Author's Note: Here's the second chapter of 'Tristezza'. I was meaning for this story to be a twoshot, but this section turned out longer than I thought, so it's going to be a threeshot. And thanks for the feedback! I'm glad I'm getting Romano somewhat right... I hope.

Anyway, this is the angst chapter. Lots of screaming, tears, and inane chatter is involved. It also contains slight America bashing, so America-fans, please keep in mind that I have nothing against him. I like pretty much everyone in Hetalia. Don't hurt me. O.o

But mad as it seems, I actually don't like Romano that much. Beats me why I'm writing a fic about him, and putting passion into it - it feels great to write about him, for some reason. Maybe it's because he's a great device alongside Germany/N. Italy or Spain.

Please enjoy.

This meeting was not turning out well at all.

The older Italy had found, upon arrival, that Feliciano's words had not been entirely true (although to be fair, it hadn't been a 'lie' per se). They had arrived at a fair time and many nations had gathered already; Feliciano immediately took the seat closest to Germany, chatting away happily at him, while Romano lounged in the seat beside his brother. But that would have been somewhat bearable - much to the older brother's disgust, he found that Spain was was absent due to illness (despite it being an Europe-central meeting). How was he going to be able to sit through this?

To make it worse, America came charging in halfway through the meeting.

"Someone must have misplaced my invitation, England!" he exclaimed cheerfully, dragging a spare seat from the corner of the room and settling himself down next to the disgruntled man. "There's no way you guys can have a proper meeting without the leader, right?"

"America, we're discussing European trade relations. Your presence is not needed," England snapped, clearly very irritated at the other; his plan hadn't gone well, and now nothing was going to get done. "why, you aren't even a part of Europe! If we needed you here, we'd have invited you."

This went completely ignored by America, who simply flashed everyone a bright smile and began to present his views energetically; he had broken up the serious atmosphere, and the meeting soon descended into absolute chaos - England slumped back, glaring at the man next to him. Germany, who had been watching him quietly, leaned over.

"Do you want me to throw him out?"

"Don't even bother," England muttered back, still frowning. "you think he's going to give up that easily? And I don't want really want him insulting you and making all of this even worse."

"Pourqoui pas?" France put in from the opposite side, having heard the conversation amongst America's inane chatter. "why don't you drag him out, Allemagne? Maybe we can get something done if we get Amérique out of here. Then again," he smirked. "I don't exactly mind seeing you suffer, Arthur."

"What are you saying, you stupid pervert!"

Germany sighed heavily and buried his face into his hands, feeling a migraine form; now that everything was out of order, he no longer cared if they reached a conclusion or not. He just wanted to go back home. Not surprisingly, this notion was shared by others in the meeting: Russia had gone from paying attention to fiddling with his scarf and staring blankly into thin air, while Belarus stood behind his chair and watched. Austria had pulled out a pen and was composing something on a notepad to ease his obvious annoyance with the whole situation. Poland and Prussia had gone as far as actually falling asleep, their heads slumped forwards - and then there were the Italy brothers, who were feeling rather different things. Feliciano was obviously bored, but had Germany next to him to talk and snuggle up to - Romano got little to no attention from him, and merely sat there, feeling himself slowly go insane.

"Hey, cut that out, lovebirds," America was saying to Feliciano and Germany, having paused in the middle of his long rant. They had been whispering to one another, but now they were looking up, looking rather peeved that they were interrupted. "not in an official meeting, you two! Beats me how you get anything done without me in charge."

Romano ground his teeth quietly and forced himself to sit still. America's rant, the absence of Spain, and Germany and Feliciano sharing secrets right beside him - it was driving him half mad. His sanity was barely hanging by a thread, and the older brother focused on staring at the table so that nothing else would aggravate him. And this worked - for a few minutes.

"Can we get onto the issue of trades now, America?" England had finally cut in, having ended the argument with France by hissing a couple of curses at him; but nonetheless he looked extremely annoyed to say the least. "you know, what the meeting was meant to be about in the first place?"

America laughed. "But that's what I've been doing all this time, England! You were simply being a bit too slow to follow with what I was saying," (England clenched his fists at this) "but just for your sake, I'll condense it down. What I've been proposing is that I'll increase the scale of imports brought in from all of you - so that you can export more and get more money! Baby steps, but it's all towards your good!"

"No," multiple nations said collectively, actually making the man flinch slightly. England saw the chance for an upper hand and eagerly jumped to take it. "We can't just increase overall production because you demand it, America. At that rate, most of what we make will go towards you, with little left for us!"

"But you'll get money!"

"That's not the point!" Prussia finally shouted, thumping his fist on the table. "All you're doing is putting Europe at a disadvantage! Your plan is suicidal - we'd all starve!"

The blond man stared. "Why are you getting into this, Gilbert, you aren't even a proper nation right now-"

Romano stared fixedly at the table throughout all of the madness, breathing in and out very slowly to keep himself somewhat sane. As long as he kept out of this, he would be all right; and his plan was working so far, so that was a little bit of encouragement. He kept his face blank, and his posture straight, saying absolutely nothing.

"-completely useless, Poland, can't you see the good it'd do to you-"

"-Hey, don't you ignore the awesome me, you bastard!-"

"I don't really care, it's fine with me! Trade or no trade, everyone will become one with Mother Russia!"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

America's plans were being shot to the ground, and even he could see that much. He fell quiet for a few moments to looked over at the whole table, searching for someone who was either an ally or at the very least not speaking out against him - his gaze then fell onto Germany and the Italy brothers, who had kept surprisingly quiet through the fiasco.

"You haven't contributed your opinion, you three," he yelled over the din, causing a few to go quiet and stare in their direction. "now quiet down, guys! We'll do this diplomatically - why don't we all sit down and go around the table, starting with... Germany?"

This was the first sensible thing America had said during the whole meeting, and the nations were willing to acknowledge that much. They would do all they could to reject his plan, but there would be no harm in doing it without shouting. Germany nodded and stood up, facing America directly.

"Your plan is potentially dangerous for all of us. For my part, I'm more than happy to import materials and goods to you, but the fact is that I am unable to increase production so quickly according to your demand. Unless you propose a deadline and provide support towards the increase in production rate, and unless it is reasonable," (England and France both nodded and smirked) "I cannot approve of your plan. That's perfectly fair, nein?"

Germany sat down, and was met with applause from everyone except Romano and America - the latter cleared his throat awkwardly, and moved on to Feliciano. "And your opinion, Italy?"

"Huh? Um... okay!" Feliciano exclaimed, not having paid attention to what America had said before - he was far too busy admiring Germany. Romano heard it all, and clenched a fist; couldn't Feliciano contribute a proper opinion for once? And to think he'd been dragged here by his ditzy younger brother, who hadn't been paying attention in the first place! It made his blood boil.

"Thank you, Italy!" America said loudly, now sounding truly grateful. "Well, judging by what Italy said, it's not as if it's going to make any difference even if you all reject my plan. We'll get there eventually. But let's carry on - what do you think, Romano?"

That.

Was.

It.

"Vaffanculo!" Romano finally shouted, bolting up from his chair and throwing the folder he had across the room. America yelped and ducked; the folder very narrowly missed Russia's head, and it was immediately taken for granted from everyone that Ivan would take revenge for it later. But this was the last thing on Romano's mind right now. Feliciano went deathly pale as he heard the curse; he got up as well, frantically grabbing onto the other's arm with cries of 'fratello!'. The older Italy snatched his arm away, pushing his brother roughly back to his seat. "I don't care! I never cared! Why would you want to know my opinion anyway, if it matters so damn little-"

"Romano," America stammered, having not expected this reaction. "please, do calm yourself..."

"It's not Romano, you bastard," the older Italy screamed, causing the blond man to whimper and duck down again. "if you're going to call my brother Italy, I should be called that too! Or why not call him Veneziano if you insist on calling me Romano? Either way, stop treating me as if I'm just some kind of lackey, because it's just pissing me off!"

The older Italy paused to catch his breath, staring around the entire room with wide, deranged eyes. Every face in the room (even Russia's) was frozen in shock; Romano was famous for being snappy, but he had always been too much of a coward to stand up to anything.

Until now.

"Andate tutti a 'fanculo!" Romano shouted, and then proceeded to storm out of the room, ignoring his brother's pleas to calm down. Something inside his mind, right from the moment he had bolted out of his seat to the second that he walked out of the door, was screaming that he was doing something absolutely horrendous and illogical to boot. He had walked out of an official meeting, had sworn violently at all nations present, embarrassed his younger brother - and had achieved nothing except for a horrible, sinking feeling of dread. A high price to pay for an adrenalin rush and one minute of total attention.

And yet he kept on walking. It was not the slightest bit logical - he didn't have any of his things with him (he'd left his coat and bag behind, and thus possessed no keys, money, identification or even anything to keep him warm), there wasn't anything waiting for him outside, and right now his best bet was to go back to the meeting and apologize. However, Romano was far too proud, too sick of being treated as an outsider, and had no intentions of going back even to his younger brother. They could all go to hell for all he cared.

"Warten!" He heard an urgent voice calling behind him, getting closer and closer, and inwardly winced. Great, it was him, the ever-righteous Germany; he was probably only coming after Romano to lecture him about his behaviour. Well, so be it, the older brother thought, and spun to face the blond man. It only struck him then that Germany hadn't been running to catch up with him; rather, he had been striding towards Romano quickly, implying that he hadn't been far behind. Germany had followed the older Italy immediately after he had walked out - he had obviously not been prompted by the others to do so, doing it all on his own will. Romano had to admit that he was impressed for a second, but then scowled as he stared at the taller man in front of him.

"Come to laugh at me." It wasn't a question, just a statement; Romano took that Germany might have come to jeer at him as fact.

"Nein. I have no intentions of that. I came to ask you what was wrong, because I'm concerned for you. Also, Feliciano is crying and we can comfort him if you'd tell us what was bothering you."

"Whatever," the older brother scoffed, turning away. "it's not me you've come to comfort. It's my stupid brother - your precious Italy. Just get out of my sight, potato freak." He began to walk away, but Germany reached out and clamped a hand on the other's shoulder as he began to walk away. He honestly hadn't been expecting any other reaction from the older Italy; he had dealt with Romano far too long to not understand his bitterness.

"Lovino," he said with a forceful tone, startling the other man. "you are also Italia."

This was definitely something the older man hadn't expected; he froze in place for a while, dozens of thoughts rushing through his head - had Germany really called him 'Lovino'? Had the man acknowledged him as part of Italy? He was admittedly surprised, but he tried to hide it. A compliment from Germany meant nothing, he told himself, although he couldn't help but feel guilty for thinking that.

"Hmph. Looks like you're the only one with some sense," Romano sneered, turning to face the other again. "at least you had the courtesy to address me as Italy. I wasn't aware you considered me to be that much. And now you've finished sucking up to me, why don't you run back to the meeting and cheer up Veneziano? He loves you far more than he loves me, doesn't he?"

Germany winced; that comment was surprisingly hurtful, coming from Romano. He did love Feliciano, and the feeling was mutual - but the older Italy putting it that way was something he really hadn't needed to hear. "Don't be ridiculous. He's your brother. Only you can calm him down."

"Bullshit!" Romano hissed, glaring at Germany. He actually took one menacing step forward, something he had never quite dared to do without being provoked - but when the other flinched slightly and stepped back, he felt a sort of angry pride. "Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I don't see you two frolicking around whenever I go to pick him up? Veneziano has more fun with you than he's ever had with me - he spends more time at your place then ours! Why do you think that is? Huh? Why?"

"Lovino-"

"Perché?"

The blond man sighed heavily and drew a hand over his eyes. "... I don't know what to say to that."

"Damn straight," the older man retorted, sounding oddly triumphant. "can't come up with anything? I didn't expect you to. So why don't you get away from me, potato bastard - save your breath for Veneziano. Better than wasting it on me."

Germany bit his lip lightly and frowned; this was getting vaguely irritating, and although he hadn't expected Romano to be an easy one to talk to, he hadn't imagined that it would be anything like this. But he was here to solve a problem, and solve it he would. "You are also half of Italia, Lovino, and regardless of what you may think, I care for both halves equally. I love Feliciano very much - but if you're upset, he is as well, and it's not a pleasant thing to see." Romano turned his back on the taller man, but Germany carried on talking. "I don't care what you think of me. I don't even care about you attacking and insulting me. All I care is that you provide Feliciano with the comfort that he needs, and you gain reassurance of your own."

Romano physically staggered with those words; he took one stumbling step forwards, a laugh escaping his lips. He didn't even quite know why he had laughed - in his mind, Germany's words were superfluous: lurdiculous, and he thought to himself as much. But he hadn't laughed at what the blond man had said, that was clear enough; it was too serious, and far too hard-hitting for Romano to laugh at, and he knew that much. However, that didn't stop him from verbally retaliating. "Ha ha... like you really care! Is that what you did to my brother as well? Fell head over heels for your smooth talk, did he?"

The blond man looked at him, now looking extremely upset and confused (for his standards). "... Lovino, can't we be at least acquaintances, if not friends? I'd rather that we were on the same side."

"Shut up!" Romano snarled, clenching his fist. "I hate you. Ever since I've looked upon your smug face, I've hated you. I don't care how kind you are to me, you can't change that!"

He began striding away; he had to put as much distance between them as possible. He couldn't stand listening to Germany any longer - the taller man's words were simultaneously not unkind and not untrue, and Romano didn't want any more of it. No more kindness, no more persuasion, no more-

The older brother had barely gone twenty paces when he was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around his waist. Then Romano's mind went completely blank.

He didn't know what was going on anymore. Here was Germany, holding him tight; Romano was yelling something, but he hardly knew what he was saying. All he could remember was screaming Let go, you potato-eating bastard, let go - but even that lasted only a few seconds before he went limp in the other's embrace. He just stayed there, not resisting, allowing himself to be hugged by someone he considered his worst enemy.

When Germany finally let go, both men were blushing - although for slightly different reasons. Germany's face was flushed with the effort of actually keeping Romano in place, and embarrassment that he'd had to display such an act to prove his point. Romano was blushing because the hug had felt nice - but at the same time, he'd had a vision of his younger brother in Germany's arms. Feliciano, sweet Feliciano - almost exactly like Romano in silhouette and appearance, but infinitely more kind and accepting. A part of Romano felt that the blond man would much rather have Feliciano in his arms than him, and that the older Italy was just a fake, a stand-in of sorts. So close and yet so far.

It threw him further into despair.

The taller man had stood there silently, waiting for the other to do something. He'd expected a violent lashing out, or at the very least a fair dose of cursing from Romano - but nothing happened. The other just stood there, completely motionless and silent, and Germany grew uneasy.

"Lovino?"

He placed a hand on the other's shoulders, only to see Romano's knees buckle from underneath him. The latter collapsed forwards, kneeling on the floor, head bent and supporting himself with his arms. Germany was momentarily frightened, wondering if he'd done something wrong, but then saw that the older Italy's shoulders were shaking.

Romano was crying.

Germany stood by and watched silently as the older Italy went through a breakdown; he slammed his fists on the floor, crying, tears running down his face unashamedly. For too long he had been cast aside, shown little affection, held in almost no regard whatsoever. And Germany, the one Romano had hated the most for taking Feliciano away from him - had given him a hug. He had called him Italy. It was far too much for Romano to handle right now. It was all too confusing, too sudden, and he couldn't comprehend it.

He cried for almost ten minutes. By then he had gone from throwing a screaming fit to sobbing pathetically on the floor; seeing that Romano was no longer capable of injuring himself or Germany, the blond man then stepped forwards and knelt down.

"I'm guessing you have no intentions to go back to the meeting?"

"N-no..." Romano sobbed, none of his prior dignity left. He could have snapped at Germany so easily for asking something so obvious, but he was too disheartened to do so; Germany nodded and stood up, walking quickly back towards the meeting without a backward glance. Romano just watched him go, not attempting to call him back or leave the hallway; his tears and anger had exhausted him so thoroughly that he couldn't even stand up. He leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cool surface and trying to get some grip on himself.

What was he going to do now? How was he going to get home?

Romano needn't have worried, however, because Germany came back after only a couple of minutes. Underneath his arm was the other's coat and bag, which he then set down in front of Romano before kneeling down again.

"I've got your things here, Lovino. I've also ended the meeting, but no one there is set to leave yet - you don't need to worry about being seen."

The older Italy didn't say anything except a small 'I see', and reached out for his coat, awkwardly putting it on. He then picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder, but remained sitting. Germany watched all of this, convinced that Romano had calmed down, and continued. "I understand you don't want to interact with the other nations right now. But would you at least like to see Feliciano? He's stopped crying - and he wants to see you, I could bring him over..."

Romano shook his head. "No... I'd rather... do without him right now... I just want to go home..."

The blond man nodded, again not entirely surprised with this response. "Do you want to go back now, or after the others? I'll make sure you're not seen either way."

This time an answer didn't come; Romano buried his face in his knees, closing his eyes tightly and wishing for the pounding in his head to go away. A part of him wished that Germany would give him another hug, so that he might relax and regain some of his strength, but he dared not voice it. And another part of him wished that the other would just shut up and leave him alone; but that was even less likely than the former option.

He felt so tired.

"Lovino? Lovino...?" He heard Germany calling him, but the words sounded drawn-out and distant; Romano couldn't stop his eyes closing. So be it, he thought - he was far too exhausted to deal with this any more, and quite frankly just wanted to collapse right there. That way he wouldn't have to face the world any longer.

He proceeded to do exactly that, and his world went dark.