Romano tensed up, feeling cool metal pressed against his forehead as he was gripped tightly. The only thing that could be heard was the ticking of the clock and soft breaths from both men. The Italian glared at the tip at the gun with resentment; he was powerless in this position, and Spain knew it.

Spain smiled with a false sweetness, nails digging into Romano's arm. "You had to get involved, right? Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." He sighed defeatedly, resting his head on his shoulder. "You're such a prick in my side, Roma, but you're my prick." He spoke in a taunting tone of voice, making the teen blind with rage as he kicked Spain away. "Quit it! You don't bring a gun and act like a cheerful idiot, you psycho!"

Spain looked stunned, before chuckling with a warm smile. "Maybe I am a psycho. But it keeps you allllll for myself, so who cares if a bit of blood is spilled?" Romano looked to the floor, silent, before letting out a war cry and rushing up to him, reaching out for the gun. Spain laughed crazily, sweeping Romano into a chaotic dance as he shot the gun, teasing Romano by purposely shooting the bullets so they'd miss him by a hair. The Italian growled in annoyance, stopping dead in his tracks. He'd soon be dead if he attempted to force the gun away by brute force - The bastard was a complete psycho, he'd probably shoot him in the head for the fun of it. Instead, he knelt down next to France and started wiping the blood off of him, feeling for a pulse and feeling relieved when he felt a faint heartbeat, before he was picked up bridal style by Spain, who was enraged. He reloaded his gun, shooting a few more rounds into France's chest right before Romano's eyes.

"See what you've done, Lovino?!" The Spaniard seethed, looking down to him. "This is your fault." Romano, on any normal day, would've screamed right back, but today was anything but normal. The teen was shaking and sobbing, a hand over his mouth in shock as he felt blood seep from France's extravagantly colored clothes, leaving a crimson hue. Spain smiled at his work, shooting the man directly in the eye for the hell of it. Romano couldn't help it as he vomited on the floor, disgusted.

"Aww, Romanito!" Spain pouted cutely, looking to the puke on his clothing. "I just bought these shoes! How could you be so mean?" The man went to the kitchen, sifting the medicine cabinet and pulling out an empty bottle, saving some of Romano's vomit inside. He let out a squeal of pleasure akin to one of a young, lovesick schoolgirl.

"Now I'll have some of you forever~!"

Romano was soon tossed away like garbage as Spain ran off to the attic. Romano stood up, about to go sleep again before remembering that France's corpse was still there. He picked the man up by his arms, dragging him out to the back and starting to dig, crying softly as he begged God for forgiveness.

His religion was the only thing keeping him sane; he cherished his relationship with God above all. Spain resented this - The man was a deeply satanic individual under his forged Christian image - so he was forced to pray in absolute secrecy and participate in the most sinful acts when with his caretaker. He continued mumbling his prayer while burying the frenchman, trying to stop his sobbing and get a grip on reality.

About an hour later, he heard a crash in the house. He reluctantly ran in, seeing Spain passed out on the floor with bottles of Corona around him; about 20 bottles were intact, but there were a few broken ones around his legs. He sighed softly, dragging his boss over to the couch, laying him down and going to the laundry room, getting the man a clean blanket and laying it over him, going to sweep up the glass.

….

Romano sat at the World Meeting, biting the tip of his pencil as Germany rambled on about whatever the hell he was talking about - The Italian couldn't give two shits about the German or what he said. He instead took solace in the book he was reading; a romance novel.

He envied how they were so happy in each other's embrace. He loathed how the woman was treated with love and respect. He despised their happiness, and rejected how this happiness was created. He looked up to Spain, who was staring at him with his stupid grin. He knew he was in trouble for not paying attention to Germany's boring speech. He looked to his book, ignoring the tears sliding down his red tinted cheeks as he ran out, ignoring the shouts and calls behind him. The book was casted away onto the street as it started to rain. Visions of the life he could've had flooded his mind; visions of the happy moments like the people in the book.

Oh, what a lovely existence that would be.

….

Reviews are appreciated!

With love and cookies,

MysticalMyosotis