Italy hummed on his way to the grocery shop, spring in his steps and sunshine in his smile. Today proved to be sunny indeed.

He entered the first grocery shop he saw, the one he had become a loyal customer of even though the only reason he did his groceries there was because it was the first one he saw at the street and it had pleasant workers. The prices weren't too different from the other shops either.

Today was sunny, and the sky was blue, and tomatoes had been harvested. He hummed a tune from so long ago he couldn't remember the whole song as he traced his usual way through the aisles. Pasta and eggs, sugar and salt. Soap and shampoo, detergent and toothpaste.

After making sure that he got everything on his list, Italy made his way toward the cashier. Today's cashier was a young man with a toothy smile and too-long fringe, his eyes bright and friendly behind the dark strands of hair. He counted the total price and helped him set his groceries into paperbags.

Italy thanked him and he was replied with a wide smile and smooth Italian. He couldn't quite recognize the accent, but the sound was pleasant to his ears. He continued his humming as he strolled toward the exit, this time a lullaby, not quite as old but not quite as new either. His hand was close to the handle when the voice with the accent tickled his ears again. It brought him a strange sense of nostalgia, one that he couldn't quite remember, but one he couldn't just push into the back of his mind either.

"Going home, Lovino?"

He didn't turn the handle and the lullaby stopped. It should've been 20 years, but his nose was suddenly filled with the metallic scent and his knees felt wet.

"Yeah. My mom's sick, so I asked manager to cut my shift today. Marcello needs to be fed."

That was why the accent pleased him. That was also why it brought him that ache in his heart, nostalgic and painful, sweet but bitter. It was Sicilian, the one his brother had spoken in for some time during their earlier years.

And the second voice, along with the name, was the one that sent boulder down his chest through his throat. Italy turned around, and suddenly the smell of iron in his nose and the feeling of blood on his knees weren't the only ones choking him.

Because there his brother was, all with his dark hair and his scowl and the slight turn of his lips, all but the color of his eyes and the lack of his curl.

His chest twisted with so much feelings, so much memories, of small hand grasping his and the glare that he knew wasn't really directed at him, of the warmth next to him on the bed and the sound of breath accompanying his in the silence of the night, of red painted bleak wall and dark liquid that in every sense was not water, of fire and hate and betrayal and unfinished apology, and of silent funeral and nameless grave.

His brother seemed to notice him staring and they locked eyes. Instead of hazel golden that reminded him of the sun in their early days, tiny nations with intertwined hands and open hearts, they were olive green, the color of the moss and the color of the leaves in cloudy days that he couldn't remember.

"Can I help you?" He sounded hesitant, nervous almost. He must've stared for some time, but Italy didn't move, didn't take his eyes away from the young man, from his brother.

His brother.

Liar

Was this young man his brother?

I hate you

Why did he have eyes the color of the moss instead of the sun? Why did he look at him with such confusion?

You're not my brother. I hate you

Why didn't he scowl at him, scold him for staring, and flick his forehead like he always did?

I hate you so much

And it was too much, too suffocating, the flaring hate and the pain in his chest, he felt his eyes hot.

"Oh, shit! H-hey, is something wrong? Are you okay?!"

Why was his brother there, talking to him with that tone he had everytime he was nervous or panicked or being defensive, the tone that hadn't changed?

Liar, liar, liar

I hate you, you're not my brother

I-

Why was his brother there, still smelling like the sun and soil and fresh tomatoes and gunpowder that he tried so much to hide, even after 20 years?

"Just go back to your cashier, Sergio. Sir, errhh, can you stand?"

Liar

I hate you

You're not my brother

I hate you so much

-o-

Romano really didn't have a slightest idea of what he'd done that this happened to him. He was just talking with Sergio, and suddenly this man, a customer, stared at him with an emotion he couldn't name and started crying.

Now he ended up sitting across the customer in the employees common room, feeling so awkward as the man composed himself and wiped his face with a box of tissue he'd offered. If he didn't go home soon, Marcello would starve, and he still needed to buy some cough syrup for his mother. He didn't realize that he was tapping his foot on the floor in his uneasiness.

"Feeling better?" He asked in what he hoped was a friendly tone. The man across him nodded lightly and lifted his head to look at him. He found himself feeling uncomfortable after the gaze and resorted to the only way he knew to act in a situation like this. He frowned.

-o-

Never in his long lifetime Italy questioned God, but now he did. How could God do this to him? Thousands of whys swirling in his head, and he felt such a strong urge to laugh and cry both at the same time.

Because the way this young man looked at him, the way he frowned, the tone of his voice, the way he tapped his foot on the floor, the way he sat straight but lost his posture to a more slouched one in mere moment,

it was his brother sitting in front of him.

He quickly averted his eyes to prevent him from crying again, but now he wasn't sure if looking at his brother would make him cry or laugh hysterically.

The liar he hated so much

his brother

it was hard to distinguish between the two.

Italy bit his lower lip and tried to look at him again. The color of the eyes told him that it wasn't his brother in front of him, but the way he frowned to hide his uneasiness and the defensive, almost challenging look in his eyes told him otherwise.

How could God do this to me?

"Sorry that I surprised you like that," His voice felt hollow and his tongue felt dry and bitter when he talked, but he continued. "It's just…" He managed a small smile. That much he could do. Decades of hiding his bleeding heart that still waited for him along with 20 years dulling the pain with the smile, it had done the effect for him.

"It's just…" But even decades of creating and polishing his mask of a smile didn't teach him how to speak his lies properly. Especially when only 20 years had passed.

His brother had been the one who had the talent, to smooth his way out and defend his heart with not only angry mask as his shield, but also the ability to speak lies as his garrison.

"You look like someone I knew."

He wanted to smile at the look of faint surprise on the other's face, but it wasn't his brother and his mind did a harsh reminding on that. The smile faltered before it found its way into his face.

"I see. Well, we do look alike." His brother relaxed a bit and his scowl smoothened. "Even my idiot little brother doesn't look like me that much."

His brother had never been that honest before, especially to a stranger. And for his brother right now, he was a stranger. Faintly, the line was drawn.

"You have a brother?" He wouldn't lie that he wasn't hurt by that. He wouldn't lie that there was a pang of anger inside him, directed to who, he didn't know. For him, the only one he would call fratello was his brother, and as far as he knew, the one his brother would call 'idiot little brother' was him.

Him, and no one else.

The line was drawn longer and etched deeper.

"Yeah," He looked slightly apologetic when he continued. "And I have to be home soon or he won't have lunch. So…"

This wasn't his brother, no matter how he looked so much like him, no matter how just being there in his presence and listening to his voice sent every emotion colliding inside his heart, the person sitting in front of him wasn't his brother.

His brother wouldn't just open up to a stranger. His brother wouldn't look openly apologetic even to a customer if they weren't a girl.

His brother wouldn't-

"It's okay. I'm sorry for having held you here," He tried to sound genuinely apologetic, but his voice was caught in his throat. He needed to leave now, before everything that happened in here left traces in his mind, in his heart, in his memories.

"It's… alright, I guess."

Would you really let go?

He had let go of Holy Rome, and the boy never made it back.

He had let go of his brother in that mansion, letting him take his clothes and out of the safe room, letting his fingers slipping from his grasp.

He had let him die a human, and along with it, die a nation.

He had let himself become Italy.

"What's your name?"

The young man, his brother, turned around and looked at him with a slightly flabbergasted look, one that was soon replaced with a wary one. "Excuse me?"

"I'm Feliciano," He managed another smile, one more comforting and slightly more genuine. "Ve… I… just want to be your friend."

"The fuck?" His brother cocked a suspicious eyebrow at him. "You do realize you sound so damn suspicious, right?"

The swearing that rolled out smoothly from his tongue made Italy want to laugh and cry at the same time. "Ve… I do, don't I? But honest, you look like someone I knew. That's why…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence because even he realized he was being selfish and unreasonable.

Grandpa had perished and he had seen wind picked every fleck of his dust and scattered it. Holy Rome never come back, no matter how many centuries he waited and how much tears he shed. What would make his brother any different?

"I really have to go now," His brother's hand was on the door handle, anxious to leave.

"Then…" Italy swallowed, hard and desperate. "If I make myself not suspicious anymore, would it be okay?"

His brother frowned at him, now more than suspicious and edging a bit on disturbed. "What the fuck are you trying to do, actually? If you want to trick me into giving you money or what, it'll be a waste of time because I'm the one doing the part-time job here, and you're the customer."

"No! It's not that! I-I swear," He chewed on his bottom lip, more than a little hurt on the suspicion, but it was reasonable, wasn't it? The person before him was not his brother, thus for him he was a stranger. A stranger who said that he wanted to befriend him out of the blue. "I…"

Grandpa had his empire crumbled to pieces. Holy Rome had his taken by the enemy. Your brother had his life both as a human and a nation clawed out of him by that thing.

In the end, they're all the same.

They are not coming back.

"Well, too bad, sir. But try again next time." His brother stepped out of the room, but not before glancing back at him and murmuring something that almost escaped his ears. "And try better."

The door clicked close and Italy was left alone in the room.

-o-

That night, he sat on his bed with the citizen file on his hand. It wasn't hard to get after he got to know his brother's surname from his co-worker.

Lovino Romano Vargas.

Born March 17 in Palermo from Giorgio Vargas and Angelina Valiente.

The eldest son of 2 children. Older brother of Marcello Vargas.

Moving to Rome with his parents and brother at the age of 10.

In his third year of high school.

His father worked in a car industry while his mother worked as a guide in a tourism agent.

To call it fate, or merely coincidence, or the way the world played around with them, he didn't know. But that night he dreamed of a table with his friends circling it and a scroll passed around. He dreamed of Arthur Kirkland, Alfred F. Jones, Matthew Williams, Francis Bonnefoy, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Kiku Honda, Yao Wang, Ivan Braginski, Ludwig, and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

He dreamed of his brother's handwriting and the name he had spoken out.

Lovino Vargas

-o-

When he saw him again 2 days later on his shift, Italy had had enough time to ready his heart and manage a smile, one that wasn't felt like ready to burst into tears at anytime. That was why seeing the incredulous look at his brother's face when he saw him outside the store only made him smile bitterly even when the inside of his ears were screaming at him it's him it's the liar it's my brother.

"You again?!" His brother stomped his way to him with a deep scowl on his face. "I thought I chased your ass off the other day!"

"Ve… I'm persistent." He smiled lightly and suppressed a chuckle at his brother's unbelieving snort. "I'll keep coming back until you agree to be my friend."

"What are you? A fucking middle schooler?" His brother crossed his arms on his chest and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "Not going to lie, but it's silly to befriend someone just because he resembles someone you knew. And I quoted the past tense from you."

Italy almost choked in his laughter. "But for me it's not silly at all," It was more honest than he had expected. "Ve… How about we go to that café over there after your shift's finished?" He raised his hands defensively under the burning suspicious look from his brother and bit back a laugh. "I just want to talk."

Now that he looked at those eyes more closely, they certainly weren't the color of the sun, but even in the dull color of the moss, they reflected the light all in the same way, and the faint similarity made his heart ache more if that was even possible. His brother looked at him with a mixed of scrutinizing and wary look, before finally let out a sigh.

"Fine," He didn't sound as reluctant as he looked. "Only if we sit by the window so if you try to kill me or what, I'll have the entire street aside of the entire café as witnesses."

That made him burst into laughter again, but even though he earned a glare and an angry huff from his brother, he didn't get hit or get yelled at, and a hole inside him that he thought had disappeared as time went by fell open again.

-o-

"So, what do you want to talk about, errhh…"

"Feliciano. Oh, and you haven't told me your name yet."

His brother put his espresso down reluctantly and it took him a moment before replying. "Romano."

"But I heard your co-worker called you Lovino the other day." Italy saw an unnamed expression flickered in those eyes before the other reverted to frowning.

"Why did you ask if you already knew, you dumbass?"

Feliciano smiled sheepishly from the rim of his glass. "Ve… Hearing it straight from the person is different." Romano snorted. "I'm serious though. Which one is your name?"

"Both." He threw his gaze outside the window. His fringe fell and obscured his eyes, making it impossible to see his expression from Feliciano's seat. "Lovino is my first name, and Romano is the middle. But I prefer to be called Romano. Only my family and close friends call me by my first name."

"Why?" He remembered that in that mansion, his brother himself had chosen that name. But this person in front of him refused to be called by it.

Your brother was Romano. Your brother was Lovino. This person is both, but he rejects his identity as Lovino.

Would that still make him your brother?

"No reason. I just hate it." He turned back at him. "Now you know my name. What's next?"

He hadn't really considered that before and now he was at loss of words. "Ve…"

"Are you a regular there? At the store I'm working in." He brightened a little at Romano's attempt of conversation. The other frowned lightly when he nodded. "I've never seen you there before, though maybe that's because I'm a newbie."

"Maybe I come when it's not your shift," He had thought about that before, how they had never crossed path despite him being a regular customer there. Maybe the world indeed was playing with them. "But I'm glad that we finally met."

"Don't flirt with me! I'm not a girl, dammit!" Romano glared at him through the slight flush of his face and kicked his leg under the table when he laughed.

"Vee, I'm not!" Feliciano feigned a pout. "How old are you by the way?"

"Fucking 18," Romano sipped his drink and looked up at him through his fringe. "What about you?"

"21," Nations made a 'default age' years ago when they had started to enter the society to disguise their real identity, though they had never established any relationship with their citizens aside of the ones who knew who they really were. People would start questioning if their friend or their acquaintance or their commandant stayed 20 even after 10 years.

"You sure don't act like a fucking 21," Romano raised a skeptical brow at him. "So, what do you want with me?"

"I told you, I want to be your friend," That wasn't exactly true, but not entirely a lie either. He wanted to know Lovino, Romano, more. But as what, he didn't know.

You only had one brother.

He only has one brother.

He was not him and you're not him.

Silence stretched between them as the other seemed to contemplate his words. Feliciano didn't tear his gaze away even though he was nervous. Both of them held their gazes evenly, but it was more to studying and regarding each other than a challenge.

Feliciano saw his brother, from the long fringe of his dark hair, the knuckles of his hand around the glass, the way his lips were automatically set in a scowl, to the way he looked at him. He had to refrain from biting his lower lip.

Romano retreated first, eventually. "I'm not sure about that."

"Why not?" Feliciano wanted so bad to deny the desperation he felt, but he knew he couldn't from the way his hand tightened around the glass and how his tone had escalated almost to a plea.

Silly. I thought you hate your brother

He wouldn't deny that either. Just 20 years wouldn't be enough for him to forgive.

Then what are you doing now?

I don't know

"Because friends aren't something that's made from only one meeting," Romano's voice was firm and even. He had never known his brother had that kind of determination. Inside his ears, he heard the sound of line being etched deeper until it left a scar. "You can't just know someone's name and age, and then bam, you're friends, yay! It's not how it works, at least for me." He added the last part with a lower voice.

"Then what would it take to be friends with you?"

Romano blinked, seemed to be taken aback by his resolute tone. "Why are you so damn persistent? It's almost creepy, you know."

"I told you that too before." Feliciano didn't falter this time. "You look like someone I knew."

"Just that?"

"Just that."

Romano sighed and put his hand over his face. "I'm talking to an idiot. I have to go home now. My mother's recovering but I still need to do grocery." He rose from his seat and took his coat. Before Feliciano had the chance to say anything, he cut him off. "My treat. You can pay next time."

It wasn't until he was out of the café and of his sight that Feliciano realized what his words meant. And it wasn't until he was home and crashed onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow that the nostalgia came rushing to him like waves.

Lovino, Romano, wasn't his brother. But being with him, talking to him, listening and seeing how he talked back and reacted, it felt like he was there with his brother once more.

He let all the emotions he'd been suppressing during the day out into his pillow until he fell asleep.