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Who Said Hard Work Hardly Works?

Summary:

Prussia is convinced that Romano really is too poor to afford shoes. He decides to remedy this.

Notes:

Written on January 14, 2012. Reposted from FF.net.

This story was inspired by the strip in the Christmas event 2011 in which Prussia wonders if Romano's salary is so low that he can't even afford shoes. Some lines at the beginning are direct quotes from it. This can be either a friendship fic or a romance fic; it's up to the reader.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

"I've been thinking about something for a while," Prussia began, watching as the other nation didn't even pause in his work to show that he was listening. "You're being a surprisingly hard worker, aren't you?"

Finally, the southern half of Italy deigned to glance at him, just barely, and in the form of a glare, while he kept on carrying the heavy-looking crate in his slim yet surprisingly strong arms.

"What are you talking about?" he said, in his usual grumpy voice. "I've always been a hard worker, you bastard."

Prussia could have begged to differ. He had never seen Romano work before. In fact, he had occasionally heard his brother North Italy complain that Romano was the laziest nation ever and never did any work. However, Prussia didn't want to argue this point, at least not before he finished his first train of thought.

"You've been working restlessly all over the place barefoot. You must need money," he pointed out.

Romano hesitated and gave him a surprised look. Maybe he had expected Prussia to laugh at him and was surprised that it didn't happen? Why, Prussia wouldn't sink so low as to laugh at the poor! Well, all right, he would probably have laughed if it were, say, Austria, but the idea that cute little Italy's brother dearest was having such serious financial problems somehow didn't strike him as funny at all.

He frowned in disapproval and went on, "Is your salary so low that you can't even buy shoes?"

To his astonishment, Romano smiled. The smile was a little lopsided, but it wasn't quite one of his usual smirks. It looked almost... tender. Or maybe that was just Prussia's imagination, because after he blinked, the smile looked pretty smug and a lot more Romano-like.

"That's not the reason," said Romano. "It's just that I use my money for more important things than shoes, dammit." He shrugged, a little stiffly, since he was still carrying the crate, and added, "Besides, I kind of like going barefoot." With that, he resumed his work and continued to ignore Prussia's presence.

Meanwhile, Prussia just stared at him in expressionless disbelief. He wasn't stupid. He could see what Romano had just implied there. He couldn't possibly like to go barefoot; that was the worst excuse he had ever heard. Didn't he know that it was dangerous? What if he stepped on a sharp stone or glass shard and hurt his foot badly? What if he stepped on a venomous snake and it bit him?

What could be more important than shoes, really? Only food. That had to be it. He was so poor that he had to work this hard just to buy food, and he couldn't even spare a few euros for a pair of work shoes. So much for being the capital of fashion. Oh, the irony! The boot-shaped country had no boots. (Prussia actually chuckled at his own joke, earning an odd, suspicious look from Romano.) This must be really hard for him. Prussia knew, from experience with the younger Italy brother, that Italians liked to be well-dressed and took great pride in their nice Italian shoes. Poor Romano; he had to be feeling so humiliated that he had to lie and tell people he actually liked to go barefoot.

This could not go on. He had to do something about it.

xxx

Granted, Prussia's own income wasn't that impressive. Germany had recently cut his allowance again, so he couldn't even buy that new Nintendo 3DS he had had his eyes on for a while. But he could buy at least a pair of shoes, for God's sake. A really nice pair, too. Prussia almost wanted to keep them for himself, because he really liked them. But no, this was for a much better cause.

He knew how many poor people felt about charity, though. If they had a lot of pride, they would feel even more humiliated and refuse to accept the gift. And Romano was definitely very proud. He would never live it down if he accepted anything from a lowly "potato bastard" like Prussia. He would have to find a less direct way to give him the shoes.

So he left them on the Italies' doorstep. He knew there was no risk that North Italy would show up first and find the shoes, because he was spending this day abroad to attend a meeting. Romano would definitely find his awesome gift as soon as he came home and he wouldn't have to face his benefactor, thus keeping his pride pretty much intact and his feet well secure. Even if Prussia never got a word of thanks, just seeing Romano happily wearing the nice shoes he bought for him would be worth it.

He hid in some bushes in the Italies' yard, waiting for the cute, grumpy Italy to come home.

After what felt like an eternity, Prussia was startled awake - when had he fallen asleep, anyway? - by the sound of an engine and watched as Romano parked his old car and carried a crate of tomatoes towards his house. Since he was preoccupied with the crate, he didn't see the shoes immediately and fumbled with the keys. He shoved the door open and tried to get in, but he tripped over the shoes and almost fell along with the crate. Prussia flinched as he heard a string of Italian swearwords.

"What the fuck?" Romano said when he found the shoes, now turned over pathetically on the floor. "Some jackass just left his fucking shoes here?" He angrily kicked the shoes out of the house. "If these are that potato bastard's shoes, I swear to God, Veneziano will wish he—" What Veneziano would wish, Prussia never found out, because right that moment the door was violently slammed shut, although he could still hear muffled yelling from the house.

Prussia came out of his hiding place and hurried to check his precious gift. He frowned and did his best to brush the dirt off the poor, abused shoes. "There, there. You still look good. You're still awesome," he muttered to them. Gilbird hopped off the top of his head and landed on the floor, chirping at him, probably chastising him for talking to shoes of all things. However, Prussia nodded at him and said, "You're right, Gilbird. Maybe that was too subtle."

xxx

He should have thought that even though Romano was currently the only one home, he still lived with his brother and occasionally had other nations over for a visit. Leaving the shoes on his doorstep... What had he been thinking? Not to mention he hadn't anticipated that Romano would almost fall flat on his face and almost drop his beloved tomatoes. It would have been a better idea to leave his gift somewhere more personal, where Romano would know for sure that it was meant to for him.

Like in his bedroom.

On his bed.

All right, so he didn't have a bedroom or even a bed just his and had to share with his brother, so just to make sure there would be no mistake this time, Prussia would also leave a tomato next to the shoes. On Romano's side of the bed, of course, and it was easy to tell which side it was, because one side of the bed was messy and the other side was messier.

Perfect.

He jumped out of the window of the Italies' bedroom and climbed a tree near their house, armed with a pair of binoculars, to wait for Romano.

Again, it took a while, but when night fell, Romano finally came home and soon enough came into his bedroom.

Prussia watched as Romano's eyes locked on the shoes and he froze. He waited for Romano's reaction, for the look of wonder to color his cute Italian face, for a smile to play on his lips, maybe even tears of joy to grace his eyes.

"VENEZIANO!" The yelling was so loud that it felt like there was no distance at all between Romano and Prussia. "Don't leave your boyfriend's stinky, ugly shoes on my side of the bed, you disgusting bastard! And how dare you steal one of my tomatoes! I looked for it for hours, dammit!"

The younger Italy started whining and the two brothers began to fight, but Prussia wasn't paying attention. He still felt as though Romano had headbutted him in the stomach. He thought his awesome, expensive shoes were stinky and ugly? But Prussia had personally picked the best pair, after hours of window-shopping and examination, and he had spent a lot of his allowance on it...

At this point, Prussia considered giving up. Either Romano didn't like his gift, or he was too proud to accept it even indirectly. Prussia shouldn't insist. If Romano didn't want the present, then he didn't want it and that was it.

But Prussia wasn't one to admit defeat so easily. He had his pride, too. Now it was no longer a matter of helping a fellow nation in need; it was a matter of honor. He would make Romano accept and appreciate his present, or he would die trying!

xxx

Unfortunately, this time Romano hadn't thrown out the shoes. Prussia doubted he had kept them after his initial reaction, so he had either thrown them out in the garbage or given them to his brother. Prussia actually went through the trouble of checking the Italies' garbage - those shoes were brand new and way too good to be wasted like that! - but he didn't find them there.

Thus, he waited until Romano left for his farm work and his brother was left alone at home. He rang the doorbell.

"Oh, hello, Prussia!" Italy greeted him, with a smile at first, but then he wrinkled his nose a little. Prussia hadn't bothered to shower after searching the Italies' trash, so that was probably it. Thankfully, Italy refrained from commenting on it. "Um, is there something you need?"

"I'm here to get back those shoes."

"Shoes?" Italy looked confused for a moment, but then he seemed to figure it out. "Oh, those shoes! So, they were yours? I knew they couldn't be Germany's, because I would never let him wear those atrocious things in my house!" he said, grinning.

Another punch-to-the-stomach feeling. Even cute little Italy thought his shoes sucked...

"Yeah, well, I need them back, please."

"I don't have them," said Italy. "After I convinced Romano I'd never seen those shoes before, he took them with him and left me alone."

Prussia felt himself pale. God, what had Romano done to his shoes? He had probably destroyed them in some torturous way, burned them to ashes so that they would stop haunting his house.

"Veh, is everything all right, Prussia?" Italy gave him a worried look. "Look, I'm sorry if you really needed those shoes... I-I can make it up to you, though! I'll buy you a new pair! An even nicer pair! Come on, don't be sad!"

"Can you really afford that?" Prussia couldn't help but ask. "I mean, aren't you guys poor?"

"Poor?" Italy was taken aback, but then his usual smile was back and he shook his head, giggling a little. "Oh, not me. I mean, I'm not swimming in money, but come on, I can buy you a pair of shoes!" He seemed to roll his eyes, though it was difficult to tell, with his ever squinting eyes. He giggled again. "Silly Prussia! You don't have to worry, really!"

Only now did Prussia bother to look, really look, at Italy. He didn't look poor. He was dressed casually yet nicely, and his shoes were new and stylish.

"But isn't Romano working hard and saving money for something more important than shoes?" Prussia asked, feeling very confused. Italy mirrored his expression.

"Well, yeah, he has been working hard for once, and I do think he's been saving money, but he hasn't told me what for. He even tried to borrow money from me. I said I would only loan him money if he told me what he wanted it for. I just wanted to be sure that it was for an important reason, you know. He never told me, though. I think he was embarrassed." Italy shook his head again, except this time his expression was devoid of a smile. "Then again, Romano has always been poorer than me. He always tries to borrow money from me, but at least he usually says why."

Prussia couldn't help but feel sorry for Romano and think that North Italy was being oddly selfish. Here he was, dressed impeccably as usual, while his brother was practically starving and too ashamed to admit to his own brother that he was in desperate need of money.

"Hey, you bastard!" a familiar voice shouted, and Prussia turned around to see Romano coming in his direction, his glare seeming a little hotter than usual. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Prussia countered. "Don't you have to work?"

"It's Sunday, you moron. I just left to buy some stuff."

Prussia looked down and noticed that Romano was actually wearing shoes. A nice pair, too. Had he finally got enough to buy some shoes? Did that mean... Prussia was too late and had now lost the game?

When he looked up again, Romano had come closer and was narrowing his eyes at him.

"Stay here," he ordered, pointing a slender finger at Prussia, and then walked right past him and into the house. A couple of minutes later, he was back, holding in his hand a familiar pair of shoes. "Are these yours?"

"Uh..." Prussia wasn't sure what to say. Romano looked ready to kill someone.

"Explain!" he demanded. "Why did you leave these... fucking abominations in my house?"

"They're not abominations!" Prussia snapped. "They're the awesomest shoes ever, and they're for you, you ungrateful Dummkopf!"

"Why would I want those ugly shoes, minchione? I have dozens of better pairs!"

"Veh, please don't fight!"

"But you said you use your money for more important things than shoes!"

"You think I'd wear my nice shoes for farm work, dumbass? And I told you, I kind of like going barefoot!"

"Then what's so important that you've been working so hard?"

Instead of yelling more, Romano got very, very quiet all of a sudden, and his face became so red that Prussia was almost afraid he was going to literally blow up. Then, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and Prussia's blood ran cold. Oh, God, Romano was going to pull a gun on him, wasn't he? Should he run? Should he try to wrestle the gun out of Romano's hand?

However, instead of a gun, Romano produced a small, slightly flat object, about the size of a booklet. It took Prussia a minute to recognize it, but when he did, his jaw dropped. There was no mistake. It was a Nintendo 3DS.

"Th-this is what I wanted to buy, okay?" stuttered the still very red-faced Romano, the 3DS shaking along with his hand. "You always go on and on about this damn thing and I decided to give it a try. But I fucking hated it. The games are boring and the noises they make piss me off. It's really annoying. Here, you can have this piece of junk," he said, violently shoving the 3DS into Prussia's chest. Prussia instinctively caught it.

Prussia held the 3DS in his hands as if it were the most precious, wonderful thing in the world. To him, it actually kind of was. He could hardly believe it. A 3DS. Romano had given him a 3DS.

"I-I'll keep these ugly shoes," Romano went on, looking extremely high-strung, almost panicked. "I'll wear them for work and get them all dirty. It's exactly what they deserve! And go take a bath, dammit, you fucking stink!" With that, he ran back into his house to hide.

North Italy sighed forlornly. "Why can't Germany ever give me nice presents like that?"

That was when Prussia's brain finally caught up and he realized what had happened. There was no way in hell Romano had bought a 3DS for himself. All along, he had been saving money to buy it for Prussia, because he knew Prussia really wanted it and couldn't buy it himself. He felt himself blush and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. No one had ever been that nice to him...

"Yeah..." he managed to say, despite the choked feeling in his throat. "Too bad he didn't like my present, though."

Italy grinned again. "Oh, Prussia... If only you knew Romano as well as I do, you would know how happy he is with your present. Hey, want to come in and tease him about it?"

Prussia clutched the 3DS and smirked. "Hell, yeah. I wonder if I can get him to play this with me?"

The End

Notes:

For the record, I think it's obvious from context, but the foreign words that Prussia and Romano used are, respectively, German and Southern Italian insults.