The sun is actually nothing special, the ancients believed it to be the most important thing, time and science has proved that the sun is in fact just one of the many stars in the sky, just closer to us. There are bigger stars out there.
The bathroom was streaked with red going brown. Spain felt nauseous, the tiles were outlined in crimson and the body splayed out on it seemed inches away from death. All fragility was destroyed by the rough passionate red streaked across his Romanito's normally tan cheeks.
The silence was broken when Italy let out a yell. Shaking, he kneeled on the ground, shaking his brother. Spain leapt into action, moving the screaming Italy out of the way. Turning Romano's head to the side, checking for a pulse, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found one. He smiled. Romano was a fighter, even when he didn't want to be. Italy was already on the phone to the emergency services, yelling and what really caught Spains attention was the pure anger and frustration written on his face. The furrowed brows and the bloody clothes looked so out of place on him.
"Please, hurry, my fucking brother could be dead!' And thats when Spain realised what was happening, Italy was slowly starting to represent Romano's people. His little tomato was dying. The gravity of the situation pulled him down from the adrenaline infested cloud he was on. Somewhere he hoped Rome was seeing just what was occurring.
Rome was formerly his city, but he still felt it, the fall of something, the sharp pain in his chest, like he was losing something special to him. He realised. He needed to see his grandsons quickly. The pain was getting worse, but he could not hear his peoples screams and cries. He could hear a voice, a voice that said shocking and disturbing things, and he realised that it was Romano's voice.
"No one will miss me."
"I'll go quietly, no one will need to cry."
"I don't want to be a nation."
"What if Spain doesn't care?"
"I can finally die in peace and my fratelino can have my half."
"I'm a failure, I can't even make my people happy."
"What would it feel like if I drank that, no it takes too long."
"I'm scared of what I'm doing to myself."
"I'm selfish, expecting someone to notice out of the blue."
"I'm such an attention seeker but the minute I get some, I run away."
"I can never be as good as him."
"No wonder grandpa Rome never loved me, I'm good for nothing scum."
"Why can't I be nice for once."
"Save me, I won't save myself."
"I can't."
He wanted, no, needed to visit his grandson, even if it could be for the last time. The thought that he could fade away was taking big bites out of him. The bottomless regret he felt. Maybe if he paid a little more attention, then this would have never happened. The boy was broken, and now he was something he should've never been. A dying man.
Now, seeing him sprawled on the floor, his brother screaming in pure agony, like someone had ripped his heart in two and stepped on it, Spain, who looked so hauntingly beautiful at that point, cupping cold cheeks, he knew that this was his biggest regret.
He came up behind them, materialising suddenly. Shoving Spain out of his way and kneeling in front of Romano, he held his hand.
"Grandpa, you're here," Italy cried. He fell into Rome's embrace. "We need to take him to hospital, we need to take Lovi to the hospital, he's dead grandpa!" The rest of the time went through in a blur. All he was aware of was the emptiness he felt when he realised that he was alone in his grandsons living room and Spain and Italy weren't there. He was alone again.