Spain had been listening intently at the latest World Meeting. For about three minutes. In the hour and twenty-six minutes since he had stopped, Spain had alternated between playing charades across the table with France, playing Hangman across the table with Portugal and playing solitaire under the table with his phone.
After the fifteenth loss, and coincidentally the fifteen proposal by America that the world should build a giant crime-fighting hamburger to combat global warming and shitty economies (although only Japan would know that, as he was the only one who was listening), Spain had decided to take a break from playing and check his email. One of his bosses had taught him how to do that, on his phone, after Spain had let slip that he’d gone six months without reading any of his messages.
Spain loved the colors of his flag, but they looked really weird on a person’s face.
When they weren’t on there in paint. Lots of people wore red and yellow face paint for football games; sometimes Spain did himself! Football was always really fun… he liked going to bars during the big matches and experiencing it all with his people. The rush of victory, the agony of… well, victory, since Spain won a lot. Not that he bragged about it or anything and oh! His email! Yes, right, the page had loaded and everything! Technology sure was something.
Three weeks of messages glared up at him. Ah. Right. That was why he never checked his email; messages accumulated so quickly. One from his boss, one from Germany, another few from his boss, another twenty from the EU… He really hated having to sift through so many. Deciding that he could do that later, maybe when England was speaking, Spain jumped straight to the only message he knew he would care about; the one from Romano!
Strange. Usually Romano sent him more messages. Like Let me into the house, you bastard! or You left your toothbrush here. What do you think I am, your personal maid? Fuck no. I threw it out. You’d better not be late for dinner. Romano was always so funny. There was never a dull moment with him.
But then Spain had clicked on the little envelope icon. He’d stared at the screen of the fast little Smartphone his government had given him, the one he usually used expressly to play games on, and for one precious moment he hadn’t understood.
We’re breaking up. It’s you.
That moment came, and then it went.
Spain screamed.
The rest of the room hadn’t panicked, for a moment. The “What?!?” had spent most of its thunder waking the nations of the world up from their bored dreams. The subsequent “NO!!” and slide across the table, done by Spain in his unhappy confusion, were what caused the panic. For another moment, they thought he had gone insane again (Spain had been… interesting for a few centuries. That was sure). When they saw that he was just trying to get closer to Romano, the nations of the world let out a collective sigh of relief and muttered something about new love before attempting to leave to get something to drink.
Germany had taken that opportunity to adjourn the meeting, temporarily, so that the Kingdom of Spain could regain his sanity. And so the rest of them could have a nice long rest before coming back to listen to the robotic aspirations of the United States of America.
Spain tried to talk to Romano. Since when had they broken up (Well the message had been three weeks old…)? Why had Romano done something like that? Hadn’t they been happy? What had Spain done to deserve this?
Romano just sat in his chair. Maybe he clenched the arms a little more tightly than he really needed to, but he refused to look at or talk to Spain, and that was all Spain really cared about. “Romano? Please, what is this about?!”
Veneziano moved, from the seat next to his brother. Spain could tell, from the corner of his eye, that he had a strange expression on his face. It was probably because Spain was acting like a fool, but he was already aware of that so he didn’t care.
Apparently Romano did. In one motion he stood up and dragged Spain by the tie off of the conference table. With his other hand he stopped his brother from leaving, and in a heartbeat’s work he shoved Spain out of the almost empty room, before slamming the door behind him.
Leaving him alone in the large conference room. Alone with Veneziano.
“Ve, why are you acting so strangely?”
Romano set both of his hands on the table so he didn’t do anything drastic, and took a deep breath. “You two are probably fucking each other daily by now,” the image made him want to tear the table apart, “and I know I can’t do anything about it. But I’d expect you two to have the decency not to flaunt it in front of my face.”
Veneziano looked confused. “I’m confused… are you talking about Spain?”
“Who the fuck else could I be talking about?!”
There was a certain point when Veneziano would stop playing dumb. Romano was just waiting for him to reach it. “…Spain may be nice and handsome and wonderful, but I’m not sleeping with him. Ve, we just spend a lot of time together. Especially recently.”
Then why did he look so guilty? “Sure you do. Try every day. God, Veneziano, it’s always like this with you! You’re always stealing them!”
Maybe Romano had said a little more than he’d wanted to, but it had gotten Veneziano to the point of speaking plainly, and that was enough. “People aren’t things Romano. They can’t be stolen like diamonds. They leave. For thousands of reasons.”
“They leave because you fucking throw yourself at them.”
Veneziano didn’t deserve to look that patient, that righteous. “Brother…”
It was quiet for a moment, before Romano spoke again. When he did, his voice was quiet too. He didn’t make eye contact with his little brother. “What about Germany?”
Veneziano’s face changed from imploring to masked in the blink of an eye. “Don’t be like that, Romano, ve, you know that’s different. Germany’s special.” He smiled a happy little reminiscing smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “You look at him and you can see it too, can’t you? The resemblance is so strong…” He stepped next to his brother and looked out the window, far, far away.
But Romano had heard it all before. “That doesn’t even fucking matter anymore; Germany was the first! If he was so fucking special to you then why didn’t you stay together even for two months after we broke up?” Huh. He hadn’t acknowledged that relationship in ages. It was something Romano didn’t like talking about. He didn’t wonder why.
Veneziano’s voice was just as small as his brother’s. “…it’s not the same. Ve, he doesn’t remember back then. Maybe one day…”
“No. Don’t give me that memory shit, Veneziano, or I swear I’ll… I’ll” He didn’t know what he would do. Because beyond everything else, beyond failed relationships and assholes and the creeping realization that Veneziano was fully aware of what he was doing, every time, brothers were brothers.
But Veneziano just had to play the victim. “I don’t do it on purpose! They just come to me…”
That was a shitty reason and both brothers knew it. “You just don’t want me to be happy.”
“You’re just incapable of being happy! They leave you because you’re bitter and impossible, you always have been! Ve nothing’s ever enough for you and you always complain and you’re so mean, but I’ve figured it out, Romano.” It was like a train wreck. Each Italy felt outside of himself; they both knew where this was going to end but Veneziano had too much momentum to stop and Romano had too much dread to move a muscle. “It’s because you’re jealous of me. You wish you were me, and eventually they figure it out too and maybe they realize that why go for the imitation when the real Italy’s right there, and-”
Romano hit his brother. Right in the eye. The left eye. It looked like it hurt, from the way he was doubling over in pain. Romano could feel a slight twinge in his own left eye, because whether Veneziano liked it or not they were both Italy, and they were connected.
He wanted to make a speech, say something about “You’re no brother of mine” and leave with his head held high, but he couldn’t. All Romano could do was stare at his brother, gasping on the floor, hands cradling his face. Veneziano was probably crying too, but that would pass. He’d get a bruise, Romano would get reprimanded for harming his angel of a brother for no apparent reason, and the world would keep turning.
The sun would rise again.
And Romano still wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to stop his grandfather from leaving. Not enough to stop his own people from leaving. Not enough to make that one grand, intelligent speech at the moment when he knew that he was goddamn justified. Not enough to keep a partner happy. Not as happy as Veneziano could keep them, apparently.
He was done with this shit.
Romano turned around and walked away, leaving his brother on the floor. He didn’t look back to see if Veneziano was getting up, swinging his own fist in retaliatory rage; that wasn’t Veneziano’s style. Maybe in a few months Romano would make sure to keep his doors locked.
He walked, but he didn’t get far; he turned the handle of the conference room door, only to see Spain blocking his only exit. Bastard. “You heard that?” Another one bites the dust. He’d probably rush over to Veneziano right away. That was probably why Veneziano was staying down; so he could be helped up. Romano hadn’t hit him that hard.
Spain just grabbed Romano’s upper arms. “I need to talk to you.”
“So you didn’t hear.”
“Oh, no, I heard everything you two said, from when you first slammed the door shut. I was listening at the keyhole.”
Then why was he still there?
“Romano,” Spain tried to hug him, but Romano twisted his arms out just enough to keep Spain a good distance away. “You need to believe me when I say that I didn’t cheat on you.”
“Why?”
It was a fair question, so Spain gave it a fair answer. “Because I love you.” Romano didn’t blush, which meant he hadn’t gotten embarrassed, which meant he hadn’t really been listening. Which meant he probably still didn’t believe Spain.
“He’s telling the truth.” Both Spain and Romano turned to look at Veneziano, who had finally gotten up on his own. “He went places with me and let me cook him dinner but he never stopped talking about you.” He looked like he didn’t particularly care one way or the other.
Which Romano felt to be an insult, because damn it, he cared. He cared when Veneziano traipsed in and decided to love every man and woman Romano had ever loved. Because somehow those men and women had always decided that Veneziano’s love was more, and Romano had been left alone. He hated being alone. When he was alone, all Romano had were his thoughts and those were no comfort.
Now Spain was pleading again. “I swear to God Romano, I was just trying to give you space. You seemed so angry lately, and I thought you were angry at me and I had to do something when you weren’t around and Veneziano kept coming up with things to do…”
Romano was silent. But he stopped actively pushing Spain away.
“…maybe there’s another way to solve this.” Veneziano was getting closer. His eye was bright red; in a few hours it would be dark, dark purple. Romano was proud of himself, even when he knew he shouldn’t be. “Romano, you like Spain. I like you too Spain. Ve, you’re very nice! And I know you like Romano and you don’t dislike me, so… we could always…” Veneziano let his voice taper out as his eyes made promises over his brother’s head.
Spain’s face lit up like a Barcelona afternoon. “Threesome?”
Romano wasn’t surprised. Spain hadn’t been the first. “…I’m leaving.” He threw off Spain’s hands and ran for the door.
“Romano, wait. It’s not what it sounds like.” Spain took a second to think about that, and realized it was kind of sort of exactly what it sounded like. “I mean, you know. It’s a twin thing… it’d be hot?” That probably wasn’t going to fly.
“But you look so much alike with Veneziano’s cute face and your scowly face” maybe that wasn’t the way he should be phrasing things right now. Spain backtracked, “which is also incredibly cute” but apparently those weren’t the right words either as Romano’s only reply was hurling Spain’s phone, which had been lying on the table (still showing that message), at Spain’s head before making another attempt at the door.
With Romano, grand gestures were needed. Statements of love had to be given more ardently, more frequently. He never believed anything unless it was shoved right in his face, repeatedly. And Spain had been fine with that, because he loved letting the whole world know that he was in love, not to mention who he was in love with.
Maybe that had been the wrong way to approach things. Maybe Spain should have been thinking about why it had taken Romano weeks before he had trusted Spain’s declarations (“I love you!” “Sure.” “I love you!” “You’ve said.” “I love you!” “I bet.” “I love you!” “Move your arm, I’m trying to walk here.” “I love you!” “…it’s 3am.” “I love you, Romano.” “…I know.”).
So instead of raising a hand after him again (Spain had learned his lesson), instead of calling out for Romano to stay, to listen, Spain full-body tackled him to the ground and pinned his squirming boyfriend under his larger weight. Yes. His boyfriend. They were still going out, because like hell had Spain ever agreed to any breaking up. Romano just had to realize that.
“Get the fuck off of me Spain!”
Spain concentrated on stopping Romano’s legs from moving. This was the most danger his vital regions had been in in a long time; Romano was worth putting them on the line for, but no one was going to be happy if they got past whatever-the-hell this was and they didn’t work anymore… “Not until you promise to stay and listen to me.”
“I promise.”
“You’re lying.”
“No I’m not.”
“He is.”
Romano would have told his brother to shut up if he could manage anything more than incoherent screams of rage. Spain still understood. “Veneziano… I think you should leave.”
“What?” “What?”
If he wasn’t so concerned about Romano crushing him, all this writhing would have been taking Spain to a very nice place. “Just go.”
Veneziano left, and closed the door behind him.
Spain waited a full minute before speaking. “While I still think it would be incredibly hot-” wisely, Spain cut himself off. Romano had finally gone still. Still in that way he went when something made him so angry that he stopped talking about it and looked the other way when his mafia killed it in a back alley. “I wasn’t cheating on you with Veneziano. I was just trying to give you some space because you seemed really unhappy lately; I didn’t realize that was because I was spending so much time with your brother.”
Romano tried to punch him again, and Spain knew he was listening. “You should have.”
“Yeah, I probably should. But I didn’t because I was too busy thinking about you.” Spain was a romantic country; everybody said so. At the moment, he just felt like a desperate country, but he drew upon every reserve of eloquence and allure he had to try and convince Romano he loved him, that he had never stopped. It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “I love you, Romano. And I’ll keep saying it until you hear me. I love you, I picked you and I’ll keep picking you, no matter how much you think I’m going to leave you for Veneziano or anyone else.”
Romano tried to hit him again, and this time his fist connected with Spain’s head.
But it didn’t really hurt. “Y-you bastard. I don’t forgive you.”
Personally, Spain didn’t think there was anything to forgive. But he wasn’t going to say anything like that now; he could have tact too, thank you. “Just give me another chance, Roma. Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
“Fuck off.”
“The only person I want to be fucking is you.”
Romano stopped struggling. “…why?”
Spain thought about what he could say. He decided on the truth. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do.”
“Prove it.”
“I will. Every single day. If you’ll-”
“I’ll let you. But only because I’m so fucking good to you.”
Spain smirked. Everything was going to be okay. Crisis averted, he decided to take advantage of their position on the floor (Roma had been ignoring him for so long!) and ground his hips down against Romano’s in a hard circle. This time, not in any way to stop Romano from squirming. It was more of an invitation, really. “We’ve got half an hour until the conference starts up again…”
The clock was blinking just past one in the morning. Romano hadn’t been able to sleep. The day had been too much, too fast, and his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Instead, it played out every scene from the afternoon in minute detail, over and over.
It was just as he was remembering Veneziano’s words about Germany again that he heard the voice at the door. “Brother…?” There was no knock; their house must be really quiet if Romano could hear just the whisper. Maybe he was hearing things.
He was; he was hearing his brother’s voice. Veneziano took the silence as acceptance and quietly tiptoed into his older brother’s room before slipping under the sheets of his bed and joining him. “Is this okay?”
Romano tried to keep his voice neutral. “You tell me.”
Veneziano breathed out a tiny little “ve.” If that was all he had to say, Romano was throwing him out and giving him a matching set of shiners.
“I’m sorry.” He meant it. Romano could tell, because they were both Italy and they were connected.
“That’s not enough.”
“I don’t do it on purpose; at least, ve, I think I don’t.”
Romano huffed into his pillow. “What matters is that you do it.”
“Forgive me?”
This was his chance for revenge. This was his chance to tear his little brother down, for once the victor. Or maybe this was his chance to forgive, for once to be the bigger man instead of sneaking conniving Romano. Or maybe this was his chance to turn around and ask his brother what was going on in his head. Why he did what he did, what he thought and what he felt and maybe offer up his own terrible twisted not-enough feelings so that Veneziano could see that they were real and maybe say something to make them go away. Like ‘You’re fine how you are’ or ‘You’re just as much Italy as I am’ because those were two of the myriad of things that Romano had always wanted to hear.
“Just go to sleep.”
That was sappier than a maple tree. And angstier than… something angsty. So. I started this with the full intention of writing the whole series of events (Romano gets Spain, Veneziano tries to steal Spain and then there is family fighting and Romano-choosing). So much for that. I hope you like it anyways, OP! [oh yeah, not the 2nding or 3rding anon. Just somebody different.]
About Germany: it seemed like a good reason for Romano to hate him. I’d hate a boyfriend that left me for my sibling, frankly.
About Veneziano: he ain’t all bubbles and sunshine. But what a time to pick to reveal that you’ve understood your brother’s reactions all along: “hey bro, been hitting on your man, btw, know about your inferiority complex, think it’s kind of pathetic g2g bye.” He’s not all super villain here, he still asks for forgiveness. But he’s hardly blameless. Yeah.
I think I need to go write something happy now, sheesh.
Re: It's You [5/5]
anonymous
May 9 2010, 12:02:30 UTC
I rarely read Spamano but I really liked this one since the characters, especially the Italys came out believably. Romano was angry and stubborn but had his reasons for it. Italy was bubbly and happy but isn't blameless either.
Mwahaha, my evil mission to make people like Spamano more, and therefore feel the urge to write it more often, and therefore give me more Spamano to read is working! This logic is infallible!
Re: It's You [5/5]
anonymous
May 9 2010, 12:34:12 UTC
I'm not OP, but I've been dying to see this filled! That was great, North was the right amount of villainous and Spain and South were very in character! Believe it or not, I prefer S.Italy to N.Italy, so fics like this always tug at the heartstrings.
Re: It's You [5/5]
anonymous
May 9 2010, 13:07:52 UTC
Really good fic!!!
To be honest, I think the reason that Veneziano is always going after Romano's boyfriends (at least in THIS fic) is that link they share that you write about - Romano feels Veneziano's desire for forgiveness and his pain when he hits him, I imagine that when Romano is in love Veneziano feels some sort of echo of the same love and desire for that person in himself, and acts on it instead of realizing that he's just feeling his brother's feelings, rather than those of himself... perhaps Romano is just better at separating the feelings of his brother from the feelings of himself, and that's why it doesn't happen in reverse?
Since I'm the author, I'm probably supposed to know those things. Erm. At the risk of destroying the mystic veil of authornon storyworld omnipotence, I have to admit: I totally wasn't thinking about their connection as a justification for Veneziano's behavior.
What I thought was more along the lines of: N. Italy really does love his big brother, no matter any inner judgments on who's better/more loved/whatever. He looks up to him, so whenever Romano begins seeing someone/brings them home, Veneziano sees them in this golden light of someone who must be so amazing because my brother chose them. He gets closer to them out of his own infectiously agreeable personality, and before he knows it they're starting to show attraction back to him, and he already thought "wow he/she's so wonderful..." and before he knows it he's boyfriend-yoinked. Again.
But your explanation actually makes more sense, especially in the context of the world I set up... aw man. You're awesome. So taking off of your idea, I'd imagine the reverse doesn't happen because Romano is a stubborn old curmudgeon, and he knows his own damn feelings thank you very much, and nothing's going to sway him. Goddamn it Veneziano, that guy's not that great, keep it in your pants. Don't look at me so innocently, I know what you're thinking!
OP is <333333333333
anonymous
May 9 2010, 14:52:15 UTC
Anon! ANON!!! THIS WAS AWESOME!! Exactly what I wanted, thank you!!
I liked your interpretation of Veneziano (also prefers Romano for some reason...) and Spain is such a sweetie~ <3 Massive <3s and internets for your Spain there. He's just perfect. And Romano! *hugs* So perfect, so awesome.
THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!
It's fine as it is, but if you wanted to write the beginning part too, well, I won't complain. Not that you have to if your busy and stuff...just saying.
Romano's my favorite character, so it's not hard at all for me to give him a happy ending / make Veneziano a villain for a bit. Glad you liked Spain! This meme is really giving me love-declaration practice.
YOU'RE WELCOME!
At the moment I have no real ideas for a prequel. Maybe sometime, I won't give any concrete no, but right now I've got too much on my plate. I'm sorry OP... ;_;
Re: It's You [5/5]
anonymous
May 9 2010, 19:53:03 UTC
OP must be me because we have the same idea. Everyone always seems to like Vene better than Roma and no matter how much family matters, Romano probably hates introducing his love interests to his little brother. Much like Spain though, I'd choose Romano. ♥
I'm so glad to see this request filled and so wonderfully too! I hope to encounter more of your work!
“I love you!” “Sure.” “I love you!” “You’ve said.” “I love you!” “I bet.” “I love you!” “Move your arm, I’m trying to walk here.” “I love you!” “…it’s 3am.” “I love you, Romano.” “…I know.”
This (beside being awesome) gave me the odd impression of knowing your writing style. Are you writing another epic fill with Spain/Romano here on the meme, or am I just being a creep?
Probably the second. Sorry. Also, Captcha: 'stuck in' in second gear / And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, / or even your year but../ I'LL BEEEE THERE FOR YOUUUUU / WHEN THE RAIN STARTS - "Goddamnit, stop it, Antonio, I'm trying to sleep here!"
Spain had been listening intently at the latest World Meeting. For about three minutes. In the hour and twenty-six minutes since he had stopped, Spain had alternated between playing charades across the table with France, playing Hangman across the table with Portugal and playing solitaire under the table with his phone.
After the fifteenth loss, and coincidentally the fifteen proposal by America that the world should build a giant crime-fighting hamburger to combat global warming and shitty economies (although only Japan would know that, as he was the only one who was listening), Spain had decided to take a break from playing and check his email. One of his bosses had taught him how to do that, on his phone, after Spain had let slip that he’d gone six months without reading any of his messages.
Spain loved the colors of his flag, but they looked really weird on a person’s face.
When they weren’t on there in paint. Lots of people wore red and yellow face paint for football games; sometimes Spain did himself! Football was always really fun… he liked going to bars during the big matches and experiencing it all with his people. The rush of victory, the agony of… well, victory, since Spain won a lot. Not that he bragged about it or anything and oh! His email! Yes, right, the page had loaded and everything! Technology sure was something.
Three weeks of messages glared up at him. Ah. Right. That was why he never checked his email; messages accumulated so quickly. One from his boss, one from Germany, another few from his boss, another twenty from the EU… He really hated having to sift through so many. Deciding that he could do that later, maybe when England was speaking, Spain jumped straight to the only message he knew he would care about; the one from Romano!
Strange. Usually Romano sent him more messages. Like Let me into the house, you bastard! or You left your toothbrush here. What do you think I am, your personal maid? Fuck no. I threw it out. You’d better not be late for dinner. Romano was always so funny. There was never a dull moment with him.
But then Spain had clicked on the little envelope icon. He’d stared at the screen of the fast little Smartphone his government had given him, the one he usually used expressly to play games on, and for one precious moment he hadn’t understood.
We’re breaking up. It’s you.
That moment came, and then it went.
Spain screamed.
The rest of the room hadn’t panicked, for a moment. The “What?!?” had spent most of its thunder waking the nations of the world up from their bored dreams. The subsequent “NO!!” and slide across the table, done by Spain in his unhappy confusion, were what caused the panic. For another moment, they thought he had gone insane again (Spain had been… interesting for a few centuries. That was sure). When they saw that he was just trying to get closer to Romano, the nations of the world let out a collective sigh of relief and muttered something about new love before attempting to leave to get something to drink.
Germany had taken that opportunity to adjourn the meeting, temporarily, so that the Kingdom of Spain could regain his sanity. And so the rest of them could have a nice long rest before coming back to listen to the robotic aspirations of the United States of America.
Spain tried to talk to Romano. Since when had they broken up (Well the message had been three weeks old…)? Why had Romano done something like that? Hadn’t they been happy? What had Spain done to deserve this?
Romano just sat in his chair. Maybe he clenched the arms a little more tightly than he really needed to, but he refused to look at or talk to Spain, and that was all Spain really cared about. “Romano? Please, what is this about?!”
Veneziano moved, from the seat next to his brother. Spain could tell, from the corner of his eye, that he had a strange expression on his face. It was probably because Spain was acting like a fool, but he was already aware of that so he didn’t care.
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Leaving him alone in the large conference room. Alone with Veneziano.
“Ve, why are you acting so strangely?”
Romano set both of his hands on the table so he didn’t do anything drastic, and took a deep breath. “You two are probably fucking each other daily by now,” the image made him want to tear the table apart, “and I know I can’t do anything about it. But I’d expect you two to have the decency not to flaunt it in front of my face.”
Veneziano looked confused. “I’m confused… are you talking about Spain?”
“Who the fuck else could I be talking about?!”
There was a certain point when Veneziano would stop playing dumb. Romano was just waiting for him to reach it. “…Spain may be nice and handsome and wonderful, but I’m not sleeping with him. Ve, we just spend a lot of time together. Especially recently.”
Then why did he look so guilty? “Sure you do. Try every day. God, Veneziano, it’s always like this with you! You’re always stealing them!”
Maybe Romano had said a little more than he’d wanted to, but it had gotten Veneziano to the point of speaking plainly, and that was enough. “People aren’t things Romano. They can’t be stolen like diamonds. They leave. For thousands of reasons.”
“They leave because you fucking throw yourself at them.”
Veneziano didn’t deserve to look that patient, that righteous. “Brother…”
It was quiet for a moment, before Romano spoke again. When he did, his voice was quiet too. He didn’t make eye contact with his little brother. “What about Germany?”
Veneziano’s face changed from imploring to masked in the blink of an eye. “Don’t be like that, Romano, ve, you know that’s different. Germany’s special.” He smiled a happy little reminiscing smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “You look at him and you can see it too, can’t you? The resemblance is so strong…” He stepped next to his brother and looked out the window, far, far away.
But Romano had heard it all before. “That doesn’t even fucking matter anymore; Germany was the first! If he was so fucking special to you then why didn’t you stay together even for two months after we broke up?” Huh. He hadn’t acknowledged that relationship in ages. It was something Romano didn’t like talking about. He didn’t wonder why.
Veneziano’s voice was just as small as his brother’s. “…it’s not the same. Ve, he doesn’t remember back then. Maybe one day…”
“No. Don’t give me that memory shit, Veneziano, or I swear I’ll… I’ll” He didn’t know what he would do. Because beyond everything else, beyond failed relationships and assholes and the creeping realization that Veneziano was fully aware of what he was doing, every time, brothers were brothers.
But Veneziano just had to play the victim. “I don’t do it on purpose! They just come to me…”
That was a shitty reason and both brothers knew it. “You just don’t want me to be happy.”
“You’re just incapable of being happy! They leave you because you’re bitter and impossible, you always have been! Ve nothing’s ever enough for you and you always complain and you’re so mean, but I’ve figured it out, Romano.” It was like a train wreck. Each Italy felt outside of himself; they both knew where this was going to end but Veneziano had too much momentum to stop and Romano had too much dread to move a muscle. “It’s because you’re jealous of me. You wish you were me, and eventually they figure it out too and maybe they realize that why go for the imitation when the real Italy’s right there, and-”
Romano hit his brother. Right in the eye. The left eye. It looked like it hurt, from the way he was doubling over in pain. Romano could feel a slight twinge in his own left eye, because whether Veneziano liked it or not they were both Italy, and they were connected.
Or maybe it was just because he was crying.
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The sun would rise again.
And Romano still wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to stop his grandfather from leaving. Not enough to stop his own people from leaving. Not enough to make that one grand, intelligent speech at the moment when he knew that he was goddamn justified. Not enough to keep a partner happy. Not as happy as Veneziano could keep them, apparently.
He was done with this shit.
Romano turned around and walked away, leaving his brother on the floor. He didn’t look back to see if Veneziano was getting up, swinging his own fist in retaliatory rage; that wasn’t Veneziano’s style. Maybe in a few months Romano would make sure to keep his doors locked.
He walked, but he didn’t get far; he turned the handle of the conference room door, only to see Spain blocking his only exit. Bastard. “You heard that?” Another one bites the dust. He’d probably rush over to Veneziano right away. That was probably why Veneziano was staying down; so he could be helped up. Romano hadn’t hit him that hard.
Spain just grabbed Romano’s upper arms. “I need to talk to you.”
“So you didn’t hear.”
“Oh, no, I heard everything you two said, from when you first slammed the door shut. I was listening at the keyhole.”
Then why was he still there?
“Romano,” Spain tried to hug him, but Romano twisted his arms out just enough to keep Spain a good distance away. “You need to believe me when I say that I didn’t cheat on you.”
“Why?”
It was a fair question, so Spain gave it a fair answer. “Because I love you.” Romano didn’t blush, which meant he hadn’t gotten embarrassed, which meant he hadn’t really been listening. Which meant he probably still didn’t believe Spain.
“He’s telling the truth.” Both Spain and Romano turned to look at Veneziano, who had finally gotten up on his own. “He went places with me and let me cook him dinner but he never stopped talking about you.” He looked like he didn’t particularly care one way or the other.
Which Romano felt to be an insult, because damn it, he cared. He cared when Veneziano traipsed in and decided to love every man and woman Romano had ever loved. Because somehow those men and women had always decided that Veneziano’s love was more, and Romano had been left alone. He hated being alone. When he was alone, all Romano had were his thoughts and those were no comfort.
Now Spain was pleading again. “I swear to God Romano, I was just trying to give you space. You seemed so angry lately, and I thought you were angry at me and I had to do something when you weren’t around and Veneziano kept coming up with things to do…”
Romano was silent. But he stopped actively pushing Spain away.
“…maybe there’s another way to solve this.” Veneziano was getting closer. His eye was bright red; in a few hours it would be dark, dark purple. Romano was proud of himself, even when he knew he shouldn’t be. “Romano, you like Spain. I like you too Spain. Ve, you’re very nice! And I know you like Romano and you don’t dislike me, so… we could always…” Veneziano let his voice taper out as his eyes made promises over his brother’s head.
Spain’s face lit up like a Barcelona afternoon. “Threesome?”
Romano wasn’t surprised. Spain hadn’t been the first. “…I’m leaving.” He threw off Spain’s hands and ran for the door.
“Romano, wait. It’s not what it sounds like.” Spain took a second to think about that, and realized it was kind of sort of exactly what it sounded like. “I mean, you know. It’s a twin thing… it’d be hot?” That probably wasn’t going to fly.
It didn’t. “We aren’t twins.”
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With Romano, grand gestures were needed. Statements of love had to be given more ardently, more frequently. He never believed anything unless it was shoved right in his face, repeatedly. And Spain had been fine with that, because he loved letting the whole world know that he was in love, not to mention who he was in love with.
Maybe that had been the wrong way to approach things. Maybe Spain should have been thinking about why it had taken Romano weeks before he had trusted Spain’s declarations (“I love you!” “Sure.” “I love you!” “You’ve said.” “I love you!” “I bet.” “I love you!” “Move your arm, I’m trying to walk here.” “I love you!” “…it’s 3am.” “I love you, Romano.” “…I know.”).
So instead of raising a hand after him again (Spain had learned his lesson), instead of calling out for Romano to stay, to listen, Spain full-body tackled him to the ground and pinned his squirming boyfriend under his larger weight. Yes. His boyfriend. They were still going out, because like hell had Spain ever agreed to any breaking up. Romano just had to realize that.
“Get the fuck off of me Spain!”
Spain concentrated on stopping Romano’s legs from moving. This was the most danger his vital regions had been in in a long time; Romano was worth putting them on the line for, but no one was going to be happy if they got past whatever-the-hell this was and they didn’t work anymore… “Not until you promise to stay and listen to me.”
“I promise.”
“You’re lying.”
“No I’m not.”
“He is.”
Romano would have told his brother to shut up if he could manage anything more than incoherent screams of rage. Spain still understood. “Veneziano… I think you should leave.”
“What?” “What?”
If he wasn’t so concerned about Romano crushing him, all this writhing would have been taking Spain to a very nice place. “Just go.”
Veneziano left, and closed the door behind him.
Spain waited a full minute before speaking. “While I still think it would be incredibly hot-” wisely, Spain cut himself off. Romano had finally gone still. Still in that way he went when something made him so angry that he stopped talking about it and looked the other way when his mafia killed it in a back alley. “I wasn’t cheating on you with Veneziano. I was just trying to give you some space because you seemed really unhappy lately; I didn’t realize that was because I was spending so much time with your brother.”
Romano tried to punch him again, and Spain knew he was listening. “You should have.”
“Yeah, I probably should. But I didn’t because I was too busy thinking about you.” Spain was a romantic country; everybody said so. At the moment, he just felt like a desperate country, but he drew upon every reserve of eloquence and allure he had to try and convince Romano he loved him, that he had never stopped. It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “I love you, Romano. And I’ll keep saying it until you hear me. I love you, I picked you and I’ll keep picking you, no matter how much you think I’m going to leave you for Veneziano or anyone else.”
Romano tried to hit him again, and this time his fist connected with Spain’s head.
But it didn’t really hurt. “Y-you bastard. I don’t forgive you.”
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“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
“Fuck off.”
“The only person I want to be fucking is you.”
Romano stopped struggling. “…why?”
Spain thought about what he could say. He decided on the truth. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do.”
“Prove it.”
“I will. Every single day. If you’ll-”
“I’ll let you. But only because I’m so fucking good to you.”
Spain smirked. Everything was going to be okay. Crisis averted, he decided to take advantage of their position on the floor (Roma had been ignoring him for so long!) and ground his hips down against Romano’s in a hard circle. This time, not in any way to stop Romano from squirming. It was more of an invitation, really. “We’ve got half an hour until the conference starts up again…”
The clock was blinking just past one in the morning. Romano hadn’t been able to sleep. The day had been too much, too fast, and his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Instead, it played out every scene from the afternoon in minute detail, over and over.
It was just as he was remembering Veneziano’s words about Germany again that he heard the voice at the door. “Brother…?” There was no knock; their house must be really quiet if Romano could hear just the whisper. Maybe he was hearing things.
He was; he was hearing his brother’s voice. Veneziano took the silence as acceptance and quietly tiptoed into his older brother’s room before slipping under the sheets of his bed and joining him. “Is this okay?”
Romano tried to keep his voice neutral. “You tell me.”
Veneziano breathed out a tiny little “ve.” If that was all he had to say, Romano was throwing him out and giving him a matching set of shiners.
“I’m sorry.” He meant it. Romano could tell, because they were both Italy and they were connected.
“That’s not enough.”
“I don’t do it on purpose; at least, ve, I think I don’t.”
Romano huffed into his pillow. “What matters is that you do it.”
“Forgive me?”
This was his chance for revenge. This was his chance to tear his little brother down, for once the victor. Or maybe this was his chance to forgive, for once to be the bigger man instead of sneaking conniving Romano. Or maybe this was his chance to turn around and ask his brother what was going on in his head. Why he did what he did, what he thought and what he felt and maybe offer up his own terrible twisted not-enough feelings so that Veneziano could see that they were real and maybe say something to make them go away. Like ‘You’re fine how you are’ or ‘You’re just as much Italy as I am’ because those were two of the myriad of things that Romano had always wanted to hear.
“Just go to sleep.”
That was sappier than a maple tree. And angstier than… something angsty. So. I started this with the full intention of writing the whole series of events (Romano gets Spain, Veneziano tries to steal Spain and then there is family fighting and Romano-choosing). So much for that. I hope you like it anyways, OP! [oh yeah, not the 2nding or 3rding anon. Just somebody different.]
About Germany: it seemed like a good reason for Romano to hate him. I’d hate a boyfriend that left me for my sibling, frankly.
About Veneziano: he ain’t all bubbles and sunshine. But what a time to pick to reveal that you’ve understood your brother’s reactions all along: “hey bro, been hitting on your man, btw, know about your inferiority complex, think it’s kind of pathetic g2g bye.” He’s not all super villain here, he still asks for forgiveness. But he’s hardly blameless. Yeah.
I think I need to go write something happy now, sheesh.
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Romano wasn’t surprised. xDD PRICELESS
That was so cute, Spain/Romano is always loved. Awesome job Anon! :)
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[thanks]
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To be honest, I think the reason that Veneziano is always going after Romano's boyfriends (at least in THIS fic) is that link they share that you write about - Romano feels Veneziano's desire for forgiveness and his pain when he hits him, I imagine that when Romano is in love Veneziano feels some sort of echo of the same love and desire for that person in himself, and acts on it instead of realizing that he's just feeling his brother's feelings, rather than those of himself... perhaps Romano is just better at separating the feelings of his brother from the feelings of himself, and that's why it doesn't happen in reverse?
Who knows...
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Since I'm the author, I'm probably supposed to know those things. Erm. At the risk of destroying the mystic veil of authornon storyworld omnipotence, I have to admit: I totally wasn't thinking about their connection as a justification for Veneziano's behavior.
What I thought was more along the lines of: N. Italy really does love his big brother, no matter any inner judgments on who's better/more loved/whatever. He looks up to him, so whenever Romano begins seeing someone/brings them home, Veneziano sees them in this golden light of someone who must be so amazing because my brother chose them. He gets closer to them out of his own infectiously agreeable personality, and before he knows it they're starting to show attraction back to him, and he already thought "wow he/she's so wonderful..." and before he knows it he's boyfriend-yoinked. Again.
But your explanation actually makes more sense, especially in the context of the world I set up... aw man. You're awesome. So taking off of your idea, I'd imagine the reverse doesn't happen because Romano is a stubborn old curmudgeon, and he knows his own damn feelings thank you very much, and nothing's going to sway him. Goddamn it Veneziano, that guy's not that great, keep it in your pants. Don't look at me so innocently, I know what you're thinking!
And /overprotectivebigbrother.
I should probably stop now.
(Thank you for reading, everybody)
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I liked your interpretation of Veneziano (also prefers Romano for some reason...) and Spain is such a sweetie~ <3 Massive <3s and internets for your Spain there. He's just perfect. And Romano! *hugs* So perfect, so awesome.
THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!
It's fine as it is, but if you wanted to write the beginning part too, well, I won't complain. Not that you have to if your busy and stuff...just saying.
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Romano's my favorite character, so it's not hard at all for me to give him a happy ending / make Veneziano a villain for a bit. Glad you liked Spain! This meme is really giving me love-declaration practice.
YOU'RE WELCOME!
At the moment I have no real ideas for a prequel. Maybe sometime, I won't give any concrete no, but right now I've got too much on my plate. I'm sorry OP... ;_;
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I'm so glad to see this request filled and so wonderfully too! I hope to encounter more of your work!
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This (beside being awesome) gave me the odd impression of knowing your writing style. Are you writing another epic fill with Spain/Romano here on the meme, or am I just being a creep?
Probably the second. Sorry. Also, Captcha: 'stuck in' in second gear / And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, / or even your year but../ I'LL BEEEE THERE FOR YOUUUUU / WHEN THE RAIN STARTS - "Goddamnit, stop it, Antonio, I'm trying to sleep here!"
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