Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
Romano had always been near and dear to Spain, and the Mediterranean nation had learned most the quirks, moods, and normalcies of Romano, but lately his familiarity with such qualities seemed to be doing him no good. The fiery Italian had been pushing him further and further away and the emerald eyed man couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why. While it wasn’t unusual for Romano to push him away physically, swear at him, and constantly send him looks that could warrant death, Spain had heard tones in the younger man’s voice that he had never experienced firsthand before. It wasn’t uncommon for the elder Italian to rage at France, but even then, Spain thought, his voice never contained such bitter malice.
Perhaps the Spanish nation was imagining things or, at least, over thinking them. His tendency to worry about the nation he had raised could cloud his thoughts sometimes and blow the problem the Italian might have had to a bigger proportion.
However, the emerald eyed man highly doubted Romano would allow the Spaniard anywhere near him. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like he was slowly being pushed away. Romano wasn’t speaking to him as much and had denied any invitation Spain offered so the two could meet, chat, and have a day where it was just the two of them and not the craziness of world meetings or the presence of France and Prussia. Romano always seemed to be as obstinate as ever when those two were around. Spain had never really figured out why, though.
He decided that yes, he was over thinking things, and that, for the best interests of himself, he would make no mention of it the next time he saw Romano. If anything, he didn’t want the Italian’s fist connecting with his stomach or getting an earful of curses.
Spain continued on with his day, preparing himself dinner since it was rather late in to the evening, and was readying vegetables to use in paella. He realized, as he cooked, that there would be another meeting in a few weeks and he would have the chance to speak with Romano and, hopefully, set up a day when the two could simply relax and catch up on all the time that had passed. The Spaniard hoped the Italian would comply, even if it was done so rather begrudgingly.
After finishing his meal it was decided that he would head to bed and find solace in his dreams, if he were to be so lucky. It didn’t take Spain very long to fall asleep and start dreaming, it had all seemed like another normal night of sleep, with normal dreams and the normal shuffling of sheets as the Spaniard lethargically moved about in his slumber. But then the shuffling became restless, the dream took a dark turn and the prospect of a normal night of sleep was no more. Spain wouldn’t be able to say what provoked the sudden change in his dream world, but he knew that it had gone from turtles, tomatoes, and sunshine to a very dark place that seemed to be void of life. Then, abruptly, the sleeping man woke with a gasp, flinging himself up into a sitting position and his skin covered in a cold sweat. It wasn’t the barren wasteland that had woken him, but what he had discovered as his subconscious explored the emptiness; it wasn’t the eerie darkness that had him broken him out in a cold, clammy sheen of perspiration. What had caused Spain’s blood to run cold was the sight of Romano’s - the person he had seen age, grow, and mature - tear stained face and his wrists seemed marred with blood.
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