch of keys in the direction of the holder on the wall and began checking every single room, the first being the kitchen where you found the leftover tomato salad in the fridge gone. 'I guess that's a good sign,' you thought.

Your search for Antonio was over and successful as soon as you walked through the doorway next to the kitchen bar into the living room. There he was, indeed unconscious, but not the type of unconscious you had feared he would be. He was sleeping peacefully on the couch, an empty bowl standing on the coffee table and next to it his hand clutching a fork.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. "Oh boy," you muttered under your breath, heaving a long sigh. "And here I was already thinking of the worst-case scenarios." You tiptoed over to him and took the folded blanket hanging over the armrest of the couch, using it to tuck him in. "Good night, Toni."

Leaning over him, you gave him a short kiss on the forehead, only to jump a little when he groggily mumbled, "Buenas noches."

You patted his head affectionately, left the living room with quiet steps, and turned off the lights on your way out, discarding your jacket and shoes in the hallway, locking the front door and then going upstairs into your bedroom where you changed into your pyjamas. You lied down in your bed and made yourself comfortable, snuggling up to the pillow and wrapping yourself up in the blankets. Soon, you had fallen asleep.

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buenas noches = good night