Spain's POV

The doorbell rang. Loudly, and obnoxiously.

I stirred, rolling over a bit as I registered the noise. Slowly, sleepily, I lifted my head and checked the clock on the bedside table. It was nine-twenty-seven. On a Saturday. Who the hell was trying to wake me up this early on a weekend, and how hard should I punch them in the face? Now, a couple of centuries ago, I hadn't been this violent, but my temper had been getting a little worse every year since...who knows. And some idiota waking me up at nine o'clock on a Saturday didn't help.

I sluggishly rolled out of bed, pulling on a shirt to accompany my tomato-patterned pajama pants. I scratched my neck and yawned, then made my way out of the bedroom. The doorbell rang again when I was about halfway there, and I called out, "Dios mío! Un momento!"

I pulled open the door grumpily, and my mood worsened when I saw that it was France. He was smiling like there was no tomorrow, as well, which only pissed me off more. "Salut, mon ami!" France greeted happily, waving, although he was about four feet in front of me.

"Hi. Can you go now? I was trying to sleep."

"Oh, but Spain! I have come to tell you something important!"

I raised an eyebrow. "If you say 'hi,' I will punch you."

He laughed. "No, no, it's really important! I am going to start a war with you!" France said, pointing at me.

Through my sleepy haze, I rubbed my face and tried to take the Frenchman seriously. "What have I done now? Besides skipping out on the last few trips to the cantina with you and Prussia."

"Last few trips? More like last few decades of drinking and merrymaking. But that's not the point." He waved dismissively. "No. This is over land!"

"Land?" I asked confusedly. "How long has it been since we fought over land? Two centuries, at least... Why now?"

"I want something you control, Spain. I've wanted it for a long time, and now I'm taking it!" France flourished his hands and posed dramatically.

I glared at him. "What is it? I'll give it to you if you go away."

"Well, now, where would be the fun in that?" France pouted. "And anyway, I think you'll want to fight for it." He gave me his most dramatic expression that was probably meant to make me quiver in fear and worry, but I yawned instead. "I want Romano."

My eyes widened, and my feet felt cold, despite the warmth of the sun coming in through the open door. My hand trembled a bit. France smirked, and I knew I'd given him the reaction he wanted. Pain like a stiletto knife sliced through my chest and I narrowed my eyes at France. "Very funny, imbécil. Nice of you to drag up the memories." I was about to close the door in France's face when he spoke, and his voice was so honestly curious, I had to stop.

"What? Memories? What are you talking about?"

I sighed. "France, you very well know that...he...hasn't been here for a very long time."

"What?" France looked genuinely shocked. "You gave him up?"

I seriously wanted to hurt him. Instead, I replied, "You don't get out much, do you, France?"

"Ah, well, I haven't been paying much attention to anyone south of me for a while. Sorry, mon copain." He looked sheepish. "What - what happened?"

I sighed again, a little angry. "No. I'm not going to talk about this, okay? I haven't had to deal with this in a while, and I've been perfectly fine. So just go, please. And don't bring that up again." I attempted to shut the door again, but France stopped the door with his hand.

He looked concerned, which was a look I hadn't seen on his face since he and I had tried to comfort England in...goodness, wasn't that 1783?

Slowly, he spoke. "Spain... I thought I noticed something about you when I saw you just now... You look tired, or hung over, or both..."

I groaned. "France, I don't have time for this."

"What were you going to do then?" France asked skeptically. I looked away. "Can I come in, then?"

"Uh...no." Then I really did close the door in his face. I began walking back to bed, but knew I couldn't find sleep again, so I started for the kitchen instead to start making some coffee. At least France was gone, I mean-

The door opened. Maldito, I cursed to myself. I leaned against the counter, just waiting for him. Then I realized - the living room. "Maldito!" I hissed out loud.

"I told you not to come in here, France!" I barked, meeting him in the living room. I wasn't surprised to see him looking around the room, sadness or maybe quiet horror on his face. He surveyed every flat surface, where empty or mostly-empty glass aguardiente bottles stood, lining bookshelves, coffee tables, and even the floor. I rolled my eyes, trying to play it down. "Yeah. I've been drinking a little."

"A little?" he repeated incredulously, and I could hear now the horror. "Spain, this is..." He turned to face me, picking up a bottle. "How long have you been like this? You've seemed fine at all of the meetings..."

"That's because I am fine!" I shot, scowling a little.

"You are not fine, Spain. How long have you been drinking so heavily?" France demanded, his usually jovial voice deadly serious.

I hesitated. "A while. I don't know how long it's been."

"Spain, can I be honest with you?" France looked cautious and concerned again.

"I'm afraid to say sí, but sí."

He sat down on a couch and I took a seat in the plush chair next to it, yawning again. "Spain, you are pale. Your tan is gone, ami. You have bags under your eyes. You probably haven't shaved in a week. You look like a homeless man."

My expression got a little more devestated with every word. "Look, you don't have to tell me that."

"Oui, I think I do..." said France, looking around the room again. "You've been like this since Romano left?"

I winced. "Yes. Thank you for bringing it up again."

"Goodness... You're not normally this bitter and sarcastic, Spain... Is it just because you're hung-over?"

"Yes. Now please leave me alone."

"No!" He stood up, looking determined, and I raised an eyebrow at him. "We need to get you to go talk to Romano! And conquer him!"

My eyes widened. "Um."

"That's not what I meant, you dirty-minded fool," France said fondly, grinning. "I meant, you must take him back over!"

"And why is that?" I asked sardonically.

"So that I can conquer him afterwards, of course!"

"Why?" I repeated, getting annoyed.

France collapsed onto the couch again. "Because I'm so desperately bored!"

I rolled my eyes, leaning my head back in the chair. "You came to wake me up and tell me you were going to conquer...him...because you were bored?" I sighed. "What's Prussia doing?"

"He's still trying to get Hungary to love him," France whined, covering his face with his arm. "And England's visiting Japan right now, so I needed something to do! You understand, don't you, mon ami?"

"No, I don't. And I'm not going to talk to him. He grew up, and decided he wanted to leave. He moved back in with his brother. He's happy, okay? Can't I leave him like that? Happy?" I pleaded.

"But you are not happy," replied France, lifting his head to look up at me. "Don't you deserve to be happy?"

"France, this is what's best for him. I tried to raise him like a son, or a brother, but when he got older, I couldn't see him that way. And he hates me. I'm just a tomato bastard, remember? He wanted to go back to Veneziano, and he did. He's so happy, I haven't seen him since!"

France gave me a look that I couldn't decipher. Then he stood up. "No. We are cleaning you up and then you are going to go and tell him you love him!"

"I NEVER SAID THAT!" I yelled as France approached me, pulling me out of my chair by my arms and then hauling me over his shoulder. He began to carry me to the bathroom, presumably, but he had something else coming if he thought I was going to let him anywhere near me while I was in the shower. We were close friends, but not that close. "AND PUT ME DOWN!"

"You implied it," replied France happily. "You'll thank me later."

"IMPLIED IT MY ASS! PUT ME DOWN!" I began hitting on his back, and France just chuckled.

Damn it...