Lighting another cigarette, and opening another bottle of wine, Lovino Vargas sat on his bed, mostly naked, eyes red, and head hurting.
It probably wouldn't have hurt as much if he wasn't on his second and a half bottle of wine, the half being the half empty bottle that he had dropped, causing it to shatter. It was oddly metaphorical, he thought. Something that was half empty that shattered. It reminded him of himself. Shattered being his relapse into alcohol and smoking, as well as his heart, and half empty being how he felt inside, to be totally honest.
Small, deep cuts were scattered on his hands and feet from the shattered bottle. They were on his feet because, well, thats what happens when you step on glass, and on his hands from his half-drunken half-blinded by tears attempt to pick them it up. And those cuts weren't going to be gone by tomorrow like they should be, oh no. They'd be there for awhile.
Last month he got a very small, very minor scratch from one of his Brother's cats. It was there for a week. It sounded like nothing, and to humans, it'd sound normal. But for countries? It meant you were dying.
Not dying, per se, but you might as well be. It meant you were losing your healing abilities; become mortal; becoming human. And humans died. This is what had happened to Prussia, too. First went the healing, then went the immortality, and then a few years later, the life. Prussia was dead. And he'd be with him soon enough. He was a dead country. There was only one Italy now, and it wasn't him.
He wondered why Prussia died first. Honestly, he had no idea why, and didn't want to linger on the subject for too long. He wondered if anyone else knew he was dying, or how he would even tell anyone. Should he even tell anyone? Feliciano wouldn't forgive himself. he'd be heartbroken. Antonio would have a breakdown, probably. He loved him, and he knew it, although he'd deny returning those feelings. Mostly because of his current situation. How sucky would it be if you found out the unrequited love of your life turned out to actually love you back, and then went off and died when you thought they were immortal? He couldn't do that to Antonio.
He was an idiot. He never said anything earlier. Never spoke of his feelings for Antonio or anything else he should have done, really. The list was endless and it was pointless to let himself down by thinking of each individual thing. And if he told them he was dying, no one would treat him the same. They would cry every time they saw him, pay too much attention to him, and really, it just made the grieving process longer. People would start grieving before he was even dead, and he didn't want that for them, or himself.
He closed his eyes and let the still-lit cigarette fall onto the bed next to him, but gripped the wine tightly in his hand. "Please, god, just let me die here. so i don't want to torture anyone with the fact that i'm about to die. Just let them find my body, they'll put it together."