It began with the small things.
Like how he'd shut out when nobody was looking.
Or when he thought no one was looking.
If Romano was worried, he wouldn't say.
But he knew.
And Spain knew.
The truth weighed them down like rock, sinking.
Drowning.
And Romano just couldn't, he couldn't do it.
Change.
It was just too much, and he didn't know how.
But he couldn't take this either.
"What the hell is wrong with you!?" The tension had finally burst.
Spain blinked, fear creeping into his eyes.
"What do you me-"
"You know perfectly well what I mean, you bastard!" Romano rose, trembling. "It's me, isn't it."
Something in Spain shattered. He fell forward and clutched Romano tightly, head shaking into his chest.
"NO, Romano, no, don't go. Please... don't leave me. I promise, Romano, I promise it doesn't hurt. See? See? I can still smile, see? It doesn't hurt, I promise. Don't leave..." Romano felt sick. Spain's teardrops fell onto his cheeks, mingling with his own. Romano leaned up and kissed him heavily, thickly.
"I have to." Spain's grip tightened.
"No, you can't. I'll get better, I promise." He whimpered feebly against Romano's mouth. "...I can get better..."
Not with me here, you can't.
"...I love you..." Spain confessed, empty eyes pleading. Romano froze.
"I..." he stuttered, daring himself to be honest. "I-I...
...I know." He cursed himself in his mind. He was so pathetic that he couldn't even be honest when it mattered. "I know, but I-I just can't." He had to leave. He refused to allow himself break Spain even more than he already had. Because It wasn't like he hadn't tried to change, he had. It was that he tried, and yet couldn't, and it was eating away at them both.
He had to leave.
Spain slept restlessly that night, and Romano was gone in the morning.