Spain was an odd one.
He seems simple at first, like a perfectly made box, open it up and you'll see the insides of his brain just fine, but in reality- he's a puzzle, a puzzle which no one seems to want to solve, and those who do just leave him, carrying with themselves the satisfaction, and leaving him with a sadness that nobody else quite feels, because it's so difficult to explain.
He has such a big heart, but nobody to love.
Love was a complicated thing for nations, you couldn't just 'love' someone and live happily ever after with them, because it brings so many complications. Those who do love try to keep it a secret, like Russia and America, who split apart after the Cold War, when their bosses found out and forced them apart like their hearts. Spain remembers America crying to him, "I don't know why he's so... So different now."
Spain just wants to fall in love, isn't that okay?
But no nations ever get a happily ever after, and England would say in a calm, calm voice, that it was alright that the nations don't get their good ending, because they don't have an ending, nor do they have a story, at least not one to tell. When Spain first heard this, he was confused, he was so confused, but England refused to speak anymore.
France would just give him a depressing smile that nobody thought a silly nation like him could ever have, and pat him gently on the shoulder, with his silky voice, "Spain, oh Spain, please don't ever fall in love, you can't be like the others."
Who did they think he was? An innocent little thing to be protected?
Oh, how he wished he listened to them!
Romano, his sweet, strong Romano, who promised to be there for him, with a small blush on his cheeks, but a glare in his eyes, and when Spain laughed and pointed out how cute he was, he just looked away with a "bastard!".
They had three years together. Three years of sugar-laced bites, three years of gentle steps in the sky, and each month they would go to the place where they told each other those angelic three words, a small river in Spain, where the sun was almost unbearable sometimes, and the grass was a pretty yellow-green color, with trees that provided a good shade for their annual picnics.
How sad the place they got together was also the place they split apart in.
Spain really did cry, it was from the pain in his chest and heart and oh god everywhere, a pain he didn't think was even possible, and all of the sudden- tears weren't enough to describe how betrayed he felt, nor were words, and if he knew the proper ways to describe heartbreak, he would've said them a hundred times over. A thousand, even, no matter if his throat became sore, no matter if his hands became numb from writing, he just wanted the world to know what it felt like when they thought a demon was an angel.
But so Romano never felt guilty, he put a smile on his face, and let him insult him everyday, as if nothing ever happened between them, and it was all a dream.
Let's pretend it was a dream.