Romano hated Germany. He hated Germans in general. But Germany especially. It wasn't personal...
Ok, it was.
Romano hated Germany's hair, his eyes – he even hated him down to his skin tone and the shape of his face!
It wasn't because he was stoic, or a 'potato bastard', or more of a brother than he had ever been, or that he was just so extra...
So extra German.
It was solely because of that other country. That other one that had been his little brother's friend as well.
The one that made him cry.
That pissed Romano off so much.
But he was sadder that he couldn't comfort his little brother that day.
Fuck you Austria, Fuck you Spain.
When the two Italies reunited they looked each other dead in the eye and said -
"Welcome home."
But, at the same time, Romano wanted so so so desperately to punch his brother in the face.
He found another Potato bastard to cry over later.
But the strange thing was, he seemed to look so similar to that boy.
It was like the two were siblings or something.
"Yo, Potato Bastard!"
Germany sighed and turned, seeing instead of an angry Italian that day a nervous and flustered one.
"I...Um... Dammit!"
Germany kept his face straight, seemingly burning holes into the other's eyes.
"Eh... Make my brother cry again, dammit, and I'll have your balls chopped off, boiled, served on a silver platter and make you eat them!"
Germany was shocked. "Did you just... defend Italy?"
"V-Veniziano is my brother, Bastard! What did you expect?"
From a little ways away, a sigh of 've~' drifted to Romano's ears.
"S-Shit!" Romano ran away, not really realizing what Germany was now thinking.
"Ve~! Germany, was Romano here a second ago?"
"Yes..." Germany trailed off, muttering to himself. "I think he's realized it."
"Veh? Realized what?"
"Oh, nothing."