Dear Grandpa Rome,

Do you remember me? It's Lovino, your eldest grandson, your first-born grandchild. You probably don't. I know for a fact that you remember Feliciano. He's a great country now, with lots of allies and resources and the land is as cultural and beautiful as you left it.

Left.

Nonno, I've always loathed that word. Left. Ring any bells, Nonno? It should. Like that time you left me behind. I remember that day clearly, surprisingly. I started crying after you left with Fratello. I begged for you to take me with you, I had to watch you scoop my little brother into your arms, chatting with him happily and walk off with him.

You never picked me up like that.

Then, I heard Feliciano say something. I don't know what it is he said, or what it meant, but what I do know is that you laughed. And I was amazed at the sound of your laugh. Deep, rich, low in tone but gentle. Why was I surprised? You were my nonno; surely I'd heard you laugh before, right?
No. I hadn't. Because you never stayed long enough to have a conversation with me. A decent conversation.

"Lovino, would you bring that book to me, please?"
"Si, Nonno."
"Grazie."
"It's fine."
"How is Italy?"
"What?"
"Your brother. Feliciano."

That was probably the one conversation you've ever held up with me. The one conversation that we'd had between the two of us, and you couldn't resist bringing up my PERFECT little brother, hm? Fine. Fine. I could handle that.

...I couldn't. You and I both knew that. I looked at you, hurt, but you had only looked back down at your book, brown eyes scanning the pages. I bit back the tears and tried walking out of the room with my pride wounded.

Then you disappeared.

I think we can all safely agree that it was a stupid decision to EVER depend on you. Don't be hurt by this-as if I was the one who depended on you. Feliciano depended on you. He trusted you and he believed that you were going to be there his whole life to raise him, guide him, help him out of sticky situations. And suddenly, you-his rock-vanished into thin air. He refused to believe me when I told him that you were gone. Then Austria came up. When he was to take an Italy, the choice was obvious.

Veneziano.

Everybody loved him. He was kind, polite, cute, and very sweet. He even knew how to clean. What more could you ask for? Oh, yes. The little dyke followed everything Austria told him to do. And guess where I was? Alone. Again. Until Spain came into the picture.

Spain. He was one of the only people who were genuinely excited to see me everyday. He wasn't exactly afraid to show it, either. I have a videotape of him skipping home-FUNNY AS HELL. I allowed myself to become dependent on him. And during his conquistador days, when he wouldn't be home for months at a time, I would actually worry. Of course, I'd never tell him that. But one time, I found him lying face-down into the mud, and I dragged the bastard the whole way down the road to his house. He needed a lot of disinfectant for the cut and scrapes on his face afterwards, but the dumbass kept smiling, and peppering my face with kisses, to my protest. And I realize now-it's because I loved him.

I do love Spain. With all my heart. I may not tell him that, but I do. Really. The same way Feli loves that potato bastard. And if you don't approve, Nonno, well...

You can go suck it.

Not-So-Sincerely,
Lovino Romano Vargas
South Italy