The representation of South Italy opened his hazel eyes, squinting against the strong sunlight spilling in through the open window. The window was framed by a sheer white curtain blowing softly in the breeze over the dark wooden floor towards the king-sized bed Lovino lay in, curled up under light, pure white sheets.
Lovino ran his fingers through his chocolate-colored locks of hair (being careful to mind his curl) and looked above the head of the bed where an Italian and Spanish flag served as a canopy. Above that, the ceiling was painted white mixed wistfully with sky blue, recreating a sky filled with wispy white clouds. Twisting his neck to crack his stiff spine, Lovino first turned his head towards the wall closest to him, with the window, then towards the other side of the bed, which was unfortunately empty.
Romano sat up and began to stretch his arms carefully upwards, getting up carefully to allow blood to begin circulating through his legs. The Italian straightened his shorts that fell just above his knee, designed to look like the Italian flag, and his black tank top that clung to his scrawny frame. He walked over to the window, leaning against the sill to look out on the rolling green hills of Spanish land. Lovino looked down to find the Spaniard walking through their tomato garden, admiring the ripe fruits while grinning foolishly. The auburn-haired boy scowled disapprovingly at the older nation's overly chipper attitude at everything, but a light blush spread over his cheeks upon viewing the light in Antonio's bright, emerald green eyes and the way his sculpted muscles rippled under his thin, beige button-up shirt. Romano's eyes were then drawn momentarily to Spain's perfectly round, firm, luscious ass like a moth to a lantern until his blush flared up so his face was red, like a tomato, as Spain so enjoyed pointing out most of the time. The small Italian was about to turn away and go downstairs to eat when he saw someone skipping merrily to Lovino's Spanish boyfriend. The new arrival greeted the Spaniard and they began to talk animatedly to one another, although Romano could not hear what was being said.
Ugh. Why is mio fratello here?
Romano watched as his brother spoke with Antonio, gripping the pale curtains and growling low in the back of his throat possessively whenever he saw Italy brush Spain's perfect, sun-kissed skin.
Suddenly, Romano saw Spain's expression sober, and Romano quirked an eyebrow, leaning farther out the window to try to see what was happening. Lovino could tell that Spain was showing Feliciano something, but he couldn't see what, as Italy was blocking his view of it with his body. Whatever it was, it made Italy very happy. Spain stuck whatever it was back into his back pocket. He continued to talk as he walked down the row of tomato plants, then he turned back to Feliciano, grinning from ear to ear. His green eyes twinkled with delight as he fell to one knee in the midst of the sea of tomatoes he and Romano had grown together, and he pulled a small black velvet box from his back pocket. Spain hadn't stopped talking since showing it to Feliciano the first time, but Lovino could only read the last four words Antonio's lips formed.
"Will you marry me?" The words made Romano's heart stop and his blood run cold. When the green-eyed man snapped open the box to reveal a shining gold band within, Lovino's heart snapped with it. He watched as Italy began to babble incoherently as he giggled happily, tears of joy pricking the corners of his golden eyes. Lovino's vision blurred as his eyes swam with tears of grief as he watched his boyfriend celebrate his engagement to someone who wasn't Lovino.
Spain said he preferred me over mio fratello… Spain lied. Hastily scrubbing the tears away from his now flat brown eyes, Lovino drew the curtains closed and stalked away from his window to fly downstairs and grab his car keys from the kitchen table. He walked out the door to begin going down the driveway towards his own red fiat barchetta.
"Oi, Lovi!" Romano did not stop for the approaching Spaniard, who was still fucking grinning, but turned his head to cast a seething, hurt-filled look in his direction before beginning to walk faster.
As Spain faltered and his smile faded away, Romano reached his car and got in.
"Romano, what's wrong?"
"Leave me alone, bastard!" Romano screeched.
"But Lovi—"
"You already made it clear enough you don't want me! You don't have to explain shit. I get it!"
"Lovi—"
"Don't fucking call me that!" Romano shrieked, his voice cracking, as he jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, yelling, "Just let me leave! God damn it, Spain, I will run you the fuck over if you don't move right now, stronzo!" Spain stepped back quickly as Lovino threw the car in drive and peeled out of the driveway and then down the street. Antonio stood frozen in place, shocked.
Italy ran over to Antonio's side and asked,
"Spain! What happened? Where is Romano going?"
Romano sped down the roadways in his red barchetta, not really sure where he was going; not like he cared. It did not matter where he went because Spain didn't want him. The painfully bright landscape passed by so quickly it simply turned into a giant blur that was predominantly emerald green. He was sick of seeing that emerald green. What once made him think of joy and happiness now brought only thoughts of pain and betrayal to mind. He pressed the gas pedal down with his bare foot in an attempt to outrun the green that was burning its way through his eyeballs. His vision blurred as tears began to fill his eyes again, clouding his view of the road with a never-ending emerald sea. But that didn't matter either, because Spain didn't want him, and Romano did not want to see any more emerald green; or any other green for that matter. It felt like Spain's eyes boring through him from all sides. He was drowning in this green sea; choking, screaming, struggling, hurting, hyperventilating, dyi—
With a loud crash, a scream of twisting metal, a crunch of breaking glass, the green disappeared and was replaced by uninterrupted blackness.
Spain was sitting on the ground in his driveway, still in shock, as a feeling of dread and foreboding settled deep within his chest. Something had not been right with Lovino. The boy did often have a fit and run off, usually over something inconsequential, but today he had run off before eating or having coffee, or dressing, for that matter. Feliciano, who was shifting from foot to foot, ceased his fidgeting and his eyes widened as he fell to his knees.
"Ve… Something is very wrong," Italy whispered, voicing his own sense of anxiety. Spain nodded in agreement. Feliciano looked down, examining the ground with a far-off look in his eyes as he searched his thoughts for an inkling of what was happening.
Italy jumped slightly when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but answered it quickly.
"Ve… Si? This is Feliciano." Feliciano listened intently to the call for a few seconds when his eyes flew open wide and he dropped the phone to the ground.
"F… Feli…?" Spain asked anxiously.
A low, quiet, garbled sound was emitted from Italy's mouth, which soon morphed into a choked sob.
"Feliciano!" Spain grabbed his arm carefully. "Que pasa?" Italy began to sob uncontrollably, fat tears worming out of his caramel-colored eyes, down his olive-skinned cheeks.
"Th-that was… My b-b-boss. H-he…" Italy sobbed painfully. "Lovino… L-Lovino… Roma…" Feliciano hiccupped. "There was a train…" Feliciano continued to cry and jabber nonsense until Spain silenced him.
"Feli, please calm down and tell me. What about Lovino?" Feliciano controlled his sobs, taking several deep breaths.
"He…" Feliciano swallowed thickly, and then croaked out, "He's dead."
Spain couldn't comprehend what Feliciano was saying. The Italian continued,
"He was driving and… He wasn't paying attention, I guess. He was speeding, and then… The train hit him on the driver's side. He died instantly, on impact. Fratello is… gone." Feliciano hung his head and began to cry quietly again. Spain stared at him for a moment, and then smiled nervously.
"No, Feliciano. Really, what is it?" Italy simply continued to cry, burying his face into his hands. Slowly, Antonio's smile faded. His lips parted slightly and his green eyes widened as the gears in his head began to turn and they locked into place. As the thought finally became coherent in his head, time froze for Spain. When the Spaniard realized his amor was dead, Antonio ceased to have a reason to live.
The funeral proceeded a week after Lovino's unfortunate, untimely death. Friends and family clothed in black somberly stood next to the casket, with Spain and Italy at the forefront. Feliciano had pulled Germany to the front as well, and he clung to the German's broad shoulder, sobbing silently into his jacket. Spain stood alone near the head of the casket. His eyes were encircled by bluish-black bags and were red-rimmed.
Lovino was being buried in Southern Italy, exactly where he belongs, surrounded by vineyards, art, Italian culture, and the beautiful blue ocean. The gorgeous, vivid terrain didn't match the miserable procession.
As Romano's body was lowered into the Italian earth, part of Spain couldn't help but think that Lovino should be buried in Spain. Then, Romano could stay with Spain forever, like he was supposed to. That's all Spain had wanted; to have his Lovinito forever. He wondered if that had been selfish. Would Lovino have wanted to stay with Spain? Antonio wished he'd been able to ask. He also wished he knew how he had upset his Italian lover.
When he looked up, Romano's body was buried and most everyone had dispersed. Antonio approached the grave marker and read the name carved into it several times. Romano "Lovino" Vargas. It was such a striking name.
The wonderful granite marker was flanked by colorful flowers. As Spain kneeled before Lovino's grave, a single teardrop fell from Spain's eye to the ground. He took a shaky breath, then began to speak.
"Lovino… I don't know exactly what I did to upset you before you… You know. But I am so sorry, mi Lovicito. I'm so very sorry." Spain sobbed pitifully, continuing with, "I wish I knew why you were so upset."
A dark shadow fell across Spain. He looked up to see piercing, acid green eyes framed by thick eyebrows staring down at him.
"O-oh. Hola, Inglaterra," Spain said, unnerved, as he fidgeted with the edge of his jacket to keep his hands from visibly shaking at the sight of his old rival. The Englishman shifted his eyes away from Spain's pain-filled ones uncomfortably.
"Hello, Antonio," he mumbled, before adding, "I'm sorry for your loss." Spain nodded vaguely in response. "I don't mean to invade on your personal life, but Romano asked me to stay." At the mention of the name, Antonio perked up a little.
"Romano did?" he asked skeptically. England smiled dryly.
"I can see ghosts, remember?" Spain's eyes widened. "Do you want to see him?"
"How?" Spain asked eagerly. England covered Spain's eyes with his hand and chanted a few words. When England's hand lifted away, Spain was no longer in the graveyard and Arthur was gone. Instead, Antonio stood in a vast tomato field that seemed to go on forever, and standing before him stood a handsome boy with hazel eyes and glowing olive skin. He wore a light brown dress with a white apron.
"Hello, Spagna," the boy said plainly. Spain smiled wide.
"Lovi! I'm so glad to see you—" Lovino cut him off coldly.
"Why did you choose him over me, bastard?" Romano snapped. Antonio stumbled momentarily, but persevered.
"Roma, what do you mean? Please explain it to me…" Spain begged. Romano's scowl deepened.
"I saw you with Feliciano. You proposed to him. Why would you do that?" Lovino sniffled and his green-brown eyes hardened. Spain gasped, and then quickly began to explain.
"No, you misunderstood, Lovino! I don't love anyone more than you. You're my everything, Lovicito. The only person I would ever want to spend my whole life with is you." Romano's eyes narrowed.
"Then what about the proposal?" Spain wrapped his arms around Romano's trim waist.
"That was stupid of me, wasn't it? I was just so nervous and excited, that I wanted to practice by using Feliciano. You know already that my heart can only belong to you. Right, mi querido?" Spain smiled tenderly as he pulled the black box out of his pocket and opened it. On closer inspection, inside the ring was engraved the following: Mi Corazon, Lovino. Romano raised his hand to his mouth and his cheeks became a rosy red as he attempted to hold back a sob. "And even though you are gone, no one else can hold my heart. It is yours now and forever, Romano Vargas, because I love you more than anyone else in the world." Tears of absolute joy began to run down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around the Spaniard's neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Off a short distance stood a man with shaggy blonde hair, who was watching the duo.
"Unfortunately, good dreams must always come to an end. Eventually, it is time to wake up and return to the real world, where it is cold, cruel, and vindictive." The British spell caster smiled sadly. "But don't fret, poppet, for now you most certainly have an angel watching over you to ensure your future voyages are safe. It's time to wake up now, love, but although the dream has ended, it will always stay with you, forever."