Author's Note:

Hello, everyone. I am back with another new Spamano story!

My other Hetalia fanfiction, 'Hasta la Vista, Baby', will be on hiatus until this fanfic is completed.

This story will be about 3 chapters, or possibly more. I'm actually almost finished with it, so I can move on with the other fic soon.

I decided to just post bits of it for now, to see if you guys enjoy it.

Remember that constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms! ;w;

So please, sit back, and enjoy.

~Kawaii Dream

Bye, Bye, Blackbird.*

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.

~Lewis B. Smedes

I don't really recall when it had started. But there was that one, particular thing I do remember, back before (or way after, I don't fucking know) it started.

It was at a world conference meeting. Yes, I know, fucking cliché. But there are more important matters at the moment.

As usual, I sat next to my stupid little brother and the idiotic, happy-go-lucky tomato bastard. All was normal. The insistent chattering from every corner of the room, the loud arguments, the rousing laughter… No one was paying attention to the angry potato bastard up in front. Hell, even I didn't pay any mind to him. Honestly, I wonder why our bosses even make us go to these useless conferences. It's not like we ever got anything done.

Feliciano was speaking to his Japanese friend, Kiku. Since he wasn't that much of a bastard, I let it slide. Besides, he was a polite man. Might as well give him my respect and address him by his real name—even if it is just inside my mind.

My eyes slowly wandered around the room.

Alfred—the stupid hamburger bastard—was shoveling down hamburgers down his throat while slurping his soda rather loudly. Slurrrrp. Slurrrrp. Fucking annoying, I say! I don't get how the eyebrow bastard can even handle him. As Arthur tried to tell Alfred to stop eating because he was gaining weight, I saw the wine bastard sneak up behind the eyebrow bastard with a look of a predator on his face. I'm sure you all know what he was trying to do.

That's when I suddenly lost interest in that scene, and turned my head towards a new direction.

On the other side of the room, the cat bastard—Heracles— was taking a siesta, like he always does. He and I could be great friends if he kept that up. Siestas are my talent. And when we take siestas, we're all quiet (besides from the loud snoring some countries do) and much less annoying. I should really follow his example one day.

I gave a heavy sigh, looking to the other side of me. That's where Spain—no, Antonio—was sitting. He was staring off into space, his face scrunched up, as if he was trying to remember something. I was quite surprised (and yet secretly pleased) that he was still sitting right beside me. Usually, he would be hanging out with the wine bastard on the other side of the room, sneaking back a glance at me from time to time. Bastard thought I didn't notice...what an idiot. Of course I would notice—I always noticed him.

My cheeks warmed at my last thought before I realized he was poking my cheek with his finger, smiling that stupid smile that I loved—hated so much.

"Lovi?" He asked, emerald eyes gazing intently at me. For once, he sounded so...serious. The intensity of his gaze had caused me to stare back, a dumb expression on my face.

"What?" Was all that I managed to say aloud, my voice cracking—just a little, dammit. Díos, I probably looked so stupid right now. And Lovino Romano Vargas never looks stupid! Just sexy, hot, and Italian.

"..." Antonio was silent for a while, his smile slowly dispersing, his lips beginning to form a straight, thin line. My heartbeat began to accelerate and constrict in my chest. It scared me, it honestly did.

If this...this stupid idiot wasn't smiling, then...I really wouldn't know what to do anymore.

"Bastard?" I asked, masking my worry with a scowl on my face. "What is it? Spit it out already, dammit."

It took him about a minute of him staring at me like he didn't know who I was—no, that couldn't possibly be. Maybe he was just too deep in thought to answer. That was what I had told myself, and the other thought was quickly dismissed.

Finally, he seemed to have snapped back to reality as he opened his mouth, but it suddenly snapped shut again. I saw confusion in his eyes. Was that even sorrow and despair, too? Again, he opened his mouth and closed it—before I knew it, he was gaping like a fish, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to find the words to say.

My heart was still beating rapidly, now. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, he was still acting like a happy idiot, but he usually wasn't this stupid.

"Hey...bastard, are you...okay?" I asked slowly, and this time, I didn't ask in a demanding voice. Instead, I had spoken softly to him, something I rarely did with other people.

I don't know what had caused me to expect that the worst was going to happen—maybe it was because I was a downright pessimist. Who the fuck knows? But nothing out of the ordinary had happened as he blinked twice and smiled again, rainbows and sunshine and all. That stupid bastard got me all worried for nothing, dammit.

"Of course I'm okay, Lovi! Aww, were you worried about me?" He cooed outwardly, gushing about the blush that was now adorning my cheeks. "You look just like a tomato!"

My reaction was easy to predict. My cheeks got warmer, my string of curses...his oh-so hilarious teasing. "Fuck you, bastard."

Antonio only smiled brightly at that, before the potato bastard slammed his fists on the table again, signaling that it was officially time to get the fuck out of there—do productive things. As he began yelling, I tapped on the tomato bastard's shoulder, motioning towards the door. I saw him nod in understanding as I slowly slipped out of my seat as the Potato was distracted by Feliciano's daily cry of 'Pastaaaa!'.

Antonio had followed after me, silent and unnoticed, we both escaped the conference room in no time. The both of us always slipped out during the meetings, and no one would notice. What we usually do once we're free is walk around outside—it really depends on what country we were currently in for the meeting, though. For example, if we were in Germany, I'd buy a ticket to South Italy (or Spain, occasionally, dammit) as soon as we could, and we'd both be in a better place. However, if we had a meeting in Spain, like we were right now, we'd stroll around the streets, exploring the heart of Madrid.

Antonio had shown me almost every city he had, and it wasn't like I was impressed, or anything. Don't get the wrong idea, bastards...tch. Spain was just...so-so. South Italy was ten-fucking-times better. Hands down.

"So, where are you taking me next, bastard? Not that I care or anything, but I need to be mentally prepared for your coo—I mean, stupid—cities and shit." I grumbled, kicking a small rock across the pavement as I walked side by side with Antonio.

He grinned at me, his emerald eyes shining with their usual happy luster. "Next, we're going to visit Barcelona!"

That was when I abruptly stopped walking altogether, staring at him with a shocked expression. Antonio didn't seem to notice that I stopped for a while, before he suddenly realized I wasn't next to him anymore and quickly looked back. Again, that look of confusion was gracing his features...

"...Antonio. Are you really okay?" I asked, eyeing him with suspicion, but I was mostly worried. Didn't he fucking remember?

"Eh?" He blinked, looking perplexed. "I am okay, Lovi. I said so before...didn't I?" He questioned me, then looked down to the ground, as if he was really trying to remember whether he said that phrase before. I could see him fumbling with the sleeves of his shirt, as if he was nervous.

Wait a fucking minute. Since when did Antonio of all people get nervous?

...Alright. Something was definitely fucking wrong here.

I shot him a scowl as I crossed both of my arms across my chest, tapping my foot impatiently. "Well?" I asked, and I could sense that he heard the flamboyant anger in my voice because he had visibly flinched at that single word that came out of my already foul mouth. I knew that he didn't want to answer my question, but I continued to interrogate him anyway, intent on finding out what he was hiding from me. "Anything you want to tell me, bastard?"

Antonio was never one for secrets. If he ever had any stupid problem, no matter how big or small they were, he'd tell them to me without thinking in a heartbeat. I felt…guilty, to say the least. He would ask me for help whenever he needed it, that stupid idiot.

And here I was.

Locking up all of my problems and insecurities into a miniscule, beating box. The box would beat rhythmically, as if it was making music. Sometimes, it irritated me to even have the knowledge that it was still beating. It irked me to know that instead of confronting him and letting him know about these little problems that I had, I would instead keep it trapped within myself.

That musical, little box inside of me, this irrelevant little box…

That precious item which I had built a cage around and locked it up with a thousand keys and chains…

The box that beated with such a beat that it seemed it was creating a tragic, sorrowful melody...

That was my heart. My own special music box.

I didn't dare tell him anything about my lack of self confidence, or my difficult situations. I didn't want him to fret over me. Especially not over me.

But here I was.

Questioning—no, demanding him to tell me that one thing he was hiding from me while I hid everything from him.

What right did I have to ask of him, to command him to answer me when I could never even tell him one little thing about my own complications?

I was such a useless, fucking bastard. Yet I had the audacity to call others bastards, though they had barely done anything to me.

That's right. I, Lovino Vargas, admit it.

I'm not simply what I describe myself as. Hot, sexy, and Italian. No, you are wrong. There is much, much more to it than that.

I'm hot-headed, easily angered, hated by many people, despicable, negative, rude, mean, stubborn, cross...I always keep to myself and rarely ever trust others, much less open up to them.

And so what?

Yes, I am all of those above. I do confess, and I acknowledge every single one of my flaws. But did you know?

That fucking moron named Antonio Fernández Carriedo, he knows.

He knows that I'm hot headed. He knows that I'm easily angered.

He realizes that I am hated by many people, how I am so disgustingly despicable, negative, rude...

And yet he understands that I am mean, stubborn, cross, and that I would rather keep to myself then consult to others and make friends.

Antonio perceives all of it. But he didn't—won't leave me. He simply fucking refuses to.

All he ever did was stick by my side through the rough the and strong, through the tough and the weak with an extremely bright smile on his face, telling me not to worry. Despite my yelling, cursing, and maybe even a few punches and headbutts...he still persisted and remained by my side.

That bastard...he was surely going to be the death of me.

But, I digress…

That bastard is the exact person who has—as cheesy as this will fucking sound—stolen my heart. And, well...it's really damn hard to take it back, because he won't give it back to me, no matter how hard I try to reach out for it.

He was such a damned, filthy thief. But, fuck…I loved everything that made up the man named Antonio Fernández Carriedo. I loved him so goddamned much that I let him keep my heart—my music box.

"Lovi…" He mumbled, still refusing to make eye contact with me. Goddammit, why won't he let me see his eyes? His amazing, gorgeous emerald eyes...they were always filled with happiness. But if he won't let me see them, how the fuck am I supposed to feel reassured? It almost irritated me to oblivion...

"I...don't want to talk about it. Lo siento, mi querido. I will tell you eventually, but I just-I just can't right at this moment..." He shuffled his feet around, still staring at the oh-so interesting ground. Dammit. Though I couldn't exactly see his features, I could tell that he was feeling depressed because he couldn't tell me, even though he obviously wanted to. "Please forgive me, lo siento, lo sien—"

"I fucking get it, alright?" I interjected, sighing quietly. Shoving my hands down my jean pockets, I looked off to the side, gazing upon some of the buildings of Spain. Damn it. Damn it all to Hell. It was just one thing he couldn't tell me, and he's already feeling bad about it, and he was even fucking apologizing!

He wasn't the one who should feel guilty about telling me something. If anything, I should. And to be honest, I do feel bad about it. But never Antonio. Never him.

He didn't deserve to feel unhappy, angered, or hurt in any way. Not again. That was then, when he was still a pirate and a conquistador. Now, however, he was just simply the happy-go-lucky, bubbly Spaniard I loved so much. I would never fucking allow him to get hurt anymore. He deserves all of the happiness in the world, unlike me, dammit.

"You don't have to apologize, bastard. You didn't do anything wrong," I mumbled, eyeing a few blackbirds* (1) flying above us across the sky. "I'm not angry at you for keeping a secret from me, so stop sulking and—don't you dare fucking cry!" I exclaimed in not a demanding, but worried tone, surprised to see drops of tears staining the cement sidewalk where he was standing. I could feel it again, the aching of my heart, the worries knotting up in my stomach…

Why, just why...was he crying?

I could feel the sorrow emitting from him as his shoulders shook lightly while trying to muffle his sobs into his hands, failing miserably. No matter how much I wished him to show me his face, he just wouldn't look up at me. It made me feel absolutely dejected.

"I—I'm sorry, Lovino…" I heard him say. It was barely barely audible, a mumble barely above a whisper, but I had apprehended him anyways.

Deciding I couldn't take the sight of him—beautiful, wonderful, amazing—Antonio Fernández Carriedo crying, I sauntered over to him and, with much reluctance, embraced him lovingly, comfortingly, with my two arms.

He did not waver as he automatically returned the warm embrace, leaning down so that he was height-level with me as I felt his nose in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears staining my jacket; though I paid it no heed as I focused solely on the man in my arms, right here, right now.

"Antonio, it's alright," I said quietly to him, "You don't have to tell me until you're ready. Just...please, please...look up. Please, look at me."

"I...can't," he says as he weeps, "I—I look so uncool right now, Lovi…"

"Bastard...I don't give a shit if you think you look uncool," I replied softly, my hands clutching the back of his shirt, scrunching it up. "Because to me, you...you will always be handsome, no matter what state you're in…"

"...Really, Lovi?" Antonio mumbled against my neck, his sobbing reduced to small sniffles.

I nodded slightly, "Listen to me, Antonio. You—You are enchanting. I want to see your face, especially your smiling one. I just—I don't know what I'd do without your smiles or your stupid, cheesy dates. You're exquisite, stunning, captivating...anyone who says so otherwise can go fuck themselves. And I...ti amo."

For a while, it was silent. All I heard was the whispers of the wind, the singing of the blackbirds.

And suddenly, Antonio had hugged me even tighter as I heard him whisper into my ear, "Yo también te amo, Lovino."

I felt heat rush up to my cheeks again, and I knew I must have been blushing a dark shade of red. Dammit, it was so fucking embarrassing how he could make me blush so fucking easily, and in just a few seconds, he had made my heart rate increase by at least ten fucking thousand.

He withdrew and I could finally see his face. His emerald orbs were glistening, beaming with ecstasy. Though they were slightly red and puffy from his previous sorrow, I could only describe everything about him as breathtakingly perfect.

Antonio was shining so radiantly, I had to avert my eyes away from him in order to avoid becoming even more flustered than I already was.

"I know, you idiot. I know…" I said fondly to him, a small smile creeping its way to my lips.

He grinned his extraordinary grin and planted a kiss on my forehead, in which I responded with a low, affectionate grumble before I returned the favor and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"You are perfect, mi corazón," he says affectionately.

I only grunted in disbelief as a reply, and that was good enough for him.

Then, as embarrassing as it was, he took my hand into his, and together, we walked side by side, deeper into the heart of Spain.

Blackbird* (1) -

They represent:

» Good omen
» Paradise
» Mysticism and Magic

Seeing a blackbird for most is a sign of a good omen. Apart from being a good omen, it could also refer to a heightened awareness either spiritually or in your personal life. It could also imply shyness and insecurity, which directly implies lack of self-confidence. It could infer to being vulnerable to the decisions made by others. The color black, as we know, is associated with supernatural prowess, hence lending the individual who sees a blackbird frequently in his dreams a mystical and magical feel.

Bye, Bye, Blackbird* (2) - The name of the song by Paul McCartney. This fanfiction is named after it, for...explainable reasons. I recommend listening to it, though it is an old song, written in 1926.