.~.~.~.~.
Although it felt wrong to admit it, like they say, the world keeps on spinning, and time keeps marching on.
Three weeks. He'd been in the hospital for three weeks now, and North Italy was running out of time. There was a meeting in two days, regarding the state of the world economy and the situation in Spain and Portugal, among other nations. North Italy had been forced to go back to work to prepare for the meeting—while he wanted to stay by his brother's side, he couldn't bear to just dump all the work onto someone else. He would take responsibility. He wouldn't be useless, not this time.
He could take comfort in the fact that as soon as Prussia had heard about what happened, he had offered to sit by South Italy's side when North Italy couldn't, saying his awesomeness was just the thing that South Italy needed. At the very least, his brother wouldn't be lonely, and for that he was grateful. But there had been some rioting in the south, which weren't doing his nerves any good. Either the anarchy in Spain was spreading, or his brother was sliding further away from him. He didn't like either option. He had tried to hide the effects, but he should have known he wouldn't have been able to keep anything from France, Germany, or Prussia. Covering himself up only did so much; the aches in his movements were what gave him away. He didn't know how his brother did it, dealing with all these violent people.
He hoped he wouldn't have to figure it out. For now, though, there was work to do. Belgium, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein were arriving today, along with America and…what's-his-face later this evening, and he had to be ready for them.
He could handle this, or so he told himself.
.~.~.~.~.