Warnings: panic attacks (skip from "He couldn't breathe." to "Better?" & stop at "Then, Lovino was alone in his room."), brief hospital visit, slight trauma, severe anxiety
Lovino knew enough about panic attacks to know that it would feel like the end of the world, but it wasn't. But knowing and feeling were on horribly different sides of the spectrum when he was experiencing one firsthand.
It had been a while since he'd had one, but not even those had been his first experience with panic attacks. Feliciano used to have them when he was very little, before he started going to therapy and learning ways to manage his anxiety. He was pretty good at managing his fears now that he had guidance, but, back in those days, it had been just frightening to watch.
Lovino, for the longest time, hadn't known how to help his baby brother. They had started around when Feliciano was four and Lovino was five. At five, Lovino had really had no idea, but he'd learned quicker than others at that age. During, what felt like, the excruciatingly long time he hadn't known what to do, though, he had never felt so helpless.
If Feliciano had felt like his world was ending, then Lovino wasn't sure what to call the experience watching it all. He, too, felt like the world was ending around him. All he had wanted to do was help, soothe his brother's fear, tell him that things really weren't as scary as he thought.
Lovino had often just wanted to lift that burden from his brother's shoulders and take it on himself. He could be strong, strong enough to fight a panic attack, right?
He hadn't experienced one himself until years after and, when he had, he had gained a whole new respect for his little brother. Already, he had known Feliciano was strong by dealing with them for so long, but never had Lovino known how impressive it was just how he could fight against them, survive them, manage them. Lovino never wanted to experience one again in all his life.
But life does not cater to the individual's wishes. Anxiety ran in the family, they came to see, though his and Feliciano's differed quite a bit.
Feliciano had severe GAD, General Anxiety Disorder. Some called it Panphobia, because he was basically afraid of everything, but psychologists preferred calling it a particularly strong case of GAD. Feliciano, he had told Lovino once, didn't much care what they called it, if they could just do something about it.
Lovino would never forget the day his little brother had said that to him, after coming home from yet another therapy appointment. In those days, he was going multiple times a week and he was tired and jumpy all the time. The anxiety really took it out of his energetic brother. Exhaustion didn't fit Feliciano at all and he seemed almost defeated at that age, like the world was on his very small shoulders, before he'd even gotten to elementary school.
Preschool had been the catalyst. It had been too much all at once for him.
Feliciano's anxiety was severe, severe enough that it had once been debilitating. He'd once taken medication for it, gone to multiple psychologists and therapists and doctors. It took years of conditioning, deconditioning, easing and facing fears, for Feliciano to get to the level where he was now. Eventually, miraculously, all that nervous energy had morphed into enthusiasm and extroversion, enough to convince most people that there wasn't a constant battle going on in his head, even today.
Anxiety ran in the family, but Lovino knew he could never compare to the struggle his brother had. No amount of cotton-stuffed head, yellow-taped thoughts, crawling skin, hair pulling, tear pooling, erratic breathing, that he experienced could contest. And Lovino didn't want to contest. His brother deserved the attention for his problems. He had real problems. Lovino was just magnifying his own. He wasn't so bad he needed medication, therapy, attention.
Lovino had never told anyone but Antonio the extent of his own anxiety. He couldn't bother his brother and certainly not his father. Lovino didn't have real problems anyway.
Feliciano didn't know Lovino had had panic attacks before. Their father didn't know either. So, when lights flashed across Lovino's room, a streak racing across the ceiling from the driveway below, Lovino didn't know what to do.
He couldn't breathe. He was counting, just like Antonio had told him to do, like he did for Feliciano, but he couldn't control it. In fact, it only flew more out of control once his father got home, the light across the walls dimming as his father's car drew closer to the house, and the sound of the car door slamming as someone raced inside.
He must have left the car running. They would have to jump right in to get to the hospital anyway.
The hospital…
Lovino's breathing came out quicker. No no no, he begged with himself as imaginary rocks tumbled around him, caving him in. Get yourself together. We have to go!
But- breathe- Lovino- breathe- could not- breathe-
"Lovino?" a voice came from the doorway and Lovino would have jumped if he could. When had his father gotten there? Wait Wait- he wasn't allowed to see him like-
Immediately, his father was at his side. "Hand on my chest, son," he commanded, but Lovino didn't know if he could move. Feliciano would have managed to do it, but Lovino didn't know-
Lovino's hand was on his father's chest and the man was breathing deep. In. Out. In.. Out.. In… Out…
Lovino wasn't sure how he had gotten his hand up, but he thought it had to do with the fact that his dad's own was the only thing keeping it in place. Either way, Lovino desperately focused on synching their breaths, pacing and slowing down his own. He sputtered and hiccuped a bit, and at one point he almost gave up, thinking how can anyone do this I'm going to die I'm going to-
Eventually, though, Lovino was slowing down. The dark room was coming into focus, an eerily clear focus, as if Lovino had cat eyes. Then he was looking into his father's grim face.
"Better?" he asked and Lovino swallowed. He had seen. Lovino almost went straight into a relapse at the thought.
"We-" Lovino said, but he sounded a little short on breath. It scared him momentarily before he cleared his throat, talking a bit quieter, but stronger. "We should get to the hospital."
"Wait on a second, Lovino," his father said, commanded. Lovino stilled. "We need to make sure you're okay first. Feliciano can wait; I don't want two sons out of commission."
At the mention, Lovino's blood went cold. Feliciano was okay; he had to be. His father had said so on the phone–no severe damage. Just in for examination.
Feliciano had been in a car wreck. There had been no physical damage, but Lovino would believe it when he saw it. He wanted to get to the hospital now.
"I'm fine," Lovino said, shaking his head. His father gave him a Look, which Lovino returned defiantly, similar to the many he had given when reprimanded for low grades in the past. This one, though, was desperate and far more challenging. It wasn't grades on the line right then, but his brother.
His dad nodded his head and stood, offering a hand. Lovino took it, ignoring the way his father scrutinized him like he was going to choose now to be a concerned parent.
Lovino didn't look at him the entire way to the hospital, choosing to watch the street lamps and lights from the other vehicles out the passenger side window.
-/-
When they got to the hospital, Feliciano was already in the waiting room, a bandage on his arm and a worried look on his face. Lovino immediately went to him and, once Feli caught sight of him, relief spread across his face. Feliciano probably would have hugged him to death if Lovino hadn't stalked right up to him and pulled him into his arms first.
He held his brother securely, as much to assure him that Lovino was there as to assure himself Feliciano was. When he pulled back, Lovino looked him up and down once more and found that his father had been right. The only sign of the wreck anywhere on him was that bandage and the tear tracks on his cheeks.
"Kiku hit his head pretty bad," Feliciano said from where he was arms length away, sniffling pathetically. "They said he'll be alright, but he might have a concussion."
From there, their dad was stepping forward and brought his youngest into a hug before pulling back. "I'm going to check you out. Lovino, take your brother to the car."
And off the man went to the front desk, all business and strict focus. Lovino sighed but turned his focus back to his brother. "Let's go."
That night, Feliciano couldn't sleep, but neither could Lovino, so they sat awake and watched a movie on Lovino's laptop, buried in pillows and blankets on Lovino's bed.
It was obvious enough that the accident had shaken him up quite a bit, so, as strict as a man as he was, their father let Feliciano skip a day of school and scheduled an extra appointment that month. It would be Feliciano's third trip to his therapist in the past two weeks, more than he'd had in a long time. It made Lovino nervous.
The next day at school, Lovino was bombarded with questions about his brother. If he was okay, was he hurt, why wasn't he at school- It reminded Lovino an awful lot like when they'd all been asking about Antonio. Somehow, Lovino had become the go-to guy for school gossip by proximity and he didn't have the patience for it.
Lovino tried to give short answers, tried to ignore the whispers and looks, tried to keep his calm because he was seriously already worried enough as it was. When Antonio asked about Feli, it almost felt like he'd fallen into another world.
He and Antonio, they'd been hanging out at their tree a lot more often, but talking was still stilted and awkward. It was as if the death of his father had erased all the years of friendship between them, and Antonio's core personality along with it. The easiest way Lovino could describe his friend now was blank. Like a page that had once had strong, broad pencil strokes, thoroughly embedded into the paper, only to have, somehow, come up clean under a simple eraser. The paper was blank, impossibly so.
But Lovino should have known Antonio would never not worry about Feliciano, especially under the circumstances. They had known each other as long, technically longer, as Antonio and Lovino themselves.
Still, Lovino could not bring himself to answer any more thoroughly to his best friend. Because, if he said anything more than "Feliciano's alright" then he wasn't sure he could believe himself.
The dread of what could come, after Feliciano's anxiety, which had already been spiking again more than usual, after the shock of a car crash and realizing the mortality of his and the lives around him, Lovino couldn't, in confidence, believe his brother was alright. And, if he said it to Antonio, it would only lay bare how blatant a lie it really was.
So Lovino averted his gaze after Antonio asked him, his throat closing up. Not long after, class began, but it wasn't soon enough to cover up the fact that he'd ignored Antonio. He watched Antonio turned back to the front with a frown and it only made Lovino's heart sink further into his stomach.
The next day, Feliciano refused to go to school.
"One more day," he'd pleaded with Lovino when he'd tried to wake him up, thinking his brother must have slept through his alarm with how late he'd been staying up recently. Instead, he'd found his brother wide awake. "Just one more day, Lovi. I'm not ready."
Lovino was soft on his brother. He promised he wouldn't tell their father.
And he went through another awkward day at school, concerned glances from classmates and Antonio alike.
The day after that, Feliciano had been shaking as he fumbled through his drawer, trying to find a sock pair. Lovino had sighed, already having known his decision the moment he'd walked in that morning.
It was Friday. Feliciano would see his therapist that afternoon, so, surely, one more day, at the end of the week no less, wouldn't hurt.
This time, Lovino stayed home with his brother and they watched movies all day. When it was time for Feliciano's appointment, he'd shaken just as bad as that morning, but Lovino was less lenient this time. He made sure they were ready when their father got home to drive them.
Usually, Feliciano walked, as the office wasn't very far, but things were a bit different that week. Lovino and their dad sat awkwardly outside the office that day and waited for him. All the while, Lovino was hoping their presence was more supportive than oppressive for his brother.
Waiting outside that office was horrible. It was in a regular old office building, surrounding by doctors and lawyers and whoever else rented there and there were a handful of stiff chairs out in the hallway that his dad and him sat in, side by side. As they sat and waited and counted the time, Lovino was beginning to regret not taking the chair one further down, but the silence stretched on.
He did not talk to his father, nor did the man make any attempt at conversation with him. In fact, his father had brought work to do while they waited. Lovino hadn't brought anything but his phone, which he pretended to click around on.
Finally, he decided on Solitaire. Then, on about the hundreth game, the silence of the hallway was effectively killing him.
Maybe he should have brought some schoolwork to do. It would cut down on his homework when he got home and, though his father didn't spare him so much as a glance, Lovino could feel the pressure from sheer proximity. It was as if his father emitted disappointment like radio waves, a signal saying "you need to use your time more wisely, son." It made Lovino's skin prickle, wanting to reach for a textbook that wasn't there, but it made his mind indignant, and lit the fire in there that wanted to rebel.
But, like said, the silence was starting to get to him. In a desperate attempt to get away from the compounding pressure in his head that directed him compass-North, Study Way, he instead focused his energy on worrying about his brother. He wondered what Feliciano and his therapist might talk about in there.
Most likely, Feliciano's week, how things were going, general things before the inevitable: the car accident. They'd talk about what happened first.
Feliciano had been coming home from his study group, a couple of his friends carpooling from the library. Meanwhile, Lovino had been napping in his room. He might have been there too, he pondered, if he hadn't been so adament about not studying, about proving his father wrong.
If Lovino had been there, could things have gone differently? Maybe he could have warned the driver of the oncoming car, preventing this scare that had shocked his brother back years in anxiety control.
Maybe, if he had gotten his head out of his ass for just a moment, Lovino could have helped his brother. If he had been there, things could have been so different- he could have helped-
But Lovino was selfish, caught up in his own world. If he hadn't been so focused on not studying, if he had only done as his father expected of him, if he'd only gone to that stupid study session and stressed out of his mind for the upcoming exam season, then none of this would have happened.
Lovino knew he was being stupid, knew 'what ifs' never got anyone anywhere, but he could not shake the feeling of blame, pointing his finger right back at himself. It was all his fault.
He was supposed to protect his brother, yet all he'd amounted to lately was some useless guy who lazed around all day, resisting the strongest part of his nature in order to prove a point.
Lovino hated that. Hated that his anxieties, his perfectionism, the part that strove to be noticed by the one man who'd ruined him, was the strongest part of his nature.
Lovino wasn't sure for how much longer he could sit out there with nothing but his father and thoughts crowding his space, not to mention eyes glued to this god awful game of Solitaire. Shortly after, by some miracle, Feliciano emerged.
He would have another appointment next week. It seemed, for now, this would become a weekly thing again.
That night, neither of them slept again until exhaustion forced them to pass out close to morning. They slept the day away tucked in Feliciano's bed, TV glowing and sun obstructed by his heavy drapes.
Throughout the weekend, Feliciano managed to relax. Come Monday morning, Lovino was able to convince him to try a day at school.
He made it past first period, at least, before he was in the nurse's office and texting Lovino that he was going home. It took until the end of the week, but finally Feliciano made it a whole day. Nothing could hold down his brother for too long, as much as his nervous disposition told otherwise.
Still, though Feliciano was making it through the day, it didn't mean he did so easily. He'd vomited in the bathroom twice that week from nerves and had gone to the nurse at least once a day, either from nausea, migraines, or the sheer overwhelming atmosphere of being in an overcrowded classroom or hallway.
They continued to stay up into the night, causing both of their schedules to crack.
The worst part, though, was sitting there. Lovino had to sit there and watch it all out, unable to truly help his brother through any of it. He did his best, stayed up with him, accompanied him when Lovino could at school and walked Feliciano home, but, the thing was, all he could really do was be there for his brother. Lovino was simply another body to take up space, give a silent comfort that he had never been very good at providing, while his brother battled out his demons on his own.
All Lovino could do was stand on the sidelines and worry. And he could never be certain if his constant vigilance, his hovering, was helping or harming.
During Feliciano's appointment the following week, Lovino decided to give him space. Again, their father had gone with, but Lovino decided to stay back.
One moment alone in his room, in the empty house, was enough to shock him into a discomfort he'd forgotten existed. He was suddenly thrown back to the night Feliciano had had his accident, before the news had ever even reached him. That numbness pervaded the air in a familiar feeling. The house became still, his brain filling with cotton.
Lovino bolted out of that house. He would not be alone there. Perhaps anywhere else, but not there.
So he ambled around for a while, mapping the sidewalks of town until he came to a shopping mall, a gas station, another neighborhood. He was doing circles, not consciously thinking of where he was going. He paced around that other neighborhood for a while and, once he'd left, he continued just as he had before.
He stared at the clouds as he walked, the trees, passing cars and the occasional person. He looked at street signs and tried to follow their meaning, thoughts slipping in and out of his head without an attempt to grasp them.
It wasn't until he came to the park that Lovino stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't meant to go there, but old habits die hard, he guessed.
He hoped Antonio was there, but he never was as often as Lovino anyway, in all the years they'd met there. Either way, he hoped the tree would provide its usual comfort.
When he stepped up to the tree, Antonio was not there and Lovino sighed away the small hope he'd been burning away in his chest.
Unbidden, his mind was drawn to the day they had sat there together, before everything had gone to hell. When the sun had been out, they'd sat close and insecure, but comfortable like the best friends they were, like two boys who'd grown up together and given each other their trust and their secrets and their hopes and their dreams. Lovino remembered when they kissed.
Lovino let that thought slip in and out easily, not caring over his mind that day. His thoughts had gone far and wide, beaten and battered him, consoled him from his guilt and turned back viciously to change its mind. Lovino no longer cared; at least, not today. Today, he would let his mind convulse and turn against him.
Unphased, Lovino's mind now turned to the ground and he decided to sit, his thoughts still subtly tainting. Lovino embraced it all today. He didn't fight back. Everything it said, every stray thought and vicious stab was right.
He sat down and leaned against the trunk of the tree, head back to the half bare branches above and eyes closed. Lovino could feel where he'd sat on dead leaves, some crinkling and others cracking beneath him.
Like that, Lovino could feel time tick away, like sand through the widening gaps between his fingers. A day went by, he stayed up with Feli, a week went by, he was helping his brother through a panic attack, a month, life was hectic, Feliciano couldn't sleep, he didn't eat, he startled at the slightest noise, he wasn't getting better, he was breaking apart.
Through every day of it, Lovino visited the tree and sat back, eyes closed and head up to the sky. Lovino never saw Antonio there.
Lovino took his textbooks to the tree, and his notes and his homework. And, for those few hours he spent there each day, he would bury himself in the familiar anxiety of not being enough, never being enough, but, hell, could he try.
His father's expectations had never been attainable. Antonio had tried to tell him, tried to warn him, but Lovino had never listened. Maybe it was because Lovino had already known, but he'd had to try anyway.
Lovino had always known it wasn't attainable and, more than ever, he knew that now. But it was also closer in reach than anything else in life then.
His best friend and his brother were both so far away from him and there was nothing Lovino could do about it. They were on three separate islands and Lovino didn't know how to swim. He couldn't reach them, couldn't even yell over or wave.
So Lovino did what he could do. He latched onto the one constant of his life while he began the impossible task of learning to swim. He held onto what had kept him grounded, steady, for almost as far as he could remember. It had begun for his brother, begun with his best friend, begun with a jealousy and a window and a stupid times table on his desk.
Lovino buried himself in study and insecurity and tried not to drown in the rest.
-/-
A little over a month after Feliciano's accident, it was evident things were not getting better for his little brother. Lovino hadn't seen Feliciano like this since he was four and just starting preschool, sitting alone and stiff on some playground bench as the other kids played on monkey bars and slides.
It was also becoming obvious to their father, apparently, who had been much more attentive as of late, eating dinner with them and driving Feliciano to his appointments. Not even Lovino went to those anymore.
After that month, their father was also becoming increasingly concerned.
One night, their father cooked dinner, which wasn't weird per say, but a certain brand of rare that made the two brothers a bit on edge. When their dad "cooked" it usually entailed ordering out or sticking a frozen pizza in the oven. It never meant actually cooking something. For one, he never put in the time to cook a decent meal. For another, he was a pretty terrible cook.
But, that night, he made his mother's tortellini and effectively caused their grandmother to stir in her grave at the disrespect his hands had upon it. As Feliciano and Lovino sat at the table, their father readying bowls to bring out, they both crossed themselves, hoping to placate their deceased grandmother and praying for their tastebuds. When their dad finally came out, the three sat around the table in complete silence, either poking at the poor little tortellinis in their bowls or chewing and chewing and chewing on the overcooked pasta.
Then, without small talk or decent warning, the bomb was dropped.
"I've been talking with your grandfather recently," their father said and both Feliciano and Lovino looked up. Feliciano's drawn face watched, alert, but tired, while Lovino frowned something severe.
"Grandpa Roma?" Feliciano asked first, knowing their dad's own father was quite unavailable for conversation, resting peacefully next to their tortellini-haunting grandmother.
Their dad nodded and put his fork down, drawing himself up for discussion. Lovino saw Feliciano gulp across the table and he couldn't blame him. Lovino's own hackles rose.
"You're grandfather and I have decided that it may be for the best that you move in with him, in Oregon."
The words were so blunt that they struck the room silent. Lovino swore he could have heard a penny drop. After the initial shock was over, though, Lovino was up in arms.
"What?" he almost shouted, glaring at his father. "You just want Feliciano to move to Oregon? Just like that?"
"He would be taken care of there, much better than we can here. I have work and you have school, but Roma would be able to be with him at any time. Your grandfather's town is peaceful too, much less to deal with, and they have a great psychologist there that I've already given a call," he stated plainly, and the lack of emotion, the total fact of his words, rubbed Lovino in every wrong way. He launched to his feet, earning a yelp from Feliciano that he should have felt sorry for, but he was too focused on his father at the moment.
"You just want to send him away!" Lovino exclaimed. "You don't want to have to deal with him; just admit it! All you want is to not have to deal with the responsibility anymore!"
This, at least, got a reaction out of him, outrage lighting up their father's eyes. Feliciano protested from his side of the table, but their dad spoke over him, heat in his words and face.
"You do not get to speak to me that way," he said. "I am your father."
"Well, you sure as hell don't act like it!" Lovino argued, fists clenching. "You're never here! Before Feliciano's accident, you never ate with us or asked about our day. We barely ever saw you!"
"I am a busy man, Lovino. I ate dinners with you when I could," his father explained, as if Lovino just didn't understand the phenomenon, as if Lovino was the one that didn't understand. Like he wasn't even hearing him-
"A father's supposed to put his kids before work," Lovino shouted, finally getting to full volume, shaking and ready to pull his own hair out. How could their dad not understand this? What about being an actual parent alluded the man so much?
"I do, Lovino, when it is appropriate. I can't just drop everything at any time; that's how I would lose my job."
"When it's appropriate, you say. Apparently, it's only appropriate to pay attention to your kids when they're in the hospital, or having a mental breakdown, huh? Or when you notice their grades are A's instead of A+'s or that they aren't prepping for a life that maybe they don't even want because they haven't had the chance to explore anything in life because all you drilled into their head is work study work study wor-"
"I thought you had dropped this little rebellious streak, Lovino," his father sighed, looking more irked than anything. "You were finally going back to study. Is that what this is about? You want to laze around again and shoot your chances at college in the face?"
"That's not- Urgh!" Lovino exclaimed, finally giving in and pulling at his hair. "This is about-" But Lovino didn't get any farther.
"Stop!" A voice shouted from across the table and it rattled Lovino. He looked back at his brother, shaking in his seat and looking about on the verge of tears. "Stop! Stop arguing and shouting and- and- please-"
Feliciano took a breath and the tears streamed down, uncontrollable and sobbing. He wasn't having an attack, but it still looked painful and Lovino was at his side in a minute. The same could not be said for their father though, who took only a moment's breath as he looked on, long and hard. Then, he scooted his chair back with a loud screech and pursed his lips.
"We will talk more tomorrow, Feliciano," he stated, then stood from the table, collecting the bowls and disappearing into the kitchen. Lovino kept his brother in his arms, silent, as Feliciano held tight to his shirt.
It wasn't until later that night, the two brothers curled up again to watch some stupid old TV show on Lovino's laptop, that Feliciano said, "Maybe he's right."
Lovino knew exactly what he was talking about. He hadn't thought of anything else since dinner.
So he didn't say anything in return, just elected to keep his eyes on the screen.
Later, Lovino talked about it with his brother, but it was already too late. Plans were made without him, Lovino helpless to change a thing, and Feliciano started packing. He would leave once the semester ended.
And, in that short time, Lovino coped in the only way he knew how, in the only way he'd been steadily driving into himself since Feliciano's accident. He became half deranged in keeping himself busy, mind and body. Time divided between study and his brother, the brother who was about to leave him, the brother who was being sent away. He attempted to keep order in both of their lives'. He filled every gap with something productive - mind active, body tired. Lovino no longer went to the tree in the park. He hadn't talked to Antonio in a month.
Lovino counted down the days, watching the leaves disappear from the trees, frost crust over the grass, sky become more grey than anything. Finals buzzed through his veins, clocks ticked like drums, and the semester was over before he knew it.
The three of them were at the airport.
Then, Lovino was alone in his room. His laptop was shoved under his bed, no one to watch it with. His ears were ringing with the complete emptiness of the room, the house, the school and the park and the streets. Lovino knew then and there he would be walking in a life of silence from then on. And, that silence, it surrounded him, closing in, cutting through the air and stuffing it with tissue paper all at once.
So much space, too much space, not enough space.
It shook the air until it became a part of him.
It vibrated in his bones so intensely it eventually became-
Still.
And everything was horrifyingly still. And cotton filled his brain. And there was no work to occupy it. No brother to distract it. Lovino had been holding back a Pandora's box of claustrophobic catastrophes and he hadn't even known it. The yellow tape had reemerged, strangling and resisting and straining and- and-
Shredding. Again. It was unraveling.
Lovino knew enough about panic attacks to know they didn't always come loud and dramatic. Sometimes, they weren't from too much, from deadlines and everything happening all at once.
Sometimes, too little became overwhelming. Sometimes, the things that took up space in your life, those overwhelming things, were what grounded you.
Sometimes, the vacuum of space sucked every sense out of you and you can't breathe, but, even as your lungs contract, shrivel up inside of you, as you feel like you're falling apart at the seams, sometimes, you aren't gasping or crying or shaking.
Sometimes, it was silent. Sometimes, the world was falling apart, but it was all still.
CV: This chapter took me back to an old style of writing and I am not okay with that. But apparently okay enough to post anyway.
So, news. This fic is going to be 18 chapters in total and my goal is to get those last chapters out before the end of the year. Sounds attainable, right? We'll see...
Also, in case anyone's interested, I set up a new tumblr solely for writing updates. I used to post them on my Hetalia blog, but I decided to make a new one since the fic stuff wasn't all Hetalia and this makes it just better alright. Check it out if you wanna, but, really, it's mostly just a heads up if I post/ update fics so maybe it's not your thing. [URL is 'codevassie']
We'll be getting back into Spamano next chapter because I know you guys must be missing it haha. I'm kind of up in the air if I should give Lovi one last chapter or go on back to Antonio's pov so let me know what you think maybe.
Thanks guys and I hope you enjoyed! later!