# You Won't Stop Crying(Prumano) #

"I swear you don't have to go,

I thought we could wait for the fireworks,

And I thought we could wait for the snow,"

Three Cheers For Five Years- Mayday Parade

"What the fuck did you just say?!"

Ludwig looked up from his papers, a slightly pitying look on his face from behind steel-rimmed glasses as he regarded his distressed-looking brother with a slightly cold expression. Gilbert slammed both hands down on the German's desk, glaring with all his might. He ignored the pain through his palms at the action; he'd been through a hell of a lot more and he sure as hell didn't give a shit right now. His brother gazed at him for another few seconds before he deigned to repeat himself to the albino.

"Italy was unified. There is no Southern Italy any more."

"That's bullshit, West, and you know it!"

"Like it or not, it was unified quite a while ago."

"But no one told him that?!"

"He knew. He was getting weaker all this time." Ludwig decided to avoid his brother's enraged red gaze as he picked up a pen and began writing on a sheet of paper diligently. "Gilbert, I would appreciate it if you left now. I have work to do."

Ludwig then continued to write away with even, firm strokes of the pen. Gilbert stared at him incredulously for a moment. How could he be so...cold about this? The Prussian was aware that the Sicilian and the German shared a certain dislike for each other, but how could he simply just accept this bullshit and move on? That was beyond a joke. Gilbert stilled for a moment before the rage overtook him again and he knocked all the pages off of the desk, including the one he had been writing on. Ice blue eyes stared at him as he turned.

"I'm going to go find him. Fuck you, West. Fuck you."

On the way out, strangely enough, he ran into Feliciano. The boy smiled up at him brightly, giving him a hug and chirping out a greeting to him. Gilbert pushed him away, although not roughly, and looked away. He felt the questioning honey-coloured eyes follow him to the front door as he ran out, but he didn't care about that. If he stayed around Feliciano, he might just strangle the childish Italian. After all, it was his fault Lovino wasn't-

Ugh.

"Bastards."

### ####

When he got to the house formerly known as the residence of Italy Romano, he glanced around. This place was a complete ghost town. What the hell had happened? And where was Lovino? Usually he'd be out here yelling about some crap to the neighbours or even just random passersby about whatever was ticking him off, still in his underwear or something close to it. He really didn't have a lot of shame, even though he acted all snobby, Gilbert mulled distantly.

"Lovi? You home?"

He blinked.

"Lovino, it's Sir Awesome, and he wants pasta!"

There was no answer.

"Lovi?"

Nothing.

Gilbert turned eyes up to where he knew the man's bedroom was. There weren't any nearby trees littered around, so it wasn't like he could pull a romantic trick like climbing up one and begging the Italian to let him in. Lovino would probably just tell him off anyway, calling him a bastard or something else that was as obscene as he could get. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he knocked on the door again. The albino frowned at the wooden object, something akin to a worried frown on his face as he waited a few minutes. The only sound that reached his ears was the steady chirp of nearby cicadas.

This was bad.

"Hey, open the door, please?"

Silence.

"Dammit, Lovi, I'm coming in whether you like it or not!"

He went to kick in the door just as it swung inward with a slightly eerie creak. Red eyes widened. The house looked...empty. His memories of this place included open curtains and windows to make it sunny, the fresh smell of food of some kind, designer furniture that would be treated as such, do you hear me you damn potato bastard?! Now, the curtains were drawn, making it dark and gloomy, and the only thing you could see for miles was dust. It was...disheartening, to say the least.

"Fuck, Lovino, get out here!"

Gilbert's worry increased as he ran through the house. The kitchen was devoid of food, spare a single slice of bread. The living room TV was disconnected and all of the various game consoles he'd insisted on Lovino buying were unplugged. The backyard was unkempt, with weeds and vines strewn around everywhere. He nearly tripped and fell on his ass on the way up the stairs, because there was litter on it for some unknown reason. What the fuck was going on?

He stopped in the bedroom door.

"Lovi," the Prussian breathed.

All he could see was a small, fragile-looking figure sprawled out on the soft surface of the bed. Almost unwillingly, Gilbert stepped closer and sat down on the side of the bed, his gaze running over the smaller man.

Lovino seemed almost smaller than before, curled up as he was. His hands were fisted tightly into a pillow as if to get some semblance of comfort from the soft object. He was wrapped up in the black sheets, which contrasted sharply with the pale colour of the Italian's face. The faint shine of tears was stained across his cheeks painfully. His nails were clipped, and the skin around them had been picked at until it bled, the faintly red stains still along his fingers. His hair was messy to the point of no return, almost as if he had been on the bed for a long time.

Come to think of it, he probably had.

Gilbert shifted the pillow away before he kicked off his shoes and rolled beside Lovino, putting an arm around him and trying not to cringe at the thin frame. The Italian mumbled something incomprehensible and curled closer to him. Gold-green eyes opened hazily and Lovino looked up at him for a moment. He couldn't offer any consolation to the event, and the Italian understood this. A bitter smile crossed that sickly face, and Lovino closed his eyes again, letting out a faint breath. Gilbert wrapped his arms around him, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry, Lovi. I'd fix it if I could."

"...'s okay. 'Coz now...no bastard can stop us from being..."

"Heh. Looking on the bright side, eh?"

"...mm."

Gilbert blinked sudden tears from his eyes as he felt Lovino's breathing get fainter. The brunette's hands fisted in his shirt, as the Italian lifted his head wearily, brushing his lips over Gilbert's for a small, perfect second. Then his strength seemed to fail him and Gilbert felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be left alone in the world again, like Fritz had done to him so many years ago. He didn't want the disgruntled Italian man who had somehow managed to make life worth living again to leave him.

"Please don't leave me," the Prussian said suddenly, still fighting back the burning sensation of tears.

But it was too late.