Chapter Text
Antonio sat on the edge of his bathtub, staring at the small test in his hands. The little plus sign stared back at him like a fucking creep, holy shit. Ahem.. an acknowledging hum came first followed by a soft, disbelieving smile. He pressed a hand to his stomach, still flat, still the same as yesterday obviously but this time it was a bit warmer.. perhaps the beginning of a bit of love blooming like a flower in the early spring.
“Un bebé…” he whispered, voice thick with mixed emotions. “I’m going to be a mother." It all seemed so unreal, odd, and surprising that he hadn't even let the full idea set in, or atleast the idea of labor.
Happiness flooded him like sunlight after rain. He could already picture it: a little one with messy curls and maybe Romano’s green-hazel eyes (depending on the illustration), getting excited over all the tomatoes in the fields, laughing in that bright way children do. He wanted this. He wanted it so much it made his eyes sting.
But the smile faded as quickly as it came.
Romano.
Lovino had been extra grumpy lately—snapping at him over nothing, complaining about his “stupid cheerful face,” rolling his eyes every time Antonio tried to steal a hug or cook for him. The usual tsundere-dickhead routine, sure… but what if this pushed him too far? What if he looked at Antonio with genuine annoyance instead of that hidden fondness? What if he didn’t want this? What if he wanted Antonio to get rid of it?
Antonio’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not when he wasn’t sure.
~~~~~~~~
The next afternoon he found himself at Francis’s place, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while the Frenchman poured them both wine that probably tasted like french titty milk.
“You look like you’re about to burst, mon cher,” Francis said with a knowing little smile, sliding the cup over. “Spill it. Is it about Lovino again?”
Antonio bit his lip, then let it all tumble out: the test, the happiness, the fear. He spoke fast, hands waving, accent thicker with nerves. “I don’t know what to do, Francis. He’s always so annoyed with me lately. What if he thinks I tricked him? What if he yells and tells me to leave? I… I really want this baby, but I want him too.”
Francis listened without interrupting, then reached across the table to squeeze Antonio’s ass- ahem hand. "Ah, Spain. l'Espagne. Lovino adores you in his own dramatic way. The boy is terrible at feelings, he growls and insults because that’s easier than admitting he’s terrified of being vulnerable~"
“But the baby-”
“Will probably make him freak out,” Francis finished with a sorta nonperverted look. “But in a good way, I think. He’ll complain the entire pregnancy, call the child ‘that damn tomato sprout,’ and secretly be very pleased with what he's done."
Despite Francis usually being a pain in his ass he felt oddly better, yes the Frenchman was a pervert, but he could be genuine and helpful when its really that important. His earlier fears seemed to just melt away and he wasn't so paranoid, telling Romano seemed like it would be a simple conversation. He hopes. Revealing that you're carrying someone's child isnt all that easy.
~~~~~~~~
That evening, back home, Romano was sprawled on the couch grumbling at the television. Antonio hovered in the doorway, heart hammering, one hand unconsciously resting on his stomach.
“Oi, tomato bastard, you gonna stand there all night or what?” Lovino called without looking up, though his ears were faintly pink. “Come here already.”
Antonio’s smile returned, soft and hopeful. He still wasn’t sure how to say it… but maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.
Antonio’s heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest. He crossed the living room on shaky legs and sat down on the couch beside Romano, closer than usual. Lovino didn’t look away from the TV, but his posture shifted just a fraction—acknowledging him in that silent, grumpy way of his.
“...You’re being weird,” Romano muttered after a minute, finally glancing over. “What’s with the face? Did you burn the pasta again or something?”
Antonio laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, no… the pasta’s fine. I, um… I actually need to talk to you about something important.”
Lovino paused the show and turned toward him fully, eyebrows already furrowed in suspicion. “Important? Did France put you up to some stupid prank? I swear if that bastard—”
“It’s not Francis,” Antonio said quickly, cutting him off. His hands twisted together in his lap. He could feel his cheeks heating up. “Lovi… I… I don’t know how to say this right, so I’m just going to say it.”
He took a deep breath, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before lifting again to meet Romano’s sharp gaze.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Romano stared at him, expression frozen. One second. Two. Three.
Oh god did it come out wrong? Was he disappointed? Was this the last time romano would ever want to see him? All things Spain could feel coming up from his gut.
“…What the fuck did you just say?”
Antonio swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant. I took a test a couple days ago. It’s positive. There’s… there’s a baby. Our baby.”
Lovino’s face went through several rapid changes confusion, disbelief, then a flash of something almost like panic. He shot up from the couch, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re shitting me. This is some kind of joke, right? Tomato bastard, if you’re messing with me I’m going to-” He stopped mid-sentence when he actually looked at Antonio. Really looked. The way Spain was sitting there, hopeful and terrified all at once, one hand unconsciously resting low on his stomach.
Romano’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Fuck… you’re serious.”
Antonio nodded, voice small. “I know you’ve been really annoyed with me lately. I was scared to tell you. I thought maybe you’d yell or… or not want it. But I’m really happy, Lovi. I want this so much. I keep imagining a little one running around the garden, with your temper and my smile…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “If you don’t want this, I understand. I just… I had to tell you.”
The quiet stretched again. Romano turned away, shoulders tense, muttering a string of Italian curses under his breath. But after a moment he finally turned back, his cheeks were a deep red, which wasn't clear if he was angry or embarassed.
"You idiot,” he growled, but there was no real bite in it. He stepped closer and, after a hesitant second, dropped down onto the couch again—right next to Antonio this time. “Of course I’m annoyed with you. You’re always smiling like a moron, always hugging me in public, always making everything too damn bright. And now you’re telling me you’re growing a whole-ass baby in there?”
Antonio’s eyes started to water. “Lovi…”
“Shut up,” Romano muttered, pulling him into a rough, one-armed hug. His hand hovered awkwardly before settling on Antonio’s stomach, almost reverently. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it, stupid. I’m just… processing. This is insane. We’re nations. This shouldn’t even—” He cut himself off with a frustrated huff. “Whatever. It’s happening. And you’re going to be a pain in the ass the whole time, aren’t you? Getting all emotional and craving weird shit."
Antonio let out a wet laugh and buried his face in Romano’s shoulder, clinging to him. “Probably. But I’ll be happy. We’ll be happy, right?”
Romano’s grip tightened. His voice dropped, softer than Antonio had ever heard it. “Yeah… we will. Damn it. A kid. Our kid.” He pressed a quick, embarrassed kiss to the top of Antonio’s curls. “Don’t cry, bastard. You’ll make me cry and then I’ll have to kill you.”
They stayed like that for a long time—Romano grumbling half-hearted complaints about diapers and midnight feedings while his hand stayed protectively over Antonio’s stomach, and Spain smiling like he’d never before. Despite not telling many he'd always wanted to be a mother~