His First Love

Romano sat impatiently, tapping his foot against the floor and tapping his fingers against his folded arms. His temper was slowly rising as the quietness in the room started to suffocate him. He looked towards the stairs and then made a "tsk" noise. Where the hell is that idiot Spain? Romano was growing impatient.

His head flew back and he breathed out, letting a loud groan echo through the room. He stared at the ceiling, trying to relax. Romano had never been the one to wait for Spain in the mornings, Spain was always up early, making breakfast for the Italian and waking him up (even though Romano was not an early bird) Spain was always up with a smile plastered on his tanned face. But for some reason, today, Romano laid in bed expecting the Spaniard to crash into his room with smiles and breakfast on a tray but no Antonio to come in and before Romano knew it, he was just staring at the door hoping Spain would come in.

Romano decided to go downstairs and check if he was in the kitchen, but still no Spain. So he waited on the couch, just sitting there, not knowing what to do.

That is until a knock came from the door.

Romano's head perked up with an annoyed groan escaping his lips. He got up and walked towards the door, Who the hell could it be? When he opened the door, his face paled at the sight of a blonde man. The blonde man, in return, looked at him surprised.

"W-what the hell are you doing here F-france?" Romano stepped back to get a good distance away from the nation.

"I could 'ave asked the same, mon ami," answered the Frenchman. France stepped in and looked in cautiously, "Where is Antoine?" he looked back at the Italian.

"He's in his room, bastard!"

"Hmmm…" France looked towards the stairs, "Romano, do you by any chance know what day it is today?"

Romano looked at him confused, "I-it's Tuesday…"

France only stared at him. No amusement in his look, something that was rare for France. He made a humming noise then took out his cell phone, "I better call Gilbert then."

"Wait, what?" Romano's voice rose along with his temper. "Who do you think you are, you French bastard!"

"Someone important," Romano stopped his cursing, "someone who knows everything about him, unlike you who yells profanity and has a short fuse," France's voice spilled like poison, "you wouldn't understand anything, just like the rude child you were centuries ago."

He stared at him in surprise, unable to comprehend what he just said. France was never the one to point out someone's faults like that in such a tone. France's words hit him real deep. He could only look down to his feet in defeat as his face was heated in a deep shade of red. France only looked at him, it was the first Romano has ever seen France like that, the first he ever heard his voice so stern…

"B-bastard…" Romano mumbled, "I-I won't apologize, tell me what's g-going on…"

France sighed, running his hand through his long hair, "How about we sit down?"

"I think it's a good time to tell you this," France took out a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

"T-tell me what…?"

"About Antoine's behavior of course," he lit the cigarette, "It's on this day that Antoine lost his first love after all."

Romano's eyes widened, "H-his first l-love…?"

"Oui, it was centuries ago though, in his conquistador years to be exact," France breathed, "when he went to the new world."

"I-I don't remember that bastard telling me anything about meeting anyone there, when he came back he seemed fine…"

"Of course he didn't say anything," France laid back, "you were his 'little henchmen' after all."

The room grew quiet and Romano had no words to say. France looked up at the ceiling blowing smoke out from his mouth; he sighed and looked at Romano again, "She wa-"a loud crash echoed upstairs, followed by a scream. France quickly darted towards the noise, with a reluctant Romano behind him. They headed upstairs towards Spain's room and France practically ran the door down trying to get in.

The room was dark but they could clearly see a book shelf tipped over and Spain pacing, with his hands running through his brown hair continuously as he muttered words in Spanish.

"Antoine," France ran over to him, "it's okay, you need to stop and sit down."

As France tried to calm down the Spaniard, Romano could only look at his messed up room, his sheets were everywhere and one of the pillows were torn with feathers scattered across the room. Romano then directed his attention towards France and Spain, who were sitting on the bed. He could hear Spain's soft cries and mumbles against France's shoulder.

"Mon ami, it was not your fault," France looked towards Romano, his face serious and determined to tell him something without the Spanish man hearing.

Spain slowly lifted his head weakly and turned to stare at the olive green eyes that showed signs of worry and fear. He looked surprised at first but turned to look down and a faint chuckle was emitted from him, "R-romano is here… I d-don't want him to see me like this…" he wiped his face and then stood up, "Francis, can you wait downstairs for a bit? I want to talk to Lovi. I'm sure you at least told him something about this…"

"Of course," France also stood up.

"Gracias, mi amigo," Spain smiled faintly at him.

France walked out and Spain walked towards a small painted portrait of a woman with ebony hair and dark black eyes holding a spear and standing triumphantly on a small hill, she looked like one of the native people that once lived in, what is now, Latin America a long time ago…

Then it hit Romano who the woman was.

"I'm pretty sure you can tell who she is," Spain spoke, "though you're probably upset because I never told you about her…"

He stroked the frame gently, "My quierda…" his fingers slowly went to stroke the dark cheek of the painting, "She was so beautiful, strong, a true leader amongst her people. She believed I was a god and showed us her empire, she was smart and held herself with courage and pride" he breathed, "and before I knew it, I fell in love with her."

Something painful tugged at Romano's heart.

"She was fascinated by our way of life that she wanted to know more and I, too, wanted to know more about her. But I forgot about our mission and Cortes was growing impatient with me," he rubbed his eyes, "Before I knew it, my troops took everything, and she had lost all trust in me. She spouted curses at me in both my language and hers, she even called me a god to the demons…" he rubbed his eyes again, "I couldn't stop anything from happening, I was a country bound to the human's commands." and again, "So many people were killed," and again, "and she was so weak, but she still fought bravely," Romano saw tears run down Spain's face, "I wanted to help her, I really did, but I… I was too late…" His body trembled, "She had taken the final blow and her empire collapsed along with her…"

Romano didn't know what to say, a horrible pain in his chest throbbed. He stood unsure what to do, so he gently hugged the Spaniard, unsure whether he would take the gesture.

"But after her death, I found out about her children. The children to take her place in the world, so I raised them just like how I raised you…" he mumbled against Romano's shoulder.

Romano continued to try to comfort him. His painful sobs wetted Romano's short and his body trembled terribly. Romano held him tighter. Romano was aware of whom "her children" were; he had met them in his youth when they came once in awhile to Spain's house.

As a few minutes passed, Spain's sobs stopped and his trembling slowed down, he finally looked up at Romano with a sad smile; he kissed him on the forehead, muttering a 'gracias'. Romano had left to stay with his brother under the request of Spain. France decided to stay with his friend and called Gilbert to come over.

As France hung up his phone, he looked at Spain, who was currently lying on his bed facing away from France. "Mon cher," France quietly asked, "did you tell him everything? Even about your chil-"

"He doesn't need to know," Spain quickly shot back, "he doesn't need to know…"

"But you love him," France whispered softly, "you need to tell him the truth about what you did."

"I can't tell him the truth; that I'm their real father, about not just her but them, what I did to them… no, it's impossible, not again… its bad enough Mexico knows."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Not tell him…" his voice wavered as soft sobs were heard again.