His plant was wilting. Despite the hours of hard work, of effort, of love he poured into the little plant, its leaves refused to green and its stem refused to remain stable. It was collapsing beneath itself. His precious little plant.

He tried to lift it up, to give it the support, the care it needed so desperately. But try as he might, it made no difference. His baby was falling apart at the seams. And it wouldn't be long before he found that he wasn't the one holding the needle and thread.

"…Feliciano?" He approached the seated figure, pausing between each step, preparing himself for any response. A thousand different scenarios passed through his head. A new one for each step. None of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was this. Reality. Imagining the confrontation would do nothing.

"…F-Feli?" He repeated the cry, his voice catching slightly, a stutter falling into it.

"Not now, Romano…not now." The voice was quiet, barely audible. But he had prepared himself for that, and the words were able to connect with his ears.

"…no. Yes now. Feliciano, fratello, darling. This isn't like you. I've never once seen you sulk." He crept closer to his brother, sliding onto the window seat beside him. "Maybe…maybe talking will help." His brow furrowed. What did he know? Comfort wasn't his place. He had always turned from people with his problems.

Italy blinked, lifting his head and shifting so he sat nearly in his brother's lap, head resting upon his shoulder. "M-maybe." A stutter. He never stuttered.

"Tesoro. Talk to me. You told me this would make you happy. You said even without Germany, you could be happy. That all you needed was me." His voice was on the verge of stern, deadly serious. The care was still evident in it, though. There, a thick layer of it, the sleeping grass beneath the snow.

He shook his head furiously. "Romano…no…I-I am happy. I just need time to adjust." He could tell it was a lie. They both knew. But they both believed it anyway. They couldn't help it.

Lies were just…nicer than the truth. Lies wouldn't bring his little plant back to life, but they could hold up its stem until time brought it back.