AN: Just to make this clear again...this story does NOT contain Spamano. I'm not sure how to make that more clear. Sorry for any confusion. I suppose I can understand because there has been little between Germany and Romano, but the lengthy build-up was necessary. They are difficult characters who don't want to admit to any of their feelings so those walls had to crumble down a bit. There WILL be GermanyxRomano SOON, maybe as soon as the next two chapters. Somehow. If you don't like it...why still read this story?

On another note...I'm so sorry! I made all of you angry/sad/vindicated and then disappeared for a while. Summer isn't a very inspirational time for me. I write better when it's raining, and all I get is blasted sunshine. Bleh.

Final note: Dammit, Romano! I missed writing you and your angsty-ness. I need to write more with you in it.

Chapter 8-A Fresh Start

Romano hated mornings. He hated being dragged out of slumber when he was perfectly content to just sleep the rest of the day. He really hated hangovers.

So why did someone wake him up early when he was comfy and just wanted to sleep off his hangover?!

Fucker must not have known him well. Which was saying something, considering the asshole who had woken him up at an ungodly hour (so what if it was after 8?) was freaking Spain. That bastard raised Romano. He should have known better. Romano's only regret after punching Spain in the gut was that he was too tired and in pain to actually put any force behind it. Maybe later he would try again and actually crack a few ribs.

"R-Roma...why would you do that?" the aggravating Spaniard himself asked with a pout. He rubbed his bruised stomach as if it was more of an annoyance than hurting flesh.

"Shutta hell up, bastardo. Wha' dooya want?"

"I just wanted to wake you up. We're going to leave soon."

"So? Did you need meta...me to say goodbye? You're afuggin' man, Spain. You dunneed it," slurred Romano. He blinked some of the sleep from his eyes so he could glare at the other man, but Spain was standing right in front of an uncovered window. The sun shown around him, making him appear as nothing more than a dark figure as the light around him assaulted the Italian's eyes. "Motherfuggin'-!" Romano cursed as his eyes burned and he threw himself back on the end of the couch. He snatched up the white blanket and wrapped it tightly around his head and torso.

He heard a hollow laugh above him. Romano would have worried about it but the sound gave him a blaring headache. "I don't think you can drive with a hangover, Romano," Spain said softly as he tugged on the blanket. The Italian hissed and pulled the blanket around him tighter. "So, when I said that 'we' were going to leave, I didn't just mean me and your brother."

"Wait." Romano tore the cloth down from his face and narrowed his stinging eyes at the man. Spain just smiled back, yet it was small and uncertain. The Italian glared hard at him, too pissed and hungover to care about the stupid Spaniard's problems. All traces of sleep disappeared from his face as he hissed out, "I am not going with you. I have my own damn car and I can leave whenever the hell I want to."

"But Roma, your brother and I want to spend time with you. Neither of us has seen you in almost a month!"

"Not my fault, stupid vacationing bastards. Leave me alone. I'll leave when I want."

"We're going to your house though. It only makes sense to go together. Besides, Feli can pick up your car some other time. You'll be fine without it for a day, si?" As Spain spoke he pulled Romano to his feet. The shorter man tried to pull back but the Spaniard's hold was too firm. He pulled Romano out of the living room and towards the front door with ease. "Now, you just put on your shoes and I'll go get your brother." With an affectionate pat on the head-and a kiss on the forehead-Spain left. He was down the hall and up the stairs before Romano could coax his exhausted mind to think again.

Romano stared blankly at the stairway as Spain disappeared from sight. How had he let himself be dragged around so easily? Why the hell didn't he put up more of a fight? Why the hell didn't he just punch that sunofabitch in his goddamn face?! "That insufferable-!" the man sputtered as the blanket fell from around his head to drape across his back. "I...goddamn it!" Confusion was replaced with rage and Romano spun around. His fist smashed into the wall at full force.

A sickening crunch met Romano's ears and he gasped in pain. He pulled his hand back and cradled it against his chest. With care he slowly stretched his individual fingers, then his eyebrows knit together in confusion. There was pain but nothing was broken. Romano jerked his head up and stared at the wall. A fist sized hole was torn from the white surface. His hand had smashed straight through the wall right beside the front door. A deep frown appeared as Romano absently rubbed his sore knuckles. In annoyance he grumbled out, "Why the hell didn't I punch that bastard this hard earlier...?"

With a sigh the Italian stepped back and leaned against the wall. He slid down and kept his hurting hand cradled to his chest. The blanket hung loosely around him as he looked at the floor. An aggravated sigh escaped from his clenched jaw as his anger dissipated and left only a hollow emptiness behind. It was a feeling Romano had gotten used to over the last month. He almost wished he was still enraged. It had been so much easier to be angry at Spain. Romano had been able to scream and curse and blame all of his problems and disappointed hopes on the stupid, caring, freaking perfect man.

Romano pulled his knees up and rested his forehead against them. A soft whine escaped him but he forced it away. He could still feel the lump in his throat, still sense the bubbling disappointment that threatened to burst free from his chest.

"Romano-kun? What are you doing on the floor?" The Italian jerked and turned his head to look up at Japan. The man stood in the kitchen doorway wearing a white apron over his usual dress clothes and was looking down at the other in confusion. Romano's eyes slid back down to stare at the cold, wooden floor.

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. Romano could practically feel the Asian man's eyes scouring over him, trying to find out what was wrong while being too polite to ask directly. How...usual. A soft laugh built up but then died in Romano's throat. He knew Japan would never be able to discover what was wrong. It was impossible for him to understand. He hadn't been the one to have his heart torn out and trampled on, only to be lovingly stitched back together, then ripped again, then patched up, then shredded...yet Romano didn't care. Whether Japan stayed ignorant, as blissfully ignorant as Romano's stupid, lucky younger brother, or whether he discovered just how bad it was, Romano couldn't bring himself to care. It wasn't Japan's opinion that mattered to him. "I hate this. I hate it I hate it I hate it all," muttered Romano obsessively. He scrunched his eyes tight as he clenched his fists together. The pain shooting up from his right hand barely affected him. "I'm still just a fucking kid. After all these years..."

Japan stepped closer but didn't move to touch the man. Romano could hear the Asian man's feet shuffle about slightly, probably with indecision. "Oh, what the hell do you want?" Romano snapped out. A small wave of guilt washed over him. He knew that Japan was only trying to help. Don't bite the hand that never hurt you, or something like that...but he didn't particularly care. "I don't want to deal with anymore idiots today."

Japan let out a little sigh-disappointment, annoyance, happiness? He took a calming breathe and said, "I have made some breakfast and tea. Perhaps you would like to have some?"

The calm tone made Romano pause before verbally lashing out again. After mentally beating himself and physically beating the wall, perhaps he needed a distraction. "Fine," he eventually muttered before he dragged himself off the floor, "but I'm just making coffee. Not having any of that fish crap I smell."

"As you wish," replied Japan softly before he walked back into the kitchen. Romano followed him silently.

After some quiet pestering on Japan's part, Romano was finally willing to have breakfast. It was actually much easier to convince him to eat than Japan had thought. All he had to do was make bargains. Romano agreed to eat some rice if Japan would turn the light out and shut the hallway door. Then he would eat a bit of the eggs if Japan only covered all the windows and turned down the thermostat. However, Japan was unable to convince Romano to eat any of the salmon. The requirement was just too hard for Japan to meet.

"Just one kick."

"No, I am sorry, Romano-kun. I cannot."

"You can say that I did it."

"No."

"Come on, he won't even feel it!"

"You ask me to kick a friend. There is no way he will not feel that."

"He freaking deserves it anyway!"

"It is not Germany's fault you were drunk last night, Romano-kun. Your hangover is your own fault. I will not kick him." At the final remark Romano just glared and went quiet. He sometimes muttered darkly under his breath but mostly ignored Japan through the rest of breakfast. Japan enjoyed the peace while it lasted. It gave him a chance to go over his thoughts. He would have to come up with some way of connecting with Romano, of helping him recover and move on. The Italian half-nation wasn't an easy onto to communicate with either so he would have to be shrewd...but Japan could think of no way of forcing the angry man to discuss it with him. Even worse, he was running out of time. He would just have to wing it and hope for the best.

Japan finally looked back up at his friend and suddenly said, "I do not think that you should leave with Spain and North Italy." The Italian's reaction was instant. He dropped his fork just before it reached his mouth and it clattered on the table. Rice and eggs scattered everywhere. Romano himself just stared at Japan, mouth stuck open. After a moment of silence the man self consciously lowered his arm and snapped his mouth closed. His eyes darted to the side as a small embarrassed blush emerged. Japan observed all the changes intently and cleared his throat. He took a small sip of his tea to give the other time to get his bearings and smother the color from his cheeks. "You should not leave with Spain and North Italy," Japan echoed as he carefully placed his teacup back on the table.

"I...I do what I want, okay?! Don't tell me what to do and not to do!"

"Oh? So you would prefer to leave with them?"

"N-no, I-shut up! It isn't your business! I'm going home anyway. I never intended to stay."

"But stay you did."

Romano choked and couldn't reply. Japan took the opportunity to take another sip of his tea while his companion gathered his bearings. "I," said Romano with emphasis once he got himself under control, "I only stayed here because...it was convenient."

"How so?"

"I don't have to cook or clean. The potato bastard does that. And I don't have to listen to stupid idiots rambling on about pasta or tomatoes or turtles all day."

"You enjoy Germany's cooking?"

"Hell no!"

"But you eat what he cooks."

"I don't...stop freaking psychoanalyzing me and shit! Questioning people with hangovers isn't fair!"

"Very well, very well. I will stop," said Japan, then muttered to himself, "for now."

Romano narrowed his eyes at the Asian and asked, "What was that last bit?"

"I think your brother is coming down the stairs." Romano groaned and looked off to the side. Japan followed his gaze to the basement door. "I would not recommend hiding down there again. They already think you're sick. No need to make it worse."

"Shut up and drink your damn tea."

"I can't face him. I can't fucking do it," Romano thought desperately as he stared down at the table. His half eaten breakfast of eggs, rice, and coffee just sat there and offered him no answers. "If I see Veneziano, I am so going to punch his goddamn happy lights out. And then punch Spain twice as hard because my hand doesn't hurt anywhere near bad and ohgodithurts I can't fucking do this!" Romano gave up and banged his head on the table, narrowly avoiding the plate and a forehead full of rice. He could not face them again. Fleeing to the basement just like yesterday was a wonderful idea.

Fingers brushed Romano's shoulder in comfort. "You can do this, Romano-kun."

"Shut the hell up, stupid bastard. You don't know what you're talking about," Romano muttered to the table.

"You survived yesterday with...minimal emotional injuries. You can survive this now, for your brother. For both of your brothers."

Romano's head snapped up and he stared deep into Japan's dark eyes, his own searching for something. There was no laughter in the other man's expression. "I...shut up. Hungover. Don't want to deal with you being right." Romano's head smacked back down on the table.

Japan finally let out a small chuckle and said, "Then don't think about it yet. The time will come."

"FRATELLO! Where are you?" came a call from the hallway. Romano groaned. He picked his white blanket up off the floor and draped it over his head.

Japan's chuckle turned into a sigh. "Yes, the time will come."