Chapter Text
Lovino cannot fucking believe what he's hearing. Ludwig's expression is unreadable as always, but Feliciano is nervously tapping his fingers against the table. Yeah, he should be fucking nervous. He should know already what Lovino is going to say.
“No.”
Ludwig lets out the smallest of sighs, the only indication to Lovino that he acknowledged what he said. Other than that, nothing. It’s as if the bastard doesn’t even care – or better yet, already knew what his response would be. If he did, then he’s definitely smarter than what Lovino took him for.
Feliciano, on the other hand, looks crestfallen. His whole body droops, and his eyes immediately well up with tears. God, he’s always been such a crybaby.
“Lovino, please,” he says, desperation already sinking into his tone. “Ludwig and I have been together for around two years now–”
“Which is part of my issue,” Lovino swiftly interrupts. “That is not enough time.”
“It’s enough when you know you’re with the one!” Feliciano says, voice strong and firm despite his unshed tears, gripping his boyfriend’s – or should he say fiancé’s – hand, on the table right in view of Lovino. Lovino could throw up. “Plenty of couples have gotten engaged after dating for two years, some even fewer!”
“And how often do those couples last?” Lovino asks, and Feliciano stutters to come up with a response. While he does that, Ludwig somehow straightens up even more than he already was.
“Lovino, I have appreciated thus far your protectiveness over your younger brother,” Ludwig starts, oh-so-ever diplomatically, and Lovino wants to punch him in the face for it. “But quite frankly, and I don’t mean any disrespect here, we do not need your permission. Asking for your blessing was something Feli wanted to do out of tradition and respect for you, and knowing how important you are to him, I understood this. But your brother is a grown adult who can make his own decisions.” Then he looks to his brother, and finally, his face softens. “And he has chosen to marry me.”
Lovino nearly sees red. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? “You think I don’t know that, dumbass?” he hisses. “It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s you. You’re twenty-three-years-old and working some random office job. How the hell are you going to provide for my brother?”
Ludwig stiffens while Feliciano sighs. “It’s not about providing for each other, this isn’t the fifties. We want to get married because we love each other and know that we want to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“How the hell would you know that?” Lovino snorts. “You’re twenty-five and have the rest of your life ahead of you. How can you already know you want to spend it with this bastard?”
Feliciano stands up so abruptly his chair nearly clatters to the floor. Ludwig looks surprised by this outburst, while Lovino merely leans back in his chair, smirking up at his brother. Just another example of Ludwig barely knowing anything about his brother, not truly, while Lovino has had his whole life to understand Feliciano Vargas.
Feliciano glares down at his brother. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Lovino,” he says and ooh, he’s switched to Italian now. “I’m not a baby and I’m not an idiot. And you’re the idiot if you really think you see me as an adult, because you really, really don’t. I am very much old enough to know what I want and know who I love, and I know I won’t stand for you continuously insulting my partner who has done nothing but be kind to me and to you despite how you treat him.”
“All I’m saying,” Lovino raises his hands, “is that I think twenty-five is a bit too young to think you know what you want in life already.”
“Jesus Christ, Lovino, you’re only two years older than me!” Feliciano cries. “Stop acting like you have your own life together! News flash: travelling the world changing tires on a car that goes round and round in circles doesn’t mean shit!”
Lovino does sit up slightly at this, because what the fuck? “Oi, Formula One is the pinnacle of motorsports–”
“I don’t fucking care!” Feliciano throws his hands up. “What does working for Ferrari mean if you go home at the end of the day with no friends, no pet, and no partner?!”
And now Lovino jumps to his feet too. “I have friends!”
“Your coworkers you only see and talk to at work don’t count!”
Lovino huffs. There is no way he is letting his baby brother get away with calling him a loner. Because yeah, maybe he is, but what about it?!
“Well, what does that have to do with anything?!” he says. “Yeah, what a surprise, I have a demanding job and don’t have enough time to date or even take care of a pet or another person! So what?”
“My point is you don’t get to dictate what my life should be like just because you think you’re happy with yours.”
“I’m very happy with my life!” Lovino says and he certainly doesn’t sound defensive at all. “Not everyone needs a loving partner to feel fulfilled! Or, is that why you’re choosing to tie yourself down to Ludwig so young? Because you need something – or someone – to make you happy? Is his dick that good? Is the sex so mindblowing you had to move all the way to Berlin to have it everyday?”
Feliciano is practically seething, which is a contrast to his hand still clutching Ludwig’s, like he needs something to be grounded to. Which really, just pisses Lovino off even more.
“Don’t be so crude, Lovino. It was cute when you were a teenager, but it’s immature now.”
And, because he’s petty, Lovino spits out, “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you!” Feliciano switches back to English now, probably because he wanted Ludwig to hear him specifically cursing out his brother. “You’ve always done this, Lovino! You can't stand to see me actually happy and so you make fun of me and my partner and my life because you’re miserable about yours! You’re jealous! You always have been!”
Lovino actually laughs out loud at this because – him? Jealous? Of his brother? He’s about to interrupt to say how ridiculous he is, but Feliciano barrels on.
“You were jealous when I got better grades than you, you were jealous in grade ten when Stella Allegretti asked me out instead of you, you were jealous whenever there was something I had that you couldn’t have. And now here I am with a loving partner and a perfectly happy life and you’re jealous of that too! Like how you were jealous when Nonno gave me more–”
Immediately, Feliciano slaps a hand over his mouth. Time seems to grind to a halt. Even Ludwig closes his eyes, knowing his partner had gone too far. Lovino stares down his brother, daring him.
“When Nonno gave you what, Feliciano?” Lovino says all too coolly. “Go on, say it.”
Feliciano knows he’s already crossed a line, one of the few unspoken lines between them. His hand lowers and he swallows.
“Oh, come on, don’t lose confidence now! You were doing so well!” Lovino mocks. “What were you going to say? I was jealous whenever Nonno gave you more attention instead of me? Whenever he gave you more praise but just told me I needed to catch up?” He gets closer to Feliciano’s face. “Or when he gave you a bigger cut of our inheritance even though I was the one taking care of him in his final days, while you were too busy being a fucking coward?!”
Feliciano had been shrinking in on himself with every word said, and flinches at the last one. Ludwig stands up, placing a hand up between the two brothers like he could actually do something about it. “Okay, I think we both need to take a deep breath–”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lovino snaps, not even taking his eyes off his brother. “Do you think that, maybe, none of that seems particularly fair? That Nonno clearly had a favourite and that was never me?”
Feliciano shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not true–”
“Oh, but you said it yourself! I’m jealous everytime you have something I don’t, remember? So maybe I’m jealous that you got to have a grandfather that actually loved you and didn’t just treat you like the failed backup.”
He’s saying it sarcastically, but really, it hits a little too close to the truth – enough to make Lovino’s throat choke up as he says it. To make matters worse, Feliciano now has tears streaming down his face.
“I didn’t mean it, Lovino, I’m sorry–”
“Fucking save it,” Lovino snaps, turning on his heel. “I’m going out for a walk. Don’t follow me.”
He doesn’t hear anything but the sound of Feliciano’s quiet crying behind him. In the hallway, he nearly bumps into Gilbert, who’s just emerging from his room. “Hey, I heard yelling, what’s–”
“Fuck off,” Lovino says without even looking at him, before slamming the front door so hard it makes the neighbour’s dog start barking.
It’s a perfectly sunny day in Maranello. Lovino, when he woke up, had planned to take a walk, and maybe even take his brother out for gelato while he was visiting. Maybe even show Gilbert the Ferrari museum, because he liked cars too. Of course, Feliciano just had to ruin it by announcing his engagement, because that was apparently the real reason he had come all the way to Maranello with his new fiancé and fiancé’s brother. To ask for his blessing. Not because Feliciano wanted to actually hang out with his brother, who he hadn’t seen in person in over a year, or anything.
Silly him for thinking that.
Lovino sidesteps some tourists as he continues on his walk, letting his feet take him anywhere. Then, what little peace he does have is broken by an all-too familiar voice calling his name from behind.
“Lovino! Lovino, wait, I’m sorry! Can we talk about this?
Lovino speeds up his walking, narrowly missing some tourists along the way. He sneaks a glance over his shoulder and groans when he sees Feliciano and Ludwig following after. Of course. He turns back around and keeps walking as fast as he can. He can feel his throat close up all over again, because shit, he doesn’t want to face his brother so soon after… that. He shouldn’t have fucking said anything, just let Feliciano cut himself off and let them choose to forget he was going to say anything in the first place. But Lovino just had to go and make things worse for himself by spilling all his insecurities, confirming to Feliciano and his stupid fucking fiancé that this whole time, Lovino has been a miserable jealous lonely loser–
“LOVINO, LOOK OUT!”
Lovino realises, too late, what his brother’s terrified scream means. The last thing Lovino hears is a blaring horn and people gasping around him before everything goes dark.
Romano wakes to a pounding headache and a faint pain in his side. Fuck, he hadn’t drunken that much last night, had he?
“Ow,” he utters. He distantly hears a car swerving away, footsteps rapidly approaching, and the familiar cries of his brother.
“LOVINO! Lovino, oh my god, are you okay?”
Romano groans and clenches his eyes shut, waving his hand around in the general direction his brother’s voice is coming from. “Shut up, Feli, your voice is so loud.”
His eyes suddenly shoot open, though, when said brother launches himself at him, sobbing into his neck.
“Oh my god, I thought you died! I thought you died and the last words I would’ve said to you were so, so horrible! I’m so sorry, Lovino, I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Romano says, weirded out and also very concerned. Then all at once, he processes the fact they are outside, humans are staring at them, and also – oh, hell, is that Ludwig? When had he gotten here? “Why are we outside? Why is he here again?”
Feliciano pulls back, arms still loosely around his neck, and sniffles. “What?”
Ludwig crouches down to the two of them. “Feli, why don’t we move Lovino off to the side? And also, maybe, be careful about hugging him. We should check him for injuries.”
“I’m not injured,” Romano says, even as he winces as Feliciano bumps into his torso when he and Ludwig help him up. He may be immortal, but things still hurt, dammit. “Did a car hit me or something?” he asks, once they’re off the road. He doesn’t know how he’s even gotten outside in the first place when the last thing he remembers is passing out in bed after two bottles of wine, but he’ll take things one step at a time.
Ludwig clicks his tongue lightly as Feliciano sniffles again. “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard, then. Lovino, how many fingers am I holding up?”
Romano bypasses the fingers entirely to glare at the German. “Fuck you, bastard, I can see perfectly well, thank you very much.”
Ludwig sighs and drops his hand. “He’s fine.”
“No he’s not!” Feliciano wails, hands fluttering around his head. “He’s bleeding!”
“Oh, am I?” Romano reaches up and feels something wet, and looks down at his hand to find that is, indeed, blood. “Huh. I guess I am. Whatever, it’ll go away soon.”
“Let’s go to the hospital, I can drive,” Ludwig says. Romano gapes at him.
“Did you hit your head? I don’t need that!” He splutters. “Besides, we should just go. There’s already enough people staring.”
“Of course they’re staring, you just got hit by a car!” Feliciano cries. “And the man that hit you just drove off. What a bastard!”
It’s not often his brother swears, so Romano snorts. “It’s fine. Someone probably caught it on camera and the police will find him or whatever.” Because humans were always nosy and filming NPs when they saw them in public, especially if they were tourists not used to the NP of a country they were visiting. And unfortunately, Italy gets a lot of tourists. “But I don’t want to deal with all of that – just let me go home.”
But then Romano looks around at his surroundings and he scratches his head. He zeroes into the prancing horse of Ferrari in the middle of the roundabout and frowns. “We’re in Maranello.”
Feliciano blinks at him. Then says slowly, “Of course we are.”
“Why the fuck are we in Maranello?”
Feliciano makes a whimpering sort of sound. “Ludwig, he’s scaring me.”
“Lovino, I really do think we need to take you to the hospital,” Ludwig says, hands outstretched like he’s trying to calm a scared child. Lovino frowns at this.
“What are you talking about, bastard? I’m fine.” Okay, so apparently he blacked out so hard he and his brother and Ludwig travelled to Maranello without him remembering? Whatever. He’s woken up to worse situations when hungover. “Let’s just go home. You have a place here, right?”
Maranello is up north, but Romano can’t recall at the moment if it’s one of the places his brother has a spare house in, on account of his headache. But Feli is still staring at him with wide, teary eyes.
“Lovino, you have a place here,” he says. Romano’s frown deepens.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I have a place here?”
Feliciano looks like he’s about to cry again, so Ludwig steps in.
“I think you have a concussion. Lovino, please don’t be stubborn, let’s–”
“I don’t have a concussion, Jesus,” Romano groans, rolling his eyes. “I do have a massive headache though. And also, I’m really hungry. Just take me home, or whatever.”
Feliciano and Ludwig give each other one last look, but Ludwig does gesture for him to follow them. Romano huffs. Good riddance.
It’s dark when Lovino opens his eyes, and for a split second, he thinks that maybe he’s died. He then realises he might see his Nonno and he’ll yell at him for being mean to his brother again, so he immediately panics. Then, he realises he is in fact not dead and is simply laying in a very comfortable bed, and relaxes. Then, he remembers a car speeding at him and a loud horn and a screaming Feli and realises he should be at the very least on the side of a road, and panics again.
Maybe he’s in the hospital? But no, this bed is way too comfortable to be hospital grade, and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see he is, in fact, in a bedroom.
More specifically, his bedroom in his apartment in Rome. Which he hasn’t lived in since last year.
He panics again.
Lovino shrieks and scrambles to get off the bed. His feet get tangled in the sheets and he falls to the ground, letting out a small grunt of pain as he lands on his ass. It’s when this pain registers that he realises he doesn’t feel any other pain, despite having been hit by a car. From what he can remember.
But getting hit by a car or not, that doesn’t change the fact that Lovino is in his old apartment in Rome. He gets to his feet, taking in the bedroom. It’s a near-exact replica of his bedroom back when he lived in Rome, with a few items missing here and there and some unfamiliar ones. He even peers through the curtains, and – yeah, definitely Rome.
He scratches his head. Maybe he did get hit by a car, and this is all some sort of coma dream. Or, he’s woken up to find out the last few years was the dream, but god, he hopes that’s not it. He’d worked so fucking hard to get to where he is now as a mechanic for one of the top Formula One teams, he’ll cry if none of that was real–
The door opens and light floods into the room. Lovino blinks as he adjusts to it, and when he does, finds his brother standing in his doorway with a very concerned look in his eyes.
“I heard a scream,” Feliciano says. “Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?”
“Uh…” Lovino stands there stupidly. “Maybe?”
Feliciano makes a sympathetic noise. He turns on the light in his room and goes to sit down on Lovino’s bed, patting the spot next to him. Too confused to say or do literally anything else, Lovino complies.
“What was it?” Feliciano asks. “You can tell me! I promise I won’t judge.” He laughs lightly. His voice is soft, much softer than Lovino remembers it being recently. At least, he hasn’t sounded so soft speaking to him. He’s only ever sounded like that recently when he’s talking with–
And all of a sudden, he remembers the last conversation they had. Feliciano and the bastard telling him they were engaged. Asking for his blessing. Lovino denying it, and the subsequent argument. The argument that led him to leaving the house in the first place, to getting hit by a car.
God, that argument was intense. Usually, their more serious ones (which seemed to steadily increase ever since their Nonno had passed away) ended with one of them crying, not talking to each other for a few days, then eventually pretending like nothing had happened. Because they were staunchly Italian and stubborn in their ways. But this one was… a different level.
Feliciano had dug into his career, his life, his relationship with Nonno. Nevermind that he had cut himself off, Lovino knows he was going to go there. And that was a topic they had decided, unspoken, would be off-limits. Because it brought back too many painful memories; because it reminded them of their argument about Feliciano receiving a much larger cut of inheritance from Nonno. Feliciano had immediately insisted he give the amount that should be Lovino’s to him, Lovino had been too prideful and claimed he didn’t need his pity money, and they went back and forth until they eventually decided to leave it as it was. Because he was eighteen at the time, Feliciano sixteen, and maybe Nonno just thought Feliciano had a better chance at making something better of himself. And maybe he was right. Lovino was, after all, the failed high school dropout of a grandson. What good could he ever do in life?
Perhaps it was from then on that Lovino and his brother’s relationship began to crack, the unaddressed elephant of their inheritance looming over them in every conversation. Or maybe their relationship was fractured to begin with, all the way back to when Lovino was eight and already starting to notice the ways their Nonno treated Feli versus how he treated him.
Still, he had helped his little brother get through the rest of school, had thrown himself into more and more mechanic jobs, and when Feliciano had gotten into one of the top culinary schools in the country, the two decided to combine their inheritance money to move into an apartment together in central Rome to be closer to the school. Lovino had insisted on living on his own (even if deep down he wanted to remain with his brother), but this was the one thing Feliciano put his foot down about – and, admittedly, Lovino probably wouldn’t have been able to afford living by himself.
Which is why it was so important to him when he eventually secured a job in the Scuderia Ferrari F1 team – not just because he always had a distant dream of working in F1, or because Ferrari was the pride of Italy, or even because watching the Ferraris fly by on the TV and sometimes in person was some of the few times he and his Nonno could bond over something together. But because he hadn’t needed any handouts from his Nonno to get to where he was. No, he had worked his ass off, from the age of thirteen when he realised he had a knack for repairing cars, dropped out of school at sixteen to do a mechanic apprenticeship, entered the motorsports world, and worked his way up from there. All to become a Ferrari mechanic at the age of twenty-four.
He has always wondered whether Nonno would be proud of him for that – or would he still be more proud of amazing little Feli, culinary genius, angel to absolutely fucking everyone he meets.
Feliciano had to have known of Nonno’s blatant favouritism. Surely. Although he always insisted that wasn’t the case, the fact he purposefully tiptoed around the topic of their Nonno and of their skewed inheritances said enough to Lovino. And his slip-up in their argument only proved Lovino’s point more. Granted, he knows Feliciano would be wrattled with guilt over his words by now – it was why he had abandoned their usual routine of leaving the other alone after an argument and immediately ran after him to apologise. But now here Feliciano is, looking at him with such kind eyes, no sense of guilt or distress anywhere on his face. And he knows his brother, and knows how much of an awful liar and actor he is, how easily his real emotions show on his face.
Lovino truly has no idea what the fuck is going on.
“Uh…” Lovino says, because he realises he’s stayed quiet for so long and Feliciano’s eyes are turning even more worried. “Why are we in Rome?”
Yeah, sure, that’s the first question he’ll ask. He’ll work up from there.
Feliciano blinks at him. “What do you mean? We live here, silly!” He peers at him closer. “Did you drink too much again last night? I told you to be careful!”
Lovino had certainly not been drinking, because he had driven the approximately forty minutes to and back from Bologna Airport to pick up his stupid brother and his stupid boyfriend and his brother’s boyfriend’s stupid brother. And then was so tired he had immediately passed out when his head hit the pillow. Then, he woke up late, and when he went to the kitchen to eat, found Feliciano and Ludwig sitting at the table like they were planning on giving him bad news. Which they did.
Speaking of, he never actually got to eat breakfast. That must be why he’s so hungry.
“Am I dreaming?” Lovino asks instead. “I think I’m dreaming.”
“You are definitely not dreaming, Romano.” His brother laughs and Lovino stiffens. He must be dreaming, because nobody’s called him that in years.
“Why’d you call me that?” he asks, standing up abruptly.
Feliciano’s eyebrows furrow. “What? Your name?” He pauses, then his eyes widen slightly – and has his brother’s eyes always been that brightly amber? “Is this because of what people are saying? About you not being good enough to be Italy?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Romano, you should know better than to ignore those silly articles. Whether people call you Romano or South Italy, you’re still Italy! We know this.”
He smiles like this is supposed to reassure him. But now Lovino is convinced either he or his brother is having a stroke. Or maybe they both are.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he says. “I just meant– only Nonno called me that. What are you saying? What the fuck are you talking about?” He looks around him again. “And why the fuck am I in our old apartment in Rome?!”
Now Feliciano is starting to look worried too. “Okay, uh…” his hands flutter like he’s not sure whether touching him would calm him down. He doesn’t, so they hover uselessly in the air. “I think I know what’s going on, maybe? But first, let’s calm down, okay?”
“I’m not calming down, tell me what the fuck is going on!”
“Okay.” Maybe-Feliciano raises his hands like he’s trying to show he means no harm. “Can you tell me your name?”
Lovino frowns but decides he has nothing else to lose in this weird stroke-coma-nightmare situation. “Lovino Vargas. Obviously.”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Rome? You know all this, why the fuck are you asking me this?” Lovino is growing increasingly panicked. His brother, meanwhile, looks like he’s beginning to understand.
“What year were you born?”
“1999. Were you the one hit by a car, or was I?”
Maybe-Feliciano suddenly jumps to his feet with a gasp. “Oh my god! You’re not my brother!”
And now Lovino is well and truly past the point of confusion. He blinks at him, and quite frankly, feels a little hurt.
“Jesus, I know we had a bad argument, but that’s a little–”
“No, no, sorry,” Feliciano(???) interrupts, waving his hands. “I meant, I think you’re a different version of my brother. From an alternate universe.”
Lovino is, once again, stunned into silence. He stares at his brother – or, an alternate version of his brother, according to him. It sounds so ridiculous. It sounds like the premise of some stupid movie Gilbert would insist is awesome. But there’s no other explanation except that, maybe, Feliciano is doing an elaborate prank on him as revenge for denying his and Ludwig’s engagement. But Feliciano has never liked pulling pranks and he has never been this good at acting or telling lies for this long.
Lovino drops back onto the bed.
“This is the worst day of my life.”
Not-Feliciano smiles sympathetically and pats his hand.
Okay, fuck, something is definitely wrong. And it has nothing to do with his hangover, because he's drunken much, much more and experienced way less weird shit.
People do stare at them on their walk. But then Ludwig had informed him that was because he still had blood on his forehead and Romano hastily wipes it away. Feliciano and Ludwig walk a little ahead of him, occasionally whispering to each other and then looking over their shoulders at him. Romano merely raises an eyebrow everytime they do so, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what’s going on with the weird situationship (or whatever the fuck it’s called, he’s too old to keep up with these new terms) that’s happening between his brother and Ludwig anymore, and quite frankly, he doesn’t really want to know.
They arrive at his(?) home, where Feliciano tentatively opens the door, still sneaking worried glances over to Romano. He gestures for him to get on with it. They enter the house, and are immediately greeted by–
“Luddy, I saw your message! Lovi got hit by a car?”
God almighty, Gilbert’s here too? And since when did he wear glasses?!
“What are you doing here?” Romano cries, more confused than annoyed by this point.
Gilbert stops from where he had been approaching the three. “Uh, I’m staying here? With Luddy and Feli? After you picked us up last night?” He frowns. “Did you want me to go, or…?”
“I think Lovino hit his head quite hard,” Ludwig says, before Lovino can ask once again what the fuck he’s talking about. “Can you check him over, please? He refuses to go to the hospital.”
“Yes, please help fix my brother, Gilbert!” Feliciano cries, shaking Gilbert’s shoulders. Gilbert gently pries Feli’s hands off him.
“Yes, yes, don’t worry. The awesome me will help! But really, if he's been walking around like this and talking normally, he should be fine.”
“Well, he seems to be quite confused–”
“Of course I’m fucking confused!” Romano snaps at Ludwig. “How and when did we get to Maranello? Why do I have a house here? I think I would remember if I bought a house in the fucking home of Ferrari!”
All three of them look at him with varying levels of concern and confusion. Both Ludwig and Gilbert are looking at him with deep frowns and furrowed eyebrows, while Feli, again, looks like he’s about to burst into tears.
“Shit,” Gilbert says. “Okay, yeah, that is concerning. Lovino, why don’t you take a seat?”
“Fuck you, don’t tell me to sit down.”
Gilbert raises his hands. “Alright. Can you tell me what year it is?”
Romano glares. “Do you think I’m stupid? It’s 2026.”
“What are you thinking?” Ludwig asks his brother.
Gilbert hums in thought. “Without any sort of brain scans or formal questioning, my first thought is retrograde amnesia,. There's no recall of memories before the brain injury, including before he moved here. But again, without a CT scan or even a proper examination, I can’t tell for sure.”
“Please examine my brother, Gilbert!” Feliciano says again. “He’s too stubborn to go to the hospital!”
“Well, we’ll need to at some point, if his memory’s really this scrambled.”
The three are talking about him like he’s not even there. The bastards.
“I think all of you have hit your heads,” Romano says. “You’re all pissing me off. I’m going for a smoke.”
A strange sort of silence then falls onto the three, tense enough that Romano looks up from where he had been patting his pockets for a spare pack. “…What?”
Gilbert breaks the silence, asking slowly, “Since when do you smoke, Lovino?”
Romano frowns, the weird feeling he’s had since he woke up growing stronger. Or maybe it’s just his hangover getting worse. “What are you talking about? I’ve always smoked.”
Feliciano’s lip quivers. “You… you haven’t touched a cigarette since Nonno died of lung cancer. Do you really not remember?”
…Huh?
Romano’s eyes widen, and all at once, memories from last night flash in his mind.
After two bottles of wine, Romano had resorted to drunkenly talking to his Nonno from beyond the grave. As one does. He hadn’t responded back, obviously, but Romano figured he could hear him anyway, considering how often Feli mentions he visits him in his dreams. He grumbled about what the humans had been saying about him and his existence as Italy. About how none of them would ever know what it would be like to be over a thousand years old and what it was like to be a Nation. And eventually, in a whisper like he didn’t want even himself to hear it, had admitted he would want to know what it would be like to be in a world where Nations didn’t exist, where he and his brother and everyone were just normal human beings who didn’t have to live with the weight and burden of being the physical embodiment of your country and people.
Romano suddenly groans loudly, dropping his head into his hands.
Godfucking dammit, Nonno, he thinks, hoping somewhere somehow he’s receiving this message, this is not what I fucking meant!
He can practically hear Rome’s booming laughter. He must think he’s so fucking funny for this.
“Lovino!” Feliciano rushes forward, as does Gilbert, obviously presuming something was wrong again. And many things are wrong. Like when Romano peeks through his fingers and realises this is not Feliciano Vargas, National Personification of Italy, but just Feliciano – a human, worried sick about someone who he obviously believes is his human brother after he’s just been hit by a car. Romano doesn’t know how to process that. “I think you need to sit down. Gilbert, can you help me?”
Gilbert nods, placing a hand on the small of Romano’s back as he and Feliciano lead him to the couch. Romano lets it happen without protest because he’s still in shock and also still cursing out his Nonno in his head. When he sits down, Feliciano sits right beside him, holding his hand. Ludwig spontaneously reappears with a first aid kit, and Gilbert thanks him and proceeds to fuss over him, tilting his head this way and that.
From this up close, Romano can see a clear difference in Gilbert he hadn’t noticed at first: behind his glasses, his eyes are rapidly moving, ever so slightly, from side to side. Like it’s involuntary. The eye colour itself is also lighter, not the vibrant red-violet he’s familiar with. Overall, they more closely resemble the eyes of a human with albinism. Most likely because he is a human.
Jesus Christ.
“Well, I can’t see any wounds,” Gilbert declares, after wiping away the remaining blood on Romano’s forehead and combing through his hair to peer at his head. “You said he was bleeding?”
“Yes, there was a lot of blood,” Ludwig says, frowning. “That’s strange. Should the wound have closed this quickly?”
Gilbert’s fingers gently run through his hair again, carefully feeling his scalp for anything out of the ordinary. Against his will, Romano’s face heats up. He can feel Feliciano’s eyes curiously burning into him.
“Typically, no. But maybe I’m missing something.” Gilbert frowns. “Nevermind, then. Lovi, I’m gonna check your pupils for a concussion, okay?”
Romano just nods wordlessly, still trying to adjust to the fact that this is a human Gilbert with his human brother Ludwig. Why is Gilbert the one doing all this, anyway?
Gilbert holds a pen light thing up to his face. “Just look straight ahead for me, please.” Romano does so, silently marvelling at how professional this Gilbert looks and sounds, and trying not to blink as a bright light flashes across his eyes. Gilbert’s other hand gently holds Romano’s face in such an unfamiliar way that he almost leans into the touch, before mentally cursing himself for even thinking it. He eventually puts the pen light away but still keeps his head tilted slightly up, eyebrows drawn together as he stares into Romano’s eyes. He tries not to gulp.
“Your pupil sizes are normal, but…” He frowns. “Has your eye colour always been that bright?’
Shit.
“Of course they look bright, you just shone the sun in my fucking face,” Romano says, flinching back and diverting his gaze. “Look, all of you, stop worrying about me. I’m fine. I was just… confused.”
The three of them exchange a look. None of them look like they particularly believe him, which Romano can’t exactly blame them for. But right now, his mind is racing, rapidly trying to figure out:
-
How he can get back to his universe
-
Whether he should tell these people he is not the Lovino they know
-
Why he’s so fucking hungry
“…Can we eat something?” He decides to go with the third option for now. He can think of a plan better after some food.
Feliciano gives him one more concerned look before tearing his eyes away with a sigh.
“I’ll make lunch.”
“So… you’re countries.”
“We prefer the term Nations. Or National Personifications. NPs!”
“Right.” Lovino nods like that makes any fucking sense, chewing on the panino his not-brother had thrown together for him. It’s annoyingly good. “And we are the… NPs of Italy?”
“Correct!”
“And I’m the… southern representation, and you’re the northern?”
“Yep! You got it!” This man who is apparently Italy smiles at him. “Wow, human-Romano is clever.”
“Just call me Lovino, please.” Lovino rubs his forehead, ignoring the dig to his counterpart’s intelligence for now. “Are you also called Veneziano, then?”
He nods. Thank god. He doesn’t want to call this man who looks like his brother Italy even in his head. “Like you said, they’re also names our Nonno called us. Veneziano because I was born in Venice, and Romano because–”
“I was born in Rome, yes, Nonno explained this many times.” Lovino waves him off. Then a thought enters his head and he pauses. “Is, uh… your Nonno alive? You said your kind is immortal, right?”
Veneziano’s face falls slightly. “Ah, no. Well, we are immortal, in a way, but there are some limits. Nonno was the Roman Empire, and he died when it fell.”
Nonno being the Roman Empire makes… a lot of sense, actually. But Lovino doesn’t know how to feel about the fact his grandfather dying seemed to be a common event across universes. What was it that Gilbert said after watching that one spider-man movie? Canon event? Whatever.
Veneziano hesitates before asking, like he already knows the answer, “Is… yours alive?”
Lovino shakes his head. “Lung cancer.”
Veneziano sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
Lovino shrugs. “It happened a while ago now.”
“Still. That’s an awful way to go.” Veneziano shakes his head. And yeah, it was. Lovino still vividly hears the scratchy voice of Romeo Vargas, laughing through pained coughs as he knew his life was coming to an end on that hospital bed. In a hospital room that Feliciano hardly visited, because he was always too scared to–
“You know, you’re taking this awfully well,” Veneziano suddenly says. “The last time something like this happened, Matthew – that’s Canada, by the way – said the human-version of his brother freaked out a lot at first. I guess you freaked out too, but not that much, I don’t think. But maybe that was because he woke up alone and you at least live with me!” He giggles. “It’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?”
Lovino gives him a look because none of this is a good thing. But, admittedly, he is glad a version of his brother is here. Even if this man only shares the name and face of his brother, and his actual brother is… pissing him off at the moment.
“Yeah, lucky me,” Lovino says dryly. “Do you have a phone or something? Mine’s not on me, and I want to properly google what exactly you freaks all are.”
“Oh, sure!” Veneziano dips out the living room for a few seconds, then comes back with a phone. “This is yours – well, Romano’s. The password is 1861.”
Lovino types in the password, wondering about the significance of those numbers, before it hits him. “Holy shit.” He groans. “Mine and Feli’s birthday is March 17.”
The anniversary of the fucking unification of Italy. He never forgot that date in history class, on the account of it being his and his brother’s birthdays. And their Nonno was ever the patriotic Italian who celebrated both his grandsons’ birthdays and the anniversary of Italy becoming a unified nation.
Veneziano smiles wistfully like he’s reminiscing on a good memory. Because he most likely is. “That would make sense, then, because that’s when Romano and I celebrate our birthdays too! Even though we were born much, much earlier than that, of course.”
Right. Of course.
“Are you twins in your universe?” Veneziano asks.
“No, which makes it even more annoying – I’m two years older but everyone assumes we’re twins because our birthdays are on the exact same day!” He sighs. “I always thought that was a weird coincidence. Fuck me.”
“Romano is also a little bit older than me. We don’t know by how many years, though.” Veneziano hums thoughtfully. “What year did you say you were born in again?”
Lovino crosses his arms almost self-consciously. “1999.”
Veneziano gasps. “You’re twenty-seven?! Aww, you’re a baby!” He coos, even going so far as to pinch his cheek. Lovino yelps and swats his hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch me, and no I’m not, I’m a grown ass man!” But he supposes twenty-seven is young especially to someone who has apparently been around for centuries and– hang on. The unification happened in the late nineteenth century, but he said he was around for longer than that, so that means… “How old are you?” Lovino asks, almost too scared to know the answer.
Veneziano smiles sheepishly, like he knows what Lovino’s reaction is going to be. “Well, for some of us Nations, it’s hard to know when exactly we were born. But we know we were there for the fall of the Roman Empire, which happened around, uh… 476.”
Lovino’s eyes nearly bug out his head. “You’re 1,550 years old?”
“Wow, that was some impressive quick maths!” Veneziano says. “But if we go with that exact year, then yes. But again, we don’t know for sure. It’s something like that.”
“Something like that,” Lovino echoes, like being born in a year that has only three digits isn’t fucking crazy. He drops his head in his hands, elbows digging into his legs, as a strangled sort of noise escapes his throat.
“Oh, are you okay?” Veneziano asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
“I got into one of the biggest arguments of my life with my brother, before being hit by a car and getting sent into an alternate universe where there are walking immortal countries, and my little brother is over a thousand fucking years old. What the fuck do you think?”
“…You look great for being hit by a car?”
Lovino groans into his hands. He’s so fucking screwed.
“Please don’t be too sad, Lovino!” Veneziano says. “This is strange for me, too. I’m not used to being the older brother!”
“How horrible for you,” Lovino deadpans. “Look, you do know a way for me to get back home, right?”
“Oh, yes, of course, of course!” Veneziano is quick to reassure. “Well, I mean, I don’t know how to. But I do know someone who does! I’ll give him a call, okay? You just make yourself at home! Because it technically is, or was, but– okay, I’ll just go.” And then he pats Lovino’s head, who’s still in too much shock to even shove him off, before his brother – well, this weird immortal alternate version of his brother – goes off to make said call.
Once he sort of recovers (and finishes his panino, which, again, so good. Of course the personification of Italy is good at cooking. Or maybe all Felicianos are), Lovino unlocks his alternate-self’s one. Before actually searching anything up, he snoops through his phone, because he’s a nosy bastard. Most of Romano’s (who he’s decided to refer to as for his own sake) messages are between him and his brother, but when he scrolls through them, he only finds grocery shopping lists and the occasional discussion and complaints of political things Lovino doesn’t understand. The next most frequent messager is Gilbert (which is saying something because his last message was weeks ago), because of course he's in this universe too. Is he Germany? Most of Gilbert’s messages are in German, which Lovino can’t read, but apparently Romano can because he replies back in Italian. Weird.
There’s a few other conversations with some names he recognises (apparently his Spanish cousin Antonio is Spain, which checks out) and others he’s not as familiar with (some dude named Alfred Jones, who seems kinda annoying), but the sparse messages mainly seem to be work-related. It’s clear his brother and just barely Gilbert are the main ones he talks to.
A voice that sounds awfully like Feliciano’s echoes about how he even in another universe he’s a loner. He shoves that voice away.
He looks through his emails but predictably, they’re stale and to various politicians and other Nations. Funnily enough, though, there’s a few emails sent to the prime minister and a few other politicians that’s riddled with swear words and even a few insults. Lovino snorts. He supposes being the literal Nation exempts you from having to be polite and respectful to politicians you don’t like.
Then, he switches to safari, where the first thing he types in is np italy. Dozens of historical websites and articles pop up. Some are about Veneziano. Actually, the majority of them are about Veneziano. He scrolls until he finds one with his name in the title, though it makes him frown deeply. Still, he clicks on it.
The Real Southern Question: Do We Need Lovino Vargas?
Ever since the dawn of civilisation, humanity has known of the existence of National Personifications (NPs). There is one for every nation on earth, and they have lived for as long as a cultural identity group has lived. Italy, however, is one of the few countries that still has two separate NPs to represent a single Nation. And I, like many across the years, have wondered: why?
NPs obviously cannot choose whether or not they exist. And one could argue that the fact Northern and Southern Italians have such distinct cultures means it makes sense there are still two NPs, despite having unified over a century ago. But in regards to official settings, I raise the point that having two NPs, who are often at odds with one another anyway, only overcomplicates matters. Especially when the region of one NP is still significantly economically behind to its northern counterpart.
So I ask the main question of this article: is Lovino Vargas, NP of Southern Italy, actually needed to represent Italy in any official geopolitical capacity? Is he needed, at all?
He exits the article after that, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He doesn’t live in a bubble – he’s very much aware of the things people say about Southern Italians. The off-handed comments and jokes, with some borderline offensive enough that Nonno, who was born in Rome, would get mad. Lovino himself has no strict affiliation as either Northern or Southern and so never paid much mind to these stereotypes. But this article, and several others that apparently all discussed similar things thing, have him feeling pissed off on Romano’s behalf. Isn’t he Italy as much as Veneziano is? Who the fuck are these people to say otherwise?
If Lovino thinks for more than two seconds, he’ll recognise how Romano seemingly not measuring up to Veneziano in the eyes of their citizens parallels with how he always felt he never measured up to Feliciano in the eyes of their Nonno. But he doesn’t want to think about all that, so he abandons that train of thought and decides to do a deep dive on his wikipedia page instead.
Lovino eyes the photo they’ve chosen for him, and it’s so fucking weird, because that’s him. But not really. His eyes are a stranger shade of green, in a way that’s a little bit too bright. And he’s wearing a suit. But that is definitely him. He’s even frowning in the photo too.
Lovino Vargas, also known as Romano, is one of two National Personifications of Italy. Before the unification of Italy, he represented the southern regions, and is still sometimes referred to as such to differentiate him from his brother, Feliciano Vargas, who represented the northern regions. While he and his brother both represent Italy as a whole in official settings, the two appear to be more attuned to their respective regions and the people in them[1]. His exact birth date is unknown, but it is widely accepted he was born circa 476 AD, aligning with the year the Roman Empire fell…
Lovino skims through a bit more of the page but he only has more questions, the same ones that have been rattling in his head ever since Veneziano told him who they were in this universe. Why would Lovino be a representation of Italy? He likes being Italian, of course he does, but there are plenty of other people who are surely more worthy and more patriotic than him. And he’s apparently the southern representation too? Why him? He was born in and grew up in Rome, sure, but that’s not explicitly the south of Italy. Why did the universe decide that he, Lovino Vargas, should be one of the National Personifications of Italy? Alongside his brother?
Now Feli, he can kind of understand. It’s Feliciano – Nonno’s favourite, beloved by everyone, top of his classes in culinary school. Can make every Italian dish blindfolded and cries listening to people sing the national anthem. He would be a good representation of Italy.
Out of curiosity, he clicks on the link of his brother’s name to send him to his wikipedia page. He scrolls past the first part, seeing that it’s similar to the intro section of his own one, suddenly stopping when he recognises a familiar name.
Vargas has been seen on several private outings with Ludwig Beilschmidt (NP, Germany). When questioned on the nature of these outings, both Vargas and Beilschmidt insisted they were entirely platonic[14]. While it has been theorised by many that the two are in a romantic relationship, both Italian and German governments have denied to comment[15]. Some historians do believe there is some evidence throughout history that hints to this being true to an extent, including passages from old diary entries by Gilbert Beilschmidt (NP, Prussia) that many suspect are about his brother pursuing someone that matches the description of Vargas[16]. When Vargas’ brother Lovino was asked to comment on these rumours, he just laughed[17].
Huh. Interesting.
So Ludwig is the representation of Germany. And Gilbert’s the NP of another place too, though one he doesn’t recognise. After clicking on Gilbert’s link, he discovers he’s actually the representation of a country that no longer exists, but no one’s quite sure how he’s still around. Lovino snorts at that – Gilbert would stubbornly stay alive to everyone’s confusion.
When Veneziano comes back, Lovino immediately asks him, “Are you and Ludwig dating in this universe too?”
Veneziano freezes, and he stumbles over his words to answer. Very interesting. “Oh, um, well. It’s, uh… complicated?”
Lovino frowns. “What, can you Nations not date? Does it have weird political implications?”
“Well, no – I mean, yes, we can date,” Veneziano explains, fiddling with his fingers. “And most people are aware that what we do as NPs doesn’t affect the country and the people and so on. It’s just that the situation between me and Ludwig, specifically, is– uh…”
Lovino finds himself smirking. “Complicated?”
Veneziano huffs out a small laugh. “Very, yes. Just a lot of history there, you know?”
Lovino is not sure if he means history as countries or personal history, so he just nods. He’ll take it as a positive, anyway, that they’re not together in this universe. Or that they’re in whatever these Nations’ equivalent of a situationship was.
“Did you say ‘too’?” Veneziano asks. Lovino wonders what he’s talking about, before he remembers with an eye roll.
“Oh, yeah. My brother and his Ludwig are definitely dating.” Lovino’s mood darkens. “Actually, they’re engaged now. I just found out today.”
“…Oh,” Veneziano says. A certain look crosses his face, one Lovino doesn’t recognise. Which makes him feel weird, because he always knows what emotion is on his brother’s face – but this isn’t really his brother, is it? “That’s… nice. Good for them.”
His smile is a little strained. Lovino narrows his eyes. Hmm.
“Speaking of your brother,” Veneziano says hurriedly, not-so-discretely moving on from the previous subject, “there was something you mentioned that I’m curious about.”
Lovino raises an eyebrow. He’s said a lot of things since arriving in this fucked up universe. “Yeah?”
“…You got into a really big argument with him?”
“Ah.” Lovino swallows. “That.” He drums his fingers across his leg, trying not to feel intimidated by the curious too-bright eyes of his not-brother. “Don’t worry about that. Just a stupid brother argument.”
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Veneziano says, but he can actually read his discomfort and drops the topic. “You also said this was your old apartment in Rome. You don’t live there anymore? With the human-me?”
Lovino shakes his head. “We moved here together because Feli was doing culinary school, and ended up living together for a few more years after he finished. Then Feli moved to Berlin about a year ago for… well, you know.” He shrugs, figuring Veneziano can fill in the blanks. “And so I moved to Maranello to be closer to work.”
Veneziano nods slowly.
“Right. That makes sense. What do you do for work that’s in Maranello?”
Lovino finds himself puffing up slightly with pride, the same way he always does when he gets to talk about his job. “I’m a mechanic for Ferrari’s Formula One team.”
He gets the reaction he expects, and often does get when he’s speaking to an Italian, when Veneziano’s eyes widen and he gasps with excitement. “Oh my god! No way!” He grasps Lovino’s shoulder in his excitement and starts shaking it. “I can’t believe it. My little human brother – a Ferrari mechanic! Does that mean you do all the pit stops?”
Lovino nods with a proud smile, and maybe even a little embarrassed by such intense praise. “Every race weekend.”
Veneziano makes another excited noise, shaking him some more, which – okay, that’s starting to hurt now. “So cool! Oh, just wait till Romano hears this! He loves F1 – we both do, obviously, but him especially. You must be very busy then, travelling all over the world!”
“It’s definitely a lot,” Lovino agrees. “But I’m doing what I’ve loved to do ever since I was a teen, for a team that the whole of Italy loves. It’s fucking amazing.”
“But isn’t it hard? You must be away from home a lot! And away from a partner, if you have one…?”
Lovino suspects that was just a very unsubtle segue into asking about his dating life. He rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t have a partner. Like you said, it gets busy. I don’t have time for meeting anyone new.” Again, the memories of his and his brother’s argument (how was that only a few hours ago?) echoes in his head.
“Really? There’s no one?”
For a split second, he thinks of white hair and pale pink-purple eyes. Against his will, Lovino feels his face flush. He shakes his head vehemently. If Veneziano had noticed anything, he doesn’t comment on it.
“Aw, okay. But aren’t you away from your brother a lot, too?”
Lovino shrugs. “Well, Feliciano moved away to Berlin. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
There’s something in Veneziano’s eyes. Lovino can recognise the emotion this time – it’s pity. He pointedly clears his throat. “So, what was the call you had? Can I go back to my universe or not?”
Veneziano blinks. “Oh! Right.” He lightly slaps his forehead, chuckling to himself for forgetting. “Well, good news! Arthur – that’s England – can definitely send you back home.”
“…What’s the bad news?”
“We have to travel to London.” Lovino groans, and Veneziano laughs like he was expecting that. “Don’t worry! Once you get over the miserable weather it’s not too bad! Kinda. It’ll be fun!” Veneziano then rattles on about booking the tickets and how he prefers the window seat but he’ll let Lovino have it if he wants, and soon, Lovino is ushered to his room to change and pack. Because he’s going to go on a trip with a weird thousand-year-old version of his little brother.
And Feliciano said he has no life.
Lunch is a relatively quiet affair. Mostly because Romano absolutely gorges himself on the (really good) panino Feliciano had made for him, while the rest of the humans watch on with vague concern. In hindsight, everything he’s said since accidentally wishing himself into this universe (thanks again, Nonno), had been quite concerning. He would need to be more careful from now on.
Because, really, what else can he do? It doesn’t seem like Nations exist at all in this universe. After finally managing to convince them not to take him to the hospital because he does not have any permanent brain damage or memory loss, suddenly talking about how he’s one of the physical embodiments of Italy from another universe would probably get him institutionalised. So that leaves him with pretending to be a human – and more specifically, human Lovino Vargas – until he can figure out a way to get back to his universe.
He briefly considers maybe just begging for Nonno to send him back, but figures he’s probably too busy laughing his ass off about the whole situation, the bastard. And then he suddenly remembers, after one too many drinks post-UN meeting, Alfred had told anyone who would listen about alternate universes and human-selves or something – Alfred and Matthew and Arthur and Francis kept talking over each other trying to tell their side of the story, so Romano gave up trying to understand – so he hopes that if his human self has been dropped over in his universe, his brother will realise something is wrong and go to Arthur, and they can switch back. And then Romano realises this plan relies entirely on whether Veneziano had also been listening to the story and can recognise what to do. He tries not to sigh.
So, after all that careful consideration, his plan thus far is: to sit here and fucking wait.
Feliciano finishes his own lunch and clears his throat. “Are you feeling any better, Lovino?”
Romano hums around his last bite, before swallowing and nodding. “Oh, yeah. Much better. I think I was just hungry. And, you know, I hit my head, so…”
Is he doing a good job? He doesn’t think he's doing a good job. Fuck. He needs to find this human self’s phone or something and figure out as many facts as he can about this guy, before one of them asks him a question he can’t–
“What’s the last thing you remember, Lovino?”
Shit. Why couldn’t they just leave this alone?!
Gilbert’s the one who asked this, who to be fair, is probably just extremely concerned about the potential brain damage of his… friend? Whatever they were in this universe. Gilbert, back in his world, is at most his brother’s friend’s brother. Other times, he’s someone to sleep with when they’re both bored. Oh god, he hopes they’re not together together in this universe – that might make things awkward.
Romano suspects this human Gilbert must work in the medical field of some sort, based off his practised ease of checking for a concussion and medical knowledge – but he holds back from asking, because that’s most definitely something his human self should already know. He also holds back on laughing at the idea of Gilbert being a doctor or a nurse.
Romano just decides to keep things vague. “I just remember going to sleep last night. That’s it.”
Gilbert nods slowly, still not looking entirely convinced. Well, he tried.
“So you don’t remember our conversation this morning?” Feliciano asks, something akin to… hope in his eyes? Romano is stumped for a moment, not knowing what to say. But if he still supposedly has memory loss, they might legitimately send him to the hospital, and he doesn’t know what the doctors and tests and scans will find in a body that is not technically human.
“No, I do remember,” Romano says slowly. Feliciano winces before sighing. Great, now he probably has to figure out what the fuck they talked about.
“But then why were you confused about having a home here in Maranello?” Ludwig asks. “And about Gilbert and I being here? Do you not remember picking us and Feli up last night?”
Romano just manages to refrain from glaring at him. Instead, he winces exaggeratedly and groans, clutching at his head. It gets the desired effect, because Feliciano makes a pitying sound and reaches out to grasp the hand in his hair.
“Ludwig, I think all the questions are hurting his head,” Feliciano suggests. “Gilbert said he doesn’t have a concussion, but maybe the car still hit his head hard enough that it confused him for a bit.”
Ludwig immediately looks guilty. “Ah, I apologise, Lovino. We are just worried. Are you really sure you don’t want to go to the hospital, if your head is still hurting?”
“I’ll just take some advil,” Romano grits out. Why is Germany still giving him fucking grief, even in a different universe?
“The brain is a confusing thing,” Gilbert muses out loud. “There’s still so much we don’t understand about it, especially around memory. You seem to be recalling things again now, but if there’s any significant gaps in your memory that are still there in the next few hours, then we’ll take you to the hospital – and that’s final. Does that sound alright, Lovino?” He gives Romano a smile – a gentle one, but still firm enough to show there is no room for argument against this. It is so unlike the harsh smirk almost always seen on the Gilbert of his universe. Romano, knowing he has no other choice, just nods.
God, Veneziano better figure out a way to sort this out in the next few hours. Maybe if he takes a nap, things will speed by. Or, better yet, Nonno will take pity on him and switch him back while he’s asleep so he can wake up back in his own world.
Fat fucking chance of that.
“Does anyone know where my phone is?” he asks instead. Might as well learn more about who Human Lovino Vargas is to pass the time by.
“Oh, right.” Feliciano reaches into his pocket. “You left it earlier before you… well, you ran out.”
Romano hums in vague acknowledgement, not questioning too much about why his human self had ran out in the first place. But when Feliciano hands him the phone, he spots it.
A glistening ring on Feliciano’s left hand.
Romano freezes, eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, he quickly snatches the phone, lest anyone question him on his weird behaviour again.
He can’t react to it, because if Feliciano’s engaged, that’s something his human-self should definitely know. But who the hell is he engaged– ah, who is he kidding, he knows damn well who a human-Feli would be engaged to. Especially considering how this human-Ludwig has basically refused to leave Feliciano’s side this entire time.
“Actually, Lovino,” Feliciano says, while Romano attempts to unlock human-Lovino’s phone. 1861 obviously doesn’t work, so he takes a gamble and tries 1703, and nearly sighs in relief. Good thing their birthdays are the same. “Do you think we can talk? You know, about… earlier?”
Romano stiffens. Shit. He doesn’t know anything about this Lovino, other than the fact he lives in Maranello, and now Feliciano wants to continue a discussion Romano has quite literally no memory of. Because he’s not this Feliciano’s brother.
But judging by Feliciano’s sad eyes, it must have been a serious topic. Possibly big enough that, for whatever reason, his human-self had ran out the house without his phone and let himself get hit by a car.
Or maybe human-him was just fucking stupid. Who knows.
“Um, I’m kinda tired,” he says. Yes, that should work. “You know, I just got hit by a car and my head still hurts, so… I might just take a nap.”
Feliciano’s face drops and he starts to nod, but Gilbert, the all-knowing medical fucking professional apparently, speaks up.
“Ah, that might not be the best idea. While you don’t seem to have a concussion, I would be more assured knowing you’re awake and alert so I can best monitor any changes in symptoms.”
Romano glares at him. “What are you, my fucking doctor?”
“No, but I am a doctor,” Gilbert counteracts, and that answers his question. “Just humour me, okay? If everything turns out alright by tomorrow, I’ll make it up to you.” He then gives him a smirk that’s a lot more reminiscent of the Gilbert he knows. “How about gelato? My treat.”
The tone in his words make Romano thinks there’s something else there. Fuck, maybe they are together in this universe. Or, he’s still just a massive fucking flirt.
Either way, he has to respond appropriately. Or however he thinks human-him might respond, which he’s starting to think is just exactly like himself. “I’m holding you to that, bastard.”
Gilbert’s grin widens. Feliciano’s gaze flickers back and forth between the two, and – oh yeah, he still has to respond to Feliciano.
“I’ll shower, first,” he says, and some hope seems to enter Feliciano’s eyes. “Because I feel gross. After being hit by a car.”
Feliciano nods his head aggressively. “Yes, yes, of course! Take your time.”
And take his time he will.
After waving off another one of Gilbert’s warnings of being careful not to make the shower too hot so he doesn’t get dizzy and his headache doesn’t get worse or whatever, Romano makes a speedline to where he thinks his bedroom is. He gets it wrong a few times, thankfully being out of sight from everyone else, before finally entering what looks like his room. And good, it has a bathroom connected to it. He turns the shower on, in case they come past and hear it not running, and then sits down on the closed toilet to immediately start scrolling through his human-self’s phone.
Firstly, he checks his messages. The most recent one is, predictably, Feliciano, telling him they’ve arrived. But when Romano scrolls up, he finds the messages getting more and more sparse – it seems there was an increase in conversation leading up to him picking Feli up from the airport, just of arrival times and wishes of safe travel, until there’s a sudden gap and messages come in once or twice a month, if at all.
Romano frowns. Are he and his brother not close here? They must not be, at least physically, if Lovino had to pick him up from the airport. Does he live in Germany with Ludwig? He probably does. Ugh.
He looks through other recent contacts – he had been scared to click on the next most recent messager, Gilbert, scared of what he would discover, only to find messages were also sparse between them. Probably a little more common than with Feliciano, but after a quick scroll, it still doesn’t seem like conversations two people in a relationship would have. Romano tries not to wonder why he doesn’t feel as relieved as he should be at realising that, when a message exchange makes him pause.
Gilbert
24/5/2026, 11:50 pm
Nice pit stop😂
Oh fuck off, did you watch the race?
Aren’t you still working
Of course I did! I caught a little bit on my break
One of the nurses likes f1 so she put it on
Hope you told her your brother’s boyfriend’s brother is a ferrari mechanic
I didn’t, and I’m glad
Because said ferrari mechanic just cost his driver 5 seconds😂
Fuck off
It’s not my fault the wheel gun stopped fucking working
Go back to saving lives or whatever
Yes sir🫡
Go back to making sure your driver is p10
🖕
So this Lovino’s a mechanic for Ferrari’s F1 team?
…That’s pretty fucking cool, actually.
He scrolls through the other contacts, but just finds unfamiliar names. The contents of those messages make him think they’re his fellow mechanics, though. He’s about to give up in finding any new information in his messages (because, really, this guy doesn’t talk to many people outside of work), until he spots one more familiar name, who’s last message is from the previous year.
Antonio
19/4/2025, 3:43 pm
Feli is moving in with his german boyfriend???
A little fast, no? How long have they been together?
Oh my god fucking tell me about it
It’s only been like 4 months
And they've only known each other for a total of 6 months!!!
Hmm interesting
But you know, the heart wants what the heart wants
Don’t you fucking start now too
He keeps spouting bullshit about how he knows the german bastard’s the one
The fuck does he know about that
He’s only 24
You became a ferrari mechanic at 24
And????
And that meant it was old enough for you to start travelling around the world. Maybe it’s time for Feli to travel to Germany and start a new life there!
Who’s fucking side are you on
The side of love!
Oh fuck off
Are you gonna keep living in Rome?
Well there’s no point staying here anymore is there
I only stayed here because I thought Feli wanted to keep living together
But now he’s fucking leaving anyway
Well, he’s grown up Lovi. He wants to move in with his boyfriend
Where will you go?
There’s always a place for you here in Spain!
Hell no
Probably just Maranello. It’ll be more convenient with the factory there anyway
Please don’t bury yourself too much into work Lovi!!!
It’s important to have a healthy work-life balance!!
Fuck off Toni you’re not my dad
I can’t worry about my little cousin?
No
Okay fair enough. Hope the moving all goes well!!
And please, be nicer to your brother. He seems to be really happy with Ludwig!
Yeah that’s the issue isn’t it
What do you mean?
And then that’s it. Romano frowns. He’s starting to maybe see just why this Feliciano and Lovino aren’t that close, though he still feels like he’s missing some vital context.
Also, Antonio’s apparently his cousin here. Ugh.
After stalking through the phone more doesn’t give any other additional information (His emails are all work-related and random subscriptions he’s signed up to, and the few posts he has on social media are just sightseeing photos in whatever country he’s in for a Formula One race – which are, admittedly, quite cool), he gives up and decides to hop in the shower anyway. He wasn’t necessarily lying, he does feel gross after being hit by a car. While he quickly freshens up, he makes a brief mental list of everything he’s learned about this universe thus far:
-
Lovino is a Ferrari mechanic who’s been living in Maranello for the past year or so
-
The closest person he has to a friend seems to be Gilbert, and even then they don’t talk much
-
Feliciano and Ludwig have been dating over the last two years or so, and at some point, got engaged
-
Lovino and Feliciano don’t seem to get along – possibly because of Ludwig or other reasons
…Right, so, not much. Other than the conclusion that, just maybe, his human-self is a bit of a loner.
Well, some things never change.
He gets out the shower, changes, and sets out to remeet his not-brother. He walks past Ludwig and Gilbert in the kitchen, talking amongst themselves in German. They both nod in acknowledgement, Gilbert giving him a brief smile.
“How do you feel now, Lovino?” Gilbert asks.
Romano shrugs. “Better.”
Gilbert nods. “That’s good. Again, let me know if anything changes.”
Romano nods too, and the German brothers resume their conversation. Clearly, this Lovino doesn’t understand German, because they talk freely and seemingly without worry of him overhearing them. So, because he’s a nosy bastard, he lingers in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and listens in.
“And he was mad? Not just upset, but mad?” Gilbert asks.
“Very,” Ludwig says with a sigh. “I figured he would be but this was… really bad.”
“Was he mad you didn’t ask him for his blessing in the first place to propose or what?”
“I don’t think it was even that. He was just outright against the idea of us being married in general.”
“Well, you figured this was a possibility.”
Ludwig frowns. “Yes, but I assumed he would be at the very least happy for his brother…”
“And I assume Feli was upset about this too.”
“Yes. It spiralled into another one of their arguments. Feli accused him of being jealous, and then he…” Ludwig winces. “Feli mentioned their grandfather. I think he was about to bring up the inheritance.”
Gilbert winces too. “Ouch. Jesus, Feli. That’s not like him.”
“I think it was just the heat of the moment.” Ludwig is quick to jump to his fiancé’s defence, because of course he is. “He immediately regretted it and tried to apologise, but Lovino ran out, and… here we are.”
“Here we are.” Gilbert finally notices Romano standing by the sink. “You good there, Lovi?”
Romano startles, nearly spilling his way-too full glass of water. “Yeah, yeah, just… really thirsty all of a sudden.” He chugs down the water and dips out of the kitchen before they can question him any further.
For once, Romano is very glad that he’s learned enough German over the years. Because he’s gained some new and very important information: Lovino was only just told about Feliciano and Ludwig’s engagement today, Lovino didn’t take it well, he and Feliciano had an argument, and whatever it was that Feliciano said made Lovino leave the house. And that is probably what Feliciano currently wants to discuss.
Inheritance… Feliciano mentioned their Nonno had died of lung cancer here. Did their Nonno here not give Lovino any, or that much compared to Feliciano…? Is that why their relationship is so strained?
His Nonno, the Roman Empire, was a proud man and proud grandfather to his grandsons. He must’ve known his time was nearing its end when he found two new young Nations in his lands – but still he cared for them, carried them on both of his shoulders, showed them how this would one day be theirs. Romano doesn’t remember enough to know whether Nonno had a favourite per say – but he does know he spent perhaps a little longer with Veneziano on painting and drawing and the arts. But that was fine, because he taught Romano how to fight and to always stand his ground and not let anyone give him shit. Despite the situation he’s currently placed him in, Romano loves his grandfather, and he knows his grandfather loved him.
Perhaps that’s not strictly the case in this universe, though.
He finds Feliciano out on the balcony. He slides the glass door behind him and joins him at the railing, looking over the streets of Maranello.
For a few seconds, they stand there side by side in silence. Romano is used to a comfortable silence with his brother, mainly when they’re both in the zone while cooking or both have documents and emails to write up, or simply when they want to relax together. But this silence feels stifling. Romano can hardly imagine a universe where he and his brother can have arguments but don’t make up in some way, and yet, here he is.
“…It’s a pretty city, isn’t it?” Feliciano eventually says. “I can see why you moved here.”
Romano clears his throat. “Well, I moved here for work, so…”
“How is that by the way? I know it’s the summer break, but the car was looking good before.”
“Oh, yeah.” Romano nods, because he did thankfully do a quick google search on how Ferrari was doing this year just in case anyone asked. And also because he was curious. He ended up finding out that Ferrari had won a championship last year and also three years ago, which just pissed him off because why couldn’t that happen in his universe too?! “It’s good. But we’ll just have to see how it goes in the second half, you know?”
Feliciano nods. “Of course, of course.” He taps his fingers against the railing, looking like he’s searching for the words to say. “Look, I’m… sorry. About what I said earlier, with your job. I know how hard you worked to get there, and you should be proud of it! I shouldn’t have insulted it.”
Oh. He had insulted this Lovino’s career, too? That’s even more context to their earlier argument, then. Romano doesn’t know how he should feel about that, or rather how Lovino had felt about it, so he just nods to acknowledge the apology.
“Like, maybe I still do think you put too much time into your work and don’t leave enough time for friends or family or a potential partner,” Feliciano rattles on, and wow, he can see why there’s tension between these brothers. “But perhaps I should’ve worded it nicer.”
Romano snorts. “Yes, maybe you should’ve.” He scratches at his neck, suddenly feeling awkward for having this somewhat-brotherly-reconciliation with someone who doesn’t even realise he’s not talking to his actual brother. “Look, Feli–”
He hadn’t planned what he was going to say, and he’ll never know now what he could’ve said. Because Feliciano abruptly grabs his hand, bringing it closer to him and squinting at his arm. Romano yelps.
“What the fuck?” he says, trying to snatch his arm back, but there’s something in Feliciano’s eyes that make him halt. “The fuck are you looking at?”
“…Your scar,” Feliciano says.
“What scar?” Romano realises his mistake as soon as he says it, mentally kicking himself as Feliciano’s eyes snap up to him.
“The scar you got when we were kids. We were racing each other on our bikes, you hit a rock, fell and broke your arm. You had to get surgery, and you cried and cried for days. You’ve always had a scar from the surgery here.” He points along his forearm, that is decidedly scarless. “So, where is it?”
Shit. Shit, fuck.
“I, uh… covered it up?” Romano attempts weakly. Feliciano rubs at where the scar should be, and obviously, the scar doesn’t show up again. Because Romano doesn’t get scars – not unless it’s under very specific circumstances and is related to him as a Nation. It’s why his wound healed up almost immediately after being hit by a car.
Feliciano’s eyes then flicker upwards. “You definitely had a wound from where you hit your head earlier, but there’s nothing there now.” Then his gaze drops back down to peer into his eyes – his perfectly human brown eyes into Romano’s abnormally green ones. “And Gilbert was right – your eyes are brighter.” He tilts his head. Romano resists the urge to gulp. “…You’re not my brother, are you?”
…Fuck.
Well, he had a good run.