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We are the most unimpassioned ugly people.
Creatures tend to wander off and meet other creatures down the line. Whether to mate or just maintain bonds, there’s strong impassion for it.
Several species, fish being one of many examples, once rejected by their partner don’t loathe and wallow in self pity. They get up and try again with either the same one or a brand new mate.
Nothing stops humans from doing the same.
Though, humans stop themselves from doing the same.
After all, it is their decision. An unimpassioned, ugly, weak creature’s decision.
The television clicked off with those being its final words.
The only source of light was left to die. The room let itself be surrounded in complete darkness.
Romano laid sprawled on the couch, gazing into the dark reflection back at him.
Words from the documentary stuck with him. Something that was about whatever animal let the narrator go rogue and began to criticize humans. On certain days, Romano sees himself as human. A vulnerable, clumsy and foolish mortal. This was one of those days. He doesn’t handle criticism to himself very well, especially when it’s true.
Tired eyes fell to the phone next to him.
9:43 PM.
No call, text or sign of his boyfriend, Prussia. He didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He never does anymore.
There was an antique table lamp on the coffee table at the end of where Romano’s feet rested. It flickered on, but not by his doing.
Warm colored lighting stinged the back of his eyelids. He hadn’t heard the door open.
“You’re back.” Romano fixed a keen gaze back to himself on the television.
Shuffling came from the kitchen. Dropping keys and a bag, “Aren’t I always?”
“Definitely not lately, jerk.”
Romano saw the annoyed expression he received in the corner of his eyes. “I told you not to hang out with them today, didn’t I?”
“Fuck, Romano? I just got home, can you not start this today?”
The albino could’ve walked straight past his boyfriend’s words and into his bedroom. He didn’t. He stood somewhere between the antique lamp and where Romano’s feet end, “You’ve been telling me that for the past 6 months. 6 months, man. They barely knew if I was alive or not!”
“I didn’t know today either.”
“I was gone for 3 hours! Big deal!”
“4 hours and 52 minutes.”
The eyes that were once on the empty screen instantly locked with crimson ones. An expression that used to be so rare is common for Prussia’s face now. What used to be unimaginable is now vivid and graphic. Romano can’t help but feel like he contributed to it.
“You really are just..” A laugh that didn’t quite sound right cut through his own remark, “Is making me distance myself from my friends and delaying plans not good enough for you?”
South Italy’s position on the couch shifted from laid-back to stiff and upright. The soft, sandy glow from the lamp did nothing to hide his disgruntled face. He let his fists ball up on his upper legs.
“Bastard. I wouldn’t have to do that if you would just acknowledge me.” Brown hair turned along with his head in the opposite direction of the other.
There was a brief silence in between the two. Both considering—second guessing their next choice of words carefully. Enough to tilt the tower, but nothing heavy to make it collapse
A sigh, “Romano, cut that shit out. It isn’t cute anymore.”
Hazel eyes widened momentarily before furrowing in on themselves.
“What do you think I’ve been doing since we got together? Listening to your endless rants, watching crappy movies with you, ignoring my close family and friends just to give you all my devoted attention. Is all that not acknowledging you?”
The carefully built tower was beginning to tilt.
Romano’s head whipped to Prussia’s. Accusations strong enough to make anyone gape. He met his eyes for the second time that night. It still wasn’t a comfortable gaze.
“Great way to make me sound like shit.” The words came out harsh. Akin to a spit in the grass. “Congratulations, you just did the bare fucking minimum, jackass.”
Eyes found their way back to the black void of a television. Evading the threat only led to realization when it was staring right back at him in the void.
Words kept spilling out. A broken tap with no plumbers nearby, “All those things you just listed involved me having to fucking beg you like a starving stray dog for it. It’s sickening.”
“It’s always ‘Oh, let me just play this last game’ or, ‘I want to be alone tonight.’”
Folded arms rested atop his chest tightly. He let it shield himself from not only whatever the other might say, but also his own words. Afraid of what he was going to accidentally let slip. He is a weak human, afterall.
Regret of turning off the documentary loomed over in the scrambled mind of his.
“Hell—you don’t even acknowledge me with food, dammit. I’m always the one cooking! Every single fucking night!”
“Because you HATE my cooking, Romano?! If that’s not acknowledging your needs then I don’t fucking know what is?”
The tower continued to tilt dangerously.
“Acknowledging my needs is by doing some shit around here, that’s what.” He should’ve stopped himself before muttering those thoughts aloud.
“What did you say?”
The words weren’t echoed.
“‘Doing some shit..’” Pacing. Prussia was pacing with a hand permanently glued to his head to keep it from falling off.
“Who exactly do you think cleans up your shit?! All those times you cook and continue to mess everything up without a care in the world, I’m always the one who puts it back together!”
Not even figurative towers could beat the laws of physics.
“And don’t act like I don’t see all those bandages and—and razors and other fucking crazy shit in our bathroom. Who do you think has been cleaning that up, huh?”
The voice was loud, but the deafening came from the words,
“How do you expect me to meet your needs if you can’t even meet your own?”
Romano sat in the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, nausea and shame. The three danced around his conscience like a ritual. He let his vision begin to blur from the bottom up.
His head felt too heavy for his body.
“Scheiße, I didn’t..”
It crashed.
The tower crashed. Pieces shattered into tinier pieces, gone beyond the point of fixing. All that was left back were bitter memories and used-to-bes. Nobody wants that.
The tower crashed along with Romano’s passion.
He stood up on wobbly legs, “You’re falling out of love with me, aren’t you.”
South Italy let his gaze drop to Prussia’s shoes that he had forgotten to take off.
He wasn’t asking a question, he made a statement. There was no room for debate the minute it left his chapped lips.
“Romano, seriously, not today.”
“In the beginning, it was never like this. You were just..dammit, what’s the word..” Hazel eyes squinted at the clean laces in thought.
“Romano.”
“Lovebombing, yeah.” He lifted his skull, his eyes, and met Prussia’s for the third time that night. “You were just lovebombing the fucking shit out of me. And I ate it up. Like a fucking idiota.” It was the worst he had ever seen all night.
“Romano, I said not today!”
A drawled out groan, deep within his soul that’s been harbored since the very day he was born was let out at that moment. Calloused fingers pulled down from his hairline, to his eye bags and to his jaw from where he stood.
His fingers never left his face. Behind brown hair and a sorry state lied an almost glad reaction. He didn’t want to figure out what look the other might’ve embodied.
Though,
It didn’t take a genius to see that Prussia was tired.
“Let’s just break up.”
Tired of it all.
“Che cosa—What?”
“I can’t.” A wounded voice,
“I just can’t do this anymore. You make me miserable.”
His head, short white hair that passed as a dirty blonde in the lighting, was still buried in shaky fingertips.
Prussia turned away. It felt permanent.
“N-no, fanculo, you can’t..” South Italy hurriedly stepped out to the long hallway where Prussia dragged his feet to. Nearly knocking over the antique lamp. When he lifted his head back up again, he couldn’t tell which room the albino went into. There was a lot more than he remembered, some more hazy than others.
Romano tried to blink, but it would start to fall.
His hope, his tears.
The thorns around his neck were growing, piercing his Adam's apple with every swallow. His gut pooled with indescribable feelings, worms he’ll call them. Right when he had thought he outgrown it, it always came at the worst time. To haunt him.
It hurts to live right now.
Prussia stepped out of whatever room he was in. Romano couldn’t meet his eyes.
He didn’t say anything but a meek fine with a guilty dip of his head.
It’s been 12 days since that talk.
Romano has never slept better.
Questions from spectating parties float around, they remain unanswered. It’s none of their business.
A jerk of a boyfriend the other was, thoughts of him possibly being worse never step over his internal threshold. Romano doesn’t allow himself to drown in unnecessary pointless emotions. It’ll be a waste of time on a piece of shit like Prussia. Whatever dignity that existed within him is gone. He hopes for the person of the past to live in shit and eat his own shit on the way out.
That’s the bastard in him.
It’s been 12 days since Romano has checked his phone. He doesn’t need to.
With the idea of breaking up, Prussia had made the best decision of his poor excuse of a life.
He couldn’t bring himself to care about one little fault down the road. He has so much more to look forward to. He won’t be at the next meeting anyways.
It’s been 12 days since Romano put down the blade. It’s not gone, but stashed away. The thought had never even crossed his mind once.
His clothes and fingers brush over the tally lines engraved on tanned flesh, it serves as reminders.
He holds his head up high. He feels okay.
His car isn’t broken, nor is his heart. He’s not losing money, nor his mind. They only dated for 2 years, nothing compared to their lifespan.
He’s okay.
It’s been 12 days since Romano has been crying himself to sleep every night.
He doesn’t like to cry. It hurts too much. That same bratty little kid who whines about everything comes out to stay. It’s unfortunate.
A somber scene is on full display.
It’s his bedroom, items are scattered on the floor. From clothes to jewelry to furniture. He comes in every day and tosses something new on the ground just to feel something. No one comes and cleans it.
The twin sized bed is fit only for him. He doesn’t cover himself with the blanket, he feels suffocated enough. The popcorn ceiling is the only thing he needs to start up.
His legs automatically curl in. It’s purpose is to brace himself for whatever negative thoughts he brings up. It never works.
His sniffles already come out broken, it’s hard to breathe. The water from his eyes doesn't stop. It’s never about what he wants, so all he can do is welcome the breaking of the unprofessional dam.
The pang in his chest always hits when he’s deep into his hyperventilation. His quickened heart rate is visible through his loose shirt and the lump in his chest won’t go away any time soon. He chokes on his own mucus.
Between his tear-soaked pillow or his arm, he grips onto the latter, always forgetting about the scars. Cases like these make his curse of immortalization a blessing instead. The heartbeat in his head only worsens when he lets it go in his bedroom. He walks around with a hemorrhaging headache almost.
This cycle is then continued and he remains fine.
The most unimpassioned ugly person. That is, Romano.
At the end of the day, he’s just a thought.
And when he flickers off the light, so do his cries.