"You are not enclosed within your bodies, nor confined to houses or fields. That which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the wind…."

~ Kahlil Gibran

Lost in his wondering thoughts, his only ever company in the lonely days that surrounded him now, time seem to slip by endlessly for Romano. It was all too soon before the dark sky and the sparkling mystery of the night gave way to the ghostly glow of a morning sunrise. The sky was lit with a dull sort of grey, entailing another cloudy day, another day of endless pain. It was no different to any other he had seen in the past month, the sky would slowly transform from navy blue to eerie white, before the sun poked its head gently over the horizon, a shining light bulb, lighting the world with warmth and honesty, no longer anywhere to hide in the obscuring dark. The idea of a spectacular sunrise had vanished to him, along with the sensation of life. It was all too distant now. It all belonged in another world.

And as the streets before him slowly became lighter and lighter, further and further into the dull morning, Romano's mood became ever more torn. His heart fluttered in excitement for the day to come. He was meeting his brother today, he was going to finally get the chance to say goodbye, say everything he had left unsaid when he was alive, complete what he had been left in this world to do, but at the same time, cold dread ran through his veins, more than one foreseeable reason fuelling it. Nerve driven thoughts of Veneziano repeatedly flickered through his mind, of how he would react, whether he would accept the news that he really was around after Spain's heartless rejection, or whether he would refuse everything, push it away, say they were crazy to even think of such an idiotic idea, and run off without another word, hurt and broken. Romano felt his blood run cold with fear at that thought.

And then there was Spain...

As though on cue, Romano heard the Spaniard stir, turning unconsciously away from the window, a small but painful moan uttering from his lips, drawing Romano away from his unwelcome thoughts. He would wake up soon, something entirely different that Romano dreaded to come. Once he was awake he would be wondering where Romano was, needing him for the day to come in order to keep himself together, to keep himself from breaking into panic ridden man that still haunted Romano's mind. If he wanted any hope to carry out his plans, Romano would have to tell Spain about them, tell him where he was going, why he had decided to do this, or else Spain would only assume he had disappeared without even a whisper in his rage.

Romano knew though, Spain would not take the news well. He despised England, a hatred that had boiled and stirred over years and years of fights in violent anger, and to find out the one he loved was turning to him for help could only end in an inevitable fight.

It's his own fucking fault for stopping me talking to my own brother. He just needs to deal with it.

Different scenarios, versions of the inevitable conversation ran over and over through Romano's head. Each one started in a different way, some Romano was loving, careful, cleverly starting out by complimenting Spain, making him feel loved, content, before he sliced through it all with his biting question. In some he was harsh, insensitive, letting anger take control of him, voices filled with insults, clipped tones, ending with a rage filled silence, no one caving in to the others wants, nothing having been accomplished. They all ended like that.

Romano sighed. Difficult didn't even begin to describe this impossible task.

"Romano?"

The sluggish voice of the sleepy Spaniard drifted over to Romano. He was sitting up, awake, gazing groggily out at the all but empty room, still a shocking mess from before. Momentary fear skittered across his face. He was trying to hide it, trying to stay strong despite everything, to not let it show how he couldn't last an even a minute with Romano's voice to guide him.

"I'm here."

I'm always fucking here. I can't ever fucking leave.

It was a while before Spain was able to wake properly from his sleep, up, changing from the same clothes he had warn over the past few days, chatting unconditionally to Romano as the Italian only gave vague answers in his nervousness, always in the need to hear Romano's soothing voice. It made Romano's heart squeeze at the forced cheerfulness Spain put into his words, only to keep Romano happy, only to keep his shoulders light with the guilt.

"So what do you want to do today, Roma?"

Spain sat on the bed, a gentle smile gracing at his lips, staring out to the room with unfocused eyes. Romano had to turn away. It tugged at his dread, his guilt, of what he was about to tell him. He shouldn't feel guilty, he knew, but he couldn't help what stirred inside of him.

"Well... I kind of... already have plans for today..."

Romano flinched at his awful words. It was shaky, obvious. Knowing the Spaniard, he would take it completely the wrong way.

But Spain's smile didn't falter. His eyes still sparkled with unwavering content.

"Ah, you're so organized. What are your plans then?"

Romano closed his eyes, taking a breath, willing himself to say it, thinking of the Spaniard selfishness, the way he had cut Romano off without a single word, as though he were nothing more than toy, denying him his last desperate wish to talk to his brother, bringing back some of his bubbling anger, enough to burn the guilt gnawing uncontrollably at him. When he next spoke, there was no hesitation, only conviction that this was the right thing.

"I'm going to meet with England and Veneziano today. He's the only person who can see me so he's going to help me talk to my brother. I don't fucking care what you think, you're just going to have to deal with it. It's your own fucking fault."

The tense silence rushed into the room. It felt almost necessary after Romano's heavy words. He dreaded the moment when Spain's voice would fill it.

"W-what?" His voice was filled with disbelief, but Romano still heard the cold anger underneath. He looked up, his heated retort on the tip of his tongue, but it fizzled and vanished into silence as his eyes landed on the Spaniard, the crushing disappointment, the heartbreaking hurt that streaked across his face. A lump formed in Romano's throat. It was a moment before he could speak, his guilt rendering him mute.

"I-I just... I need to talk to Veneziano Spain, a-and you wouldn't let me." He tried to sound more sympathetic, not able to bring the anger to his voice upon seeing theexpression on Spain's face. He pleaded with Spain to understand. "I-I had no other choice, dammit! After what you did, I had to fucking do it."

Romano paused, wanting to see what Spain had to say, wanting to see his reaction. He could only watch as Spain's face darkened in anger.

"So you decide to go behind my back, to that Britishbastard of all people, to do exactly what I asked you not to." Spain was on his feet now. He wasn't yelling, but the venom in his voice, the dark rage in his eyes, was more than enough to send a chill down Romano's spine. "That was your only choice?"

"I couldn't fucking talk to you, could I? You wouldn't even listen to me."

Again, hurt flashed across Spain's face. Desperation was beginning to leak into his voice now, hidden beneath the anger.

"That's not tru-"

"It's not like I wanted to go to him, but I had to, dammit. For fucks sake, you think you're the only one in the world who's grieving? You think you're the only fucking one who needs to talk to me? You're wrong, dammit! I need to talk to my brother and if this is the way I have to it then fuck you!"

Romano's anger burnt thick in the tense silence. His breathing was heavy from his loud speech. Rage scorched through him, all the rage that still controlled him from the past few days, every argument with Spain, every heated shout, curse, engulfing him in a wave of fury.

He couldn't stay. He couldn't bear to look at his smug face. After everything he had done, everything he had put Romano through, Spain still thought he could control him, he still thought it was only him that mattered in the world. He knew where Romano was going. He knew what his plans were. That was enough.

"I'm leaving," Romano snapped, his voice flat, cold. "I'm going to meet my brother and there's no way in hell I'm letting you fucking stop me."

The anger in Spain's eyes transformed in panic in an instant. All the hurt, the rage that had built up during the argument had vanished, leaving only dread behind. He was desperate, needing to do something, needing someway to stop Romano, twitching, searching around frantically, hesitant for an idea. Of course, there was no way he could stop him, being invisible for once having its advantages. He only had to slip through the doorway, out in the hall, and Spain would no longer be of his concern. That is, until he returned.

He began to walk, slow, under no pressure of time, not able to look at the Spaniard again as he did, fearing his expression would only waver his determination. He was about to tell him, to open his mouth for one final goodbye, but a rush of footsteps stopped him, the hard slam of the door, and suddenly Spain was front of him, back pressed firmly against the door, arms out stretched, blocking the only way out, his eyes closed, a look of unbearable pain and hurt latched onto his face. Still, no guilt crossed his features.

Romano felt his blood boil as his new, raging anger burnt hot inside him. His hands clenched into fists. He could feel himself trembling. It was all he could do not to lash out. It was all he could to keep his voice steady as he spat the next words, slowly, thick with rage.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Spain was shaking his head, flinching at the venom in Romano's voice. His fear was clear, fear of being alone, fear of a world without Romano's voice, of what would happen to him with the guidance of his lost love, clear in his expression, in his loud, shaking voice.

"You can't l-leave, R-Romano. I-I need you, I need you here. W-with me."

It was Romano's anger at the time that blinded him, set his narrow-mindedness on a straight course through his fog of rage. It didn't occur to him that words could have any other meaning than in that moment, blocking his only exit, only an obstacle preventing him from talking to his brother. It didn't occur to him to look at the picture as a whole, to note in truth what Spain's real fear was about, to think that Spain wasn't completely dim after all, that he had had too much time to think, to get ideas in his mind, to work out similar things to what Romano was thinking. There was no time to even consider before more distractions were already drawing him away.

Three knocks on the door drew the pair into a tense silence. A muffled voice came from outside, calling for Spain in a thick French accent, asking if he was alright, saying how he had heard a slam when walking through the hall and thought he should check to see what was wrong, to see if Spain was ready to talk yet.

"F-France..."

Spain turned, purposely keeping himself spread across the doorway so as to block it still, and peered cautiously through the peep hole. Romano took a step forward, unsure what to say or do, his anger still burning through him.

"Tell him to get the fuck out. We're having a fucking conversation here. Why should he interrupt?

The silence carried on for a long few seconds, the anticipation heavy in the air. Spain took his eyes from the hole and gently took a step back, hands still out stretched, careful not to make a sound to break the silence.

"Spain?"

The door jerked open. It was too quick to see, slamming into Spain's hand before he even had time to flinch. He let out a cry and stumbled back a few steps, grabbing his hand in the throbbing pain, carelessly letting France swing the door all the way open. The Frenchman was already running to Spain, apologising for his mistake. A red mark was already beginning to form where France had slammed the door into his hand.

"No! W-wait, you can't-"

Romano was already out the door, bolting down the corridor before Spain could stop him. He tried to push aside his concern for the Spaniard, his anger still bubbling uncontrollably inside of him. France could have hit Spain in the face with that door and he still would have ran. He just needed to get to England. He needed to get to his brother.

Ohonhonhonhon~ France what are you doing?!

Anyway, sorry this is late but I couldn't put it up yesterday because I was at Comicon! (IS THAT AWESOME OR WHAT!?)

But thank you everyone so so so much for the amazing reviews and for all the love ^_^ I always love it when you leave what you have to say you guys so thank you!

And enjoy! :D