57. A Rose by Any Other Name

Date Written: May 1, 2019

Date Posted: November 6, 2020

Characters: Veneziano, Prussia

Summary: The things about inheritances and the matter of representation are tricky things. It's a good thing that Prussia is there to mitigate Veneziano's confusion.

Notes:


South Italy was South Italy.

North Italy was North Italy.

Together and apart, they represented the Republic of Italy.

Repubblica Italiana.

Yet, despite all the evidence that led to North Italy representing the republic, doubts still plagued him. How could he, weak and insignificant Venezia, have the power and the authority to represent his beautiful Nation? The thrum of his citizens dancing throughout his lands, the thoughts and feelings that hovered at the edge of his consciousness, the songs and hymns that his people would sing …

He could hear them.

He could see them.

He could be them because he was them.

And yet… all of those affirmations did little to sway the belief that perhaps he shouldn't have been the other representative for the Nation of Italy.

Yet… even though he was an embodiment of North Italy (with Venezia holding a special place in his heart), there were times when he wondered…

Did he truly deserve to hold the title of Italy?

Romano was older, had the inheritance, and their beloved capital was within his borders. What was even worse was that Romano had strong agricultural roots, an even stronger faith in God, and he even looked like their grandfather!

Did Veneziano have anything to contribute?

Business and industry were booming in his half of the country, but what use was that if disaster were to occur? Agriculture would always be the cornerstone of most Nations, but business and industry depended on that.

It was during a meeting concerning global warming and concerns about the security of certain countries that Veneziano had begun thinking those thoughts. As North Italy fiddled with his pen and thought about his own contributions as a Nation, one of the more influential countries in the world adjourned the meeting. As Veneziano clicked his pen shut and filed his documents into a separate folder, someone called out his name.

Well, their name.

"Italy! Do you have a minute?" The Canadian held up a manilla folder with an expectant look on his face. Although the North American focused his gaze upon the both of them, Veneziano nudged his brother forward.

Romano made as if to yell at his younger brother, but stopped when he saw the defeated look on his face. Without hesitation, he trailed after the Canadian, but not before throwing a hard look that conveyed the feeling of betrayal—Romano was never comfortable with matters dealing with foreign polity. Veneziano decided to shrug that thought off with a small little smile and a wave as a way to tell Romano that everything was all right in his own way.

Romano's hard look didn't waver, but he did go along with Canada to another part of the room to discuss foreign policy.

Veneziano hummed a little. Oh well, he would just have to deal with the fallout of Romano's ire later.

As the Italian was about to rest his head upon the hard wood of the conference table, the seat to the left of him became occupied. Mustering whatever strength he had left, he cracked his eyes open.

"Are you sick?" Blunt and to the point—how very Prussian. "You usually don't start napping until midafternoon."

Veneziano resigned himself to simply let his head rest atop the tabletop and his eyes to drift shut. Honestly, he wasn't ignoring Prussia. They were good friends, and Veneziano, while obnoxious in his own way, took care to not purposefully tick others off. He was tired. That was enough of an explanation if the Prussian pushed for him to speak.

"You know, if you're going to ignore me—"

"I'm not ignoring you." Veneziano tilted his face so that he could give Prussia a reassuring smile. The albino didn't look the least bit convinced, but Veneziano pushed forward still. "Just a bit more tired than usual."

Prussia tilted his head to the side before flicking Veneziano on the nose. The Italian made a small noise of protest before shifting again so that his face was buried on top of the table. The childish display did nothing to abate Prussia's concern, but it sure did alleviate his temper.

"Is it West? I can kick his ass for you."

Unbidden, a corner of Veneziano's mouth rose in the semblance of a smile. "I can kick his ass myself and no."

"Is this about your government? The state of your house?"

Veneziano clamped down the urge to ponder if the house even belonged to him. "No more than usual."

The albino brushed some of the brunet's hair out of his face. The cool fingers initially had the Italian stiffening at first contact, but it soon relaxed once Prussia repeated the motion. After a moment, Prussia allowed himself to just simply let his palm rest on top of Veneziano's head, nestled within the auburn tresses.

"You want me to kick Romano's ass?"

"And why would you think that Romano did something?" Veneziano shrugged Prussia's hand away from him. "And if he did, I would be the first to kick his ass."

At that, Prussia could only laugh and smile knowingly. Both brothers were powerhouses back in the day—no amount of pussyfooting nowadays would erase the past. Anyway, those two usually resorted to verbal barbs rather than fists. So was it something Romano had said?

"It's me."

"Pardon?"

Prussia looked down to see that his friend had buried his face into the crook of his elbow. Although he had whispered, the albino heard what the Italian had said. Still, Prussia couldn't help but gaze and hope he heard wrong.

He leaned down close.

"Prussia… have you ever…" He stopped short. "Has it crossed your mind…"

"Are you sure that you're not sick? An Italian that can't speak isn't an Italian at all!"

Prussia waited a good five seconds before he scrutinized the Italian in worry.

Nothing. Not even a snort of amusement.

The Venetian seemed to hunch into himself even more as if trying to meld himself into the furniture. It was a pathetic sight, for sure, but Prussia would not let himself be swayed.

Okay. Maybe a little swaying was okay.

"Should I be an Italian at all?"

"What? You want to be an Austrian?" Prussia scoffed. "I can't believe it's taken so long for you to ask. You know how much I love punching that jerk!"

Veneziano let out one big sigh that seemed to completely deplete his body of oxygen.

"I don't think I should be alive."

"Don't we all?"

Veneziano finally peeked outside his little pity party.

"I wasn't joking."

"I wasn't either."

For a moment, both Nations rested side by side as the rest of their colleagues milled about in their conversations. Veneziano hated to admit it, but it had been a while since he had been able to have a one on one conversation with the Prussian. It was a shame; they were close friends made closer with his friendship with Germany.

Slowly, Veneziano adjusted himself in his seat so that he wasn't slumped over the table. His brows were furrowed while his index finger traced the swirling patterns of lines on top of the mahogany table.

"Prussia," the Italian paused momentarily before continuing. "Do you honestly think that I deserve Italy/?"

"Huh?" Prussia glanced down at his southern neighbor in what appeared to be astonishment. If he had been laidback beforehand, he was now sitting up, his back straight and rigid at attention. "Aren't you Italy?" He chuckled before ruffling Veneziano's hair. "Gosh, are you sick?"

Veneziano tried batting Prussia's hand away, but only succeeded in rougher handling and mussing up his hair further.

"I'm serious. I don't get why I was strong enough to hold onto half of Rome's inheritance. It's all Romano's by right, so why am I still here?"

"Does it really matter?"

What? Of course it mattered! He had to be still around for some odd reason, right?

Prussia must have seen the flabbergasted expression on Veneziano's face because he smiled wanly before gesturing to himself.

"Look at me. Come on, you can take a peek!"

"I know what you look like." Still, Veneziano took Prussia's jest in stride and glanced at the Germanic Nation. As he did so, he took in the soft white hair, the blood red hue of his eyes. Although it had been centuries since their initial meeting, Veneziano was still struck dumb by how utterly ageless and other Prussia looked—even by a Nation's standards.

"Well, I've seen you. What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"First, tell me what you see."

"You…?" Veneziano, uncertain where Prussia was going with this, simply looked up at him with something akin to confusion. "What else should I be seeing?"

"Nope! That's all you had to observe: me."

"And—"

"But that's the whole point, isn't it? When a person sees another person, that's all they see: that person." Prussia flicked Veneziano on the nose. "No need for political affiliations, birthrights, titles, positions of power, etc. etc. When I look at you, Veneziano, I see a handsome young man who's brave, sweet, great at cooking—"

Veneziano elbowed his friend deep in the gut, completely cutting Prussia off.

"Geeze, I get it. If you wanted to tell me that you're in love with me, you should have tried to doing it somewhere romantic."

A brilliant flush coated Prussia's face and neck, a series of splutters leaving Prussia's lips. Before a single protest could grace Veneziano's ears, the Italian flicked him playfully on the nose before rising from his seat.

"Although, I have to admit that you're right… in a way. I should just be me."

A pause.

"But you think I'm handsome?"