Request from a good friend of mine...figured I might as well publish it. I rather like this one, and just in case you haven't figured it out yet, ANGST. ANGST AND SADNESS.
"Stupid meetings…" Prussia muttered, kicking a pebble that just so happened to be in his path. What was the point? It was just stupid "important" people talking about stupid "important" things. Meetings never accomplished anything anyways; all those stuck-up countries just sat in a stuffy room and argued about things that would likely never change. He asked himself angrily for the umpteenth time why he had even bothered to come in the first place, before letting out a sigh and returning his gaze back to the ground. One day, when they weren't so "important" anymore, maybe they would see just how stupid, just how pointless this whole thing was.
To his surprise, apparently he wasn't the only one having these thoughts. The small brunette sat on a nearby bench, his curl sticking up, as defiant as ever. Just like its owner, it refused to do what it was told and never seemed to be nice to anyone. He sat down next to him, silently watching the man out of the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to smirk even just a little bit as the scowl began to creep over the Italian's face.
"Go away, Bastardo," Romano hissed, turning his head away from the albino. ,"Don't you have better things to do?"
"You mean meeting stuff? Nah, I'm too awesome for that," Gilbert said, finally allowing the grin to creep across his face.
"Oh, right, you're not a country anymore. I almost forgot." Romano snapped back. Although he didn't let it show, those words sent a pang of longing and hurt through Gilbert. Instead of flinching, he forced himself to widen his smirk, refusing to show anyone how much those words really hurt him. "And unlike you, I don't have to go to meetings if I don't want to. I'm just that awesome," he replied, receiving only a huff from the shorter man in response.
"So what brings you here anyways? Don't you have a meeting to get back to?" he said, glancing back at the meeting house. Germany was giving a speech, speaking sternly as always. Prussia couldn't remember the last time he hadn't seen his brother in a military uniform, hair immaculately slicked back and various badges adorning his lapel. He was always so strict, so uptight, never willing to let loose and enjoy himself-even for Italy. Austria was the same way, always so prissy and stuck-up, wasting his life away sitting at his stupid piano. Everyone else did the same; why couldn't anyone just relax for once?
"What's the point? People would sooner listen to Italy than me, and that idiota's a blundering fool," he snarled, following Prussia's gaze towards the window. Germany was yelling at Italy. Again.
"Well that's probably because you always yell at everybody. It kind of drives them away," Prussia stated. He was never really one for sugarcoating things. And it was true; the Italian's harsh attitude and colorful vocabulary tended to have that effect on people.
"Shut the fuck up! You don't know what the hell you're talking about, bastardo!" Romano exclaimed, his face painfully close to Prussia's ear. He didn't take any notice of it; he was the loud one in the family, after all. As if just realizing what he had done, the Italian's eyes widened, if only slightly, before he quickly turned his back to the albino, sitting as far away from him as humanly possible.
"Stupid idiota…" he mumbled. "That little bastard is always so fucking happy. He has everything; better art, better food, better music, better money; hell, even better wine. I have nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. There's nothing I can do about it, either. And even when I yell, nobody listens," he seethed. Prussia felt his face fall as he looked over at the brunette; he was slouched over with arms crossed, refusing to look at him, curl trembling slightly. Prussia felt the familiar pang of loneliness strike his chest, felt the bitter despair spread throughout his body. He knew too well the feeling of being second-best, the one no one ever wanted. He was always looked down on by West and Austria, always being told to stop being so loud, reckless, and stupid. Hell, even Hungary practically hated him-he always knew she'd choose Austria in the end. He was always the unwanted one, the broken one, the one that everyone saw as the reckless, stupid fool. Maybe they pitied him, once, but now they didn't even spare him a second thought. Who the hell even knew who Prussia was anyway? No one knew he existed. No one cared. Why he was still even alive, sentenced to this dreary loneliness, he didn't know. He didn't understand. He only knew that Romano shouldn't have to feel so alone; he still had a country, still had friends…he had a brother that loved him, and he had Spain. Prussia couldn't even begin to dream of such luxuries anymore.
"Then tell me why Italy looks up to you," Prussia started, turning his gaze back to the field in front of him. Romano's gaze flicked over to his face in surprise for a moment, before turning even farther away from Gilbert than he had been previously, leaning over the edge of the railing. "He always listens to whatever you say, always follows you without hesitation. He always tries to make you happy…it's obvious that he loves you. He's not the only one…believe it or not, Spain loves you too. More than you know." He paused, gathering his thoughts before responding. "That's more than I could ever say for myself, at any rate. And besides, you're still a country. Like it or not, you do actually have the power to control international affairs. Enjoy your awesomeness while you still can." Gilbert finished, resting his hand on the Italian's shoulder. After a moment, he stood up from the bench and resumed his walk along the well-trodden path, hand in his pockets, hair ruffled slightly in the wind. When he finally looked back, Romano was gone from the bench. He saw the door to the meeting room open, then close, as the brunette with the unmistakable curl finally returned to the meeting. He smiled to himself as he walked deeper into the small forest, the meeting room quickly falling out of sight behind him.
-3/11/14, Spencer Sigtryggsson