Lord give me strength

Bitch man spain

But not entirely? He's trying to be better, he's just shit at it 

Tw: implied/referenced child abuse and conversion therapy 

He tugs on the string of his hoodie and waits for his father to say something. He wanted to speak to his father, but anything he could think to say seemed to die on his tongue. 

"I'm sorry." For what? 

The fact that Florida was only ever his colony, not his son? For saying he wasn't good enough? Saying his siblings were better? For everyday he spent learning to hate himself for something he couldn't control? 

How was he supposed to reply? 

His father was doing better, he was more accepting and could actually speak to his children, but Florida wasn't one of his children. He was Spain's colony, was.

"I forgive you." He didn't, but he wasn't allowed to disagree. 

"Are you doing better now?" He keeps his eyes down, trying not to fidget too much. 

"No." 

"Oh." It's silent again and he wishes his father would give up on him and leave like before, it'd be easier for both of them. "Your mother misses you."

He hums, he doubts he'd be able to hold much more of a conversation with her. As close as they were, his father finding out he was gay had interfered with that, he wasn't allowed to see her anymore. 

"Are you going to talk to her?" He shrugs, he didn't really want to talk to any of them. "You should call your brothers." 

He doesn't respond, pulling the string of his hoodie to tighten the hood then loosening it again. 

Spain sighs next to him and he moves out of arms reach of the other, "I'm not going to hit you." He doesn't move, waiting for the other, "Please, just text them, at least." He hears the other leave. 

He sobs once the footsteps are far enough, hands going to pull at his hair. Why couldn't he do anything right? 

He misses his siblings and his mother, but he couldn't speak to them, not anymore.