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He ought to have known better really. After all, he has seen this happen so many times in the past. Far too many times to count, to be honest. But what's done is done, and he really can't change that. Just go through the motions and marinate in his bitterness and hatred just a little longer.
Bringing the boxes closer to himself and adjusting the clothes just enough to not let any of the peeking light through, the Southern personification of Italy curled in on himself tighter, closing his eyes and just letting his hateful, bitter and self-loathing thoughts run its course and his tears flow.
Who was he to think that they'd remember his birthday? When his ever shining brother was and will always be the centre of attention? It was rather optimistically delusional of him to think they would care, seriously, what made today so special when every other day the same thing always happens?
He knew why though, Romano thought to himself angrily, as hot drops of water dribbled down the sides of his face. And quite frankly he abhors that aspect of himself. That aspect of humanity really. Which was hope.
Hope that one day, maybe on this special day of his birth, someone would wish him a little bit of happiness. Hope that for one short lived day, that someone will celebrate his existence with fanfare on the level like his brother's. That hopefully, just maybe, someone can recognise he was Italy as well, even if he was the least famous part of Italy. Just a bit of recognition would be enough.
But nonetheless, Romano sighed to himself, he really hated that small shred of hope that still existed within his heart. He thought he had stomped it out so many times throughout his continued existence, since he knew that nothing, especially in regards to him, would ever come that without a cost.
Like Spain wanting to trade him for his brother in his younger years. And while Romano recognised that Spain has become better with it, better at reading Romano's feelings and understanding him, the Spanish moron was still the blissfully ignorant twat that he almost always is, and still flourished Veneziano with bated affection. Amongst the maelstrom of his bitterness and his anger, jealousy rose to the surface of it all, rearing it's ugly head into the depths of his heart, making his chest feel tighter and heavier than it is already. Romano hated that immature jealousy that arose when he thought of his younger brother and his caretaker because he should, practically speaking, be grateful that Spain does care for him and it wasn't all Veneziano's fault. But quite frankly, it could very well be his immaturity, fuelled by his bitterness and his desire to monopolise those who did show him affection. A selfish need to keep every bit of affection and positive attention for himself. It's his fault sure, Romano wasn't gonna deny that, that he wants to keep them to himself selfishly and never let them see Vene. But simply put, Romano knew if he was in the same position he wouldn't wish it so ardently.
Romano wasn't smart that much to say, he knew and was very much self-aware about this. Which is why he was currently here in his room, in the darkness of his closet, in the comfort of the tightness it brings, wallowing in his self loathing. Just letting it come, letting it go before letting it die. Going through the motions just so he could come back a bit more relaxed.
Many would say not to do it. That it was self-destructive, unhealthy and he should seek help, but for him it helped him release his bottled up emotions, allowed him his moment of repose without someone judging him and enabled him to go through existing without so much emotional baggage and pent up hatred for the world. Romano likes to think that it grounds him, that it is also a little healthy to have a small amount of hatred for the world and its people because realistically, the world is a terrible place. But it was also beautiful in its bounty and, he supposed, ugliness. So all he can do is just go through the motions, appreciate what he has before keeping it all in again, rinse and repeat.
Letting out a shuddering breath, and wiping the tears and its stains away, Romano felt calmer, lighter and less angry about himself and the world. Less… everything really. All he felt was a calming void, calming in its nothingness, empty of that sinking ugly feeling of desolation that would coil in his stomach and his heart. Romano felt fresh and ready to just tackle everybody in his own usual way.
But first he need to get out, cool his red face and wash his tear stained and probably snotty face before someone gets the wrong idea. He might be like his brother in that they are both weak and overly emotional, but Romano felt that as the older brother he could at least give the appearance of a somewhat stoic man who doesn't cry that easily, especially over such petty matters such as jealousy. He at least, wants to appear like he has it all together.
Shifting over the clothes to the sides, and moving his boxes of various items and canvases of failed art attempts out of his way to move, complaining to himself as he usually does, Romano freed himself of the tiny space. Cleaning up after these little moments of weakness was always a chore, Romano grumbled to himself as he reorganised everything but it has its purposes as he closed his now sorta neat closet.
Romano could hear the celebrations downstairs so all he has to do now is just clean himself up and rejoin the festivities. Where Veneziano will find him to join in on blowing out the candles, for Romano to become embarrassed from the horrible and tone deaf singing of the other nations, cut their birthday cake together and appear and act like he was always there. Par for the course really. The days of the years will come and go with various ups and downs until the next birthday where Romano has to do this all over again. It's part of his cycle that he has become accustomed to.
But then again, life wouldn't be life if it didn't threw a few corkscrews at one of his many attempts to control his life, now would it?