There are many things Lovino Vargas is scared of. Several, really; the list of his fears could go on for hours. But there is one thing in particular that he fears more than anything else – something that can stop him in his tracks almost immediately – and that is words. Words are painful, terrible; they can cut into him as easily as a well-sharpened knife can cut through skin, mercilessly etching scars into his mind, his heart, his very being. The horrible phrases he's forced to listen to day after day – 'You should be more like Feliciano, maybe you'd be hated less.', 'You're such a failure in comparison to your brother, why do you even try?', 'You're so mean! You should follow Feli's example – he would never talk to anyone like that!' – hurt more than any physical wound he's ever had to suffer through, and it takes every ounce of his will not to break under them. With every insult that is thrown at him – every criticism and comparison that he's forced to listen to – he hides further behind his carefully crafted shield, disappearing into his shell a little more each time his fragile heart is broken. And with each new crack delivered to the frail organ within his chest, he grows a little more bitter; he gradually becomes more defensive, snapping at anyone who dares try and get close to him, scaring off even his brother. The desire for human contact both dims and grows, leaving him feeling confused and stupid, and more often than not he finds himself wishing he could just die – just leave behind all his pain, and the world that hates him so much, in favour of eternal sleep.
But, despite how convenient it would be, he doesn't die. Never has he genuinely attempted to end his life. Never has he brought a gun to his head and put an end to his own misery, or swallowed so much medication that is poisons him from the inside. Never has he slashed open his veins and allowed them to bleed out, ending himself in the slow and painful manner he knows he deserves. And he doubts he ever will, for the sole sake of one individual. Not for the sake of his brother, the very individual who is the cause of so much of his agony, or the grandfather who has always favoured the youngest Vargas over him. It's not for the sake of the stupid Spaniard who has tried time and again to gain his affections, but is too airheaded to notice the misery that lingers within the depths of the young Italian's eyes. No, he doesn't remain alive for the sake of those individuals. He continues to live for the idiotic American, Alfred F. Jones, who has somehow remained his best friend since they were children in kindergarten. He stays alive for the blonde male who can be happily ranting about burgers, and comics, and Lord knows what other ridiculous things one moment, only to become quiet and serious in a mere millisecond when Lovino becomes exceptionally silent, prepared to listen should the Italian choose to voice his thoughts. Lovino lives for the American who will stand up for him when he's being put down, and who will beat a man within a quarter of his life if they dare lay a hand on him.
The reasons for Lovino living for Alfred's sake are endless, but the blonde is the one and only reason the young Italian is still alive. The warm arms that cradle him close when he's crying, or the silly grin that will spread across his lips when Lovino gives him the smallest of compliments, is enough to shed a small portion of light on the brunette's otherwise unhappy life. The American is the only one who openly cares for him – the one who will be there to comfort him when he's hurt, or yell at him when he's contemplating whether or not he should continue living. He's the only one who's physically cried over the Italian, who has begged him not to die on more occasions than either care to admit; he's the only one, in the entire damned world, who can make Lovino feel special. And although there are days when Lovino is particularly frustrated, and will scream every profanity he knows at Alfred, or demand the blonde leave him alone and never speak to him again; despite the days where Lovino will insist that he's sick of looking at the American's face, that he wishes he'd never met the other male, the blonde has never left. He will stand there and take every word Lovino screeches at him with a soft smile, and when the Italian is done venting and left a sobbing mess Alfred will hold him close, allowing him to cry into his chest as the blonde murmurs soft words of comfort into his ear. He does all these things without Lovino's request, and Lovino loves it. Alfred accepts Lovino for who he is, without any question or complaint; he takes him for both his faults and his strong points, despite how prominent the Italian's faults are. And, although he will rarely willingly admit this, Lovino is immensely grateful for this.
So, despite the bullying he has to endure, and the neglect he suffers from his grandfather, Lovino vows never to let any of it completely break him. No, so long as Alfred is there to pick up the broken pieces of his shattered soul, he will be able to continue living. Because he knows there's at least one person in the world who loves him unconditionally – who loves him almost as much as he himself loves the American – and so long as his beloved, slightly dim hero remains with him, protecting him and keeping his will to live alive, that's good enough for him.
Ah, my second story in the time frame of two days. Shocking, maybe I'm getting my inspiration back! Although this is once again a crack-pairing - go figure XD Such is typical for me.
I hope you all enjoyed this ridiculously small one-shot :) I enjoyed writing it, and it made me adore America x South Italy more than I already did, so that's gotta count for something. I hope it has the same effect on you! Lots of love~ And reviews are appreciated, if you have the time ^^ Thank you for reading!