Characters/Pairings: Spain, South Italy, Belgium
Summary: A day in the life of the Tomato Trio & their friendship with one another; be it begrudgingly or mutual.
Notes: Foreign words have been italicized, I don't speak any of these languages; except I'm about grade school knowledgeable as far as Spanish, I used Google Translate, if the translations are incorrect, please feel free to tell me. Seeing as Belgium hasn't been assigned a human name, I went with Clara. The title of this piece is transcribed from a quote by Aristotle; "What is a friend? A single soul, dwelling in two bodies."
Romano sat alone at the table, it’s polished mahogany littered with tomato seeds and other various vegetable shavings from the night prior. Just another mess he knew he’d be expected to clean up, sooner or later. He knelt closer, scrutinizing the seeds, almost as if he might be able to will them into oblivion or at least somewhere out of sight that required no effort on his part. In his intense concentration, it was no surprise that when he felt a weight upon his back he should proceed to freak out. He wheeled around, to see Antonio with that same goofy grin just looking down at him, his lips slightly chapped from the August heat. “You know I hate when you do that,” Romano mumbled, ashamed he’d gotten so worked up and made a fool of himself. Who else could it have been but the loquacious Spaniard? But then, Romano shifted, staring up at Antonio who was usually a babbling brook, a forthcoming fountain of words, why was he being so quiet this morning?
Antonio stretched, kicking off the covers, his woolen curly locks more bouncy for having been slept upon caused them to look more like bed-springs. He pulled back the velvet curtains that had been blocking the sun, expecting to see someone outside the window he pursed his lips when he didn’t spy either Clara or Romano outside in the garden. He knew Romano wasn’t an early riser but then, he was usually greeted by one of them. His morning wasn’t complete without seeing those familiar faces. Not bothering to cloth himself in anything but a matador clothe that had been unceremoniously tossed over his bed-post he traipsed out of his room, out in search of his familia.
He soon found Romano sitting alone at the breakfast table, this was a golden opportunity. Sneaking, walking on tip-toe Antonio all but stopped breathing as he approached Romano, he knew if he was discovered before hand, he’d received a punch to the face, perhaps worse. The saliva in his mouth gurgled lightly as he tried his best not to swallow, for fear even as tiny a sound as that might alert his victim.
Now, less than a millimeter away, Antonio dropped his stature, leaning closer, only to rest his head against the small of Romano’s back, his own hands, holding down Romano’s shoulders, if only momentarily. However, when he felt the other begin to struggle, he dropped his grip and was soon staring eye to eye with Romano. He was prepared for the other to lose his temper and begin to babble on about something, it surprised him when Romano clearly and evenly told him off. Antonio smiled, a beaming sunbeam of a smile, maybe the Italian was beginning to feel more at home here with him? The thought warmed his soul, the once frigid, icy Italian was warming up to him. Today was a day he’d want to remember. Thus, Antonio began to concoct an idea.
Clara lightly ruffled Romano’s hair as she watched him sleep, it would be a shame to wake him, it was already so late. Why did Antonio insist on waking him up minutes to midnight? Hadn’t he ever heard the saying let sleeping dogs lay? As she thought on that, she just nodded, of course, that’s why she’d been sent. After all, Antonio looked rather silly when he was wearing concealer do the beatings he sometimes received for the most miniscule of things by Romano’s hand. “He He, wakker worden,” Clara began, only to stop remembering only her brother communicated with her in their language. “Destarsi !” she announced loudly, causing Romano to sit straight up, his fist already poised to deliver a blow until his bleary eyes analyzed the situation, stopping his fist from flying when he noticed it had been Clara who’d awoken him from his slumber. “This had better be important,” Romano stated, his tone was so icy, Clara would have thought she’d been transported to the Siberian tundra’s.
Both Clara and Romano stood in the garden, having been instructed to meet Antonio fifteen minutes before the new day; midnight. Both were wondering where he was and why he was being so mysterious, odd.
They were about to turn around and head back to bed until the moon peaked out from behind the clouds. A blanket had been laid out on the grass, adorned with an assortment of fruits and of course, a heaping helping of tomatoes. Antonio sat underneath a tree, having fallen asleep, he gripped his guitar like one might hug a pillow. Sighing, both Clara and Romano just shook their heads. Clara began to pack away the food back into the picnic basket and as soon as that was done, Romano took the blanket at draped it over Antonio. “ Duerme tranquilo,” both Clara and Romano uttered at the same time, as either one came to lay on either side of the sleeping Spaniard. All three, swept up in dreams, their experiences as waning as the moon, yet as sure as the stars. Tomorrow would be a new day, another day together, so long as they were together, each tomorrow would be bliss.