The Lovely Wounds (SpaMano)

Boss Spain

Lovino was dazed and tired, but he couldn't find the will to get up. He was so comfortable snuggled in his blankets. He found himself nestling deeper into them, but his mind was waking. Sounds around him were too clear. They were too loud and irritating. Now that he was aware of them, he'd never fall back into his warm slumber. Lovino sat up with a bit of reluctance and rubbed his brow eyes with his fists. For some reason, he was alone. In an alley. He couldn't place why, and he couldn't remember where he had been before this. He was just in an alley. Lovino blinked a few more times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. They were not. He was really alone in that alley.

What the actual fuck was going on?

Lovino stood on wobbly legs. When he took another look around to try and get his bearings, he noticed that the buildings seemed to loom higher than usual around him. He couldn't even spot the tops of the metal garbage cans around him. He felt too short here, and he didn't like it, not one bit. Lovino walked slowly towards the mainstreet, his brow furrowed. Everything felt so weird. His strides weren't as long, his arms seemed shorter. He couldn't place what was wrong, not even when he stepped on the pulsing mainstreet. There were throngs of people, and every single one of them towered over him. Lovino didn't like that either. Anxiety was building in his chest so quickly. Lovino couldn't handle it. He felt the most irrational tears beginning to pool in his eyes. He didn't want to cry, he couldn't, not in the middle of this crowd. But he was so lost. He felt so alone and conflicted.

"Romano!" a familiar voice yelled. Why was that voice so familiar? And why the fuck did it just call him by the name of the place he was born? "Romano! Stay where you are! I'm coming for you!"

Lovino did not move, although, he was utterly confused. The owner of the familiar voice found him in the center of the crowd and looked down upon him. He, too, like all of the others, towered over him.

"Romano! Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Antonio! You mother fucking bastard, I've been sleeping in an alley! How do you just ditch me and let me sleep in an alley?"

"Antonio?" the taller man asked.

"Yes," Lovino said impatiently, "that's your name, idiot."

"No, Romano, my name is Spain," he replied.

"No, you complete and utter bastard. It is not. And my name is not Romano. Quit fucking around, and tell me what the hell is going on."

"I have no idea what you're going on about, Romano. How much did you have to drink last night?"

"I didn't drink at all. I just woke up in a fucking alley, and I don't fucking know why."

Antonio rubbed his face with his hands, an exasperated look on his features. "I had a party last night, and after Turkey tried to take you home with him, you grabbed a bottle and stormed out the door, yelling about needing to be independent. I think you called me a 'narcissistic necrophiliac of a Tomato Bastard' that could not 'respect the space of a very independent territory', and that I could 'clean my own mother fucking house' because all you wanted to do was 'kick up your feet with a bottle and some pizza'. You also threatened that if I dared to follow you, you'd 'take the rusty ass axe from the shed and castrate me like the little girl I was'. You then threw a half-full wine bottle at my head and stormed out. I didn't go out until morning to find you based on that threat with my old war axe."

Lovino paused for a moment. He knew he didn't do that the night before. Sure, he couldn't remember anything from the evening previous, but that didn't mean he had gone nuts on the bastard. He looked up at Antonio, or Spain as he insisted on calling himself. The bastard was smiling him his usual, carefree manner. nothing seemed off about him other than the names he was using.