Yay! I finally got this out! I really have been busy since school started (barely a week in, too!). But not with homework. Oh, no, after my summer homework, I've barely had ANY homework at ALL! I've been busy with band and academic decathlon. Although, even if I wanted to write this week, I had major writer's block for this chapter. I figured it out though!
But, whatever homework I did had, I made sure to finish. Blue Wallpaper threatened me with Germany if I didn't after all, so I immediately got right on it. It was very good motivation.
Hopefully, this chapter doesn't have as many mistakes as the last one did (boy, was that embarrassing). What's more, I actually provided translations at the end of this one!
One month.
Antonio had been living in the Italies' apartment for one whole month now. Normally, being allowed to stay over for so long would send him into happy little seizures, and he'd attach himself to his little Lovi until said Italian became as red as an adorable little tomato, or until the bruises on his arm from Lovino's cute little tomato-like-head butts (which, surprisingly, didn't actually feel as nice as a real tomato) hurt too much for Antonio to hold on any longer—whichever came first.
Unfortunately, Lovino still couldn't remember much, except for a couple broken memories that could mean anything when put in context. The Italian still hadn't remembered what type of relationship he had with Antonio. That meant Antonio had to keep his hands off. For an entire month.
An entire, agonizing four weeks.
It was torture for Antonio to have to keep from hugging Lovino. Especially when his little Lovi acted to adorable and huggable and lovable with that beautiful red flush that painted his churros-soft cheeks so cutely (ah, churros were so good at soothing his nerves, with their soft, squishy, chewy texture and delicious taste~). The sight was just too irresistible, and sometimes Antonio forgot his determination to leave Lovino alone until he remembered everything about the Spaniard on his own, and launched himself at his Lovi in an enthusiastic hug.
The accidental hugs always gave Lovino such a strange look. The Italian's face was contorted painfully; he looked torn by some inner conflict. Even after Antonio released him, Lovino remained stiff, with that horrible look still twisting his features. The sight made Antonio's stomach churn with guilt, and he resolved to try even harder to keep from hugging Lovino, to save his oblivious little (former) lover from whatever pain the embrace caused him.
It was difficult, though, and more often than not, Antonio failed.
As hard as it was for Antonio to keep his hands off his lover, it must have been triply hard for Lovino, at least. Antonio couldn't even imagine the frustration his pobrecito tomate must feel, unable to remember anything except for a puzzle that was missing too many pieces to form a picture. If what both Ludwig and Feliciano assured him was true, and Lovino still loved Antonio, then the Italian must feel confused and lost with feelings he didn't understand.
It would be so easy for Antonio to ease that confusion. All he needed to say was that, before the accident, the two had been lovers. Then everything would make sense, and things could begin to go back to normal, and they would all live happily ever after.
But Antonio was scared.
He'd never been frightened of anything as badly as he was of telling Lovino the truth. Even the memories of being tortured by England all those years ago (memories that still occasionally haunted his dreams) paled in comparison to his fear of rejection. He just didn't know what he'd do if Lovino didn't love him like everyone seemed so sure he did.
So he kept silent, his confessions held at bay by his fears. He'd allow Lovino to make the first move this time, when the Italian was ready.
For an entire month, Antonio remained awkwardly in Italy, doing whatever he could to try and help Lovino feel comfortable, and told him whatever he needed to know that he couldn't remember himself.
Except for their relationship. Whenever he tried to bring up the topic, Antonio would always quickly change the subject. It earned him a suspicious glare from Lovino every time, but at least it was better than the feared rejection, and Lovino allowed the Spaniard to steer the conversation out of dangerous waters.
It made the atmosphere around them tense and unnatural. Lovino looked just as awkward around Antonio as Antonio felt around Lovino. The Spaniard began to wonder if it would be better if he just left Italy, and allowed Feliciano to care for his brother alone. At least for a while.
But Antonio just couldn't leave. As much as he wondered if Lovino might benefit from a separation, he still didn't want to have to let Lovino go. He was hoping, with all his heart, that he would be the first to see Lovino regain his memory in full. The entire time he stayed with the Italies, he constantly wavered between the two decisions—between love and loving selfishness—until the decision was made for him at the end of the month.
It was a normal, lazy day. Lovino and Feliciano had both retired to Lovino's room for a siesta. Antonio was about to settle into Feliciano's bed (he'd taken over Feliciano's room once Ludwig was gone and the Italian wanted to sleep with his brother) when his cell phone rang.
He picked it up. It was his boss. He gave the screen a puzzled look. After all, his boss knew not to call him during a siesta. In fact, his boss took a siesta himself.
"Hola?" he answered the phone, masking his confusion behind a falsely cheerful tone.
"Buenos días, España. Sorry for calling. I know you must be about to take a siesta," his boss greeted.
At least the man was kind enough to apologize. "No, not at all. I decided to skip it today while I'm taking care of Lovi," Antonio said.
"Lovi?"
Antonio mentally slapped himself. That's right; his boss didn't know the human names of any of the nations. "I mean Romano," he amended.
"El sur de Italia?" his boss asked to clarify.
"Si!"
"Ah, well, that's the thing." His boss cleared his throat, sounding nervous.
Antonio's eyes narrowed at the phone, even though he knew his boss couldn't see him. "What's 'the thing'~?" he asked, his voice too sweet.
He could imagine the shiver that went down his boss's spine at the sound of Antonio's dangerous tone.
His boss cleared his throat again. "Well, we need you here in Spain now. Things are starting to get more difficult."
Antonio grimaced. Leave? Now? While he knew it might help Lovino get better faster, he still didn't want to be parted from his little love.
"Pero…" he began to protest.
His boss cut him off. "We need you here to boost morale. Be here by tomorrow. That's an order." There was a click, and the dial tone signaled the end of the call.
He sighed, setting his cell phone to the side. Just great. Leaving Lovino in his time of need. That was just what the amnesiac needed. More stress.
He got into bed, suddenly exhausted. Oh well, this was something he would deal with when he woke up from his siesta.
"Vee, be safe~! Don't die in a horrible car accident that tears your limbs from your body, big brother Spain~!" Feliciano sang out.
The other two nations grimaced at the image the younger Italian dragged out. "Er, I'll be careful, Feli," Antonio promised, looking unsure on how to answer.
"Vee, ok~! Come back soon, ok~?"
Antonio nodded, glancing to Lovino as he did so. "Oh, I definitely will," he said.
Lovino blushed slightly when their eyes met. "Promise?" he asked, in a half-hearted mumble. He didn't really expect an answer.
The Spaniard gave one anyway. He gave a bright grin and held out his pinky. "Of course I'll return!" he promised sincerely.
Lovino's blush became more pronounced. He looked away as he linked his pinky with Antonio's. "G—good! You better come visit soon, then!" he said.
Antonio wrapped both him and Feliciano in a big hug. "As soon as I have time."
The embrace sent many emotions running through Lovino at the same time. He partially wanted to lean into the hug, and partially wanted to break away from embarrassment. A part of him wanted to gently shove Feliciano out of the hug, and another part wanted to hurt Feliciano for stealing that part of Antonio's attention from him. In short, he felt awkward and ridiculous.
Too soon, Antonio pulled away. "Adios~!" he said, getting into his car and starting it up.
"Ciao, big brother Spain~! Vee~!" Feliciano called happily, waving his arms in dramatic motions.
"A—arrivederci!" Lovino called out as well.
Antonio smiled warmly, and Lovino wondered why the Spaniard seemed so nostalgic so suddenly. "Arrivederci, Lovi," he said out the open window, so quietly that Lovino almost missed it.
Once the Spaniard drove away, Lovino felt remarkably empty. He sighed and followed Feliciano back inside. It was strange, with the apartment only having him and his brother. His first memories—the ones he got after the accident—were of living in this apartment with three others. Now it felt like they were leaving, one by one. The thought rose unbidden and filled him with depression. He didn't want to be left alone again.
Wait, again? Why did he think that? He didn't remember ever being left alone in the first place. They were memories, he supposed, that he would learn about later. He sighed irritably. Why did his memories have to evade him like this? They made his life so much harder.
"Vee, fratello?" Feliciano said questioningly, looking at his brother with worried eyes. "What's wrong?"
Lovino gave a fake yawn. "Oh, nothing. Just tired. Going to bed now," he said, even though it was barely 7 in the evening.
Feliciano frowned, the sorrowful lines of his mouth ill-fitting with the smile and laugh lines that framed his mouth. "Vee, but fratello…" he began.
"No, really, I'm just tired today. I didn't take a good nap during our siesta today. Don't worry, ok, Feliciano?" Lovino assured his brother.
The name was like a magic word that transformed Feliciano's features. Lovino couldn't help but note how simple his younger brother's emotions were. He gave Lovino a bright smile and nod.
"Vee, ok then, fratello. I'll be to bed soon, so don't worry, si~?" he replied, still nodding in that idiotic, yet still slightly adorable, way.
Lovino gave a single, terse nod. "Right, I won't," he confirmed as he retreated to his room.
He collapsed on the bed without removing his clothes. It was strange how empty it felt with just him in it. Since he got back, he always slept with either Antonio—while Ludwig was still there—or Feliciano. Only this time when he was alone, his body felt so drained that he had no problem falling asleep without anyone there with him.
It was horrible, the things they did to his body without even touching him. Italy—the soft underbelly of Europe, they called it, as if it was some great armored dragon—was the weak link to Germany and his boss. His horrible, horrible, homicidal boss. Romano's brother was dead-set on doing everything he could to protect Germany, no matter what. So he had to help, too. They were one in the same nation, brothers since the beginning. There was no question that Romano would stand by his brother in the face of torture and death, even if he was so scared that his entire body shook with violent tremors. But he would stand and fight as one with Veneziano. Together, as Italy.
So why was Romano paying the price alone?
He was sitting in his room, waiting for orders from his boss to go fight. In his arms, he cradled a gun he never wanted to use; no matter how much he had threatened he would previously. His face was the color of the white sheets spread over his mattress, where he sat waiting for the dreaded call. The blanket had long since been stored away, since he'd rarely been home since Italy entered this damned war. Romano felt a small tinge of regret at this, the lack of blanket. The room was dreadfully cold—so much that it raised goose bumps on every inch of bare flesh not protected by his uniform.
Veneziano was gone somewhere—with Germany, probably. That was fine, good even. Germany would protect the younger half of Italy. Probably he wouldn't even have to protect Veneziano. Knowing Romano's little brother, the Italian would be waving that white flag around before the Allies even raised their guns. And then Veneziano would be safe.
Nervous giggles bubbled out of Romano's mouth, quickly turning into quick, panicked breaths of hysteria. He gulped at the air desperately, as if there was not enough oxygen in the world for him.
Here he was, waiting for that call—damn it, why wouldn't his boss just call already—all alone and frightened. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want a part of this damn war anymore. Mussolini and Hitler could take their alliance and shove it up their—
A shrill ringing broke the silence.
Romano gasped at the suddenness of it. He stared at the cell phone on the nightstand, ringing that horrible death-bringing tone, with a look of pure terror on his face.
No, no, no. It was too soon. He wasn't ready to go. It was too early in the day to fight a war. Yes, it definitely was, he thought irrationally, glancing at his bedside clock. After all, it was 3 in the afternoon. Didn't Americans sleep in until at least 4? Wasn't this when the English took their tea? What about siesta time? Oh dio, he wasn't ready for this!
For a wild moment, Romano considered throwing his phone right out the window. He didn't want to fight! He was too scared. This wasn't even his war. It was Germany's! And if Veneziano wanted to help, that was his fault!
Veneziano…
That's right. He couldn't let his helpless little brother fight alone. Death was a very real possibility for the Italies. Two personifications for one nation—completely unnecessary. Until one was killed, both Romano and Veneziano were almost human.
While Romano waged this silent battle within himself, the phone stopped ringing. He relaxed, unaware that he'd been tense in the first place. Maybe it wasn't his boss after all…
The phone started ringing again, and this time he yelped. He had worked himself to the edge of tears from fear, and his small panic attach was rapidly building.
"Oh, dio, dio, dio. Cazzo," Romano whispered desperately as he slowly neared the phone. This call was a death sentence. Any confrontation with the Allies, and he would surely die.
Eyeing the phone like it was a cobra, rearing its head back for the lightning-quick fatal strike, Romano tried to take deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself before answering to his boss. It didn't work. His breath still came in shallow gasps. He was beginning to feel light-headed and dizzy.
Finally, he answered the phone, standing stiff with the gun pressed tightly to his chest.
"C—ciao?" He gulped, hating the frightened sound of his own voice.
"Hola, Romano? Boss Spain here~!"
He almost cried in relief. So he wasn't about to march to his death. Yet. The thought turned the relieved cry into a wracking sob. He dropped the gun to wipe at his eyes as they burned with tears.
"B—bastard, what are you calling for?" Romano demanded with half-hearted annoyance, struggling to keep his voice even.
"What's wrong, Romano? You sound… Scared." Damn bastard, being observant only when Romano didn't want him to be.
"Nothing, d—damn it!" Romano wouldn't be able to convince even Veneziano with that line.
"Yes there is. I'm coming over right now. Be good until then, ok?" Spain said.
Romano didn't know whether to feel pleased or annoyed. "Don't do that! I'm in the middle of a fucking war!" Leave it to that idiot to drive the stuttering right out of his voice with a single phone call.
"That's exactly why I should come over! You need my magic cheering up charm, and it only works in person! I'm right around the corner anyway. See you soon~!" and with a click, Spain hung up.
Spain was right around the corner? Romano decided he should feel creeped out. Very, very creeped out.
There was a knock at the door before Romano could contemplate the levels of Spain's creeper status. He stiffened again as he went to open the door, knowing it was Spain but still half-expecting to see his boss making a house call. Taking a deep breath so his former caretaker wouldn't see how scared he was because of the war, he opened the door.
"Hey, basta—Ugh!" A sharp pain in his chest cut him off. His hands flew to his heart as it squeezed painfully tight.
Spain caught him before he hit the ground as his legs gave out on him. "Romano! Qué pasó? Are you ok?" he asked worriedly. The older nation's hands brushed over Romano's body, automatically checking for wounds, a habit developed from thousands of years' worth of wars.
"It's noth—Argh!" Again, Romano was cut off by a wave of pain consuming his body. He coughed violent, wrenching coughs with intermittent gasps of air.
"Romano!"
He barely heard Spain's shouts, being eaten by pain as he was. He wheezed and coughed up blood, realizing why he was hurting so mysteriously and suddenly. The Allies had reached South Italy.
Spain blanched at the sight—odd for a nation who'd seen bloodshed since he was born. "No, Romano! You can't die!" he cried, hugging the nation tight against his chest. He knew how vulnerable the Italies were to death. It was the reason the two preferred to run than fight. More than anything, Spain wanted to help Romano, but all he could do was hug the Italian tightly, and hopefully he could somehow trap Romano's soul to remain in its body with sheer physical force.
Romano never realized how comforting Spain's warm chest could be. Even through the pain-induced haze, he managed to give Spain a rueful smile, trying to comfort him in the only way Romano knew how.
"B—bastard. I'm not going… To die.. Damn it." He grunted as the pain assaulted him relentlessly. He felt as if his insides were being ruthlessly torn to shreds. He clutched at the front of Spain's shirt, using the cloth to muffle his screams.
"Romano! Hang in there! I'll help you! I will!" Spain promised recklessly.
If he wasn't in so much pain, Romano would have laughed bitterly. There was nothing Spain could do for him. They were nations, but for all their immortality and (sometimes) supernatural abilities, when it came down to it, they were only human.
As it was, he could only look up into Spain's desperate eyes. He felt sweat bead on his forehead from the effort it took not to start bawling from the pain of it all.
"Take care of Veneziano," he said.
"Roma—Lovino." Tears overflowed from Spain's eyes. It didn't suit the cheerful nation to cry. It was Romano's job to be emotional, not his.
But… Lovino… That was new, using his human name. Romano almost smiled. "Arrivederci." With that, Romano let his head fall back, succumbing to the pain.
"Lovino! Don't leave me! Lovino!"
Idiot. Didn't he know 'arrivederci' meant they'd meet again, even if it had to be in the afterlife? But it was too late to tell him, as Romano quickly slipped into the ever-welcoming darkness.
Lovino woke up with a start. It was dark in the room, and it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust. Sweat covered his body, his hair plastered to his skin and the blanket tangled around him. Strange, he didn't remember covering himself with a blanket before he fell asleep.
'Before he fell asleep'… So had it all been a dream? Or was it a memory? His chest ached from the remembered nightmare. He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to banish the horrible images from his mind. If the dream had been a memory, then he wished it would go back to the dark recesses of his mind, where it belonged.
Breathing heavily, he looked to his side. His brother lay curled next to him, sleeping peacefully, even though the blanket had been stolen from him. Feliciano seemed to be currently unaware of Lovino's disturbed state of mind, and appeared to be having sweeter dreams than his brother. Good. Feliciano was too innocent for that kind of pain.
"Lucky bastard," Lovino whispered fondly.
He disentangled him from the blanket and laid it gently over Feliciano instead. Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping Italian (although, considering how much Lovino apparently tossed about in his sleep, it seemed nothing would awaken Feliciano), Lovino got up to bed and went to the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face. Letting the water run (the sound comforted him) he examined himself in the mirror. There were dark bags under his eyes, although whether they were just from that night or years of insomnia he had no way of telling. His skin was drained of blood from the horror of his memory/dream, and clammy with sweat.
"Vee, fratello?"
Feliciano's sudden entrance made Lovino jump. He pressed a hand against his wildly beating heart and turned to face his younger brother.
"D—damn it, you scared me. I thought you were asleep," Lovino said, holding onto the counter for support.
The younger Italian still appeared tired. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. "I felt you leave, and you seemed upset," he said.
Lovino felt awkward. "O—oh. I didn't mean to wake you up," he said in an apologetic tone.
Feliciano blinked at Lovino with concerned eyes. "What's wrong, fratello?" he asked.
The hand over his heart pressed just a bit harder against the aching. He looked away, feeling old resentment rise. As he remembered from the dream, Feliciano didn't have to suffer. It was just him by himself, in a war that his brother wanted, and he didn't. It wasn't fair.
"Nothing," he muttered, trying to squash the emotions.
Even though he didn't say what was bothering him, Feliciano seemed to understand. He crossed the bathroom to wrap his arms around Lovino, burying his face into the older Italian's chest.
"I'm sorry," he said in a trembling voice.
Lovino didn't return the embrace. "Sorry about what? You didn't do anything," he said.
Feliciano shook his head without pulling away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he repeated over and over.
They stood like that for a long while, until Lovino came to terms with his emotions and finally hugged his brother back.
Phew, I'm tired now. I had band practice, and shopped a lot today, so I'm wiped out. Anyway...
Dio (Italian)- God (In Spanish, dios=god. Isn't that just great)
Cazzo (Italian)- Fuck
Buenos días, España (Spanish)- Good day/morning, Spain.
El sur de Italia (Spanish)- South Italy, or The south of Italy
Pero (Spanish)- But
Hola/Adios (Spanish)- Hello/Goodbye (Those are just basic words, si?)
Ciao (Italian)- Apparently, this means hello AND goodbye
Arrivederci (Italian)- Like it says in the chapter, it means goodbye, but it also has the implication that you will meet again in the future.
And that's that! Don't expect me to always translate though, ahaha. I'm a little lazy, you know.
Anyway, that's all for now! Until next time!
Ciao~! And Arrivederci!
