A/N: I…actually have a second part. *readers gasp; 'Sinking' readers pick up their pitchforks* I'm not really proud of how this went. My excuse is that I've been writing the past four nights … Stupid insomnia.

However, one of the things I've written is either going to be posted later or tomorrow! (hopefully) I'm prouder of that one than this.

But you don't care about that. Here's part the second!

OoOoOo

He opened his eyes. Where was he? Did he end up in someone's bed again? Blink. Blink. Wait, what was that beeping sound? And there was something in his hand…He turned his head – why was it so hard to do that? – and looked at his hand. Eyes widened.

Spain. Spain. The damn tomato bastard was right there, holding his hand.

The first thought that came into his head was, Spain needs to stop being so damn clingy! It was obvious that the Spaniard was going to leave him eventually. Everybody did. So he needs to leaveleaveleave. Forever. Get the cazzo* away from him.

The second thought was, He's holding my hand. He cares. He cares, he cares he cares he cares. No matter how many times he's insulted the Spaniard, he's still theretherethere. He feels tears in his eyes. He blinks. No way was he going to be an emotional bastard. That was Veneziano's job, not his. He grips Spain's hand in return – his formers Boss stirs – before he rips his hand back, brings it to his neck – his cross where is his cross –

Tears fill his eyes, this time for a different reason. Dio, forgive me, help me, cure me, fix me… He doesn't want to sin. He wants to be a good Catholic. But how can he when he feels this way about Spain – He's crying and muttering in broken Italian. He doesn't notice that bandages on his arm or the fact that Spain is waking up.

He notices the latter when the Spaniard gives him an awkward hug. His face is buried in the Italian's neck – he can feel tears on his skin, feel the man's lips moving as he speaks words he can't decipher and he wants those lips to be doing other things things that he shouldn't want from another man. He cries harder, pushes the other nation away, puts his hands to his face in an attempt to save whatever dignity he had left as he cried – why couldn't he stop crying?

"Romano, Lovino, my tomatito**." The Spaniard is sitting close to him – too close go away stop making me this way! "What's wrong? Why would you do this to yourself?"

He only cries harder because the other just doesn't understand will never understand. He mutters to himself – he doesn't even know what language he's speaking anymore – and something must have been understood by Spain because he's being hugged again and Spain's talking again –

"This isn't wrong, Lovi. It's not wrong to love. It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to leave you. Oh, Lovi…"

It's always wrong has always been wrong it's a sinsinsin –

Spain takes his hands away from his face, kisses his palms, his wrists. He leans closer to the Italian's face, kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin – so close so close kiss me kiss me leaveleaveleave.

"God wants us to be happy. Por favor*** … How long have you been thinking that this is wrong? How long have you felt like I was going to leave…?"

He wants to answer. He really does. But he turns his head away, closes his eyes. He's already made a fool of himself. He blames whatever medication he was given – was he even given any? – oh well, he'll say he was on something, to make an excuse as to why he wasn't hiding behind his mask.

He doesn't know what Spain wants from him, doesn't know what God wants from him, doesn't even know what he himself wants. He doesn't react when Spain hugs him again. Doesn't react when he inched closer to the Italian. He didn't react when he felt Spain's lips on his.

He wasn't ready yet. He might never be ready. He wasn't sure what's wrong or right. But maybe in a hundred years he'll have an idea.

OoOoOo

Lame ending is lame.

I had no clue where this was going. Like I said before, I was testing a new writing style. And in no way do I think being homosexual is wrong, just making that clear. Apparently Italy is a very Catholic country, and I've read stories where Romano is deeply affected by this since he has feelings for Spain. Sooo…I wanted to give it a try. But go read those stories. They're a whole lot better than mine! *sweatdrop*

Translations:

Cazzo – fuck (Italian)

Tomatito – little tomato (Spanish)

Por favor – please (Spanish)

I don't know any relevant Italian. And I have no idea if that's how you say 'little tomato' (I've seen people use 3 different ways to say it. This is how I see it 'cuz I take Spanish … but in no way am I saying it's correct). If anyone is fluent in Italian or Spanish, PLEASE correct me! I'm in love with languages! I want to know how to write (and speak) in different languages without making a fool of myself!

Haha, anyway, review! Please?