UEFA Euro 2012 - Spain vs. Italy

"¿Que? Wait a second... Cesc Fàbregas is switching out?"

"With who?"

Xabi and Xavi were harshly whispering to each other until they saw his substitute. They shared looks of horror when they recognized the baby-faced football player making his way toward the scattered Spanish team.

"Hola, Torres! Glad to see you're joining us, mi amigo."

"Same to you, Carriedo. Gracias."

The two Spaniards laughed together while a certain Italian on the opposing team glared at the light, spacey aura around the laughing pair. It wasn't fair how well those two got along, and seeing his former caretaker so content with the football player made Romano seethe in anger.

Fernando Torres scores Spain's third goal and everyone knows that Spain already won. Out of desperation, Romano demands that they continue the match.

"No! There's still a chance. Keep fighting!"

"But-"

"GO!"

Romano hastily wiped the sweat dripping from his face as one of the Spanish players neared him. They vaguely heard the announcer's voice echoing through the loud cheering in the stadium. They were going to switch out one of the players. The Italian eyed the number six on the red jersey, recognizing the leaving player. Romano noticed the Spanish coach welcoming Andrés Iniesta back to the bench as the tired player high-fived his replacement. The dark-haired Italian flinched when he realized too late that the enemy had snuck up behind him. He felt something deep inside him grow cold at the unrecognizable, Spanish-accented voice.

"Looks like Juan Mata finally made it in. ¿Y sabes que? Él te va a matar."

"Please don't cry..."

The former conquistador squatted down and picked up the abandoned towel, offering it to the sniffling Italian in front of him. Romano snatches the dark blue cloth and slowly wipes his face. The Spaniard waits patiently, glancing around and momentarily watches Fernando Torres playing with two small children on the field. Catching the gleam from the medal around the football player's neck, the winning nation fiddles with his own medal.

Romano keeps the cloth to his face, not wanting make eye contact with the Spanish man. With a resigned sigh, he looked up, ready to rant and curse at the other nation. Suddenly, he felt something slipping over his head and instinctively pushed the Spaniard away. The Italian noticed a sudden weight around his neck and looked down.

The loud cheering in the stadium and flashing of expensive cameras faded away as into nothing until all he could hear was Spain's breathing. Why was he wearing...?

"Why would you give me this? You won it fair and... Hey, I don't need your damn sympathy!"

"I don't mean to- Well, can't I give it to you just because I love you?"

A certain auburn-haired Italian looked away from his team posing in front of the flashing cameras, and genuinely smiled when he saw his older brother embrace the Spaniard. The towel lay forgotten on the ground once again, and the medal held in the Romano's tight grip. The older nation placed a soft kiss on the Italian's forehead and tightened his hold.

"I don't care what anyone else says, you fought well. I'm very proud of you, Lovi."

AN: 533 words, because I have no time to edit. Sorry it took awhile. Anyone keeping up with the news? There were some crazy lightning storms in my area and I had no power: during the game. My cousin was cool enough to let me crash with him on Sunday so I could watch, and I wrote four stories that evening. Also, don't question my Spanish because I damn well know my own language. I'm actually traveling all day tomorrow, so expect a story for Canada, Hong Kong, and America on Thursday. Anyways, it was a great game, and I'm proud of all the countries that participated. Thank you for reading!