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To be someone is all he could remember wishing for.
To be thought of, sought out— fought for, even. To have something to be proud of, anything of value to boast about, to contribute something instead of being just another mouth to feed.
Bruised knees felt raw underneath the weight of his body, kneeling in front of the cross atop velvet colored carpet. An old rosary swings back and forth below clasped hands, red and blue from irritation as the beads imprint itself into the palm of his hand. A heart heavy with guilt begs for understanding; a sign, an acknowledgment— forgiveness for the aspirations of an unknowing sinner.
Perhaps it is against his purpose to mean something. In the grand scheme of things, maybe his life is meant to uplift those around him; like a stepping stone, always bruised and battered but never memorable in someone else’s story. Maybe it is within his blood to be tossed about and thrown away once he’s served his usefulness. Maybe this is the grand divine plan of it all. To learn humility.
This beast within him scratches through the resignation, destroying all semblance of acceptance as it implants seeds of restlessness and resistance into the core of his very existence.
God’s favorite stepping stool; his favorite ending with no beginning. His favorite loving lamb who was born the runt, who will bite and thrash about but will always return to the embrace of its shepard. Nowhere to go, not that it belonged anywhere to begin with.
Throughout his life, he attempted to make peace with his life of predetermined tragedy, yet it was as if his whole body rejected fate as he would respond violently to his caretaker’s attempt to placate and silence the beast that resides within him. Oppressors that hid under the thick veil of sincerity and genuine love, sugarcoating the memories of a past he was simply too young to remember and refusing to allow him access to a shared homeland. The blazing fire of a warrior was carefully danced around like a candle flame in the wind, Spanish lullabies calming him into a gentle sleep with Austrian orchestras silencing the mind into a near eternal hibernation. Always so careful to not poke the beast, yet prancing around the scene as if the conquest was successful.
Lovino, despite being the eldest and thus more legitimate heir to Rome’s legacy, it would seem that the crown naturally settled upon the brow of his younger brother; the throne heavily endowed with admiration, love, and pure adoration staring him down as if to remind him of how bleakly he has lived. Serving as a tough reminder that no matter what, he must always show humility despite his pride because everyone hates a sore loser who is perpetually in second place.
Yet, even implying that Lovino would be anyone's second option felt too grandiose for someone like him. He does not possess the demure qualities people seem eager to engage with like his brother, dignity instinctually coming before all things despite his best efforts to be kind and sweet so he could be tolerated. But then, following after his brother, he was simply too cowardly to even hold a candle to his grandfather.
Too rebellious, lazy, and smart-mouthed for his Austrian caretaker to tolerate, yet too childish for his Spanish caretaker to take seriously. Looking so similar to his brother that he could barely stand to look at himself, but always finding himself wanting to conform so he could be loved and cared for.
Then, very briefly, he pondered if the love Italy was given was truly love to begin with. Was it love that made people throw themselves into the fray and pamper his brother or was it something more sinister? Did they truly value Italy as a person or was the need to treat his brother well coming from a want to conquer what is beautiful and destroy what is innocent? Was it treating his brother well or denying his brother life skills necessary to live on his own? Is spoiling someone so much that they will live their lives dependent on another, love?
Lovino doesn’t know and it’s not like he would ever be privileged enough to understand anyways. Well, despite his wants to be pampered, there was a certain peace to be found in cleaning and maintenance of the house. He rather enjoyed tasks where he could see the fruits of his labor, where (through so much patience and dedication) he is useful. He likes being needed.
The runt sat silently in his shared home, resting near the kitchen window that gave him the ability to see into the backyard. Before him was a small garden containing a plethora of vegetables and fruits just barely ripe for picking, basking within the warm sunlight that the Italian countryside provided; a huge lake compensating for where the garden ended. It was quiet during the late hours of the morning as his brother had left a couple days before for their capital, seemingly unbothered about the summons cutting into his vacation time. Lovino could care less though, as Italy was useless when it came to domestic matters (which was odd, considering his brother was forced into servitude just like he was) and would allow their home to fall into disrepair if left alone for longer than a day or two. Here, he could escape from the burning twinge of hate that always simmered within his being; in his little hideaway, there is no pressure to be what he is not. There is no pressure to be as mighty as a Spanish Lion or to ponder his usefulness to the Hapsburg Empire. There is no need to compete or to try and prove his worth to those who wouldn’t bat an eye if he were to kneel over dead the next day.
Within the comfortable walls of this moderately sized house is where peace is truly achieved. Lovino could be as much of a runt as God as destined him to be, carefully choosing to stay away from the public eye in favor of tending to his gardens and gawking at his tanned skin as it reminded him of simpler and sweeter times. Preferring a life of mending old clothing and living off of what the earth gifted him compared to the endless pursuit of glory that ached at his bones. Each day was filled with repetition, but he is happy.
Glory was never meant for him and that is okay.