All the nations of the world were gathered in this small cramped room, not having a meeting like they should, but fighting amongst themselves instead.
As per usual.
Exactly two other nations were absent that day, and Italy Veneziano was getting antsy. The Italian wasn't singing about pasta or cowering behind Germany from the scarier countries—instead, he was worrying over where his older brother could be.
Romano hadn't come with him to the meeting like they always did.
Spain wasn't here either.
They would've come together if not with him, right? Was there any reason to worry at all? Lovino had said that he was going to pick up Antonio and bring him over.
But Feliciano had a feeling, and his feelings were usually right, which was why he put so much effort into avoiding conflict and surrendering. The feeling right then—what could it mean?
"Italy-san?" inquired Japan politely. "Is something bothering you?"
"Ve, Japan," Feliciano asked.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Have you heard from either Antonio or fratello?"
Japan blinked. "Why, no, I don't think so. Shouldn't you be able to feel something like that?"
Italy bit his lip. "I'm not sure . . . I should be able to tell what fratello is thinking, but it's like he's shut himself off from me. It could mean he's going through some emotional stress."
"It's unusual for you to be so concerned. Perhaps something has happened with Romano-san."
Feliciano didn't answer. "Maybe I'll ask Germany," he said. "Thanks, Japan."
"Good idea. Gomen. I apologize for not being more of a help."
"No, I'm grateful for your input."
Feliciano moved off to find Germany. From all the ruckus of the individual nation disputes, Feliciano had to weave himself through all the chaos. He passed by the American Alfred F. Jones and the Brit Arthur Kirkland, arguing about proper etiquette and appropriate use of the Queen's English. America wasn't listening. England looked ready to murder someone. Or shoot himself in the head. Either way, none could hide from the Englishman's wrath.
He also passed Francis, harassing Matthew again. Not many noticed the Canadian, but Feliciano did. They had also become good friends over this fact.
China, or Yao Wang, was trying to disappear into his own little world. Ivan was beside him, scaring off the poor Baltics. Belarus was standing behind him as usual, scaring off everyone Russia couldn't scare, including himself. Also for some reason, the Nordics were having a snowball fight . . .
Italy decided not to ask.
Eventually Feliciano found Germany with his head in his hands, his older brother Gilbert laughing loudly next to him.
"Don't worry, West!" the Prussian was saying. "It'll calm down in no time!"
"For some reason, that doesn't reassure me, coming from you," answered Ludwig.
"Nah, you worry too much. We come in for a day of work, everyone fights, and then we all settle down eventually in time for lunch. You don't even need to spare the breath to yell at everyone."
"I wouldn't suppose you'd take over a bit for me?"
"Psh. For someone as awesome as me?" Gilbert shook his head. "No."
"Well, I tried."
"Lighten up, bro! Have a drink! You'll feel much better."
Ludwig found a pint of German beer shoved in his face. "Where did you . . . How the hell did you get alcohol past security check?"
Gilbert smiled in a way that made Ludwig question why he ever asked.
"Um, Germany?" Feliciano said hesitantly, taking a step forward to announce his presence.
"Ah, there you are," said Ludwig. "Where have you been, getting pasta again?"
Feliciano tensed. Was he honestly that predictable? Granted, that's what he should have been doing, but given the current situation, Feliciano couldn't find the appetite to eat. It was one of those rare occurrences.
"No, I was . . ." he started. "It's just fratello is not here for the meeting, and I'm worried."
Ludwig frowned. How odd, seeing Italy so concerned and unhappy. "I don't see why you have a reason to be. Lovino's probably out with Antonio, getting pulled over eighteen times because of how fast you Italians drive. They'll get here in a few minutes. You'll see."
"I know, but what if—"
"C'mon, Feli!" said Gilbert. "Antonio's with him, so they should be fine. I mean, we are the Bad Touch Trio. What could possibly go wrong?"
"We've got more pressing matters to worry about," Ludwig continued. "This meeting is actually important, so we have to try to re-grab everyone's attention. If we don't, we may never get our point across, and the world could fall into ruin as we know it."
"But—"
Germany stood. "LISTEN UP! EVERYONE SIT DOWN AND I WILL NOT HAVE TO SHOOT YOU!"
"That's my job," said someone, probably the trigger-happy Switzerland.
In the end, everyone complied—albeit with lots of cussing and threats—and Ludwig went ahead with his point. Thankfully everyone listened to his presentation, because they realized the real importance of the meeting and how it affected them all.
Feliciano was the only person not paying attention.
"Don't worry about it," said Gilbert, sensing his distraught thoughts. "I'm sure Lovino will turn up. He probably got sidetracked by a tomato deal at the market."
All Feliciano wanted was to believe that.
But he couldn't.
Gilbert took another swig from his beer. "I'm far too awesome to be worrying about these things. But you know, you ought to listen to West's point. The world comes first, right?"
To Feliciano, his twin brother was his world. He wasn't Italy without Romano. If Romano disappeared, he would be only one half of the country, and that was just wrong. He figured Gilbert would understand, being the east part of modern day Germany.
A sudden jump in his heart caused his head to snap towards the door. In that small interval, Feliciano felt something from the mental link he shared with his brother. There was nothing physical he could gather from said feeling, because the torrents of thoughts that poured into him at that moment were purely emotional.
So much emotion. And pain. Anger. Sadness. Panic. Despair.
Romano had been closing himself off all this time, but why now had he let his emotions pour out . . . ?
Unless he was somewhat breaking down inside?
Feliciano's eyes were locked on the door. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Germany's speech faded into the background and all Italy could hear was the loud pounding of his heart, and the fainter rhythm of another person's.
And just when he thought that, the doors flew open.
Lovino stood at the threshold, panting heavily, eyes darting about the room in a flurry. It was as if he was searching for a lifeline, trying to strike upon a face he knew, anything familiar to reassure him.
He locked eyes with his twin.
"P-please. Veneziano," he begged. "Help me."
Feliciano noticed the tears that were clinging to his cheeks, as if Lovino had cried long ago, but forgot to wipe them away.
"What's going on here?" England demanded. "Where have you been? Don't you know you were supposed to be present at this meeting three hours ago?"
Feliciano stood. "Fratello—"
"Please," said Lovino. "Help him. Antonio, that bastardo, he's . . ." His faced screwed up as if he just remembered a horrible memory, and the tears fell again. "I should have just accepted his invitation. It's my fault . . . I left him all alone."
"What happened, fratello?"
Lovino shook his head slowly. "I don't—I just got his place, and he was . . . His house was completely destroyed. His kitchen was practically on fire, the living room was torn into pieces. Antonio, he's—" He choked up. He couldn't bring himself to state the truth.
"Fratello?" Feliciano took a step forward. "Lovi, take a deep breath and tell me what happened."
The older twin fisted his eyes as he forced out the truth, his voice so hoarse it was painful to listen to:
"Antonio's been attacked."
How rare, seeing Romano cry. I mean, other than crying in fear and cowardice. He and Spain are rather good friends, as much as he likes to deny that fact.