B r u i s e s [spamano a.u.]

Chapter 1 - Bruises

A loud knock pounded against Southern Italy's door at nine o' clock sharp in the Sunday morning. Romano coughed as he gulped down the last of his water. "Coming," he called glumly, walking over to his door. He looked through the peephole.

"Hola! How are you, Lovino?" Spain's happy voice chirped, sending Lovino back a few feet. Lovino's rosy pink lips parted but no words came out.

"I'm doing perfectly fine!" he spat, "Go away!" He grimaced. He didn't mean to. It was on habit.

"But I have tomatoes~?" Spain sang, peering into the door creak. "Please, lemme in! I haven't seen you in a while." Lovino growled.

"Fine. Only for the tomatoes," he answered, opening the door. His heart pounded against his ribs - how the sight of Spain instantly made him happy.

"Awh, you look tired. You haven't been out of the house in days, by the looks of it," Spain frowned, looking at his horrid attire.

Lovino glared. "I've been out. And of course I'm tired! I do lots of work for Italy!" That was a lie. Lovino hasn't done anything lately. He's so lazy and useless, so he hasn't helped out at all.

"Don't push yourself too hard if you're tired," Spain soothed. Romano scoffed. Idiot, he knows I haven't done anything!

"Do you want some coffee? I'm making a cup," he offered. It was the one thing he couldn't mess up. "How about a beer?"

Spain laughed. "I drove here, so I'll pass. But a coffee would be nice," he flashed a smile. Lovino melted before nodding.

"You get the gross cup, okay?" He grabbed the colder one and the warmer one, and he took them over to the table where Spain had sat down. "Enjoy your cold coffee." He slid Spain the warm coffee.

Spain placed the basket of tomatoes on the table. "Where'd you get these? Haven't they been expensive lately?" Lovino asked, annoyed.

"I knew you liked them, so when America gave me some, I felt like I had to share them with you," Spain grinned, "Even better, if I get to eat them with you."

"I feel sorry for you. Eating with me is no fun," he mumbled, too quiet for Spain to hear. He looked up and saw him frowning.

"Don't say that," Spain snarled. Romano shot back in his seat. What was that? What the Hell was that? That wasn't Spain. He had no clue who or what that was.

"Say what? All I said was that these tomatoes are probably poisoned by that damn America," Romano asked, raising an eyebrow. He was such a good liar.

"Oh, sorry, I must have misheard," he apologizing, his smile re-appearing. Romano didn't like that smile. It was fake.

Spain had two smiles: the one he had with Roma around and the one he had around others. He always had the fake one around Romano. Fake laugh, fake cheer. He knew Spain hates him.

"Why have you been skipping meetings lately? You've been avoiding everyone."

Romano hesitated. "I can do what I want. I don't need to hang out with you bastards."

Spain lowered his cheery voice. "Veneziano is worried about you. You should talk to him, tell him what you're doing."

"Tsk. I don't want that lunatic knowing what I've been doing," he mumbled. "Ever since he kicked me out of his house--"

"He didn't kick you out! You moved out because Germany started staying more nights," Spain pointed out. Romano didn't reply.

"Spain, Germany sleeps in my bed with my brother. I don't need that house, that bed," he ranted, "that brother."

Spain sighed. "Roma, please, you're hurting his feelings by doing this," he said quietly.

Good. That's all I ever do.

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B R U I S E S

[spamano a.u.]

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