HH said, “Gentle hugs in the hallway after a long day.”
(Ugh, I have to go to the dentist soon. I would like a hug, please).
Spain, Romano. And the aforementioned hug.
In the morning, when Spain tries to worm his way into a bathroom that is barely big enough for one, two ugly ass ties in his hands, Romano snaps about being too fucking busy to prevent another fashion failure and rushes out the door. At noon, when his inbox lights up with another of Spain’s badly typed but stupidly endearing overtures that will go opened but unanswered because some other idiot needs his attention right-fucking-now, Romano loudly laments to anyone who will listen that there aren’t enough hours in the goddamned day. At 3pm, when he’s hiding in an empty conference room and taking three fucking minutes to drink a stolen espresso, Romano wishes he’d taken the time to kiss Spain at the crack of dawn, even with horrible breath and even more horrible hair.
In the evening, when Spain calls him, breathless and running impossibly late, Romano grumbles about his shitty day and hangs-up with the echo of Spain’s I-love-you ringing in his ears. At dinnertime, when they eat lukewarm leftovers from another night when they actually had time to cook, Romano rants about this meaningless meeting and that interfering bastard while Spain smiles wearily at him from the bottom of his wine glass and says nothing at all.
And at night, when Romano stands in the hallway at the threshold of the bedroom door, worn-out as fuck and dreading days of more of the same, Spain finds him like he always does, no matter where, no matter when. In the quiet of night, when Spain’s arms hold him gently and grant him respite, Romano whispers, “I fucking love you, too.”