Spain woke to the sound of an angel. At least, that's what he believed it was. As he came further into consciousness, he realized that the sound was coming from the other side of the wall, from Romano's room. Of course.

Spain remembered the first time he heard Romano sing. He had come to visit him at his house and go out for dinner. Romano was in his room, playing his old guitar and singing. Spain was going to announce his arrival but stopped as soon as he heard the singing. He was petrified as he slowly made his way upstairs. It was so beautiful, he'd never heard anyone sing like that before.

After that, he remembered listening to him for a long time before Romano found him and yelled at him for doing so. Spain ignored the threats and only complimented him for the gift he had.

It really was a shame that he was always comparing himself to Veneziano. Because of this he never really acknowledged his own talents, his own perfections, and he even pushed away those who tried to love him. The resentment he felt towards himself broke Spain's heart.

Spain wasn't sure how long he sat there and listened to him, but he was shocked out of it when it suddenly stopped. Spain sat up in his bed, listening for anything. The sound of a door opening sounded from the hallway. Where was he going? Footsteps echoed along the floors until he could hear another door opening further down the hall.

Spain pulled a shirt over his head, getting out of bed and going into Romano's room. Despite the fact that it was dark in there, it looked like the Italian had been occupied. The clothes Italy had lent him were being packed into a suitcase. There were also napkins from the dinner Italy had brought up and left by his door from earlier, sitting by his guitar. Lyrics were written over them with a dying pen.

He could hear the toilet flush from the other end of the hall. Alright, this is it. Time to talk. To make amends. To apologize. Romano's feet scuffled along the floorboards until they got to the door. He could feel his eyes on him.

"Hey, Lovi." Romano stared at him. A million different emotions ran through him at once. He wanted to be angry, and everything in him told him that he had a right to be. He's the one who ended everything and made both of their lives a living hell. He's the one who was too stubborn to leave things where they were. He's the one who moved on so quickly. But at the same time he couldn't really blame him. Romano knew he was a pain in the ass.

"What the fuck do you want?" Romano asked in a low murmur, walking past Spain and to his suitcase.

"I came to apologize." He grabbed Romano's arm lightly, just enough to spin him around to look him in the eyes. "I was wrong." Romano glared at him, narrowing his eyes.

"What does it matter to you? Haven't you moved on?" Snatching his arm away, he went back to shoving the clothes in his bag.

"What are you talking about?" Romano slammed his hands down, walking away to close the door.

"Don't play fucking dumb with me!" He nearly shouted, but respected everyone's need to sleep. "I was in Madrid! I came to see you, to . . ." Spain looked up at him.

"To do what?"

"What does it matter?! You've moved on! I saw you with that guy!" Tears welled in his eyes, his voice cracked slightly, but he was still harsh. Still wanting to refuse the pain and especially let Spain see it. "I saw you two kissing." He spat. Spain felt like he had just been struck in the stomach with a spear.

"I . . . I . . . it wasn't like that. It was just one date-"

"Which ended well, I see. So I don't even get why you care."

"Lovino-"

"Honestly, you don't need to pity me. I'm fine on my own. It wouldn't be the first time I've been placed in second."

"Lovino!"

"I'm nothing special, so why would you care?" He grabbed Romano by both arms, bringing him face to face with him. Romano struggled in his grasp.

"Let me go, you bastard!" He gasped.

"Romano, I love you! I've loved, I love you, and I will always love you! You're special to me because you are a special person! Don't ever let yourself believe that you're anything but that! You. Are. Special!" He brought his lips to Romano's. Everything felt like it was spinning. Like he was being pulled right into a dream. And what made it better is that Romano didn't pull away, he just let it happen. When he finally did pull away, Romano looked at him.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do." He said, bringing his hands up to cup his face. "I'm sorry I did this to you. I was an idiot."

"Yeah, you were."

"But Romano, does this mean that you're ready to admit that you love me too?" Romano sighed, closing his eyes. It was time to let his pride down.

"Yes." Spain smiled. He was so happy.

"Oh God! Does this mean what I think it means?!"

"Yes." Romano gritted his teeth.

"I'm so happy!" Spain continued to pepper kisses all over the younger mans face.

"Yeah, yeah. Can I just ask you something?" He asked, scrunching his face.

"What is it?"

"How did you know? You kept saying that you knew, but how?"

"You were very drunk that Christmas all those years ago."

"What? No, I was just a little tipsy."

"No, you were drunk Romano. And it that night, after I had given you the guitar, when you told me. You gave me this weird look, and then you were kissing me. I was so shocked. You then told me that you loved me and practically passed out in my lap. I carried you upstairs and when you didn't remember the next morning I was a little heart broken, but I remained hopeful that one day you would tell me again. I guess I just got tired of waiting."

"Obviously you ass. I mean . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Romano, just because we're dating that doesn't mean that you have to change. I love you just the way you are, and if that means you want to call me bastard, ass, or other profanities then go ahead. I want you, the real you, Lovino." Romano hugged him, burying his face in Spain's neck.

"Good, bastard."