Hey! It's a-me! ;) But you done knew that. HERP DERP. Anyway, I was watching tel-eeeeeeee-vision and these plot bunnies started to eat my face, so here I am. Little...thingie I was thinking about, I'll explain motivation latahz. /shot
Probably...a bit of OOC-ness? Derp, could not be avoided.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and since the real owner won't answer my letters, I probably never will X3
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It was all too impending, of course. He himself had expected this.
No one would be surprised, not with the life he'd experienced, everything he'd had to go through.
The people who'd hated him, the people who'd preferred his little brother over him. In other, more simple words, everyone. Spain, Grandpa Rome, Germany, France("Not that I want that PERVERT'S attention!") and anyone else.
They wouldn't care. After all, who could miss such a whiny, spoiled, bitchy, annoying little brat?
He held the gun in his hand. His finger itching to go ahead and end it all, but his mind screaming 'wait'. For the moment, he chose his mind.
He knew he was ready. He'd been thinking over this for the longest time, ever since he'd caught Spain trying to switch him for his little brother. That was when the thoughts started.
As an adolescent, he had fallen in love with Spain. He tried to deny it but it kept creeping back up on him. It came to the point where he would find himself staring at his caretaker, then when Spain looked over at him, he'd mutter something to do with the word 'bastard' and look away. But sooner or later he would have to tell him.
The day he was going to tell him of his feelings, he found Spain laughing and holding his little brother.
-FLASHBACK-
Sneaking around, a small rose in his hand, Romano was trying to find his caretaker, Spain. Antonio.
His hands were clammy and his mind was blurred. He hadn't yet thought out what he would say, and it was going to be a complete wing-it moment. But he knew he'd somehow sneak both the "ti amo" and the rose into the conversation.
Just as he made his way to the kitchen, he knew Antonio was in there. He'd already looked all throughout the large house, and he knew it was about the time he would begin dinner anyhow. He peeked around the door frame shyly, as if to prolong the moment. What he saw made his tiny, lovesick heart shatter.
"Feliciano, when you get older, will you marry me?" Spain asked brightly, that smile playing on his lips and his arms wrapped around the Italian in his lap. Feliciano giggled.
"Of course!" Feliciano laughed and hugged Spain tight, who in return kissed Feliciano's forehead.
His eyes wide and filled to the brim with tears, his hand uncurled from around the rose, which softly and slowly drifted to the floor. He looked down and blinked, tears falling onto the fallen rose. Turning around, he quietly shuffled out and up to his bedroom.
He didn't come down for dinner.
If he hadn't have left, he would have seen Spain pick up the rose and put it in his pocket for safekeeping.
-END FLASHBACK-
It was obvious Spain was in love with Feliciano. It had always been obvious, with him always doting on Italy and treating him as a precious gem that always needed constant polishing. Whereas he seemed to treat Romano as a rotting tomato, something not quite yet gone and still needing attention, yet useless anyway.
In any case, who would miss him?
His hand tightened around the gun. Walking downstairs in his lovely summer home, he admired the soon-to-be bloodstained hardwood floor.
He walked into the kitchen, the light making him flinch. He set the gun down and opened the fridge, pulling out a tomato and staring at it in the palm of his hand.
He took a gentle nibble, not really hungry but wanting to postpone the tradgedy for at least a few more moments. As he finished the tomato, he threw away the rest and sat down at the kitchen table. Opening the newspaper, he began to read.
He read everything, from world news to sports. America's downfall in his economy ("Hey, wait, that bastardo is invading my newspapers too! Why does he need to be on the front page of my ITALIAN newspaper?")and Italy's great soccer match last night. Not that any of it mattered.
He put the newspaper down, sitting in the chair for a few more moments. Many different things were flying through his head, from 'I hope everyone is happy...' to 'I forgot to water the plants'.
He knew his land and people would survive. Italy would just take over his half of the country, and everything would be completely fine. Standing up, he shuffled over to the counter with the gun and took it in his hand.
Looking down at the gun, he gave a soft sigh, and lifted it to his temple. His index finger twitching, he put it on the trigger and pulled it a tiny bit.
1...
He started the mind countdown, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, his finger closing further.
2...
As he reached three, his eyes filled with tears and they fell slowly down his cheeks.
...3.
And the trigger was pulled.
And there were no regrets from the man on the floor, drenched in red.
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...
Motivation is also depressing. I won't lie, I felt like doing this the other day. but then I thought about my lovely lover(not really! HAHA) and stopped the thoughts!
My crush is my best friend and my family loves me and that's good.
For those who didn't know, I'm bisexuuuuaaaaal! ;DDDDDDD
I tried to add two little bits of humor. I do not know why, kill me if you wish. Also, I just suck at writing tradgedy. Should I write Spain and Italy's reactions or something?
If you like it, review! If you didn't, don't! Simple as that! (: