So, the war of Spanish succession was Spain's king dying and France trying to take control, which would disturb the balance of power and all of the France-haters didn't like it. It was the Two Crowns vs. the Grand Alliance (England, Portugal, Austria, Holland, and Prussia)
When the war started to go downhill France and England met in secret and started to discuss peace treaties. The treaties of Utrecht ended the war, and one of the conditions was for Spain for surrender all European colonies.
Romano looked up nervously from his spot at the table as Spain entered. "So how did it go?" He asked quietly, trying to read the Spaniard. Spain's usually lively eyes were hollow and dull, the result of a long, arduos meeting dicussing spoils and punishment for the Spaniard. When he recieved no answer, Romano feared the worse.
I'm a ghost of a man that I want to be most.
Spain shook his head and leaned against the cabinets, his liquid emerald eyes sliding shut as he rubbed the tired lines under then with his thumb and forefinger and wondered when it all started going downhill.
His reputation, his honor… All of his territories, gone. The treaties of Utrecht had not been kind to him, forcing him to surrender all of his colonies, Romano was no exception. Spain had to let him go.
I'm the shell of a man that I used to know well.
The Italian was eerily patient, sensing the weight of the grave news to come in the air around them. Spain tried to gather his thought, now was not the time to break down, no, wait until they all leave and he is alone again.
Then he can cry and show all the different ways he can break. Then he can crumble and moan because he used to be so powerful and now he's alone…
The times are changing, he can feel it as he falls from power. He can feel it in his bones and in the air he breathes. He can feel the change in his views on the world. He can feel it shifting and groaning beneath his feet, spreading and becoming one with the yawning gap between them...
Dancing slowly in an empty room,
Can the lonely take the place of you?
He was a world power, but that meant nothing now. They took it all away and expect him to find a way to pick up the pieces. How could they take it all away from him like that? How could they do that to him?
Damn England. Damn England and damn France for negotiating peace and silently surrendering while he was still fighting for a lost cause.
"Spain…?" Romano asks, uncharacteristically serious and refraining from cursing under the thick ambiance.
He glances up to meet the Italian's distant amber orbs with his own pain-filled gaze. He's practically raised this young country, he can't stand to see him go, but it seemed inevitable. He cleared his dry throat, a grimace settling on his thin lips.
I sing myself a quiet lullaby.
Let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again.
"Well…" He began, taking a shaky breath to calm himself, "Under the treaties of Utrecht, I have lost control of all of my European colonies."
There. He said it. He monitors Romano's reaction carefully through half-lidded eyes. He hates this part. Romano's eyes widen subtly in realization before narrowing bitterly.
"Oh." Is all he says.
They sit in silence, and Spain cannot bare it but what can he do? Soon it will be him all alone in an empty house once again and the only sound will be his own dejected tears. He tries to take calm, even breath but it hitches in his throat and it takes all of his willpower to stay strong.
Screw England. How could he do this to them? How could he tear them apart like this? It was true that he and Romano had never truly been on good terms but they got along well enough, and Spain was fond of the little Italian, he had raised him for nearly three centuries.
But the loneliness will stay with me
And hold me til I fall asleep.
"Your brother will be here soon to take you away." Spain told him softly.
Romano nods solemnly, standing from his chair stiffly and shuffling to his room to pack. Spain cradles his head in his hands as he leaves, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes to staunch the flow of warm tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
He gives a muffled hiccup and struggles to regain his composure, heaving deep breathes and telling himself that it will be all right, he'll find a way around this. He'll get used to returning to an empty house and harvesting tomatoes alone and cleaning alone and having no one to talk to.
He'll get used to it just like how he got used to having a companion for all these years.
Northern Italy wastes no time in reuniting with his brother and barely gives Romano any time for nostalgia or bittersweet goodbyes. He hugs him and chatters away in fast Italian and the only thing Spain can see is his friend for the last three hundred years being led away.
Romano participates in his brother's cheerful banter half-heartedly, his eyes locked on Spain's. The Spaniard bows his head in submission and does not hide the tremble in his shoulders from the unfairness of it all.
Broken pieces of a barely breathing story
The regret he feels is palpable and the remorse is mutual between them. Did all that time spent together mean nothing? Would Romano remember him at all? And if he dared hope, would Romano come to visit? Or would he forget about his boss and care taker as he settled back into a busy Italian lifestyle?
Romano glances back with distraught eyes, torn and slightly panicked and the only thing Spain can offer him is a smile through his anguish and a stream of tears that he bares with pride. And Romano disappears with his brother in the distance and Spain knows he'll see him again someday but it will never be the same.
How can he go one when he's heartbroken? How could he live in this vacant house that was not a home, not anymore now that all warmth was stolen away. And Spain is left with and lonely house and a lonelier heart but he feels he doesn't need much of anything anymore, now that it has all been taken away.
Where there once was love
Now there's only me and the lonely.