"Warnings": (Since this is apparently for triggery things... this is more of what to expect?) Unrequited love, Romano/Germany (*cough*hintforunrequitedlove*cough*), implied "Germany/Veneziano".
This has HRE=Germany theory, but whether or not it's true isn't actually in the fic (since it's third limited, Romano). Also was going to be longer, but... my muse died. In that corner somewhere... Also based off, partially, on the Vocaloids song, Magnet (which seriously has too many versions.)
It was when they first met, or what Romano assumed to be their first meeting. He didn't like the way the other looked, with his black outfit, or the way that he seemed to be distant. Most of all, he didn't like how the other's eyes would always be on his brother, Veneziano. He didn't like how the other would proclaim his love for her (was he really that stupid? He believed that his brother was a female) and then ask her to join the Holy Roman Empire. Never him. Romano doesn't even believe that "Holy Rome" knew he existed.
"Hate you," Romano muttered under his breath as he glared at the Holy Roman Empire. He didn't like the feeling that he gave him—he was wary of anyone who could get his brother to look that happy just by smiling.
He listened to "Holy Rome" go on about his love for Italia (ugh, it annoyed him when they referred to his brother as Italia, and him as Romano—he was a part of Italia, and deserved the title too), and felt more and more nauseated with each passing comment coming from the blonde bastard. He could barely hold himself back from punching the smile off his face (only because he didn't want to hurt his brother; not that he would lose against the Holy Roman Empire.)
It was then that he realized that he hated the Germanic nation that was only a collection of German states. It was then that he realized that he didn't want to be near the other country (or his brother).
It had been over 60 years since the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. It had been over 60 years since his brother lost the love of his life. It had been over 60 years since he found out that French bastard was responsible for said Empire's death. He hasn't been happier—the annoying brat was finally out of his life (though, to be honest, he spent most of his time with Spain—it was only because he wasn't allowed to leave the house!)
However, Romano was not amused when he found out that there would be another personification (another Germanic country—wasn't Prussia and Austria bad enough?) taking over the states under the Holy Roman Empire. He wasn't amused, not at all, but he managed to act normal (if normal meant swearing under his breath and refusing to meet said nation.) That was how he missed meeting Germany, the country that looked a little too much like a certain former empire.
He had no choice but to meet the pesky, arrogant nation when Veneziano decided that the two should know each other. Romano didn't really understand why he needed to meet Germany (or "Doitsu", as Veneziano called him—it was a weird name, but it didn't really concern him), but he was unable to refuse him as his brother had immediately latched onto him, saying something about curl-pulling. His brother was truly devious.
It didn't help that he was forced to greet Germany with a somewhat polite greeting (he didn't scream obscenities at him), and he just wanted to go home and sleep the night away. Instead, he sneered at him, and muttered something about him. He already hated this man just based on his looks alone.
The second time he met Germany—more like confronted Germany—he had his special weapons, ready for use if the bastard chose to ignore him. It was laughable, what he found when he finally got Germany alone (he had a book on how to deal with his people).
That bastard (potato bastard) wouldn't know what hit him. Instead of being humiliated like he had thought that bastard would be, the other turned it on him, saying that he had the mustache from his side. It was embarrassing, being caught like that.
Romano hated him, hated everything about him, but there was something that pulled him closer, almost on instinct. Instead of questioning the situation (most of which ended with his humiliation), Romano used it as an opportunity to figure out his enemy (or his country's ally… that potato bastard). He tried to make sure that the other didn't know about this obsession—Germany would misconceive it as a crush (and it wasn't one)—but he heard the other muttering to his brother about his sudden appearances, about what he thought of him.
What hurt the most, however, was that amused tone in Germany's voice. The way he talked made Romano think that Germany thought of him as a game, as something that should be played with. He wouldn't let Germany get away with that, get away with playing him (for a fool).
This meeting was different, bringing up a lot of memories with his brother. Instead of throwing the grenade like he would've had, he threw the pin, making Germany freak out much more than before—he was already in a sour mood because of Prussia (Germany's own brother), and Romano had watched him nurse the headache Prussia gave him.
Some gibberish came from Germany (like two birds of a feather… or something of that nature), and it amused him that the Germanic nation thought that he was stupid enough to not know the difference between a grenade and the pin. Before it could explode in his face, he threw it far away (not wanting to hit Germany because he was… right behind him. Why Germany was there, he didn't know, but he refused to acknowledge him).
Chuckling to himself, Romano soon left, amused by Germany's reaction. Yes, he was going to have fun playing this little game.
He was shocked that Germany had called him in for another lesson in grenade throwing—Romano thought he proved that he could throw a grenade—but nonetheless appeared, curious as to what the German nation had in mind. He also wondered if he could use what he learned from the mafia against that bastard.
It was in that bastard's house that he found himself in—he's not quite sure how he ended up here, laying in the bed with said bastard—it reminded him of his brother's stupidity. Before anything could be said, Germany stood up, and left the room—presumably to go to his office. Romano followed him easily, listening into his monologue.
"Italy really needs to learn how to fight," he heard the bastard murmur. "And to stop eating pasta in the middle of the desert… or battle."
Based on the second statement, he knew that Germany was only referring to his brother. However, he was a bit hurt (not that he'd admit it) that he wasn't referred to as "Italy". It was like their childhood all over again (and it didn't help that the other looked exactly like him.)
"The other Italy needs to stop swearing at everything. He should also stop playing games—this is war, not a game. If he's not careful, he'll die, and I'd have to explain everything to his brother." He could hear Germany sigh. "He also should stop trying to pick fights with his allies—it was shocking, the way he referred to Japan as a person, but not his other male allies."
Romano quickly escaped into Germany's room (only because he was supposed to be here—not that he was waiting for that bastard or anything), and pulled the covers over him. He was in shock—no one (except himself and maybe his brother) referred to him as "Italy". No one considered him as "Italy"—he was just "Romano" to them. He used to think that it was because his name wasn't a mouthful, like Veneziano, but then he realized that the name could be shortened to "Vene", and that they could refer to his brother as such.
His musing was interrupted by the door opening, followed by German cursing (or, at least he assumed that Germany was swearing by the tone of voice),. "Romano, we have to bail your brother out!" Germany shouted. Before he could protest, he was dragged out of bed, being taken to his brother's location (he learned it was Egypt.) However, before they could make it further than the front door, a package appeared with something about Italy being returned.
Almost reluctantly (he saw it in Germany's eyes), he opened the package, and out popped his brother, saying something about horrible food and England. He could almost laugh at the scenario—his brother was clinging to Germany's arm—had it not been for the fact that he felt an undesirable anger rise in him. He wasn't dense, and he could recognize it almost immediately—he was jealous of his brother.
He didn't like the indication that he wanted to be with the Germanic nation. He didn't like Germany (not one bit) so he shouldn't have been jealous of the two. It was obvious at that point that Veneziano and that potato bastard were in love.
Then, Germany turned to look at him, and mouthed, "See what I mean?" He couldn't help but to scowl angrily at him—he was insulting his brother (even if he did agree with all of it.) It didn't help that Vene was still crying about something—he had already forgotten the reason.
At that moment, he wanted to cry but also wanted to… no, he didn't feel like leaping for joy. It was horrible, feeling jealous of a person that he was supposed to love more than anyone else. It was horrible, this feeling of love. It was horrible, going against his own religion for this love.
He hated feeling as if he shouldn't be with his own brother, the person he loved more than anything (at least, he told himself he did.) If he had to be completely honest with himself, he was avoiding his brother because said brother was with Germany, and he didn't want spend any time with Germany.
"Ve, brother," Veneziano said, looking quite pathetic; even he had to admit that. "Why don't you want to see Germany with me?"
He had to hold back the anger that coursed through him, taking control of his mind, and said in response, "I don't like him." He could almost believe it, almost think that he was speaking the actual truth, had it not been for the fact that he knew himself better, that he knew of his lie almost as quickly as he said it.
Maybe it was something that he didn't know, or maybe it was something that terrified him. However, he wouldn't allow himself to be an outcast because of his love for Germany. Maybe one day, it would be returned. Maybe one day, they would be so into each other, or maybe they would hate each other as they meant to.
Whatever happened, he didn't care. He just wanted to be told that his love wasn't a mistake.