notes: mentions of Feliciano, established Spamano.
this is basically an exploration of the real psychological
consequences of being a tsundere (very quirky in comedy
anime, not so cute in real life). emotional constipation
is a pain the ass (but mostly in the heart). lovino really
deserves better.
in short, i like angst and to make things complicated.
also available on ao3.
Lovino would never admit it, but he secretly wishes he could be more like Antonio.
He wishes, sometimes, that somehow the roles could be reversed just for a day, so he could see what it's like to do all the kind things Antonio does to him from the inside; Lovino would learn the way Antonio loves, in a manner that's so carefree and self-assured, and so unlike him.
He wishes to know what being the one enthusiastically showing affection feels like; it's a most foreign feeling to him, who's so used to being on the receiving end of all of Antonio's loving gestures, and only offers contempt and grumpily muttered insults in return.
Lovino wonders what it would be like to not live constrained by a nature that prohibits him from expressing what he feels; he wishes the burden of initiating a hug or speaking flattering words didn't have to constantly fall on Antonio's shoulders. He wishes Antonio didn't have to tire his heart out with all the care he feels for Lovino.
He wishes kindness came easier to him when Antonio's around, but instead of being kind, all he seems to be able to do is treat him like shit.
(He won't say it out loud, but when he's alone, he thinks that perhaps Antonio doesn't deserve it.)
Loving Lovino comes with the added price of enduring a punishment of sorts. All the simple things about love confuse him, the nuances of Antonio's affection are lost on him, and he ends up lashing out more often than he'd like to.
(Maybe he's scared; but he's also too scared to admit that. Saying it out loud would make it too real)
In the end, he wishes he could be more like Antonio so that he could, perhaps, become a better friend to himself, a better-adjusted version of himself.
(A better friend to Antonio. A kinder lover.)
Lovino wishes he could understand Antonio's actions, his carefree gestures infused with love and sunshine, anything Antonio creates out of the love he nurtures for him, and to understand how rewarding it must feel to simply be good to others with an honest smile on your face, a smile that doesn't hurt to muster.
The feeling of being left out sometimes hits him like a bucket of cold water. Lovino doesn't like that feeling, and especially dislikes how used to feeling it he is.
He remembers when he was younger and Antonio's attention constantly got captured by his brother's sweet-talking and prodigious artistic talent.
"Your brother is so cute! Ah, Lovi, would you take a look at him? He does everything so sweetly. What a delight to have him around. I wonder how he can be such an amazing kid."
Lovino doesn't have space in his heart for contempt directed at his brother. Never had. He loves Feliciano to bits, even if he constantly reminds him of all the ways he could be better.
But he would be lying if he said the bitterness didn't choke him sometimes, especially when Antonio is the one heaping praise on his brother. He feels irrational, betrayed by his own conflicting feelings.
And the feelings spiral into bitter self-hatred when left unchecked. He can't help it, even if he's been steadily trying to drown them out for years. No, Antonio doesn't just marvel at Feliciano's sweet nature, his mind warns him; he also must wonder why Lovino is nothing like Feliciano. Why he can't seem to get anything right, why it seems like all the talent and brightness of character had been poured on his brother as a child, and not on Lovino.
He wonders why that is, too.
Lovino had once heard Antonio say, in his drunken stupor, that anyone with enough faith in themselves can conquer the world. But he doesn't think he's lacking in confidence, as much as he would like to find a scapegoat for his stubborn, distrusting nature, and his general unpopularity. Deep down, Lovino thinks he is satisfied with who he is; but he also wonders if perhaps he ought to be more than merely satisfied for others to see it.
(Others like Antonio.)
He wants to show Antonio that he can be as pleasant as anyone else – especially his brother, whose perfection Antonio gushes about so often since they were kids. They are cut from the same cloth, after all, and the apple can't fall so far from the tree.
And Lovino figures, perhaps overpowered by his own ego, that if he truly were nothing to write home about, his stupid ass wouldn't literally pursue him far beyond what is acceptable (Lovino is considering getting a restraining order sometime soon). Antonio wouldn't waste his time bothering him with his pesky, unbridled, chaotic existence. Yes, Antonio can be annoying, unpredictable, distracting, a bastard, a pest, a contrived annoyance, it's what he likes to tell himself when the pain of not being chosen is too much to endure.
(Lovino also knows he's full of shit.)
In the end, he figures his ego does feel a little flattered when Antonio comes around (which is often), with his cheerful insistence and provocative smile. So Lovino does what he knows best, that which Antonio is already used to, that which doesn't seem to bother him anymore — he pushes him away, only for Antonio to pull him back in.
In those moments, Lovino let's himself think, perhaps wrongly, that whatever he does, Antonio will still put up with his stubborn, emotionally constipated ass as many times as needed.
(He feels a little rotten.)
They are so stubborn; Lovino asks himself when (if) they'll ever learn.
He's not the smart one; the only thing he can do is harvest tomatoes, eat, sleep, and chuck paint at a canvas, like the poor caricature of a baby that he is.
The dust of all the things he'd heard about himself over the years had eventually settled around him and formed a sturdy layer of rock that protected Lovino from seeing all the harsh, but also beautiful things that made him who he was.
He regrets that Antonio's affection hadn't been enough to make him see himself differently, that the only good anyone's ever said about him hadn't been buried under layers of his own self-hatred. He regrets hating himself so much for simply existing as he is. Antonio's words of adoration fall on deaf ears, and the guilt eats at Lovino until he's nothing but an empty carcass.
"It's not like harvesting tomatoes is glorious, anyways" , Lovino tells himself when he's alone, with a hint of a choked cry hiding in his voice. The tears prickle his eyes, but he wipes them away before they fall.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he finds himself reaching for Antonio's arm. Nightmares are a frequent trigger for this involuntarily needy gesture; that way, he doesn't get to torture himself with guilt for experiencing a moment of weakness.
Some nights Lovino can reach Antonio from his side of the bed, but there are no nightmares; there is only the familiar warm skin on Antonio's back and his soft voice, which have slowly become Lovino's most coveted place of comfort. In the dark, he doesn't feel the need to pretend that he doesn't welcome — no, desperately needs — that kindness.
On those nights, Lovino feels that perhaps there isn't something so fundamentally broken about him; that maybe, with enough patience and time, he can learn how to love a little better.
end notes: i don't think i can honestly say i hope you enjoyed it. it's pretty much 1000 words of romano beating himself up. :-( i need to write something cuter after this. but i hope it managed to be a convincing foray into his mind, he's a very interesting character if taken seriously (which i know is not the point of hetalia, but allow me to be dramatic).