Spanish Lullabies

by Someone's Imaginary Shadow

"I know i probably should have turned my back away. Probably would have saved me a lot of heartache. but then, almost lovers always do bring a lot of heartache. There's really no avoiding the hopeless dreams."

Title: Spanish Lullabies

Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Characters: Spain, Romano

Pairings: Spamano, SpainXItaly later on

Rating: T

Warnings: Slutty!Spain, Pirate!Spain

Summary: Romano and Spain struggle with unrecognized feelings and what their relationship is to both of them. "I know i probably should have turned my back away. Probably would have saved me a lot of heartache. but then, almost lovers always do bring a lot of heartache. There's really no avoiding the hopeless dreams."

Song: Almost lover - A Fine Frenzy

Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine! If it was though... France would be locked up in a deep deep pit containing Russia, Belarus, and a wedding chapel.

A/N: ALRIGHT so i'm pretty proud of this thing. I did all the parts for Romano, and i don't really know if i write him that well yet, but i think it's awesome all the same. A good friend wrote Spain's parts, and i didn't edit anything in this yet, which i plan to do at some point. Keep in mind this is an RP we're in the process of writing on another site, and there's probably historical inaccuracies (Like how Spain's Armada incident is before the war of Austrian Succession). I really have no idea when all of it takes place, so whatever. I'll learn it eventually. This IS a songfic, but it's pretty vague and the lyrics are never blatantly incorporated into the story. Hopefully enjoy, this is basically the first fic i've posted~

-Lovino-

I remembered staring up at his mess of curly brown locks as he pulled the plush white sheets and covers of my bed up around my neck. I remembered wondering if he knew that I would miss him. Not like i'd ever say it on my own, that would be entirely awkward and uncalled for. I let my head sink into my large pillow and felt my eyelids grow heavy as he seated himself on the edge of my bed.

"Tell me about where you went last time, Spagna..." I muttered to him. The story was always about someplace beautiful, whenever i asked. Beaches with palm trees swaying in the wind, fields of rolling flowers. He never told me any of the bad things. And there were lots of bad things.

After awhile my eyelids would droop closed and he would start to sing. Most of the time it was Italian, because I made such a fuss about not understanding his native language. I liked it best when he sand the Spanish lullabies. They brought about the saddest look I had ever seen on his face, even as he would smile down at me. I don't know why, but I really hated that look. I liked the lullabies, but not that look. It kinda... Hurt me inside when i saw it. He would help me so much, so naturally i'd want to see him happy, even if he didn't know that.

In the morning he was always gone. Sometimes there would be a note on the table, or fresh tomatoes overflowing from a basket on the living room table. I can remember wondering if the man in my bedroom the night before was just a dream, but i knew it wasn't because he always came in and said goodbye before he left.

In the days he was gone i tried very hard not to think about him. To busy myself with chores (haha, yeah right) or cooking, or drawing. Back then i didn't really know what was happening. I didn't understand the hopeless feeling in my chest and the nervousness in my stomach. I passed it off a worried butterflies that he would return home badly injured, when it was something more than that.

I know i probably should have turned my back away. Probably would have saved me a lot of heartache. but then, almost lovers always do bring a lot of heartache. There's really no avoiding the hopeless dreams.

-Spain-

No matter how much I hated it, when I was alone I often remembered my past. I remembered his tearful hazel eyes as I told him I was going off again to sail with my crew. It hurt so much seeing him protest and cling to me so desperately as if it could stop me if he tried hard enough. I remember listening to him yell and insult me all day before I'd pick him up and carry him off to bed so he could get a good night's sleep. I would tuck him in and made sure he was nice and comfortable before I sat down beside him and lulled him to sleep. I always used to think of how much cuter he was when he was sleepy, when he wasn't mad for some reason or yelling at me. He looked at peace but I knew of the turmoil that stirred in his mind.

Sleepily he'd ask about my last adventure and I'd smile as best as I could before sugar-coating my latest win or loss. I'd tell him of the sandy beaches where the palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze but I wouldn't mention my fallen men who's blood stained the white sand a sticky crimson, the smell of death clinging to the air and making you choke. I'd reminisce about the endless fields of flowers but purposely skip over the gruesome war unfolding in front of me, my men and the enemy's ripping up the gentle plants and crushing their petals to the mud below. I kept those dark images to myself and never told a soul about what I had seen.

After his eyes began to close I would start to sing a small lullaby for him. It was usually the same song as I didn't quite have a strong enough Italian vocabulary but he didn't seem to mind and I would watch as his breathing slowed and his tiny chest rise and fall from under the white sheets. As soon as I knew he was gone I'd take my leave and go to my room to pack for the months I'd endure at sea. I'd place my clothes neatly into my bag and make sure I had all the essentials for living on a ship. Then I'd take my single photo of him and I and set it on top of my things before closing the bag. When everything seemed ready I'd take them out to the door and put them in a place where I'd easily see everything in the dawn light. I'd lay out my Captain's uniform and absently play with the feather which still had a bit of blood on it. It sickened me, the enemy soiling my clothes with their blood. It enraged me to no end how they would do that even though I had selfishly taken their life only seconds after. Finally I blew the candle and pulled the soft blankets up so I'd awaken early the next day.

By the crack of dawn I was up and ready. I kissed his head softly and bid him farewell before closing the door behind me and making my way to my ship. She seemed so beautiful in the pale light, he pure sails fluttering in the wind, the gentle lap of waves on her sides, the flap of the Spanish flag under the Jolly Roger dancing from the highest point. I nodded to my tired crew and got everything aboard before setting sail in search for more treasure. I'd yell and snap at my men to do their jobs and walk around on deck like I was invincible, my grin sadistic and my eyes souless. They feared me and I liked it that way. It kept me from remembering those hazel pools I often got lost in. But at night it was a different story.

When the sun had fallen and everyone retreated below deck I'd sit at my desk in my quarters and write my log. I often wrote about missing him and would end up leaving tear stains upon the paper. I just couldn't hold myself together when I was alone. It hurt to try and forget him or tell myself that I was going to see him soon. There was just no way to trick my heart. And the longer I was without him the more ruthless and reckless I became. Everyone noticed it, I couldn't hide my hate. I started pointless fights and got others killed just to force my mind on something else. It worked but only for a bit.

I should have treated him like I did to everyone else. He was but a colony, nothing important but bragging rights. But I let my heart speak over my mind and fell hard for him. I should have turned my back and left my problems on land but I just couldn't. It would have saved me from the mental, physical and emotional pain. But he was my almost lover and I should have prepared myself for this.

-Lovino-

I figure he must have guessed it by now, but I liked to believe I was being very sneaky when I would creep as quietly as i could down the darkness of the Spanish man's hallway. The shadows cast by the early dawn light provided very nice hiding places for the tiny thing I was back then. So I would wait until he had gathered all he needed, watching from the right side of the second last stair on his staircase, from the hallway to the living room where the light shone the least.

At the soft click of the front door closing, I would immediately jump the last stair to stick a wobbly landing on the beige carpet, covered in past stains. They were all memories, really. Tomato juice from the time I chucked a rotten tomato at his head and missed. The mud from walking through the house with muddy gardening boots on, carrying baskets of freshly picked vegetables. The brownish bloodstains that were passed off as wine spills whenever someone bothered to ask.

Slipping on my boots and tying them best could without any help, I would slip out the door after him in only my white night dress, shuffling down the well-worn path to the shore where I knew the water and the big men with swords and guns waited for him. Course, I was scared out of my mind, wandering down a darkish path when shadows that could be hiding anything or anyone still cradled the world around me. I'd catch glimpses of your red coat every now and then, walking meters in front of me at a steady pace.

When we would arrive at the shore, with it's hundreds of looming ships and barrels of who knows what lying about, waiting to be brought aboard, i would find some small hiding place to stay in while your crew cleared away the evidence you had ever been here. Usually I would stow away in some smelly corner with the rats and garbage. If I was discovered here at least I would be mistaken for a street kid, even if I was much too clean to be one of them.

It never took the burly members of your crew long to finish up. If you weren't gone within the hour something was usually wrong. In these cases I'd often see a few men fly over the size of the ship and fall to their deaths in the shallow waters below. Either way, his ship always departed before the sun had risen. When his ship was a good distance away from shore, I'd step out of my street kid hiding place and pick my way down to the shore, stare at the ship until it was just a speck on the reddish, rippling horizon.

When he finally returned I was a lot older. in his absence I had experienced most of the things I didn't want to go at alone. Country things, growing up things, all of it. The more time passed and the taller I got, the more worried I became that he was never coming back. I'd gotten word that Spanish prisoners were being held in England, and he was a bastard anyways so I wouldn't doubt it at all. A few weeks later he came home. Bloodied and beaten, his clothes were dirty and he was gaunt and thin as a twig. I couldn't tell if I was up to his shoulder, or if he was just slouching that much with fatigue.

He healed quickly, or at least, he healed quickly on the outside. I was tired of seeing him sulking around the house with a black cloud looming over his head, so I nervously suggested we go for a walk. At the time, Madrid was just a small place, so the people were like one big family. They all knew him, sometimes they cast me odd glances that I really didn't like. I'd never really been around the town much, and the last time I was, I was in a dress... Still, their wary stares made me feel self conscious and unwanted.

Halfway through our walk, we came to a group of musicians with guitars and other instruments. Many people were gathered around, clapping in time and watching the dancers play a story out with their quick steps and swinging hips. He joined the clapping onlookers straight away, I could tell his mood was lightening considerably with this distraction. He loved to dance. Suddenly there was a hands on mine and I was whirled into the spotlight , very much against my will. I was still and awkward and scared, but he smiled at me abs told me it would be fine, just to follow his lead.

I felt like snatching my hand back and cussing him out, right there. Unfortunately I was still in my shy phase, so I shut up and listened for once. He took my hand and lead me through the steps of the dance in the shade of a pastel orange building as the sun began to set. I turned off my senses and drowned out everything, completely focused on the steps so I wouldn't make a fool out of myself by messing up.

Slowly, as the stars began to blink awake in an otherwise black sky, save for the disc of a full moon that was casting a bluish surreal glow to the shops and buildings around us, the villagers began to dawdle home to their families and pets, tired from the festivities. He insisted we stay. So long as the musicians chose to play, we would stay and dance. He could tell I was out of energy, so he took the liberty of just slowly spinning me around an empty street as a single guitar strummed a quiet tune in the darkness.

On our way home, he was still holding my hand. He held my hand all the time when I was small, I didn't know why I felt so special about it now. We strolled in comfortable silence as he gazed up at the stars, pointing out constellations. The swish of the warm summer breeze I my hair left me feeling more at peace than I usually was. I was listening to the cicadas chirp when we neared the door to his house. As I let out a yawn, he coughed and said something about going to help one of his dickhead friends with a war against Austria tomorrow.

My good mood dissipated right then and there. I think he could tell because he kind of shyed away from my stormy expression when I looked over at him. I Opened my mouth to yell at him that he was an idiot and he had only just gotten back, but found myself unable to say a single word. I was silenced by the simple kiss he had laid against my mouth with soft lips. Nothing extravagant. Just a simple kiss which he leaned back from with a huge smile on his face, so big it spread to his eyes. He told me he would never, ever forget the images he created with me. Of dancing at sunset and walking in the moonlight, or even the time I had made him breakfast in a cheer up attempt.

Then he told me to smile, and not be so worried for him, and after that he called me a cute tomato. Which I didn't like one bit. So I frowned at him and bolted inside to my room, where I laid in darkness on my bed so no one could possibly see the incredible smile that was gracing my face.

I'm sure I smiled the whole time I slept that night.

-Antonio-

Those little patter of feet on the wooden floor. Every time I got ready to go I'd hear them. At first I wasn't sure what it was and it put me on edge but it wasn't long before I memorized those steps as his. So I'd make sure to keep as silent as I could while I got changed and ready so I could hear them stop and go, faster and slower and sometimes even have a somewhat of a skipping rhythm to them. I knew he was awake and hiding from me but I pretended not to notice. After all if I said anything I'd assume he would stop and I'd have nothing to look forward to as I walked out of the house.

I always gave my home one last look before closing the door as if to remember what I was going to miss. My house wasn't the cleanest since he didn't do his chores but at times I wasn't mad since it brought back all the memories I had spent with him up until now. Every mess, every stain had some kind of monumental value. I felt like if I did clean it I would forget that moment in time with him. I learned eventually that I wouldn't forget and I got around to finally cleaning but it wasn't until he was long-gone and grown up.

As I walked down the well-trodden path I'd hear those footsteps again and smile softly to myself. If I turned around I would have seen a small boy with nothing but a white dress on and boots with knotted up laces. I always told myself that I had to teach him to tie his laces right or he'd trip and fall following me down here but it always slipped my mind for some reason. I felt an almost parental nagging whenever he'd come along since he was most likely without a coat and wandering by himself. I'd keep my pace when I heard him only because he would instantly know I had found him out. He was a very smart boy.

But whenever we reached the shore I lost him and just assumed he had turned around. I always told him how intimidating and dangerous my men were to discourage him from asking to come with me. I'd supervise over the loading but I usually made too many mistakes as my mind was still thinking of you. They got frustrated with me and made me leave it to someone else so I wouldn't potentially sink the ship. Whenever I was asked why I was acting the way I was I'd put it off as something like a late night of drinking or I had found a nice little chica on the way home. They'd laugh or whistle and joke around so I'd put on a fake smile and hide away my pain. They all assumed if they tried to make me happy before we shoved off I would be more lenient and let things fly more. Oh how they were horribly wrong.

Sometimes one of those men said something I didn't quite like. I didn't tolerate it well. He'd get an earful of my yelling and a good beating before being taken by the arms by more loyal crew mates and thrown off. I never cared if they lived of not, I just thought that if he was seriously injured when he hit he could suffer and reflect upon his actions. sometimes when I heard a cry after them soft thump and splash I'd loom over the side and just grin. So when their heart finally stopped I'd be the last thing they saw. The others would soon know better and push themselves harder so they wouldn't suffer the same fate.

At last we'd set sail and prepare ourselves for the long months on sea. We wouldn't port until the job was done, I made sure of it. Anyone who complained would walk the plank as they were obviously not man enough to be in my presence in the first place. This ship needed its men working right or she'd crash and burn like the many of others she had seen in her long life. I was not full and ready to go down with her yet, she was still a young and lively beauty. But there were times when I wished it wasn't so, so I could just go home and stay with you again. One day that would happen though and we could be together once again. One day I could relax with you and just sleep the day away, you by my side and our worries worlds away.

And then as I had left before, I came back. But I was not the same man who had the most carefree and gentle attitude. I was beaten and broken with the most horrible images still dancing in my head. I was shaken to my very core as I watched every one of my ships lit up into flames like hell had opened up right on them. I watched in horror as the men cried out for my help but I said nothing, just watched as the burning inferno sunk to Davy Jones' Locker. I remember looking over at those English ships to see that blonde bastards' grin and narrowed eyes staring into my soul. He had won that fight with dirty tricks and it greatly traumatized me. As my single surviving ship sailed away in defeat I felt such hopelessness and despair. I hoped he was happy with himself and all he had done. I never wanted to see him again.

We hit land only after a few days. I had stayed locked up in my quarters with my terrible nightmares preventing any sleep. I stopped eating and giving out orders. I just wanted to be alone.I had to be told that we were on shore a few times and it came to the point where my first mate had to physically break into my quarters in order to see if I was alive. He had dragged me out and off the ship and left me to sit on the sand while he packed my things up and set them beside me. We had returned early in the morning but I didn't leave until sunset. I had forgotten about the person dear to my heart who was still waiting for my return and I had selfishly kept him waiting for too long. It was hard getting home, the shadows and fiery sky bringing back the pain. But I made it and pushed everything away so I wouldn't look as bad when he saw me.

My how he had grown. He was a handsome young man now and I had missed everything. I swallowed hard and smiled before telling him that I really meant to clean myself up before coming back. He didn't look pleased but I knew he was just as happy as I was to see him again. He helped me with my wounds and tended to me like I had never seen before. He still had that terrible attitude but it was nice. I just couldn't keep my eyes of him and felt my heart skip a beat with every touch and every insult. I had always loved him in a fatherly kind of way but now I knew this had changed into something a little more.

However much I healed up on the outside I could never quite heal on the inside. My greatest defeat still played in my head like a movie and shoving my loss into my face even more. That grin of his haunted me, those forest green eyes alive with sadistic and dark joy. I didn't sleep at all, he had noticed it and it hurt. No matter how much I wanted to tell him everything was okay I just couldn't. He knew when I was lying and I had stopped entirely after he yelled at me the first few times. I guess he was tired of it and asked to go for a walk. I agreed and let him take me out to the world I once loved but now despised.

Madrid had grown a little too since I last seen it. New people were walking the streets and the ones I knew were getting older and older. But the sense of family was still there and slowly my pain ebbed away. I stopped at a corner with music playing and watched with a slowly growing smile. I was brought back to my times before all the fighting where I'd let him stand on my shoes and we'd dance about until he fussed too much and we went home tired. But this time he let me dance as long as I wanted, he looked exhausted but I just couldn't stop. Every gentle movement brought about the cutest look on his face as he tried to keep up, I was distracted with the young man's face and completely forgot the time. But as the music left us I knew my time was done and we decided to leave for home.

I showed him the many constellations in the sky and helped when he couldn't quite see what it was supposed to be. I laughed as he got frustrated with some and as embarrassment flooded his cheeks when I showed him how obvious it was. I kept my hand clasped around his like he was still a child and felt at peace for once in God knows when. But that quickly ended when we got to the front door. I stopped him from opening the door to tell him of a friend who needed my help with a war. I just couldn't say no but I knew you were mad. I saw as he was about to yell at me for just coming back to leave again and how I wasn't ready with some of the more stubborn wounds still bothering me but I stopped it with a kiss.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, just a small peck to show that I cared and knew he'd worry for me and I'd do the same. I told him not to spend the time we were away hoping I was okay because I would return the same way I left. I kept a grin on my face to hide away the anger at myself for leaving him behind. I knew that I was going in with everything on the line. I knew that there was a high change I would not come back at all. I was weak and tired but knew my friend would have helped me too if I asked him. I called him my cute tomato and watched as he growled at me and ran off to his room. I let my smile leave me and sat down on my bed to feel tears run down my cheeks. I kept silent and made sure not to make a noise just in case he heard me.

Thinking of him and remembering what I got to go home to after the war though was enough to keep my going into the end though.

-Lovino-

I decided i'd spend as much time with him as i could until he left. Whether it be in the kitchen, or in the living room, or out in the town, or in his garden. I don't know what had come over me, but it felt so good to be near him. People who saw us together would always get this knowing look on their faces, but i never had any idea why. Some of the looks were wistful, those were mostly cast at him. I didn't like those looks very much in particular. Some of them were calculating and bitchy. I really hated those ones. Why were people looking at us like that? Of course i immediately blamed myself.

One night after a particularly filling meal of paella and fucking fresh tomatoes from his garden, dripping juice and ripe to perfection, i was laying on the couch staring blankly at some shitty Spanish drama on the television. The leading male was cool. Always seeing the better of a situation and making people laugh. The leading female was an annoying bitch though, always whining about some shitty girl problem or complaining that she wasn't getting paid enough attention. She was also pretty fucking... Blushy. Shut up, blushy is a word if i say so, fucker.

I continued to stare down the TV darkly when he wandered into the living room and settled down on the (still dirty) carpeted floor in front of the couch, leaning up against it with his back since i was taking up all the room. I was just about to tell him how shitty his stupid drama was when his eyes glided smoothly to the side and stared at me through the very corner of his eyes. I snapped my mouth shut and opened it again a few times, stuttering out random unhelpful syllables in the process. Damn, his eyes were so... Dark.

I'd never seen them this fucking dark. Normally they were this beautiful shade of leaf green, with darker flecks spiraling in towards his pupils. The outer part of his iris was this odd shade of emerald, it always fascinated me when i caught a glimpse because usually the outer part of your iris is darker then the middle. Special eyes for a special idiot. Anyways, all that was what they normally looked like, which was the complete opposite of what they looked like now. The only other time i had seen them like this was the day he had showed up on the doorstep returning home from his shitty Armada fail and that English bastard.

I eyed him closer in the light of the television, casting mysterious shadows across his tanned face- more flushed than usual actually. I leaned forward a little as he turned his face more towards me and took in his rumpled hair and furrowed eyebrows. He smelled like nicotine and alcohol, not the good kind either. Sitting bolt upright and groaning a little when my sleepy limbs protested, i scowled down at the idiot on the floor.

"Are you drunk, bastard?"

I don't know why i bothered asking, i knew he was. Shit, he fucking tried to stand and deny it after i asked the goddamn question and staggered back towards the coffee table, landing on it with a hard thump. I had wondered where he had gotten off to after supper. I couldn't find him anywhere in the house, and i really didn't want to go outside because it was getting kinda dark out, and fuck you it's not like the dark freaks me out or anything, that's pretty sissy, and i'm no sissy!

He looked up at me with lidded eyes and slurred out; "Can't you just let me be...?"

...The fuck was that supposed to mean? Okay sure, maybe i had been with him a lot lately, but he had looked like he was enjoying himself well enough. Maybe i was just as shitty as reading the atmosphere as he was. I watched as he leaned back onto his palms and let out a bark of harsh laughter. I didn't like the way he was acting one bit. He had no right to be the dick in this household, that was my job!

What the hell was this real achey-awful feeling in my chest anyways? It wasn't there when i had layed down after supper! It actually really hurt, and i didn't know what the fuck i was supposed to do about it. I wanted to make it go away, and the best solution i could come up with for that was to get as far away from the Spaniard as possible. Rubbing at my chest, i stood and started towards the staircase, my back turned on him.

My bottom lip was starting to tremble. Holy shit was i going to cry? What fucking pansy-ass loser cries at a little thing like this? I mean i fucking hated it when he smoked and drank, but it had never gotten to me this bad before. I clamped my hand down over my mouth before any sound could escape it and bolted towards the top of the stairs. When i hit the first landing, i heard a quiet, "Goodbye, Goodbye, My hopeless dream." From the bottom of the dark enclosure.

I didn't want to hear it. The hallway seemed to be closing in on me, and everything was fucking blurry. I could barely see as i stumbled down the hallway clutching my chest, struggling to breath in and out like a normal person and just reach my room already. What was i fucking thinking? That that idiot could possibly feel the tiniest bit the same as me? Who the hell was i trying to kid. I was Lovino Romano Vargas after all, no one wanted me. No one ever wanted me, i was just the vulgar, rude older brother of someone who was much cuter and more talented than me.

I don't remember how i got there, but somehow i managed to crash into the plush white sheets of my bed and wrap myself up into them in the darkness. I was sobbing the whole time. Fucking chest was going to explode any minute, i just knew it. The pain was so great, and i was just really frustrated nd in a really shitty mood now. His words and mostly his actions were not helping at all. I was alone, no one liked me, and nothing had changed. I knew that if i opened up to anyone i would get hurt, but i had gone and done it anyways, only to get what i knew would come.

I was out of luck. I don't know what he did for the rest of that night, but he was leaving in the morning anyway, hopefully sooner. The faster he was gone, the faster i could rid myself of this crippling weakness in my chest.

"Goodbye, goodbye, my almost lover." I cried myself to sleep, well into the night.

-Antonio-

I felt my bond get ever stronger when he began to hang around me a lot more. I knew he wanted to try and spend a much time with me before I left which I thought was rather sweet. He found out about my not so favourable habits though like my smoking. I had picked it up on board of my ship when one of my men offered me a cigarette to calm myself during those stressful times. Now that I was back on shore that stayed with me and I had become an awful addict. I was going through four or five packs a day, smoking constantly day in and day out. I knew he didn't like it but I did it anyways. It was my body after all and if I developed some sort of disease it was my fault and my fault alone.

Since he wouldn't let me smoke in the house we often went for walks together in Madrid. I always grinned or waved to the people who passed and felt so at home with the others around me. He seemed grumpy but I always thought he felt the same way. I guess I was horribly wrong and should have noticed how agitated he became at every person't look or movement. But that's just me, the guy who can't read the atmosphere to save my life. I feel bad for putting him through that now but I could have sworn it was just an innocent walk back then.

It was one of those days where all I could do was remember all those traumatic events that were so long ago but seemed like yesterday. I remember saying to myself that I needed a drink to forget my misery and took off to the bar without telling him. After all, it was only little past noon. I was on my third pack of cigarettes that day and sat down on the stool in front of the counter. That bartender seemed so inviting, I ordered my drink and gave him a large tip for the smile he kept on his face. And before I knew it I was ordering two, three, four more. I just kept knocking them back and asking for more. I was drunk in no time and eyeing everyone in the bar until I came across a young man no older than sixteen. I staggered over to him and within minutes was shoving my tongue down his throut. He didn't resist. No one stopped me because I was a fucking war hero back then. I did what I wanted. I moved on from him and onto another one who was probably in his early twenties. Then a teenage girl, a thirty something man, elderly lady, late twenties girl and another teenage boy.

At one point the bartender had stopped giving me drinks and when I kept making a scene I was kicked out of the bar all together. So I staggered home and hid in my room before he had the chance to see me. It was getting dark and I listened carefully while laying on my floor to the tv in the living room. He was watching a drama, one that I particularly liked. So I slowly got up and made my way to the living room to join him and see how he was. He had taken all the room on the coach but I was far too hammered to care. I just plopped down on to the floor and wached the show before deciding to take a look at my lovely boy. I smiled and glaced back at him from the corner of my eye to see him looking awfully scared. How silly he was to be afraid of me.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, unknown words leaving it everytime. It reminded me somewhat of a fish out of water. Such a weird thing to do~ He was staring at my eyes so intently I began to stare back. Those pretty hazel pools filled with what seemed like pain, misery and anger. There were not clear and relaxed as I usually saw them but they appeared to be dancing and rippling like a disturbed pond. His expression reflected those eyes so well. His mouth was in a downward curve on both ends and his eyebrows were lowered as if he was angry with me. Well he was angry with me and I could tell without him even saying so. Even the way he sat showed obvious distaste for me at the time.

"Are you drunk bastard?" What? No, I was fine, I meant it. I denied that accusation with everythingI could and even tried standing up to show him. Once I was onto my feet I felt the floor leave me and I stumbled onto the coffee table. It hurt a lot but I kept that stupid grin on and just watched him from my new position. His scowl stayed on his face though and mad eit clear that he was not falling for it. I could feel my smile lowering into a frown and anger beginning to bubble up from within me. He was always nagging me for one reason or another and it was starting to really bother me. "Can't you just let me be..." I slurred crossly. I was ready for some space, I was done with him right now. I almost wanted to go back to the bar and become appreciated again.

The face he made when I said that, it was utter shock and appauled. It made me break out into laughter, maybe he had gotten it through his head that he needed to go to bed. He was still my love but I needed some time to myself and to relax. I was in such a bad mood and had been starting to take it out on him. He was innocent, I was such an ass. I should have gone to bed instead and saved us all the trouble I was bringing up. But no, I was drunk and rowdy and he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I watched as he left the room and dug through my pockets for my pack of cigarettes. With one hand I skillfuly pulled one out without getting the pack out of my pocket and lit it with the lighter in the other hand. I took a deep drag before exhaling and staring at the smoke that left my mouth and nose. It was so hypnotising as it swirled and curled in the air. How I loved to smoke and just let my body absorb the the nicotine that rushed through my veins and slowly addicted me more and more. There was no ashtray nearby though so I had to try and get up once more to look for one that I had around the house. I didn't find one and instead just used one of the cups that had been laying on the counter. I remember saying I'd wash it later.

"Goodbye, goodbye my hopeless dream" I sang quietly as I wandered around aimlessly in the almost dark. The only light came from the tip of my cigarette and the tv. The song was one that had been playing at the bar almost constantly and I had it stuck in my head for the rest of the night. I had been singing it to the people I was seducing at the bar but never really listened to the lyrics until I was home. A sad smile crept up on me and I sat at the bottom of the staircase contemplating going up and apologizing to him. But I never got around to doing that nd instead changed my train of thought to the war I was going to be in the next day. It was going to be quite the doozy with me having a hangover and such. I didn't even think about the possibility fo dying not even once. I was Spain, I was invincible. At least that's what I told myself.