A Rainy Day (Hetalia [Spamano])

Chapter 2: Every Bit Of Concern Counts

"Yes, he's fine," Spain spoke into the phone. "It doesn't look too serious right now. It's probably a mild case. I've got him all tucked in upstairs."

"It's honestly all right for him to stay at your place?" the voice of North Italy came through the other end. "I don't want fratello to be a nuisance to you."

"It's fine, really! I just hope you don't mind taking over for him at the meeting. As for me . . ."

"Who will cover for you?"

Spain hesitated. "I'll probably ask my brother. I'm sure if I explain my reasons, he'll do it."

Italy sighed. "I still can't believe Romano went off and did that. He's so irresponsible."

"Work is important, Feli, but one's health is much more. Sometimes a break is good."

"Good? He got drunk and caught a cold."

"That's true, but now it gives him a reason to take a break. He's never been comfortable with lumping on the work on you. He'll probably find a way to sneak out of bed and into the office again. Hopefully his fever will prevent from doing that."

"I suppose you're right, Big Brother Spain. Make sure he takes his medicine and drinks lots of water."

"Absolutely."

"You take care of yourself as well. I know you stayed up all night watching my brother. Get some sleep soon." 

"Yes, sir," Spain said amusedly into the phone. 

"The meeting's starting in an hour. I'd better get ready now or Germany will be angry. Ciao!"

"Hasta luego," Spain said, and the line went dead. The Spaniard put the phone back in its charger.

Antonio stood there for a while, contemplating on whether or not this was a smart thing to do, allowing Romano to stay over as opposed to his own home. Romano was surely a lot better off there, where he could get the proper care he needed. 

Although, maybe a part of him wanted to watch over the Italian. Possibly, he felt the need to take care of Romano himself, because he was obligated to. Or maybe . . . He was overthinking things. Romano was staying here because he needed immediate attention.  That was all there was to it.

"Now," said the Spaniard, rubbing his hands together, "time to check on my patient."

And off he went. Spain climbed the stairs and stepped lightly into the main bedroom, closing the door as gently as he can behind him. He did have a spare guestroom (courtesy of Romano, who knew that Spain would eventually have guests over, mainly a certain two others from their infamous trio), but he figured Romano was more comfortable in his bed.

The Italian lay shivering underneath the thick covers, his forehead drenched in sweat. Romano was drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and lividity, wandering aimlessly through his fever, muttering incoherently and tossing his head from side-to-side.

He'd been like this ever since his passing-out in the bathroom. That was yesterday. Now, the clock was approaching sunrise and even with eight hours of sleep behind him, Romano looked nowhere close to getting better. The worst was probably still yet to come. A nation's colds lasted longer than a normal human's, and that was especially the case with a recession or a debt crisis. Spain hoped that wasn't the case for Romano's fever this time.

He'd been surprisingly easy to lift and carry elsewhere, a fact that worried Antonio. Romano was a lot lighter than he seemed, although his lack of weight may have been contributed by his recent lack of sleep and even less time for meals and breaks.