Work Text:
Somewhere near the border of north and south Italy, there’s a small brick house with red roof tiles and yellow walls, situated only a few minutes away from the coast. It’s the place where Romano and Veneziano moved in a few centuries ago, owing to the need of easy access to the Tyrrhenian Sea, and also convenience considering the two did almost everything together. Almost.
This living arrangement is how Romano ended up in the backseat of a taxi with brother next to him, on their way back from a world meeting. It was a disappointing meeting to him, as most were, so he just stared out of the window, watching the nightlife of the city begin to take form as the sun turned a mix of deep red, bright orange, and yellow. He was well aware of the eyes fixed upon him, but chose to ignore it. Veneziano had a habit of staring at him. It was weird, but nowhere near the most annoying thing he did.
“Maybe you should stop.”
“What?” Romano turned his head to look at his brother in confusion.
“Nothing.”
Words hung in the air, and North looked like he had something more to say. South chose not to comment on it, and let the low hum of the engine lull his mind to a peaceful yet awake state.
It was not long before they reached their residence, and the taxi came to a halt. Within half an hour, Romano found himself in the kitchen, boiling water for pasta while barely paying attention to his brother’s senseless babble about whatever trouble he got into today when no one was watching him. He thought it was utterly stupid, to be over a thousand years old yet still have the survival instincts of a dying mosquito, despite the fact that nations can’t die and technically have no need for survival skills. Well, surely one must develop some common sense after living for so long. Apparently not.
A question lingered in his mind, clouding his thoughts of complaint. He chose to act on the curiosity, and interrupted his brother, getting him to be quiet for a few seconds so he could speak.
“Veneziano, earlier in the taxi, what was it you meant by that?”
“The ‘you should stop’?”
Romano nodded as he poured pasta into the pot of boiling water.
“Well, I was thinking it might be better for you to stop coming to world meetings completely.”
He froze abruptly, and his eyes widened.
“It’s just, I know you decided to stop saying anything to them, only to see how long it would take before someone notices, but that’s simply not going to happen.”
His throat hurt and his head focused, like tunnel vision, on Veneziano’s words, and he could think of nothing else.
“Even when you did speak, no one noticed you. It’s solely going to hurt you more the longer you continue.”
He didn’t know if he felt more ashamed or more disappointed, because he knew everything being said was the truth.
“The only person who sees you is me.”
The painful truth he had been trying to hide from for so long.
“That’s why I think it would be for the best if you stepped down. If you stopped attending.”
Romano failed to notice the sound of footsteps. He somehow also didn’t notice his brother wrapping his arms around him in an embrace, holding the back of his head with one hand, and placing it on his shoulder. It was only then that he realized he should probably reciprocate the hug, and slowly did so.
A few years ago, Romano had noticed that others didn’t talk to him unless he initiated conversation first. He noticed the lack of attention he was getting compared to everyone else, and how the other nations even sought out each other’s company outside of politics. It made him see how alone he really was. For a while, he ignored it, and continued to act as he always did, but that didn’t last, and finally, it got to him. He became fed up with it.
That’s precisely why he started this study. To see when and if someone would notice his absence. His quietness. His lack of presence. He had hoped so badly and so desperately for any other result than this. Anything else than the fact that they didn’t.
“Lovino, stay home. Nobody loves or cares about you. None except me.”
North lacked judgement in some areas (a lot), but he wasn’t completely hopeless. There was sincerity in his words when he said that, and perhaps it wasn’t so horrible of an idea after all. It just kept sounding more and more logical to go along with it. He even used his human name, so he couldn’t be lying. Yes, there was no doubt. This was the right decision to make.
“Okay.”
He felt one of Veneziano’s hands move lower and lower, until it reached the hem of his shirt. It didn’t stop travelling. It reached inside of his shirt and up his back, making caressing movements against his bare skin that didn’t seem to be for comforting reasons. He shivered. There was something about it that felt wrong and ill-intentioned. The hunger in his stomach vanished almost instantly, and he felt nauseous.
“Vene, please don’t do that.”
“Do what?” came a reply laced with false innocence.
“You know what,” said Romano as he put his hand over his brother’s, holding it in place.
“If you cared the slightest about me, you would let me.”
The words echoed and rung inside his head, and the world outside moved in slow motion. This was a sentence he was very, very familiar with.
Romano remembers being a child and living with Spain. He remembers yelling at birds, and how embarrassed he felt when he heard Spain’s laugh, and found out he had been watching the whole time. He remembers Spain growing tomatoes with him in the garden, and eating them as if they were apples, a rare occurrence of a sentiment they both agreed on.
He remembers Spain touching him in the dead of night, and trying to scream but to no avail, because a hand was clasped over his mouth as white hot agony shot through him like a spear.
“If you cared the slightest about me, you would let me.”
Sometimes he passed out. And when he woke up, he was never alone. He was given food, warmth, clean clothes and affection. He was so well taken care of, and often was allowed the indulgence of not working on such days. Time for him to play and explore and be the child he was. The same thought occurred to him then as it did now.
Is this what love feels like?
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. This kind of love was all he had ever known. It’s a true and known fact that every bond has its ups and downs. To stay through thick and thin was what made the relationship between two individuals, stronger. From that, he concluded that this must mean it really is connection. There’s nothing else it could be. So no, it was definitely not a question.
This is what love feels like.
Romano released his hand and let Veneziano do as he pleased.
***
That night, he went to bed exhausted, falling asleep as soon as he hit the mattress. He didn’t sleep well, and his dreams were filled with trying to break free from something that wasn’t there, but being unable to move any more than the tips of his fingers. It was nightmares of trying to escape something, being held down, and something awful happening all while he was completely powerless to stop it.
His eyes fluttered as he awakened and slowly regained consciousness. A small crack in the curtains allowed for sunshine to enter his room and thus illuminate it as a biproduct. Romano’s body ached and burned horribly, in a manner entirely unsuitable for a day’s work. He didn’t want to move or get up, and so he didn’t. But the body of a country doesn’t start hurting for no reason. He had an idea of what might have happened.
Shakily, he dragged his hand downwards, under the duvet, to the area of mattress which was between his legs. He felt around gently, and then the ends of his fingers made contact with something wet and sticky.
His throat constricted and tears threatened to force their way out. He pulled his hand back, elevating it just enough so he could see what he had touched, and what he saw, made his stomach drop.
As he has suspected, the sticky wetness was indeed come. But the fact that it was mixed with blood was what solidified his previous suspicions. He didn’t remember doing anything that could possibly create a situation such as this. He hadn’t even been drunk. His hand dropped and his blood was about to simmer, when he remembered.
This is what love feels like.
This was what he had agreed to when he had accepted his brother’s affection. The main components of love are pain, desire, and care. Pain, for what happened during the time the sun was gone from the sky. Desire, for the lengths Veneziano was willing to go to possess him. Care, for him doing it while he was asleep and not while he was fully awake to scream and hurt and feel everything. Care, for how he told him to withdraw, not out of malice, but for his goodness and well-being. Care, for how he comforted him and reassured him, that no matter how many ignore him, Veneziano won’t.
Care obviously outweighed the pain. Another factor managed to sneak into Romano’s head.
Fear.
If, theoretically, he rejected Veneziano as a family, what then? There was no then. He’d have nothing and no one. None to talk to, none to care for and none to reciprocate, none to do anything. It was the fear of being completely and absolutely alone. So thinking about it like that, maybe this current lifestyle wasn’t so bad. Maybe it’d get easier with time. His lips formed a smile at the thought of it.
Maybe he’d fall in love with his brother too.