A/N: Spamano is my OTP at ze moment, so I wrote this! It was written at midnight, so please excuse the lack of quality. And plot.

BTW, I've never been drugged, seen anyone high in person, drank, or seen anyone drunk in person. Please excuse my attempt at slurred speech.

This is also my first Hetalia fic. Everyone is OOC, but I like angsty!Romano. I'll do better next time. Promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. *sob* So…many…sexy…men…! *Hetalia characters back away*

OoOoOo

Damn tomato bastard. He's never around. Not when he needs it. Not that he'd ever admit it. He clenched his jaw. Why bother admitting anything when he was only going to get hurt? There was no point.

He stormed into the bar, set on flirting with the ladies while getting completely drunk. For awhile, it worked. All thoughts of Spain were gone from his mind. That is, until he saw Prussia.

The Italian growled. The damn Spaniard was friends with the Prussian. And the thoughts – those forbidden thoughts – those sinful thoughts – they all rushed into his head, forcing him to see images that a man – especially him – should never want to see. He clutched at his cross. Only the tomato bastard could make him like this. He grit his teeth. Spain was going to get tired of him sooner or later. The same would happen vice versa.

But a part of him didn't want to –

Dio, what was he thinking! He lifted a drink to his mouth – though he was positive he hadn't asked for it – and drank. It wasn't long before he lost count of how many drinks he'd had, how many people he'd cussed out. But he was too lightheaded to just be drunk. He swore – slurred, rather. He'd probably been drugged. He giggled. Not that he cared. It meant someone wasn't going to abandon him. Someone liked him – or, rather, his body. So he didn't put up much of a fight when someone started to lead him away.

Hands. Coldcoldcold, they unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt. He grinned. Giggled. Someone wanted him. Someone wanted him. Didn't resist lips on his mouth, hands on his crotch. Moaned. Bucked. Sinsinsin – his cross heavy. Tears – don't fall! Handshandshands – grin.

Hands. Gone. Eyes. Red – like a tomato. Giggle. Kiss – sloppy. Missed. Hands – new hands – pushed him, held him still.

"I know I'm awesome, but what the hell is wrong with you?"

Giggle. Smile. He doesn't know. Doesn't know the sinsinsin – they'll be gone anyway, soon.

"W-what'ssss not w-wrong with m-me?"

Grabs the cross. Waves it. Stumbles. Giggles.

"I-I'm s-sso wronggg. Can't be religiousss r-right."

The other's stopped listening. Holds his phone to his ear. He hears the name "'Tonio." Grabs for the phone – stumbles.

"D-don't call 'T-Tonio. D-doesn't knoww. He'll leave sssoon. Everyone d-does."

He gives up. Stumbles. Makes his way home. The other didn't follow him.

Sees red ripe tomatoes. Smiles. Spain likes them. He'll cut them. Then Spain can – Pain. Painpainpain. Not much. Feels silly. Tilts head. Confused.

He looks down at his hand. Giggles. The knife must have slipped. Now he had tomato all over his hands. Smiled widely. It's so thick. Bright. Must be a good one. Shiny, shiny red. Coming from his hand? There's tomato in his hand! Him and Spain could have lots of tomato – but he needs to get it out first. Looks to the knife. Brings it across his wrist. Redredred.

Collapses. Giggles. The room's all topsy-turvy. What was he doing again? Sees the red. More. Across his arms. Pretty, ripe, perfect.

Comes off his high. For the most part. Sees the bloodbloodblood. The knife. Why are his cheeks wet? Dizzy. Tired. Giggles. Time for a siesta.

OoOoOo

Good? Bad? Should I write a second part? (No promises I'll write it though. *hides from "Sinking" readers still waiting for a sequel*) Let me know what I can improve on! I love writing; I want to get better at it. Thanks!

And sorry if this is a bit confusing…I'm trying a different style of writing than what I usually do.