Rivalry

Part 7

He was going to kill that bastard Spagna.

Not at this exact moment, because he happened to be a little too sore and exhausted and there was no way he was untangling himself from his blankets anytime soon. But at some point in the near future, Spain was going to be found lying in a ditch somewhere.

There he was, standing below his window, talking to those other two bastards, completely oblivious to the fact that France had his hand up his shirt and Prussia was standing way way too close to him.

Stupid bastard Spagna.

Romano was sitting on the window seat, wrapped in basically all of the sheets that had once been on their bed, glaring down at the trio. He'd woken up this morning to find that Spain had not only uncharacteristically risen before him—something that he hadn't known Spain to do since they started…um…cohabitating his bedroom—but he'd also left the room without waiting for him to wake up. Although there had been a note left on the nightstand, along with a Spanish omelette that he'd eaten before he even bothered to read the note.

Lovi,
Francis and Gilbert wanted to meet to talk about something privately, so we'll be right outside.
Te amo (and here he'd drawn a little heart…really?)
Antonio :)

But still. Spain just didn't do that sort of thing. Sure, he left notes all over the place for Romano to later find—Romano always complained about them, saying that they were annoying and cluttering, not admitting that he actually kept all of them in a box in his former bedroom—but usually they were a lot longer. And more flowery. And filled with annoying declarations of love and eternal devotion and all that shit…

The only thing even remotely like Spain about it was the smiley face and heart. And the fact that the stationary was tomato-print.

And where was he? Standing on the porch, right under their window, talking to those two bastards. Romano wasn't sure if Spain had chosen this place on purpose or if he'd just been his typical oblivious self and forgot that the front door was right underneath the window, but either way, it had given Romano the perfect vantage point to glare at them and consider throwing things at them. He'd brought over all of the bedding he could carry, cursing Spain out as soon as he set foot on the floor and a jolt of pain shot up his spine, and was now leaning right up against the glass so he could see exactly what was going on below him.

And he was quite pissed. Because not only was he in pain and could barely walk because of that bastard, but now he had to watch as said bastard's stupid pervert friends flirted with him.

Plus, he also had no idea why Spain was even there. What in the world could they want to talk with Spain about that couldn't be said in front of him? It wasn't as if they usually did this. They'd burst into Spain's house and talk in front of him about things he'd much rather not know about all the time. It wasn't as if they had any shame or anything…

Romano snorted irritably and glanced around his surroundings. Spain had removed most of his breakable items from the bedroom over the course of the years so he didn't have much of an arsenal to choose from. Stupid bastard…

Except for a pair of boots that were half-thrust under the bed, almost unnoticeable. The boots that Spain had been wearing when he came home last night…

No thinking about last night. He could feel a flush coming over his face just at the thought. No thinking about last night. He had other things to do.

He really didn't want to untangle himself from his very warm, very comfortable cocoon, but there were certain instances in which even that action was worth it. Having the opportunity to knock out a French pervert was one of them.

"Stupid Spagna." He was definitely locking the bedroom door before Spain could come back inside.

He grabbed the boots, along with a few other various items that could possibly cause harm, and brought them back to the window seat, curling back up with his blankets and eyeing the trio. France almost had the oblivious bastard's shirt entirely off at this point and Prussia was close enough that they might as well be kissing.

Stupid oblivious idiotic bastard Spagna.

He pushed the window open as quietly as possible, thankful when it chose not to squeak. One boot in one hand, one in the other, aim…and drop.

"OW!!!"

Perfect two part harmony from both perverted bastards at once. It was good he got all that practice in aiming from throwing things at Spain.

All of them had jerked back from where the boots had fallen after hitting them directly on the heads, Spain immediately glancing up to meet Romano's eyes as Prussia and France just looked confused.

Part two of operation 'get rid of stupid perverted friends' would now commence.

With a pair of Spain's dress shoes.

And an empty can that had once held soda.

And an empty wine bottle. Which made a very satisfying crashing sound against the sidewalk, even if it did technically miss both of them.

And a pillow, which he aimed at Spain's head.

Actually, he probably shouldn't have thrown the pillow, as he now only had three left and he was considering just sleeping here for the rest of the day.

"Lovi~!"

"You're a fucking idiot, Spagna."

"Lovi~" Spain was now hugging the pillow that had hit him on the head to his chest, staring up at Romano warily, as if expecting another hail of falling shoes and various other makeshift missiles. "We were just talking, Lovi. I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Damn it, that hurt." Prussia had backed out of range of the window and was now staring up at him with a slightly irritated, rather shocked expression.

France, on the other hand, had gotten past the pain caused by getting hit on the head by a boot, and a shoe, and a can, and was now grinning up at him as if completely aware about just why Romano was so irritated.

And then he moved back to Spain, wrapping his arms around his chest and leaning over his shoulder, winking up at the furious Italian.

Okay, never mind. Spain wasn't the one who was going to end up in a ditch. France was going down first. He'd deal with Spain later.

A/N: Note how Romano is slightly nicer to Spain than to France and Prussia ;D He only hit him with a pillow.

Sorry this took so long, I was in Canterbury for a while without my laptop and then I rewrote this like 3 times before I decided it was good enough. Blah ;P