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The bright yellow sun has finally begun its descent beyond the horizon, its warmth still lingering in the air. Bathed in soft yellow light, Spain sat outside, eyes closed, reveling in the peaceful quiet. He smiled, enjoying the warmth of the remaining sunlight on his face.
‘This is nice.’
He was so relaxed that he just about had a heart attack when something incredibly cold suddenly pressed against his face. Jolting in his seat, his eyes snapped open and he quickly turned around to find Romano standing beside him holding two small glasses of limoncello, one close to his chest and the other in his still-outstretched hand. Though he had just been pouting, Spain couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “You’re so mean to me,” he said, trying to sound hurt, though his barely contained grin was giving him away.
Romano rolled his eyes, his expression matching Spain’s, his tone a bit playful. “Shut up.”
When Romano sat next to him, a comfortable silence washed over them, no awkwardness and no discomfort, just the two of them enjoying being in each other’s presence. Spain kept stealing glances at Romano, which eventually turned into full-on staring, and Romano didn’t seem to notice at all. Spain grabbed his hand, and their fingers intertwined.
“You’re so pretty.”
Romano’s eyes went wide, before he turned his head away, his face no longer visible, much to Spain’s disappointment. “I’m not,” he muttered, so quietly that it could barely be heard.
Taking another sip of his drink, Spain frowned.
‘So, it’s going to be like that, isn’t it?’
He was being like that again and Spain hated it. At that moment, Spain believed that Romano truly was blind. Luckily, they both were nearly done with their drinks (Romano didn’t like wasting things and Spain earned himself a lecture the last time he tried guzzling limoncello), because Spain wanted nothing more than to have Romano come closer.
“You liar. You’re so gorgeous.”
“Spain.”
“What?”
“Stop trying to flatter me.”
“I’m telling the truth, though.” Putting his now empty glass on the table, he managed to pull Romano onto his lap (with no resistance, he noted gleefully), and his heart swelled in joy at finally being able to see Romano’s face up close; he was softly glowing in the waning rays of the sun, the sight of his hazel eyes in the gentle light nearly leaving Spain speechless. “You’re really, really beautiful. More than anything or anyone else in the world.”
Romano buried his face in Spain’s neck, clinging to him like his life depended on it. “I don’t get you,” he whispered, relaxing in Spain’s arms.
Chuckling, Spain shook his head. Maybe it was fine for now that Romano didn’t get him, he’d let it slide just this once (or so he says), but Spain would make him understand, over and over, forever and ever, that he was prettier and more beautiful than anything, that even the most beautiful of sunsets pale in comparison to him.