#spausweek

It came with a small box that Austria felt remarkably uninterested in. With an air of frustrated boredom, he opened the present to see a ring.

It shimmered in the light from the open window. Anyone else would perhaps have been impressed and spent time admiring the size of the stone or the purity of the gold. It was, after all, certainly expensive.

Austria felt no such inclination.

This was the second letter in a row that Spain had sent insisting that he would have to put off his trip to Vienna because he was busy in the colonies. There seemed to be an unending series of colonial duties that needed his attention or English pirates that he had to chase off.

What had been their regular time together was shrinking into occasional visits, each shorter than the last. Most of the time, Austria tried hard not to think about how profoundly lonely it felt to be an obligation rather than a labor of love.

Spain made that task impossible when he insisted on sending trinkets and gifts like this. It made the distance feel greater and the empty side of the bed colder.

He sighed and closed the box, so he did not have to look at the reminder of all the things Spain was prioritizing.

He remembered their most recent argument so clearly. Spain had raised his voice and said, “You resent that I have an empire because it makes me your equal.”

Austria shut his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply at the memory. He had no illusions about why he had chosen to marry Spain, nor had he ever lied to his husband about it. Faced with the prospect of fighting France, he had needed someone on his side who could fight. He'd chosen a young power on the rise and Spain's attractiveness hadn't even crossed his mind before the wedding night.

But that was not how their marriage stayed. If it had, he wouldn’t have a place in his chest that ached at Spain’s absence. He wouldn’t long to feel those calloused hands caressing his face every morning.

Maybe, he thought, He is right. I do resent his empire.

It was not, however, for the reasons that Spain seemed to think. It had nothing to do with the money or the power, and little bits of wealth would not mollify him.

No, he mused to himself, writing a letter in response that he knew he would never put to paper, No, what you don’t understand, Antonio, is that none of those gems shine brighter than your eyes. You could send me every single thing you mined out of the soil of the New World, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I miss you.

He opened his eyes and glanced around at the waiting courier who had brought him the letter. He beckoned to the man and said, “I need you to take this.”

So when he was still sitting in the exact same spot after he meeting ended so made a beeline for him before she even knew what she was doing. When she made it over to where her old love was sitting he didn’t seem to notice her presence, it was only when she stood in front of him and the sun cast her shadow over him that he opened his eyes.

He smiled at her, but she had already seen the hurt in his gaze and she sat down beside him. “What is wrong now?” The woman asked and he only told her he did not want to burden her with the things he had done.

“We’ve all done things to regret.” As answer he only hang his head. For a while the Anneliese didn’t know what to do or how to help him, so she simply placed her hand over his.

The Spanish man looked up at this action. “You don’t know half of the details.” Was spoken softly.

“Tell me all the worst things you have ever done.” She encouraged him.

“You’ll hate me if I do.”

“No, I have loved you too much to ever hate you Antonio.”

He began telling the stories he had needed to share with someone.

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