Chapter 2

Decided to make a second chapter. Hope you enjoy!

xoxox

Once a month, two specific men could be seen in a boot of the dimly lit bar. One of them had grey hair, almost white even, a proud stance despite his very annoying laughter and shouting, and eyes so piercing red you could only be intimidated by them, until you got to know him better. The other had a healthy tan, an odd curl sprouting from the top of his head, a surprisingly slender figure while still being one hundred percent manly, and eyes which reminded of olives and hard work under the sun and life by the seaside all at once.

They were an odd pair, these two. They always came the last Friday of the month, and always ordered the same thing (the finest Italian wine they owned and beer in the tallest glass they could find). Then they talked. Just talked. For hours and hours, letting both the liquor and words flow, the albino sometimes giving drinks when a German entered the bar (and only when it was a German, as if he knew just by looking at him), the other complaining loudly about everything he could lay his eyes upon, but apparently it wasn't bad enough to make him leave.

Yes, an odd pair indeed. They would stay all night long, sometimes getting drunk, sometimes not, and by the time the owner had to close the establishment, they left in a strangely chipper mood, arms casually slung around each other's shoulder and singing about tomatoes and birds.

People left them alone. They didn't hurt anybody, and were nice enough to clean after them if they ended up making a mess. The other customers even enjoyed that little yellow chick the red-eyed man always brought with him, as it flew around their heads and finally settled in the fern in the corner. On top of that, there was this strange atmosphere around them, as if they were superior somehow. The people instinctively knew not to mess with the two, so that they wouldn't mess with them either.

This was another of those days. Right on cue they had entered the bar and made for their boot. They sat down, ordered the usual, and began talking. The Italian swirled his drink around in his glass, watching the red liquid cling to its sides as if trying to hold onto a lifebelt. He glanced over at the other, seeing him down his first glass in one big gulp, his adam's apple bobbing with every time he swallowed.

"Take it easy, you beer addict. We've only just arrived," the man known as Italy Romano commented.

Gilbert (no longer known as Prussia, but still refusing to use the name East Germany, at least when he wasn't within his brother's close vicinity so as not to hurt his feelings) set the jug down with a loud jingle of glass hitting wood, and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Give me a break, Lovino. West was nagging at me all day for getting in the way, and I am desperate for a beer now."

He made a signal at the bartender, who immediately came over with a fresh pint. Romano crossed his legs and leant back, sighing when Gilbird the chick landed on top of his head.

"Oi, how many times have I told you my head is not a nest? Get off, you tiny bastard!"

Gilbert snickered as the bird listened and flew over to its owner instead.

"Gilbird just likes you, Lovi!" he said, letting the chick nuzzle his cheek and sending the other a teasing grin.

"Don't call me that," Romano growled. "It's bad enough that my stupid little brother and the tomato-bastard call me that, you will not do the same."

Gilbert raised his hands as a sign of surrender.

"Just joking around! Don't get angry, Engel. We're here to vent, not to piss each other off."

Romano huffed and took another sip of wine, letting the alcohol relax the tension in his shoulders. He too needed some time away from his so-called family, if only for one night a month. It was enough to recharge.

The further into the night they went, the more relaxed both nations got. The conversations about everything bothering them about their siblings quickly evolved into a discussion on Germany and Northern Italy's relationship.

"West really needs to grow a pair, you know?" Gilbert said, some beer sloshing over the rim of his jug. "It's so obvious Feli adores him, and he does too, but what does he do? He just chickens out every single time they get a chance to deepen their relationship. Heck, as far as I know they haven't even kissed yet!"

Romano growled from where he had laid his head upon the table.

"The damn potato bastard better not hurt Veneziano's feelings! The boy is such an airhead, he might mistake the idiot's behaviour for him not being interested!"

"Hey, that's my little bro you're calling an idiot," Gilbert said, but with a teasing grin pulling at his lips. "Besides, didn't you hate him? Then wouldn't you be happier if they didn't get together?"

Romano shrugged. "'Course I hate him. But Feliciano likes him for some reason, and I guess I hate my brother a little less when he's happy."

"Got a soft spot for Feli after all?"

"Shut up."

Some more time passed. At one point, Gilbert had dragged himself on top of the table and was trying to lift the other up as well, proclaiming he wanted to dance.

"Let go, you bastard!" Romano grumbled, weakly pulling back.

"Sir… Could you please get off of the table? I don't know if the boss would like this…"

"Ah, no problem! He's chill, don't worry!" Gilbert said, words slightly slurred. He finally succeeded in pulling the Italian up, but used a little too much force, sending them both to the ground.

"Are you two all right?"

Gilbert simply laughed as Romano cursed profoundly. No worries, everything was all right. And he would definitely pay for that table.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of alcohol, laughter, and music, and Gilbert could distinctly remember himself doing a tricky tango with the stubborn Italian at one point, and hearing the other giggle in a suppressed musical tone.

Now, he found himself in his brother's room, for some reason digging through his stuff. Gilbird had fallen asleep on top of his head.

"What are you doin'?" Romano asked, lazily splayed across the bed (after kicking Germany's garden gnomes and vomiting over his shoes in the hallway, eat that potato bastard).

"I want proof that I raised him well. That I… That I…" Gilbert frowned, loosing track of his words. It was rather hard to focus on anything at all, thoughts slipping from his mind as soon as they were created.

"Pssh. The fuck does that matter? I never had to concern myself much over Veneziano, and he turned out jussss fine. Bit stupid maybe, but not a bad guy."

Gilbert paused, looking at the neatly folded shirt he was holding. His hands were trembling. Why were they trembling? Why were they… Were they…

"Oi, Prussia. You okay?"

The albino didn't need to turn around to be able to feel that intense gaze resting on the back of his head.

"I just want him to be… good, you know? No, not good. Better. Better than me. I want West to be able to live a better life than me."

Romano didn't speak as his entire figure began trembling, his voice sounding hoarse and thick.

"I… I'm so proud of him. Every fucking day. But I just have to know. Did I do a good job? Is he- Is he happy? Will he survive longer than I did? Excel, rise above me? Will he be able to make it to the history books as the most awesome little bro that has ever existed?"

The sound of blankets rustling, a thud, a curse, footsteps, and suddenly there was a warm body sitting next to his.

"…What are you doing?" Gilbert asked, turning to curiously look at the other. Romano's cheeks were a nice pink.

"Just trying to make you shut up," the brunette mumbled, locking his eyes with something Gilbert couldn't see from where he sat. "You start blabbering like a fool when you're too far gone. Don't want you to. Want you to, to be a happy drunk. Like earlier."

The pink changed to a bright red, and Southern Italy ducked his head in stubborn embarrassment.

"Spain got like that too, sometimes. Doesn't suit him. At all. Doesn't suit you either. Just… Know you've done a good job, okay? And don't you fucking forget."

A warm fluttering filled his chest, and Gilbert smiled. He playfully bumped his shoulder against the other's, laughing breathlessly when Romano elbowed him back.

"Danke, Engel. You've done a great job too. With Feliciano, I mean."

The Italian grumbled something incomprehensible, but smiled nonetheless.

"I want that too, you know? For my brother to have a good future. But all the same, I don't. Because…"He bit his lips, and Gilbert placed an arm around his shoulder.

"Because you don't want them to forget you."

Romano shrugged, a short and shaky jerking up and down of the shoulders. He still didn't dare to make eye contact.

"You won't be forgotten, Lovino. I promise."

There was more he wanted to say, so much more, but all of a sudden they could hear voices outside.

"Guess they're back," Gilbert sighed, for some reason feeling both relieved and disappointed. He helped the Italian stand (and wasn't entirely upset when the man staggered against him for support), and they walked over to the window. There, they froze.

Outside, right in front of the front door, stood Northern Italy and Germany. Tangled together in what could only be a very passionate kiss, or one of them had decided to turn cannibal.

Gilbert barked out a laugh as Romano cursed.

"Guess we don't have to worry about them giving each other mixed signals anymore!" the ex-Prussian snickered, while the other kept up his mantra of "I'm gonna fucking kill that bastard!"

He should have felt sad to see his long-time love in the arms of another, but for some reason, he couldn't be any happier at the moment. His brother's happiness was more important than his own.

And as he walked behind Romano, who was furiously stomping down the stairs, and Gilbert had to catch him when he threatened to fall, and he all but dragged the Italian down the remaining steps, and the warmth in his chest didn't leave when Romano took hold of his hand so as not to fall again, he thought to himself:

'This isn't all that bad.'

Xoxox

I miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight make a third chapter, but only if there's enough demand for it and I get a good idea. And with the emphasis of might, mind you, so even if I do, don't expect it anytime soon.