Romano munched impatiently on his tomato.
"That bastard. Where had he gone!" The little boy grumbled to himself.
The year was 1660, and Spain was at war with scary-eyebrows England including other nations as well.
'Today's the day that all the fighting will end...' Spain had wrote that in his last letter to Romano.
"Hmph! That tomato-loving bastard must be getting a kick in his entrepierna!" Romano sneered.
Minutes passed, hours, then day, then weeks, but Spain had not yet bust in through the door with his annoying attitude nor sent Romano any kind of message. Romano didn't care much. He thought that Spain was out parting with his drunken troops celebrating victory and had forgotten about him.
"Good for nothing idiot! I'll show him what happens when he forgets about me!" Romano kicked over the small table and pushed over the bookshelf. "HMPH!"
He waited and waited to hear Spain's annoying voice come through the door, but, he never did. At last, when Romano finally got pissed and tired of waiting, he grabbed his cost and head for the streets.
"Spain! Spain!" Romano looked around the unusual empty streets.
"Where are you, you useless bastard?!" He hollered.
Silence greeted him.
Romano continued to shout till his voice was cracked.
"Spain! I ate all of your tomatoes and left none for you!" Romano had arrived near the port.
Night had fallen and there was still no sign of the green eyed brunet. Romano walked farther towards the port. His eyes rested upon a figure laying randomly n the middle of the road with water spilled out all around him.
"What kind of idiot would go swimming in this kind of weather and hour..." The boy strode closer to the sleeping body.
The man had a small pony tail tied to the back of his head. His clothes that looked like it was once made for royalties now was torn and drenched on red. A broken weapon laid by his side, and what seemed like water to Romano a few moments ago now appeared as pools of red blood.
Romano ignored his sudden throbbing heart as his trembling hand reached over and turned the corpse on his back.
He tried to deny what his eyes told him.
Powerful, beautiful, wise, cheerful, annoying. Spain looked devastated and helpless as his head rested on Romano's lap.
The boy's throat tightened and his eyes began to fuzz. His small hand wiped away the blood marks on Spain's face.
A drop of water formed at the edge of the little boy's eye and drifted down his cheek.
"I-I don't cry... Ew..." More tears fell.
Romano looked out to the sea for comfort, only to find a sea painted in red shimmering dangerously under the brightly lit moon. Bodies were floating everywhere, and right beneath the moon, was a half sunken ship. Spain's ship. With a British flag resting on top of its broken decks, waving proudly and mockingly.
But that was centuries ago...
