AN: This is the sequeal to Why? You do need to read that to understand this. Um...this one was WAYYYYYY harder to write. Now, I was told that a few days before I posted "Why?" someone posted someting similar, I was unawaire and I am very sorry. Why was basically how I was feeling that day. I was trying to type out my feelings...and it somehow turned into a Romano story.
But anyway, this one was harder to write as I don't know how this would feel. I hope I got it right.
I don't own Hetalia.
How?
How?
How could he?
How?
How could this happen?
How?
How could Romano do this to himself?
How?
How could Romano take himself away from him?
How?
How could he live without Romano in his life?
Spain had been tomato picking. He wanted to give them to Romano while he told him how he felt. It had taken him years to realize that he liked the little Italian as more than a kid he raised. When raising the boy he would beg to take the younger brother…now he'd never dream of it. He wanted Romano and he didn't want to share. He had decided that he would tell the boy that very day. He looked at a tomato. Perfect. Everything would go perfectly. He walked to Romano's room. Knock. No answer. He looked for the young boy. Finally someone had told him that Romano was in his own room. Spain smiled. Romano wanted to see him!
Spain made his way to his room. On the way he got into a three minute conversation with Italy. After he had said good-bye to the younger Italian he made his way to his door. He opened it yelling a greeting to Romano, who was said to be in the room. He looked when Romano didn't answer. Blood. On the walls, on the floor, on the bed…everywhere. He searched for the source. He found it. On the floor. Romano. Lying dead, on his floor. Spain fell to his knees, dropping the tomatoes everywhere. Some broke open, the juice mixing with the blood on the floor. He crawled over and gathered Romano in his arms. His Romano couldn't be dead…he couldn't.
He screamed over and over. Romano, Romano, Romano! The boy didn't respond. Romano! Spain moved a shaking hand up to the curl…that stupid curl. His love had always yelled at him for touching it. He yanked it. Nothing. Tears started welling up in his eyes. He screamed the boy's name. Why wasn't he responding? Romano…Romano. Lovito! He used the boy's real name. The one he barely ever used. The name that he got yelled at for calling the boy, Romano. How could he? He knew he must be screaming, but he didn't care. His Romano, his life was gone. He looked to the wall and gasped. Romano had written in…blood. His own blood. This was all his fault! He didn't pay attention to the boy. He was always going on about…and now Romano was gone. Dead. He couldn't even cry. Tears just wouldn't come. He was yelling though, yelling at the body…body…Spain hated that word with a passion. He heard steps behind him, but they didn't matter, all that did was Romano. But Romano was gone. He clung to the body. Someone was trying to pull him off. No! He wasn't leaving Romano! He was shaking, but no…he couldn't leave. He felt arms trying to get him away.
Eventually the arms (belonging to France and Prussia, who were coming to see what was wrong) pulled him away and took him away. They sat him down on a couch in a different room. No…Romano…he needed him! He heard a wail from the next room. Italy. W-what was Romano thinking? How could he do this to the two of them? France brought a sobbing Italy in. He ran and clung to Spain, who sat there. Neither of them could believe it. Spain slowly hugged the younger Italy brother…the only one now. He had no one left anymore. The two sat in silence, the only sound was random sobs from Italy. Spain didn't know where his tears were. Why wasn't he crying? Romano was his life…and he was gone now! Why weren't there tears? He didn't know what to do anymore. People came in, trying to comfort them. Eventually Germany took Italy away, and he sat all alone. There was no one else in his world anymore anyway. Romano was dead. ROMANO was dead. Romano was DEAD. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He should always be around Romano. He needed to be.
He ended up in the bathroom. He glanced at the mirror…he saw a lonely man. He found a razor. He raised it, about to slash…about to join Romano. The door was thrown open and the blade was taken from him. He wasn't allowed to be alone until he was better. But he'd never be better. How could he get better?
Well...that was depressing. I'm not planning on doing more. But if you really want me to I might be able to write up a funeral one or something. I really hope you guys that wanted this liked it. Oh yes, and it was France and Prussia becuase they wanted to see what their friend was up to...why he was yelling someone elses name....loudly. (I love the Bad Touch Trio~)
And I ALMOST killed Spain, but I changed my mind at the last secound...just be lucky the song I was listening to changed to something happer.