Paint Cans: _Spamano_

   The paints were all set out, the smell of them swarming the room and consuming any free air left, yet the smell didn't cause him to feel nauseous, for he already had those feelings. Reaching out, he picked up a thin brush and inspected it. Rubbing it in between his thumb and index finger, he thought, loosing himself in said thoughts, as though he were drunk with each thought that appeared.

'The way he smiled with her,'
'The way he was so kind...'

   Suddenly, it hurt to think, his mind throbbed and he stumbled slightly, dropping the brush and holding his head, breathing heavily. Yet he shook it off, he dismissed the feelings and went back to his painting, replacing the paintbrush with another, a thicker one. The white canvas taunted him, what was he to paint? Would he even be good at painting? Probably not. He hadn't painted since the day his younger brother had shown him all of his art, and he knew he'd never be great enough at this to surpass his brother, so, what was the point of ever trying?

   The only reason he was trying today, was to remove his frustration, it was to stop him from lingering on the thought of Spain, with her. Her perfect lips, her figure, her mesmerizing green eyes, her warmth, her.. her golden strands... everything about her, what was there not to like? He began to feel sick again, the feelings lurching in his stomach, punching him, telling him to vomit, they woke him from his thought and he, yet again, shook them off.

  When he went to dab the brush in paint, he realized, he couldn't focus, his vision had blurred, and was swaying in and out as he tried strongly to correct himself and stop his movements. Though his vision refused to clear, he managed to dip the paintbrush into a blue tint, and wave it across the white landscape that was his canvas. Then, the thoughts returned, how he'd looked when she'd kissed him on his cheek, how he'd smiled, it was repulsive... repulsive?

   He felt it as it crept up his throat, once again dropping his brush and swiftly moving the palm of his hand to his mouth, the other arm gripped around his stomach, trying to keep from loosing the lunch he didn't have. The stress was too much for his body and he collapsed, spilling out red paint that slowly, like a creeping wave of lava, moved toward him, staining his clothes and leaving him lay, in a river of red. This wasn't good.

    Then, as he was slowly drifting off, near to a sleep he felt would be eternal, he heard a distinct sound of the door slamming against the wall, and moving his head only slightly, he came into view of said door, only to see feet running toward him. Two sets. He could feel them as they wrapped their arms under his, as they pulled him away, the noises they were both making, distinctly male and female, but, he couldn't make out what they were saying, or where they were taking him, and thus, he fell into darkness.

  He was young again, and, he was sitting there, staring off into space as his brother behind him quickly worked on something unknown to himself. He decided to take a peek, looking back to see his brother there, laughing, being praised by a tall man in golden armor and a red cape.

"Hey~"

     A familiar voice, a comforting one, the young him looked forward, there, was an outreached hand. His head slowly moved upward, getting full view of the man standing there, in a tan suit.

"I'll bet you're great at something... huh?"
   Now the man in tan knelt down, eye to eye with the young one sitting upon the wall before him. At first, he felt as though he shouldn't trust this man, but as the man reached his arm out and started to pet the young one upon his head, comfort flushed over him, and, he wasn't alone.

He awoke.

He could hear his own breathing, a breathing mask?

Feebly, he turned his head, only slightly, to see the familiar Spaniard sitting there next to his bedside. Seeing him there, he paused for a second... then threw himself upward, causing various pains and nausea familiarities to return to him, making him wince in a chain reaction.

"R... Roma.. no.. please lay down, you're still not well!"

   Romano, just glared at his accomplice, then turned away, refusing to lay down, even though it pained him to sit up with no back support.

The Spaniard sighed, turning away, only to turn back swiftly, standing up and clenching his fists furiously.

"What were you thinking opening so many paint cans in one room!? With no windows open or any means of ventilation! That isn't the paint you use when painting on a canvas! You could have been seriously damaged you know that!?"

"So what!?"

Spain was surprised to hear Romano's voice, pausing to listen in closer.

"We're countries! So what if we die!?"

Now Spain was truly angered, grabbing onto the railing of Romano's hospital bed.

"So what!? You know what kind of permanent damage that does to one's mind? I'm surprised that Prussia still walks around with no fear after what he'd been through!"

"We weren't talking about Prussia were we!? Maybe it would be better for you if I were gone! Nothing would stop you from being with her then would it!?"

The words Spain wanted to counter with, were now sucked away from him. That was what it was about? He calmed, and smiled to himself, sitting back in his chair, letting go of yet another sigh.

"You know.. your clothes were drenched with red paint, we had to throw them away..."

   Romano thought to himself;
'Stupid, we argue and you talk about clothe...'
   Then it occurred to him.

"You undressed me!? YOU BASTARD!"

    He picked up his nearest pillow and threw it with all his might at Spain, which wasn't much, for he was currently weak. Spain moved the pillow to reveal his red cheeks, and his worried look.

"N.. no, I didn't undress you, we had the nurse d.. do it, she's a profession.."
"You let a woman undress me!? That's worse!"
"She didn't look, she put the hospital robe on you before she took off your underwear..."

    Romano simmered down now, at least she hadn't looked.
That was only a small comfort though, he was still a bit restless.

"So.. you knew the paint toxins would consume you.. was it suicide Romano?... You have to tell me, that's serious..."

    Spain's voice had returned to a serious tone, he was no longer looking at Romano, and instead, he was looking at the pillow in hand, picking at it nervously, awaiting an answer.

  "No! I didn't know the paint could do that! I've only ever painted once okay!?"

   Spain looked up in both relief and surprise, to find that Romano was now looking away, his cheeks like red tomatoes, only causing more blushing from Spain. Then he let it fade, standing up and moving closer to Romano's bed side so that he could pat the Italian in reassurance.

  "C.. cut it ou.."
"She's leaving today you know.. Belgium that is, she's returning to the Netherlands for a holiday visit..."
   
Romano looked up at Spain now, to find the Spaniard smiling down upon him, acting as though he knew all that was on Romano's mind.

"...Get away from me..."

   He pushed the Spaniard away, though it wasn't a full forced push, and it only caused the Spain to loose balance some. Through this little gesture, Spain knew Romano felt a bit foolish, and, a bit relieved.

That he did.