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It had been exactly 8.3 hours since Romano had last spoken to Feliciano.
Maybe 8.2. Feliciano didn’t have the mental bandwidth to do the math, no, that was all reserved for his manipulation tactics. The Italys weren’t physically belligerent by nature (their shortness and lack of upper body strength didn’t allow for that) but they had their cards. They had to. Stuck in the middle of europe and bordered by countries that were generally less than docile (‘ Oh what a shiney, economically viable port you have there.’ Roll your eyes) they’d learnt to keep alive, more or less.
These sorts of games were always present between them, especially. It was a war without weapons, without words really- Romano was awful at confrontation, even worse at communication. So this is what they did to make points.
Still, as calculated as he was, Feliciano hadn’t expected such a taciturn silence. Romano had always been stubborn, sure, but Feli had gone out of his way to make the worst pasta he ever had. The noodles (storebought ones, to add to the horror) had sat in the water an entire 5 minutes past al-dante. There was a lack of salt, seasoning in general was off. He’d done the bare minimum- enough to be called lazy, but not enough to get caught. Worst of all, he’d added capsciums.
Romano hated capsicums.
And yet here he was, putting forkfuls in his moth with as much gusto as he usualy did (which was mild. Romano was by no means elegant, but he was never sloppy), a despondan silence hovering between them. He hadn’t looked up from his plate once.
“Great dinner, isn’t it?” Feli poked, smiling that too-cavalier smile.
Romano only grunted.
“I thought I’d try a new recipe.”
Not even a grunt this time. God, Feli was losing his touch.
Feliciano’s hands twitched into fists, but his smile only widened.
“You know, I thought I’d call Spain over to taste another one I’m-”
“Fuck off.” Romano snarled, his voice catching on some shard inside him, his voice breaking right at the edge of the last word. Inside, he was all broken glass.
Finally.
“Is something wrong?” Feliciano asked innocently, blinking at his brother.
Romano stared at him a long while, his eyes locking onto Feli’s with anger. Disappointment. Shame. Rage. A cocktail of ugly, negative emotions, things Feliciano was oh so used to being thrown at him. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
What he didn’t deserve , however, was Romano getting up and walking off. Leaving him behind at the table like nothing had just happened.
“Wait- where are you going-?” He grabbed Romano’s arm only for Romano to yank it out of his grasp.
“What exactly?” Romano’s voice was a bitter knife, twisting, “Do you expect me to do? To cry? To beg you to stop-? You know what you’re doing, Feli, you’ve always been aware, you sadistic little fuck-”
“I have no idea what-”
“I have always loved him,” Romano bellowed, “Everyone has always fucking known except him- I’ve had Francis and Gilbert bullying me about it since the fucking 1800s! It’s always been about him and his salt of the earth smile and the rough callouses on his hands from his guitar and god, when he used to play for those silly women in the village, I felt like my heart was on fire and now he plays for you-”
Feliciano frowned. He had wanted a reaction, but he could've done without the soliloquy, especially when Spain’s musical abilities were mediocre at best.
“I’m sorry, Romano,” Feli said impatiently, “But just because you’re jealous that Antonio spends a little more time with me-”
“Don’t speak like you’re innocent. At least have the decency to respect me that way. This isn’t the first fucking time and we both know it. Before Antonio it was Francis, and before him it was Gilbert, and before Gilbert it was fucking Ludwig.”
“Now that’s not fair- Ludwig was different,” Feliciano insisted, “I thought Ludwig was him- or well, I know that’s not correct, I knew it wasn’t him because that would be too easy, and he knew it’d be too easy too. But we both desperately wanted Ludwig to be him and for a while, that was enough.”
“For a while?” Lovino gave an acrid little laugh, “you dumped him on day 4.”
That was true. Feli would give him that. But it had been too easy, really, with Ludwig looking oh so vulnerable, so different from his normal, stoic state. From his stoney face and concrete emotions. How could Feli have not memorized it by breaking his heart that day? It was art.
It helped that he knew Romano had been listening at the door. All his wounds still fresh.
“Gilbert doesn’t count, either, he was going to break up with you anyways. He doesn’t like loving people. He just likes one sided crushes, but the second they reciprocate, he runs off to Ludwig and clings to him. Don’t you remember Hungary? Austria? Even England, once, I think. Maybe France…”
But Romano didn’t look amused by this turn of the conversation. His face wasn’t even red hued, which was worse, because this anger wasn’t spur of the moment anger. It wasn’t one of those random emotional outbursts Romano was prone to having, and that he regretted for weeks after, no this had been simmering under his skin for a long time. Feliciano adored it. The knowledge that he could bring out such strong emotions within his brother.
Yet, it hurt that all this vitriol was aimed at the act of stealing rather than him. Something in Feli quivered at it all. The mask fell.
“Okay. You’re right. It’s on purpose.”
“Oh.”
Such a stark confession stretched the distance between them. Romano was angry, so angry, but mostly he’s confused- he’d spent so much of his life jealous of his brother for all sorts of things; his height, his easy way with the people he dated, his optimistic outlook and a small part of him had always assumed that This Was How The World Worked. That Feli had been destined to rip out everything from Romano’s calloused hands, piece by piece, by sheer fate.
The fact that it was real, and there was effort put in, that it wasn’t just the fact that Feli was better and it wasn’t that Romano was simply bitter, and lesser and prone to a delusional that fit his narrative. Maybe a part of him, distantly, felt the sharp sting of betrayal. But mostly, it was relief.
“Oh.” Romano said again, breathing loudly, like it was cold, but it wasn’t, “Why?”
“Why?” Feli paused a moment, “Why do you think?”
Romano had no answer.
Feli smiled.
“Do you remember reunification day?” Feli pressed and of course Romano only looked at Feli blankly.
In some ways, he couldn’t blame him. That was the point. There was nothing to remember.
For the years leading up to it, there had been violence, protests and everyone had assured him- everyone had said that it would be worth it. That the idea of a pan-Italy identity, the strength that would come with sharing would cure that endless loneliness.
You’re so lucky, they’d say with a forced smile, envy simmering underneath, you have another half. Someone you can depend on. That’s a rare thing for nations . And then they’d take another sip of their drink, idly wondering about their own dissolves sister states, the evapoated almost-family.
And so Feliciano had left Austria- Roderich, now- alone in that hallway, distraught on his face clear as day.
In someways, Roderich was more of a brother than Romano ever had been in those tenuous vists through the centuries. Albeit, not a very good one. (Feliciano’s left shoulder burned with the scar of a memory, but that was another story.)
In the end, Feli had left the only home he’d ever known. Packed his bags, folded away the picture of the boy he had once loved (and who was no longer and never would be) with his heart full of anticipation to finally get to know Romano. Half his soul. Half his heart, as the poets said.
He’d only ever seen his older brother across the stretch of white table cloth, sullen looking and with a million secrets. He’d imagined that that was because of those horrible prying eyes and that once they were together, and the guns had stopped firing, and their people labelled themselves their true name, that all would be different.
It hadn’t been. They’d spent their dinner in silence. Feli watched Romano across a white stretch of tablecloth. And then Romano had retired to his room.
Feli pressed his lips together, his hurt immeasurable.
“I do it because you don’t love me.” Feliciano told him simply, “You never have and you never would.”
“And what have you ever done that was deserving of love-?” Romano wondered allowed, all kinds of confused. He took another step back, so that his place on the stairs was safely moored.
“What does that even-” Feliciano laughed, “I know you’ve always been emotionally constipated, Romano. But brothers love each other. Even for us, that’s in the god damn rule book- you’ve seen America and Canada, Norway with Iceland, hell- Prussia dotes on Germany-”
“And so what-? They grew up with each other. You couldn’t have expected me to move in and just-just care about you- I-” Romano jerked his head back, shaking it as if this was some strange dream, “I do care about you, asshole, but the way you act-”
“The way you act-” Feliciano seethed, “The way you act, Romano. You don’t even fucking talk to me unless its to berate me for something. Fine. But when you’re in love with someone you don’t even have the time to do that because you’re so busy complaining about them- Francis is so full of himself and Ludwig is a neurotic freak and god you sounded like you were swooning and then there was Spain-”
Spain who had swiped Romano off of his feet decades before Feli had glimpsed his brother for the first time.
Spain, who was always over, one hand on Romano’s shoulder getting him to laugh like Feliciano never had.
Feli hardened.
“So I gave up. On the idea of you ever loving me,” Feli’s smile still continued, horribly innociuous, “But you’re my other half. The only brother I will ever have- lovers, friends, all those silly fragile humans- they’ll come and go. They’ll betray you you, leave you, maybe they’ll pass away- which is the worst because when they die then you can only sortof be angry- but we’re stuck together. So I decided that if I couldn’t have your love, I could at least have your hate. It’s funny, Romano, if you don’t look too closely; the way you love and the way you hate is so similar.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about my love,” Romano’s voice was caught between a sharp and a quiver.
“Maybe,” Feli agreed, “but whose fault is that? And regardless of what you’re like, Romano. We are governed by the same laws of physics that trap all brothers.”
Feli raised a hand out, as if to touch Romanos heart but he didn’t move any closer. And he didn’t need to. Romano could feel it- twin cities bustling with the same, mechanic pump of feeling. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. In sync with Feliciano.
“We need each other even if we don’t love each other- and isn’t that more powerful, anyways? For people like us, need is such a poignant word.You could stab a spouse in the heart a dozen times, but a sibling? You’d only be stabbing yourself.”
“Yeah it sounds fucking great until you realize that I’m dying because of you. ”
Feli frowned, “don’t say that. You don’t know if that’s true- you don’t know if you’re dying. You’re just addicted to victimizing yourself.”
Romano chuckled darkly, “it’s the age old fucking story. Consumption breeds greed, greed breeds death.”
“I’m not greedy for your land, Romano.”
“That doesn’t matter! I’ll end up in the same fucking place- and I don’t even care, really, I don’t! I don’t mind giving myself up for you- what I do mind is you tearing away the few precious years I have left-“
“You’re not dying and even if you were-“ Feli’s voice took on a frail, sad tone, “even if you were, wouldn’t you rather spend your time hating me, the only one you have, than loving a man that looked the other way?”
Romano looked down at Feli with a pity he reserved for the worst of moments. Austria, talking about Hungary. England when discussing America. Spain, 3 cans of beer past dangerously drunk and raving about former glories.
“You just don’t fucking get it,” Romano muttered like a sigh. And then retired to his room again.
Feli listened despondantly for the footfalls. Just like he had on Unification Day.