WRITER ANON FORCES YOU TO IMAGINE THE CHIGI FROM THE DELICIOUS TOMATO SONG EVERYTIME YOU READ IT HERE
“CHIGIIIIIII!” Romano blurted out one day at the Italian’s dinner table.
Spain looked up from delicious plate of his pasta, a strand hanging out of his mouth and his face stained with tomato sauce. A meatball was stuck to his fork, ready to be stuffed in his mouth like a little piggy. “Huh?”
Romano sat there, staring at the Spaniard with a tense face. Seconds passed before he looked back down at his meal and shoveled food into his mouth as well. Spain sat there in confusion, still waiting for a reason to the random outburst, when the boy finally put down his fork and said, “Stop fucking staring at me, you pedophile.” Random strings of pasta came flying out at he spoke.
Christ, Spain said, putting a hand to his forehead as Italy devoured his meal in the same fashion as an animal at a barnyard. Didn’t someone teach him some manners..? Whoops it shoulda been me
This wasn’t the first time it had happened, though. Not the lack of civil behavior, the random frustrated interjection that came at times that Spain just couldn’t predict. For a while it only came when he was angry, but now Romano would mutter it when he was around, suddenly turning quiet afterwards or being unresponsive. At this point, Spain had quit trying to ask what it meant. But it still bothered him, and more importantly, it worried him. Was little Lovi sick?
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“Lovino..” Spain began, an hour after the dinner and a half hour into another one of those American movies. Spanish subtitles ran across the bottom as people and titles popped up on the screen. It had been Antonio’s choice for a movie tonight, and he had been sure to choose a romantic movie in an attempt to hit a soft note in Romano’s angry body. Sort of cheesy, but it was worth a try.
“So are you really okay?” He shuffled closer, wanting to warm up the adorable pouting nation and make him feel ten times better. If Lovino liked basking in the sun, wouldn’t he like the comfort of his body warmth? Spain got as far as a quick hug before he found out Lovino wouldn’t.
“S-Spain, you… errgh. Right at the good part, your stupid head got in the way and I couldn’t see. Agggh.” Romano sure was making a huff about nothing, as there hadn’t been kissing or sexy times in the movie at all yet. What was his problem? In the dark of the room, Spain couldn’t entirely see the emotions that danced on the Italian’s face.
He couldn’t see how red it was, either.
“Chigiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Romano breathed, sinking into the couch with an air of defeat.
[Part 1] It's Meaningless
“CHIGIIIIIII!” Romano blurted out one day at the Italian’s dinner table.
Spain looked up from delicious plate of his pasta, a strand hanging out of his mouth and his face stained with tomato sauce. A meatball was stuck to his fork, ready to be stuffed in his mouth like a little piggy. “Huh?”
Romano sat there, staring at the Spaniard with a tense face. Seconds passed before he looked back down at his meal and shoveled food into his mouth as well. Spain sat there in confusion, still waiting for a reason to the random outburst, when the boy finally put down his fork and said, “Stop fucking staring at me, you pedophile.” Random strings of pasta came flying out at he spoke.
Christ, Spain said, putting a hand to his forehead as Italy devoured his meal in the same fashion as an animal at a barnyard.
Didn’t someone teach him some manners..?
Whoops it shoulda been meThis wasn’t the first time it had happened, though. Not the lack of civil behavior, the random frustrated interjection that came at times that Spain just couldn’t predict. For a while it only came when he was angry, but now Romano would mutter it when he was around, suddenly turning quiet afterwards or being unresponsive. At this point, Spain had quit trying to ask what it meant. But it still bothered him, and more importantly, it worried him. Was little Lovi sick?
===========
“Lovino..” Spain began, an hour after the dinner and a half hour into another one of those American movies. Spanish subtitles ran across the bottom as people and titles popped up on the screen. It had been Antonio’s choice for a movie tonight, and he had been sure to choose a romantic movie in an attempt to hit a soft note in Romano’s angry body. Sort of cheesy, but it was worth a try.
“So are you really okay?” He shuffled closer, wanting to warm up the adorable pouting nation and make him feel ten times better. If Lovino liked basking in the sun, wouldn’t he like the comfort of his body warmth?
Spain got as far as a quick hug before he found out Lovino wouldn’t.
“S-Spain, you… errgh. Right at the good part, your stupid head got in the way and I couldn’t see. Agggh.” Romano sure was making a huff about nothing, as there hadn’t been kissing or sexy times in the movie at all yet. What was his problem? In the dark of the room, Spain couldn’t entirely see the emotions that danced on the Italian’s face.
He couldn’t see how red it was, either.
“Chigiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Romano breathed, sinking into the couch with an air of defeat.
“Lovi... Stop saying that!!”