Romano stood, eyes hidden behind his hair, while Feliciano gripped tightly to his brother's sleeve. Spain was before them, his own face a mask crafted of false genialities and felicitations.

"I see you two have unified… I am happy for you. Felicidades," the mollified former pirate remarked, even as his voice trembled with uncertain sentimentalities. He laughed without humor, realizing his transgression in light of the event, and ran a hand through his hair (cut short since the days he occupied Romano). The empty words lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste that only Feliciano would swallow.

"Grazie, fratello maggiore," the younger of the Italians spoke hurriedly, desperately, knowingly. "We should go soon, a lot has happened and-"

"You left me. You abandoned me," Romano spat; his accusation shocking his brother into silence. There again, a silence heavy with unspoken emotion. Spain smiled gently and lifted his hand weakly to his former charge.

"Roma, not now-"

"Don't call me that!" Romano flung his head up, facing Spain with eyes that threatened tears. "Why did you leave me to Austria, you jerk?" His voice cracked, and he ripped his arm from Feliciano to grab hold of Spain's collar; a feat that only accentuated how Romano had grown since he was Spain's underling. However, the loud Italian had not changed his angry, overdramatic habits, and the Spaniard felt an overwhelming sense of selfish regret as the nostalgia choked him from words.

"Why didn't you fight harder?" Romano's voice wavered, but he did not tear his eyes from his former keeper; and that only made it more difficult for Spain to find words. How could he explain to the heartbroken Italian what had happened so many years ago? How could he make him understand that he had fought? That he had fought until his face and flag were stained with blood? How could he admit that he wasn't strong enough to keep the territory which he loved the most? Truly, he was the worst kind of person; a selfish creature whose ambition and drive was not enough to make him worthy of such a prize as Romano. How was he to claim such a wrenching reality aloud?

However, the wars which had stolen away everything that was precious had left behind only one artifact for the ravaged country to cling too: longing. And it was that despondent emotion that incited the words Spain spoke next.

"Te amo, Roma."

With that, the Italian fell into Spain; choking on the tears that had finally begun to fall.

A/N: Sorry for the brevity of this story; I've just been so uninspired lately ^^;

The wars which Spain and Romano refer to (when Spain lost control of Southern Italy) took place in the 1700s and were called the Wars of Spanish Succession. It truly was the ending of Spain's position as a world power and led him to be the country bumpkin he is today. I just can't help but feel for poor little Romano, carrying all of the heavy emotions of being lost by the one person that saw value in him. *tear* Anyway, that you for reading ^^