Hetaverse? Oneshot. Onesided GerIta. Onesided Pru-? After Buon San Valentino.

Prussia First Person POV


"What'm I gonna do now?" he laments for what must be the thirty-seventh time tonight. Propped up with his elbows against the bar, my stubborn little brother stares sorrowfully into the empty glass before him, and not because he has already drained it dry. It is Valentine's day (or, rather, the late evening of this particular holiday), and he is agonizing over the events of the past week.

"I dunno, West," I sigh, lifting my beer to my lips. "You're gonna have to figure that one out on your own."

I can't tell him that he's been an idiot for not recognizing his feelings for that sweet Italian sooner, that it's his fault for being so damn dishonest with himself. I can't tell him because that would make me a hypocrite, and you can't get much lower than that.

"It felt like I was gonna exshoplode." Mumbling into the heel of his hand, the dumb brat searches me with desperate, unfocused eyes. "S'that how it's s'posed to feel? Like your heart's gonna… gonna bust?"

I shrug, thinking "yes" but saying, "I don't know, kid. I've never been in love."

Then I kick myself because the only thing lower than a hypocrite's a liar. With a sigh, I throw back my drink and try to lose myself in it.

"We aren't trained f'r this…" The word hisses off his teeth like the whine of a deflating tire. "An' I think the books lied."

"Like that's never happened before," I snort. "You oughta quit reading those damn books and just get out more."

He looks so disheveled now with his hair resting on his brow and his collar unbuttoned to his chest. I wonder vaguely if I look as awful when I'm drunk off my ass and depressed as hell.

"I love him, Bruder," comes the defeated whisper. Burying his flushed, sloppy face in his broad hands, my little brother slumps forwards and emits a muffled sob.

Though my emotional, human minds screams at me to place a comforting hand to his shoulder like I had way back when, my inner asshole convinces me to do otherwise because it's so much easier to do what he says. Because it's so much easier to laugh at your problems and then wave them away like they're nothing. So, I grab that thick-skulled moron and scrub at his scalp with my knuckles.

"Go for it, kid," I cackle. "You've got nothing to lose."

He lifts his head slowly and gazes up at me in wonder. "Y'think so?"

The insufferable bastard who hijacks my brain ruins the moment when he forces a smirk and finishes with, "Just your dignity."

Defeated again, my brother's clouded, blue eyes drop and he collapses in on himself again.

And I toast an empty victory over him, because there's nothing more hateful than a hypocrite and a liar.