Lovino stopped eating after that day.
It wasn't detrimental to his health at all; he was the embodiment of a people all too familiar with the prospect of poverty, and besides, it was quite possible for any personification to go months without eating anything. They wouldn't die – well, they'd lose a few pounds, of course, but they wouldn't perish. In fact, Lovino was sure there was one way for a personification to die, and even then, the nation itself wouldn't crumble.
Feliciano was the first to notice that Lovino was off somehow, they were brothers, of course. Soon after, Feliciano's wife, Monica begrudgingly admitted that even she was a bit worried for the other Italian; he'd missed four World Meetings in a row, which totally set the order way off. Even worse, the Spaniard had taken up the habit of not paying attention at all anymore, constantly being late to meetings, or sleeping through the entire thing!
When Monica had suggested that she and Feliciano went to check up on both of the personifications, Feliciano was a bit worried at first; something bad must've happened. If Monica, the proud and strong-willed personification of Germany, had wanted to see how his moody brother and the bouncy Spaniard were doing, she must be worried. Like, really worried.
She was completely justified, however, and as time passed, would come to regret that she had procrastinated so long in meeting with either of the personifications.
Feliciano had asked Monica if she could meet Lovino first, since he was afraid he might start crying if something had gone wrong. As she nodded a silent reply, he kissed her cheek, then waved goodbye as she drove off, trying to hold back a few tears. He loved his brother just as much as he loved Monica, and if anything had happened, he couldn't even think about what he'd do.
Besides, all the Italian could do was pray to God that his brother was alright and well.
Upon arriving in Naples, Monica had stumbled off the train, stretched her legs, then found a motel nearby, booking herself a room for the night. Knowing Feliciano's brother much too well, he'd probably ignore her completely, and she'd have nowhere to stay. Monica wouldn't let that happen to herself in her capital city of Berlin, and was definitely not going to wander around, alone, in such an unfamiliar place, even if Lovino lived there.
Following Feliciano's written directions to the Italian's house, she was surprised to find that the front gate had been left ajar, the front garden untended, and most worrying, the large mahogany door wasn't locked. She let herself in, then shut and locked the door behind her.
"Oi, Lovino, where are you?" Monica sighed as she closed an open book lying on the floor. Some of the pages were torn, the cover had a large coffee stain, and more than a few pages were strewn across the parlor. Monica picked one up, examined the text. The entire page was in Italian – old Italian if she was correct, and ink blots were splattered on the corners. Lovino must've written this when he was younger.
Monica massaged her temples with her fingers as she sat down on a beaten-up couch. The Lovino she had known would've thrown this out almost immediately; he was obsessed to the point of insanity about keeping up his appearance – he was arrogant, bipolar, and cried even more than her Feliciano. He was rude to anyone he deemed unworthy of either him or his brother, and no matter how hard she had tried to be friendly with him, the Italian had pushed her away with glares and harsh remarks.
The more she thought about it, the madder she became. How dare he stop showing up to meetings, to disrupt the entire flow of a four-hour long, daily and absolutely necessary meeting that covered everything from the global economy to football matches! Why was he justified in scaring his brother to death, to leaving his home like a pigsty! It was his sole duty as a personification to stay alive and healthy enough to keep his country, and he obviously couldn't do that if he was off sulking somewhere! Without thinking, the old piece of paper in her hand had been crushed into a ball, then ripped to shreds.
"P-Puttana! What're you doing in my house, potato-eater?!"
The Italian had arrived.
{{ Yo, it's Kimi here ! ! ! ( ` 7 ` )
I'd like to thank everyone for the support this story has gotten so far,
and to let you know that since school just got out, I'll be updating
at least once a week. This story won't be too long, but
I'll be looking forward to writing even longer fanfics in the future!
Bye! }}