I sat on the steps of the porch of Spain's house. The house was dark and empty. It was too haunting for a Chibi like me. Every part of that house, reminded me of that tomato-loving bastard. The light in his emerald-green eyes when he laughs, the way the sun hit his dark skin, the way he would pat my head and say, "be a good boy. I'll be back as soon as I can".

And he'd leave. Just like everyone else in my life. Chibitalia, Grandpa Rome, now Spain. At least, he took the time to spend time with me. To even stand me. Despite this, did he know? Did he know that when he left, I would cry by myself? Did he know that I slept outside every night because the bed was too big for me? Did he know I ate and drank nothing because the table was too long? Did he know I missed his constant teasing, calling me a, "little tomato"?

I soon fell asleep because the moon and stars were dimly lit and were telling me it was time to sleep. I closed my little eyes and curled in a ball. It was cold. I needed Spain's warmth.

...

When I woke up, I smelled gunpowder, blood, and seawater. I slowly opened my eyes and saw bandaged, wet, yet smiling face. It was him. Spain. His clothes were ripped and he was soaked in his own blood, I could smell iron coming from him.

"Roma, you're going to catch a cold," Spain bent over and was so close to my face, I think he could hear my breathing.

"I-it's your fault, bastard!" I stuttered, "it's not really good to keep a kid waiting for so long!"

"You're right!" Spain laughed, "lo siento, Romano!"

"Do you know how long it took? Too long!" I muttered.

"I know, I know," Spain slowly stopped laughing and kept repeating his words.

He slumped to the ground and started to cry. He covered his face with his hands. He wasn't wailing, but it was silent.

"Romano," he whispered, "I'm so sorry!"

His voice was raising, but it was between sobs.

"I wish...I wish I could take you. But...I can't! I don't want you to see the things that I see. I want you to stay the innocent Romano that I know and love."

He looked at me. His usually carefree face was now showing an unknown fear. It was creeping on it like an old man gets wrinkles.
"I care for you too much," he choked out, "I want to protect you from the world without leaving you."

Was he...confessing? Was he...apologizing?

I grabbed my handkerchief from my apron pocket and wiped Spain's face, trying not to rub too hard. This expression on his face didn't suit him. Smiles. Laughter. Telling jokes. That's what suited him. Not this.

"Stop crying," I blinked back tears, "you should be happy. You're finally home, bastard. You should eat and rest. You've got no time to cry now."

"Roma?" He looked like he saw a ghost.

"What, bastard?"

He pulled my tiny arms into his large, muscular ones. He held me in a tight hug. I felt his heartbeat. It was slow and steady. It was soothing. Like a lullaby.

He whispered in my ear, like the soft beating of a butterfly's wings, "Gracias, Roma."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and let a single tear slide down my cheek.

"Don't thank me," I said, "I didn't do anything."

Spain scooped me up in his arms and kissed me on the forehead, " You've done more than you can understand."

I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt him tuck me into bed.

"Wait?" I reached for his jacket.

"Que? What is it?" He asked.

"Can you sleep with me tonight?"

He smiled, "of course."

He took off the drenched coat and undid his ponytail, making his hair fall in front of his face. He pulled the covers up and snuggled close to me. He put his arm around me, making me warm.

" Buenos noches, Roma," he whispered, like a lullaby, letting me fall asleep.