Dear readers, welcome to this weird, historically not quite accurate Spamano story that I've wanted to write for years. Please note the warnings listed below and don't read this fic if you're easily triggered. The first chapter might still be a kind of 'introductionary' chapter, but later chapters will be much more darker.
Also, this story hasn't been beta-read yet, since my beta doesn't have much time on his hands. So please ignore any mistakes for now. I'll update the file later! :-)

Warnings: Eating disorder (EDNOS/OSFED), angst, depressive feelings, guilt, denial, shame, trauma, hurt/comfort

Pairings: Spamano, Gerita (mentioned)

The one thing Romano truly loved about headphones was that they kept the world at bay. Whether he was actually listening to music or not didn't even matter. Most people had long internalized that headphones were an electronic 'Do Not Disturb'-sign and hence spared the person wearing them each and every kind of unnecessary conversation. Therefore, putting on his headphones after a long hard working day had become a constant habit of Romano.

Given that today was one of those days where Romano's precious coffee break had been ruined by two mafiosi, who "just happened to be around" and "just wanted to say ciao and have a little chat", Romano decided to forgo the music in order to starve out his latent headache. Mute headphones on, he made his way down the busy street, past well-attended restaurants and shops, and around the corner. Escorted by his outstretched shadow and the late yet still comfortably warm sun, he headed towards a bus stop at the end of a quiet side road. With the exception of two women, whose lower legs and feet were almost completely swallowed by an ocean of jam-packed shopping bags, the stop was deserted. Both women acknowledged Romano's arrival with a brief glance and a kind nod in his direction. Assuming his ears were blocked with music, they continued their conversation as uninhibited as if no one was around, while Romano checked his cellphone.

Aside from too many unread business emails, though, there were only two notifications begging for his attention. One was from the terribly annoying Whatsapp group Feli had somehow tricked Romano into joining. As if he was interested in cheesy photos of Feli and that stupid potato bastard! The only reason the older Italy brother stayed in this dreadful group was that otherwise he had to deal with Feliciano's awfully effective crying.
To prevent the emergence of any useless drama in advance, Romano posted an ugly emoji in response to the couple's latest photo, skipped the other Whatsapp notification, and switched to Instagram. Surprise, surprise: His feed had once again been spammed with food porn and fitness updates by America; and on twitter, the usual exchange of verbal blows between various nations was taking place. Great. Just great. If Romano didn't already have a headache, he surely would have one by now!

At least there was still the unread Whatsapp notification that he had ignored up to now and that informed him about a message he had received this morning from Spain. It was the kind of message that Romano got far too often and that usually began with a cheerful Hola Lovi :D ¿Qué tal? It was also the kind of message Romano principally ignored all day long, so Spain wouldn't get the impression that Romano had nothing better to do than exchanging messages with his former caretaker.
In the evening, however, the personification of South Italy often found himself calling Spain after realizing they had just been chatting for twenty minutes straight – and Romano found the activity of chatting tiring as hell. Or as Spain always put it: Romano was still a lazy ass at heart and, as such, preferred speaking to typing. Needless to say that Romano always disagreed, even though he knew that it was true and, even worse, that Spain would take advantage of Romano's denial by asking innocently, "So you just called to hear my voice then?" Whereupon Romano would threaten to hang up but never did, because Spain's light-hearted laughter felt too much like coming home to Romano to turn his back on it.
Damn, if only he was already back in his apartment, Romano thought to himself while waiting for the bus. His apartment may lack the incomparable feeling of home, but at least he could make himself some delicious pasta there and–

"...don't know what to do anymore. Most days she barely eats, and I haven't even noticed until very recently! I mean, she's always been talkative, but it's gotten to the point where she's talking non-stop during mealtimes. Really, all she does is talking and cutting her food into teeny-weeny pieces she shoves around on her plate. And after she's taken a few bites, she says she's full."

That was normal. Romano, whose attention had been caught by the older woman's distressed voice, had witnessed this sort of behavior for centuries on end.

"Or she tells me she isn't hungry, because she has already eaten at a friend's."

So what? This was normal as well. Romano couldn't even recall the number of mealtimes during which he had been the only one who had eaten, although Spain had been present.

"But I'm afraid she's lying to me..."

"Have you ever tried to talk to her about it?"

What was there to talk about?

"Of course, but all she ever says is that I'm imagining things. Well, I surely don't imagine her recent weight loss! And last week, I wanted to put the freshly washed laundry in her wardrobe and guess what I found. Shoe boxes! She never keeps her shoes or her shoe boxes in her wardrobe. She has a separate rack for them."

"So?"

"The boxes were filled with all kinds of sweets: chips, muffins, chocolate bars..."

"Oh..."

Why oh? That was perfectly normal, too! Romano had grown up finding hidden goodies in Spain's drawers, sideboards, suitcases, wooden chests, and whatever else offered a decent stash. It had been quite handy, for whenever chibi Romano had been bored, he had searched the large mansion in order to spend the rest of the day snacking on Spain's hidden treasures. Spain had never seemed to mind. Or at least that was what the younger nation had always believed, since Spain had kept quiet about the whole matter. And keeping quiet about Romano doing things he wasn't supposed to do wasn't Spain's style at all. So Romano had thought it to be okay. In fact, he had played it like a game. As soon as he had noticed that the sweets – mostly hard candy – were gone, he had felt challenged. Usually, his searches had ended successfully. Some days, however, even his greatest efforts had turned out to be in vain. These had been the days Romano had silently cursed Spain for being such a greedy bastard. Thankfully, there had always been enough food in the kitchen and pantry to feed an army, so Romano had very well known where to go to help himself. Still, the candy hide-and-seek had been far more entertaining than grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. Plus, it had made Romano feel special, because Spain had never asked anyone else to join their game. It had been – and still was – their exclusive little secret.

"Yeah, I'm really worried about her. I know she sometimes overeats, like last Friday for example. We went to that new all you can eat restaurant that had just reopened in our neighborhood and she really enjoyed the food. I haven't seen her eating like that in months! It was like she was a totally different person!"

Again: completely normal. The mealtimes during which Spain ate twice as much as an average adult had always been just as common as the mealtimes during which he hardly touched his food. Being a picky eater with a big appetite himself, Romano had never questioned any of Spain's eating habits. They had just been there, right in front of Romano, day after day after day...

"She even had dessert, although she usually avoids all kinds of unhealthy and fatty foods. Or at least that's what I thought until I found the shoe boxes. And then there was last Friday: She excused herself right after she had finished dessert and went straight to the bathroom. I'm afraid she threw up."

Which was totally normal too for someone who eats like a horse. Romano remembered several nights in which he had caught the intense sounds of Spain's retching through the locked bathroom door. Too much food, too much wine, or too much of both of them. Romano hadn't really been able to care back then, for he had always had a much more pressing problem, namely his full bladder. In theory, he could have easily gone into the garden or all the way down the hall to the next bathroom, but for fear of the dark, he had always walked straight back into bed. These had been the nights that had never ended well for his bed linen. But each time Spain had complained about Romano's little accident in the morning, Romano had either lied his way out of the embarrassing situation or he had screamed that it had only happened because Spain had been in the bathroom puking his guts out. Whereas the absurd lies had only ever brought Spain's anger to the boil, the blunt truth had made him drop the subject immediately. Scratching his neck rather nervously, he had mumbled a quick apology before bursting into a weird laughter. The wine, the wine. According to Spain, it had always been the wine's fault. And his stressed stomach's, of course. Oh Dios, these damn stomach pains!
Romano hadn't known how to respond to this, so he had either punched his tiny fist against Spain's tibia or, if Spain had dared to pick him up, Romano had poked his right index finger into one of Spain's slightly swollen cheeks before wrapping his arms around Spain's neck. It had been Romano's way of saying, 'You better get better soon, dumbass!'

"You should try talking to her again. Eating disorders are very dangerous illnesses. You two should go see a doctor as soon as possible. Your figlia needs professional treatment. The sooner, the better, I think."

Wait! What?
Doctor? Professional treatment? Dangerous illness?
Romano could scarcely believe his ears! How was all this a threatening illness, let alone an eating disorder? Weren't eating disorders these strange illnesses that caused young people to starve themselves to death or to make themselves sick after every single meal? Burning up with confusion, Romano tried his best to get his head around the fact that what he had always considered to be normal was actually everything but normal. Simultaneously, he had a hard time pretending that a non-existent wall of music had just prevented him from learning that not only the daughter of one of the women was critically ill, but so was Spain!

But...but... how? Spain wasn't a walking skeleton and Romano knew for sure that neither overeating nor puking were part of Spain's daily routine. Besides, Spain loved food! From a traditional paella to home-grown vegetables to crema catalana. He had a great passion for cooking and practically beamed with joy whenever an opportunity to delight some guests with a home-cooked meal opened up. So how the hell could the bastard have an eating disorder? That was plainly impossible!

Or wasn't it?

To be honest, Romano had never wasted a single thought on the fact that the naturally communicative Spaniard spent some meals talking instead of eating. Or that he sometimes came home in the evening and refused to eat at all, because he had run into someone – and old acquaintance, a good friend, an important business partner – who he already had dinner with.
Romano had also never taken much notice of the variation in Spain's portion sizes. He just knew that some days, Spain inhaled food like a vacuum cleaner. But for some unknown reason, Romano was relatively optimistic that Spain had learned his lesson about overeating by now. Because who in his right mind wouldn't have done so after all these years? Not even Spain was that stupid. Besides, he had never made himself sick on purpose!

...Or had he?

All of a sudden, Romano was not so certain anymore. The queasy suspicion that the hidden sweets had never been part of a game specifically designed for him, but a mere symptom of Spain's illness hit the Italian hard. Thunderstruck, he could but watch as the two women picked up their shopping bags and got on the bus that had just stopped in front of them. With a hissing sound the bus's doors closed and the vehicle made its way down the street. It wasn't until the bus had completely disappeared from Romano's view that he slowly recovered from his shock and his anger sat it.

Spain! That damn bastard! That filthy liar! That cunning little bitch!

Not only did Romano miss the bus because of that damn idiot, but the jerk had also managed to make a fool of Romano since day one! God, that couldn't be true! It just couldn't be!

Seething with rage, Romano kicked against a small, sun-bleached juice pack resting peacefully on the sidewalk. The pack's involuntary journey across the street was accompanied by a wide range of foul swearwords Romano couldn't hold back. The echo came promptly as a stout woman living on the 3rd floor peered through her open window and told Romano to shut his dirty mouth or she'd come down and gave him the answer he deserved. Turning as red as a tomato, Romano quickly ducked his head, thinking that all this was so typical of Spain! The idiot didn't even have to be around to cause Romano trouble!

Continuing to curse the older nation – albeit through hissed teeth now –, Romano slumped down on the bus stop's narrow bench. With slightly shaking hands he started flicking through his photo gallery, which was as frequently fed with new additions by Spain as the lame Whatsapp chat. So here he was, frozen in countless selfies: Spain.

Spain smiling.

Spain smiling for no concrete reason again.

Spain making a silly face.

Spain half-hidden behind his favorite scarf.

Spain happily embracing his Christmas treats.

Spain greeting with a cup of coffee in the morning and hair that wasn't supposed to look that perfectly styled when you've just gotten out of bed on New Year's Day.

Spain petting an affable cat on the street.

Spain chilling in a hammock.

Spain proudly presenting a basket of freshly picked tomatoes.

Spain wearing a hideous t-shirt and a totally ridiculous pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, but radiating an attractiveness that couldn't be ruined by any fashion faux pax, ever.

…

Romano wished he could smash the display and strangle the other nation right here and now, because even though the fluctuation in weight was almost nonexistent, Spain's face spoke volumes about it. Roughly eight months ago, his sun-kissed, clear-cut features had appeared sharp as razor blades, whereas lately, his smile resided in oddly puffy cheeks. The faster Romano turned back the hands of time by switching through the photos, the more apparent it became: Spain went to somewhat regular intervals of gaining and losing a few pounds. What irritated the Italian the most was how familiar he was with each and every version of Spain's face. The older nation didn't look sick on any of the photos — at least not to Romano, who had witnessed the subtle changes so many times in the course of his life that he had become completely blind to them. These changes couldn't be compared to the drastic effects wars, famines, or domestic political tensions had on a nation's body. They were something entirely different; and they left Romano incredibly furious, for when the two women were right, then Spain had raised Romano to be an oblivious ally in a game that wasn't supposed to be played by anyone! What the fuck was Spain thinking to drag Romano into this?! Really, Antonio should be ashamed of himself! Never saying a word, just taking advantage of young Lovino's naivety by weakly laughing it off whenever Romano had bitterly complained about the occupied bathroom. Reviewing the many mornings from the vantage point of the present, Romano could but conclude that it really seemed like Spain had indeed been … ashamed.

Oh, fuck! Squeezing his eyes shut, Romano stopped browsing through his gallery and began tapping his cellphone against his forehead. He had been so stupid. So very stupid. But it still didn't make any sense to him. None of it! If Spain was really feeling ashamed, then why hadn't he stopped long ago? Why was he still hoarding and hiding food? Or praising the food on his plate to the highest heavens, but leaving half of his meal untouched? And what about all the days on which he ate as if there was no tomorrow? Romano's headache intensified as he rummaged through his memories, trying to recall the last time Spain had disappeared in the bathroom after wolfing down an enormously large amount of food. It had probably been a good while ago and Romano wasn't even sure Spain had actually made himself sick. How was he supposed to know anyway? It wasn't like he was following his old boss around like a dog or something!

Also, weren't eating disorders about losing as much weight as possible? Considering that Spain was neither emaciated nor generally dissatisfied with his outer appearance, it was rather unlikely that he was suffering from an eating disorder. He didn't even seem to bother about his weird eating habits!

Was there any chance that eating disorders were only a danger to humans, but not to nations? After all, human bodies were much more fragile. Maybe Spain could handle things just fine and thus didn't see the point in changing his behavior? Or was he trapped in a vicious circle he couldn't break free from, just like the woman's daughter? But what was so hard about adjusting portion sizes and stopping to make oneself sick after eating?

Tired of the nagging questions and endless speculations, Romano shoved the term "eating disorder" into Google's search bar.

After 10 minutes, he wished he had never had an acute reason to educate himself on the topic.
After 15 minutes, he hated Spain with all his heart.
And after 35 minutes, when Romano had finally closed his apartment door behind him, he was too upset to answer Spain's message. He just knew he had to go check on Antonio as soon as possible. Problem was just that Romano had no clue how to do so without exploding the second he caught sight of Spain. He was so angry at the damn bastard!

God, he was so worried about Spagna.

tbc

Thank you for reading! Feedback is always much appreciated :-)