The Spaniard turned around at the sound of his name being called. His eyes fell upon _____, his best friend for as long as he could remember (excluding Gilbert and Francis, of course). His lips curled up into a happy smile when he saw her-- even though she was glaring daggers at him.
"Hola, bonita," he said with the big grin still on his face. "How have you been?"
"Oh, just fine, thank you," she replied, crossing her arms. There was a razor-sharp edge building in her voice.
"What's the matter, bonita? You okay?"
"Oh, yeah!" She stomped past him angrily, heading inside the house. "Everything's peachy-keen!"
Antonio turned his head in her direction, furrowing his brows. "Bonita?"
_____ stepped into the house where Gilbert and Ludwig (and currently _____) lived, furiously kicking off her shoes after wiping her feet.
"_____! _____!" called a voice frantically from the hallway.
_____ saw Gilbert running toward her with a panicked look on his face.
"What is it,
Warning:‘Lime’ content— beware
You looked up at the poster. It was still a little crooked, but it would have to do.
You’d just finished putting up your newest poster of your favorite band, Bad Touch. It had all three members on it—Prussia, France, and Spain, looking as great as they always did.
They were currently your obsession. But not just you; they had fangirls all over the world. They were a national phenomenon. Starting out in Europe, they quickly became the world’s most famous boy band.
Lately, Bad Touch was all you ever thought about. Usually you didn’t obsess over boy bands, but this was an exception.
Since your family didn’t have a lot of money, you couldn’t afford to go to concerts or even buy much of their merchandise. But you did spend all of your allowance on magazines. Mostly just to rip out the Bad Touch posters and put them up on y