Mio Vecchio Amico
North and South were different, that much could be said by just observing the pair.
As different as night and day.
Veniciano was like the sun – all smiles and affection; always willing to give people another chance or to try again.
Always happy.
And, if continuing with the analogy, one might say that Romano was like the moon – mysterious, elusive, and living on borrowed happiness.
North was both carefree and careless; a ray of sunshine in an otherwise drab and boring world.
South was meticulous and moody – violent, even, if the situation called for it.
Veniciano was an artist. He was soft, unclaimed by scars and untainted by wars and bloodshed. Something to protect.
Romano was the exact opposite. He was a warrior, taught to fight and resist and never give up despite the circumstances. His body was scarred from years of wars, famines, and internal strife, his touch calloused and rough.
North was cute, with almost never opened eyes and a vacant smile.
South was dangerous, with a cold stare and harsh words.
Veniciano loved his brother dearly despite the unmerciful words thrown both his and his friends' way.
Romano didn't want his brother to get involved; wanted to protect him from the evils and dangers of the world. Refused to let his brother be used as a tool of war.
North was technically in charge of the country, despite how he seemed to get nothing done on time.
South was the more responsible one, spending many sleepless nights finishing the never-ending paperwork so his brother would not get in trouble with either their boss or his allies.
Veniciano called his brother by his human name, Lovino, instead of Romano.
Romano pretended not to care. After all, after the unification, he was useless as a nation and the other nations were already starting to forget who he was.
North was annoying, yet everyone seemed to cater to his every whim.
South was quiet –when he wasn't cursing at someone or thing -, waiting in the shadows for someone to mess up and be easily taken advantage of. It was then he would strike, with poisonous, comforting words and a sly smile hidden behind a mask of concern.
Veniciano was as innocent as nations go, despite being involved in two world wars and countless minor scrabbles.
Romano wanted his to keep that innocence for as long as possible, perfectly content to fight if it meant his brother didn't.
North was loved by everyone, yet the ones he found comfort in could be counted on one hand.
South was desperately afraid of losing everyone he held dear, yet he never allowed people to get close enough to understand it.
Veniciano loved taking walks around their many cities, meeting new people and exploring new parks or buildings.
Romano hated it.
New people meant new emotions and new thoughts to be dealt with – it came with being the darker half of the set of brothers. He knew everyone's shortcomings, fears, and faults upon meeting them, as well as their every dirty little secret.
It made him feel guilty.
North was never really faithful to anyone, his morals as sparse as his nightclothes. It explained how he could switch sides so easily during wartime, and how he always seemed to have a plethora of women at his disposal.
South was extremely loyal and religious, after living so close to the Vatican. Both he and Spain had fought against their separation with tooth and nail, and he had barely removed himself from his new room in his old villa in Rome after he had left Madrid.
And yet, he still wanted to trust his brother to make the right decision in times of crisis.
Veniciano had a surplus of loving people to care for and about him – Ludwig, Elizabeta, Roderich, Gilbert, Kiku and his brother.
Romano had Antonio, and sometimes his brother, who needed to realize that sometimes wasn't enough.
North was loud, always making sure everyone heard his opinion and not really caring if they agreed or not.
South was still unnervingly silent around the former Axis and Allies.
Veniciano was cowardly, running and hiding at the first sign of trouble; always begging to be protected.
Romano was just as cowardly, yet he hid it behind a mask of bitterness and anger and was always lashing out.
They looked alike, sounded alike, and dressed alike – it was no wonder people were forgetting his name and always calling him Feliciano, his brother's human name.
It annoyed him; his name was Lovino.
But he hated it, and how it was so close to a disappointing verb.
Lovino became Rovino.
Rovinare is 'to ruin'.
I… ruin.
It hit far too close to home.