A/N: This took ages. I have to make an enormous apology to the requester of this story, because it turned out much, much longer than I had expected, and it's also a lot more drama and angst than I'd planned. This plot just picked me up and ran with me, it caused me quite some trouble and struggling, but in the end I am satisfied with it. Eventually there will be somewhat of an epilogue to make up for missing fluff, romance and happiness, put up here as a second chapter. I'll just go over there and faint now. Thanks for the request, please enjoy! :Meresta
Summary: How was it possible to sleep this close, yet be so far apart.
Rating: T
Warnings: Malexmale, brotherxbrother, use of alcohol.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Losing, finding, and going home.

It wasn't a new feeling, this constant sting in his heart. He should have gotten used to it by now, and maybe he had, but it didn't stop the hurt. Ignoring it wouldn't change anything either, he had tried. It seemed as if nothing could detach it from him, no way of thought, no attitude, no smile.

Sure, he was tough. He had to be tough, if he wanted to survive. He had his pride and his children, he had his name. He had responsibility- even when the other Nations didn't recognize it, the fact remained unaltered. He was one of them.

And he worked hard, day in day out, never resting, never giving in. His work wasn't limited to signing papers; no one really wanted anything from him anyway. Communicating with his people was difficult as well, because his children either loved him, or hated him. Many left for the north, in search of a better life, a place able to offer them the realization of their dreams.

Yet despite this, Romano worked hard. He planted trees and built dams, he tried to promote his beaches and sunny weather to tourists as much as he could. He would pray days to end a drought, travel weeks to sell his harvest. They were getting by.

The reason of his hurt didn't originate at the difference between him and his brother. It bothered him and was able to strike him down at times, but it wasn't the source of his rarely spilled tears. What hurt him, was the fact that it was dragging his brother down.

Because Feliciano was all that, and then something.

It was no news to either of them that he was gifted, blessed, touched. He had that eternal smile, those endless eyes, and the skillful hands to match them. He had the favor of any other Nation, the preference of visitors, the love of them both. He lit up a room instantly with his mere presence, he could make grown Nations kneel at the sight of his tears. Sometimes even without the tears.

Lovino wasn't jealous.

He was happy for his brother, genuinely happy, and even though he wished he had received the same inheritance at times, he didn't want to take away Feliciano's. He was making better use of it anyway, in ways Romano couldn't even dream of doing.

For all he could do, was catch him when he came running, high on joy and happiness daily life could bring him. All he could do, was twirl him around before setting him down, and listen to him speaking their language as he told all about his day. All he could do was make him dinner whenever he chose to spend an evening with him, thoroughly enjoying the expression of bliss good food brought to his face. All he could do, was pull the covers over him whenever he'd fall asleep on the couch, tired of a training, or his constant running and flying about.

All he could do, was love him to death, with all he had in him, and all he'd ever have.

But his love could not stand up against the gap between them, and he was ashamed at seeing his brother constantly lowering himself to his level, trying to pick up the pieces, trying to create a solid place for him in this world. He ignored his attempts at making him bond and despised each and every one of his friends, just to save himself the embarrassment of being pitied by them.

The thing he feared most was not war. It wasn't defeat.

It was rejection.

And this was what kept him silent, whenever he would see his brother sleeping. It was what held him back from running up and holding him, whenever Germany scolded him. It was what stilled his voice, whenever he wanted to shout out that he could give him so much, he would give him all he had, his entire being and all his warmth, all the love flowing through his veins, all the care and gentleness, he would be his home and shelter, he would be his anchor and wings, he would catch his tears and guard his smile until his final breath-

He would love him through sunrise and sunset, with his body, mind and soul.

"Fratello? Are you okay?"

The sweetest voice snapped Lovino out of his reverie, and Feliciano reflected the sheer sadness in his eyes with a look of question and worry. Romano shook his head, as if shrugging it off, and managed a smile.

"Of course."

He didn't want to, but his feet started a run and he was out the door before another word could have been spoken. He forced his eyes shut as he ran, holding back the tears stinging at the knowledge, that whatever he would do; no matter how much love he'd offer..

It would never be enough.

And he felt like an island, cut off from its land, slowly drifting further away as years passed. He was fighting the current, rowing like crazy, just to stay close, but his oars were broken and his body was tired. It had always been like this, yet he couldn't bring himself to give up.

He couldn't try to love another, because no one, no one-

No one was quite like Feliciano. He'd never find someone quite like Feliciano. And he'd never love anyone as much as he loved Feliciano. Ever.

-

Inside the house, Feliciano drew his outstretched arm back as the door was slammed shut by a strong draft. It slowly lowered, until it hung loosely by his side again, his hand forming a fist of powerlessness and desperation.

Because why.

Why did Lovino constantly run away from him. Why did he refuse his offers of aid, time after time. Why did he despise the other Nations so, why did he act so harsh and uncaring, when his heart was equal to that of an angel, even if Italy was the only one to see it. Why did he constantly look sad, why did he toss around in his sleep, and why-

Why wouldn't he allow him to help.

He wanted to, more than anything. He wanted to hug him and tell him things would be alright, because they had each other, and they were brothers, they'd never let the other down. They were family, more than family, they were one in a way no one would ever be able to grasp, and it brought a connection so strong, so solid, that seeing Romano flee like this, denying their bond, felt worse than a blade through his heart.

What could be so bad, so unbelievably terrible, that he couldn't share it with him?

Italy didn't think something like that existed. He didn't care for the attitude and reputation his brother had, he only cared for who he was underneath. And he didn't see a barely existent Nation, shouting to be bothersome, worth equal to nothing, only there for show. He didn't see someone who was unable to bring anything aside from tomatoes and a good fight, someone to be ignored.

He saw Lovino, his Lovino.

He saw an underappreciated, yet proud Nation, willing to sacrifice his own happiness to realize his brother's only wish. He saw someone who worked hard to ensure the safety and well-being of his children, day in day out, draining himself completely. He saw the one who listened to him, who comforted him, who carried him to bed whenever he'd chosen an unfortunate siesta spot.

If only the other Nations could see this caring side of him, if only they'd know, then things could become so much better. He could make friends, work together with them, he would grow stronger in security and confidence, he wouldn't have to work until his hands bled.

But no matter how many times Italy tried to convince Romano of all these facts, he'd always turn his head away and refuse with a poisonous voice, as if sickened by the idea of being kind to anyone aside from his brother.

Feliciano didn't understand.

And they were drifting apart because of it, because they lived beside each other, but not with each other, and they couldn't even read each other's thoughts anymore, where normally this was done within the blink of an eye.

Now, whenever Feliciano met Lovino's eyes, he saw a place unreachable. A world out of existence, full of thoughts, hopes and dreams locked safely inside. He wished to be inside that world, so much, to hold his hand and lift his heart. He'd hold him high, he'd be his support, because he was the one who could feel his emotions and speak his tongue.

No denial would make that go away.

A wave of exhaustion took Italy by surprise, and he swayed a little. Deciding it was time for a nap, not needing to see a clock, he went down to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes and slipped underneath the sheets. They felt cold and empty, and he reached out to grab the pillow Romano normally slept on, pulling it close to his chest, inhaling the scent that was his, yet wasn't.

His eyes closed without an attempt to keep the tears behind them from coming out, so they wetted the clean linen and expressed the fear of his heart. It wasn't fear for Romano to never make friends, or not being able to hear his mind as clearly anymore.

It was losing him.

Because this was all he was able to do to express the love he had for his brother. This was all that was within his power that wouldn't cause problems between them, these where the borders he could view without risking to spill his heart.

He made no secret of liking his brother, and he wouldn't have made a secret of loving him either, had he not shown such sadness whenever they were together. Not directly, no, he'd never show a sad face if he knew Italy could see it.

It was when he got lost in his thoughts, or drowned in his sleep, that a look of desperation and pain took over his features.

Feliciano loved his brother dearly. Immensely. In a way he'd never love anyone else. It was different from the care he had for Germany, different from the friendship he was lucky enough to share with most other Nations. This went so much deeper, it was so much more true. It couldn't be expressed in words, tears or touches, only their understanding of each other could make it clear. The same blood running through their bodies, the language they spoke.

He wished to hold him and be held by him, he wished to kiss his tears away, he wished to stay at his side constantly, for them to shine together. He wished to express his love in every way possible, he wished to show his brother he was loved like that, and he was precious, irreplaceable.

He couldn't survive a single day without him.

A choked sob left his throat and a restless sleep took him, hoping to reach the lands of Lovino's dreams, yet knowing he'll stay on the other side of that border.

He never allowed him to come any closer.

*

In the following days, the air between them only thickened more, heavy with insecurity and secrets, neither of the brothers making a move to clear either up. It had gotten as far as the two of them actually avoiding each other, something that went by unnoticed at first, but it showed in Feliciano's half-hearted smile, and Lovino's empty curses.

They were trapped in their own thinking, the mind games they were playing with no one but themselves, too blinded by their own beliefs to see clearly.

When an invitation to a world meeting landed on the doormat, they were forced to interact, agreeing to a time of departure, and the sharing of an hotel room. Romano remembered the times where these trips make him tingle inside.

And he could almost hear his brother reading to him from tourist flyers, trying to decide what museum they'd go to, what restaurant they would have dinner at. He could almost see the tiny television and a weathergirl, predicting possible rain, and he would have cursed at her if she hadn't been so cute, and Feliciano would smile, saying it wasn't going to rain.

He was always right.

When Italy hung up the phone, he exhaled so deeply it felt like he was breathing out a part of his soul, his eyes glancing over a pile of messily stacked leaflets. It's been a while since they've last visited London, but the experience was still fresh in his memory and was brought back to his vision without him even trying.

England's territories were so different compared to theirs, the people were always in a hurry and the sun never seemed to shine. Romano always claimed he didn't like it because he had to wear too many layers of clothing, and Italy would smile behind his scarf whenever he saw him looking up at the sky in suspense, almost waiting for the rain to come.

Clinging on to these memories, he packed the leaflets, hoping that maybe he'd get the chance to show them to his brother, and maybe, just maybe, things would be like they were before, if only for a little while.

They travelled in silence, first class, seated next to each other in an airplane that suddenly seemed too small. When a young lady passed them with several drinks and snacks, Feliciano refused politely, causing the girl to look away and blush. Lovino noticed this from the corner of his eye, and gave up on pretending to stare outside by ordering a glass of wine.

He felt his brother's eyes on him as he downed the glass in one fluid motion, somewhat worried and disapproving, and it only riled him more. Feeling heavy under the slight buzz and Feliciano's stare, he shifted back to the window, trying to concentrate on the clouds, head supported by his hand.

Italy sighed softly, giving up on finding a way to break the quietness, all hopes he had for this trip sinking low, escaping from his mind like they were thoughts of crime.

Even locating their hotel, as well as checking in and unpacking, went by without either of them saying anything. Italy felt his heart beating faster with every passing second, words ready on his tongue, yet unable to speak them out loud because the silence was pressing him down.

Romano felt the same, though he was unaware of his brother's strain, and while he searched for the remote of their temporary television, he wished it to be time for the weather broadcast.

When he found it and turned the TV on, they were indeed greeted by the sunny smile of a weather girl, predicting a not so sunny day. Lovino looked at Feliciano expectantly, waiting for him to promise him different, but the younger Nation hadn't heard a thing.

The awkward mood that had settled during their trip, remained during the meeting and Romano almost felt out of place when he sat down next to Italy, picking up the hand-out England had prepared and skimming through it with little attention. Next to him, Feliciano toyed with the cap of his bottle of water, letting it slip through his fingers, then picking it up again, his mind absent.

He didn't even get up to greet Germany when he entered, and Lovino felt like shouting at the potato-bastard for not noticing it. It was like Italy had made himself invisible, willingly staying in the background for the entire meeting. The result was a boring, dull day that drained all attending Nations completely.

It seemed that when Italy wasn't happy, no one was.

When the final presentation came to its end, the sound of mutual stretching and yawning filled the room. It had taken longer than they had planned, as usual, and it was already getting dark outside. Everyone got up, some heading home straight away, others staying, chatting a little with their friends, agreeing to meet up later.

Japan had approached Italy and was making some casual conversation, while Romano gathered the papers, nodding at Spain as he passed by. He felt extremely frustrated, like there was this big, thick fog hanging around him and no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't leave it behind. When he saw England, France and a few others about to hit the local pub, he decided to join them, suddenly really wanting to get drunk.

Glancing away from Japan for a moment, Italy caught his brother's eye, and they exchanged an indescribable look, which told Lovino that he didn't have to count on his brother coming along, and let Feliciano know that he was going to sleep alone.

Then, both averted their eyes.

*

Romano followed the group with long, slow steps, eyes on the ground, courage in his shoes. It had looked like a great idea, and effective way to dodge another strange evening, a good distraction.

But now, he felt terribly lonely.

England just kept bickering with America, who had agreed on being the one to stay sober that night to get everyone home safely. As the host, England had seen it as his job to take care of this, but America (and pretty much everyone else) knew that wouldn't be happening.

Germany had come along, but he was walking on his own and looked quite relaxed like that. Poland was dragging Lithuania along, promising him they would only have 'one drink' before returning to the hotel. The look on Toris' face said he knew different, for he knew his best friend.

It looked like Spain had passed, and though he didn't want to admit it, Romano was disappointed. Had Antonio been there, he would at least have had someone to yell at, if only for a few hours. France did try to draw him in, but Lovino denied his attempts at starting conversation, so Francis shrugged and let him be.

When they arrived at the pub it felt like he had been walking for days, and he plopped down on a barstool with a deep, heavy sigh. When the bartender asked him for his order, he looked around, seeing England gulping down his second beer.

"I'll have what he's having."
The bartender nodded, and several moments later Romano was looking at the largest pint he had ever seen. He let his fingers play with the glass a little, curling around the handle, before lifting it and chasing the fluid down his throat. He set the empty glass back down, and waited.

But nothing happened.

Not sure whether to be disappointed or angry, he ordered another one and downed it in the same manner. When the second glass hit the bar, a warm feeling started pooling in his stomach, but it was nowhere near the intensity Romano had been hoping for. He sighed deeply and slumped, resting his head on the slightly wet wood.

He couldn't even get drunk decently.

"What're you doing here?"

Lovino frowned, feeling too sorry for himself to actually turn to face whoever was talking to him. Curiosity won in the end though, and he shifted, meeting drunk, green eyes. His frown grew stronger with slight jealousy. That damned Englishman always made it look so easy.

"That's none of your business.." He answered, and he swore it was supposed to sound meaner than it did, but he just couldn't bring himself to sharpen his voice. England smiled weakly.
"Just not used to seeing you 'ere. Somethin' wrong?"

Romano was going to snap at him, then realized it wouldn't get him anywhere, and he might as well talk to the drunk bastard because getting drunk himself was apparently not going to happen. He sat a little more upright.

"I just thought I'd try it your way for once. Bad idea."
Arthur snorted loudly and raised his hand at the bartender, then lowered it to rest on Lovino's knee, patting in an almost dotting manner. Romano stared at the movement, not sure how to react, when a freshly filled glass was placed before him.

"Wha-?"
"That one's on me." England slurred, moving his half-empty glass to cling the two together. "You'll want to go home after that."

Romano frowned again, a little insulted. Why was that British bastard telling him what to do? He had every right to stay and waste the night attempting to get drunk, heck, he could go home with France if he felt like it.

"What makes you think I want to go home?!" He demanded hotly.
England shrugged, and it made Lovino hiss. He was making fun of him!
"..this is not where you're supposed to be is all." He pointed at Romano's untouched third glass. "Are you drinking that?"

The Italian quickly pulled the glass closer and took a large sip, his accusing stare not leaving England, who seemed to be a little disappointed. Romano set the glass back down and couldn't help but ask;

"Why?"

The moment it left his lips he felt like slamming his head into the bar. How much lower could he sink, asking a drunk Nation, a drunk British Nation to explain himself. Arthur didn't look all that bothered though, and raised his hand at the bartender again.

"You'll make him worry."

Lovino's eyes widened slightly, and he turned to gulp down the remainder of his drink in denial. The words had stung though, hitting him harder than any string of beers ever would. Then his own worry hit him, gathering inside his body, fueled by guilt and a tiny bit of alcohol.

Suddenly, he felt horribly out of place.

He got up as fast as he could, swaying just a little before finding his balance. He dug deep in his pockets and fished out some cash, throwing it down on the counter. He turned to say goodbye to England, only to see him already talking to someone else, another full glass ready in his hands.

Unwilling to pay any more attention to him, or the pub, Romano turned on his heel and headed out. Chilly night air hit him and he shivered, though the warm embrace of three beers kept him from feeling cold. He tried to clear his mind to determine his direction, and started walking.

"..this is not where you're supposed to be is all."

England's slurred words rang through his mind, and Romano sped up his pace. Drunk as that bastard had been, he was right. He wasn't supposed to leave his brother alone like that to drown himself in his own misery, no matter what his reasons were. Losing his brother was what he was most afraid of, and here he was creating more and more distance between them.

The worry he felt grew stronger as he imagined Feliciano staying alone in their room, asleep on the couch. The speed of his steps increased even more and when he arrived at the hotel, he realized something very important.

He didn't have a key.

He cursed as loud as his ragged voice would let him. In his rush to escape from the uncomfortable situation, he had forgotten to ask his brother for the spare key. He turned to take a look at the nearby clock; 2 am. Feliciano was probably long gone by now, sleeping peacefully without him.

A mixture of self-pity, guilt, and the remainder of his drinks combined into tears of frustration and he didn't even have the energy to stomp his feet. He'd just go back to the pub and ask if he could stay there. Just as he was about to head back, a tired, shaky voice reached his ears.

"Fratello.."
Lovino instantly turned to where the sound came from, to see Italy standing behind him, looking at him with worried eyes.
"Feli.." He murmured, not sure what to say. "..why are you out?"

Feliciano smiled weakly and held up the key to the hotel. Romano looked down, shuffling his feet in shame. While he was out there trying to get smashed, his brother had been waiting outside in the cold for him to return.

"Feliciano, mi dis-"
"-Let's just go home." Italy breathed, handing the key to his brother. Romano closed his mouth and blinked, then quickly nodded. He led the way, opening the door for both of them, and watched in silence as Feliciano headed upstairs to their room.

Once up, he had gone straight to bed, leaving Romano to feel even worse.

He knew he had done something wrong, and he needed to talk with his brother. He had to explain to him why he went away, why he left him alone and how he had realized that it wasn't right. He needed to properly apologize, he needed to at least try and convey his feelings, if only a little, so Italy would understand, and maybe they could take a step in the right direction.

But it didn't look like he was going to get the chance.

Slowly, trying not to make any loud sounds, Lovino slipped in bed next to Feliciano, who pretended to be asleep. Acting, unfortunately, had never been one of his talents, but Romano decided it would be best to leave him be for now. After all, he had waited outside all night for him to return, that gave him enough hope to try again later.

He turned, face away from his brother, and closed his eyes. Their flight back home left tomorrow evening, so they had another day to spend here before departure. As the tiredness kicked in, the last thing he registered was the feeling of Italy shifting below the sheets.

Feliciano watched him as he drifted further and further away in dreams and sighed softly. He knew it had been a bit mean of him to deny his apology, but he had been waiting for more than three hours, and it was very cold outside. He would have waited the world if Lovino needed him to, but that he couldn't say.

When had things become so twisted?

When did the words normally spoken at least thrice a day, become sounds they were unable to produce? Why couldn't they look at each other without having to pry through a barrier first? Why were they pushing away the only one they'd ever let near?

How was it possible to sleep this close, yet be so far apart.

They hadn't spoken properly to each other for weeks now, and Italy had never felt so incomplete in his entire life. It seemed that the more he loved him, the more he lost him.

But he couldn't stop loving him. He never would. Even when his feelings weren't returned, he couldn't just instruct his heart to stop longing for him. He was in way too deep, it grew inside of him, solid and strong, and it hurt, because he didn't know what to do with it. Had it been anyone else, he would have jumped right out and spill it all, but this was Lovino.

Il suo Lovino.

He wouldn't risk losing him. Not like this. He lowered himself back down on the mattress, let go of another shaky breath, and allowed sleep to take him away.

*

When Italy woke up, the first thing he realized was that he was alone. Quickly sitting upright, he scanned the room for signs of his brother leaving, seeing he had left his suitcase. A breath of relief escaped him and for a moment he felt ashamed of thinking Romano would walk out like that.

He got up and picked up a shirt from the carpet, putting it on for cover. When he heard the door slam, he ran barefoot, toothbrush still in his mouth, to find Lovino completely drenched, a plastic bag in his hand. He blinked, eyeing his brother with obvious question, and Romano shrugged awkwardly.

"It's raining."

An hour later, the freshly baked bread Lovino had gone out to buy had been reduced to crumbs, and Feliciano watched as his brother tried to untangle his drying hair. He chased the brush through with too much force, cursing every time he hit a knot, pulling it only harder. After a few moments of watching, Italy got up from the couch and took the brush from his hands.

Romano immediately fell silent, and when Feliciano started brushing his hair in long, slow movements, his entire body relaxed.

It was the familiarity of the situation that gave him new courage, and he hesitantly opened his mouth.

"..I'm sorry about yesterday." He managed, wincing as Feliciano worked out a particularly stubborn knot.
"I know~" Italy said, his voice sounding neutral.

Romano sighed deeply, not sure whether to be happy with this small exchange of words or not. He wanted to say so much more, tell him how he shouldn't have left him, how horrible he feels at seeing their distance increase, how much he loves him, and suddenly Lovino really wants to go home.

"I'm sorry too~" This time Feliciano didn't sound neutral, but more.. kind. It caught Romano off guard so he stayed still, and when Italy gave him the brush back, they shared an unsure smile.

The rain didn't show any sign of stopping, so they decided to start packing. Both brothers rummaged through the room, still a little uneasy, gathering their things and trying to get them all back in the suitcase like they were before. When Romano noticed he was missing something, he looked up at Italy, who was looking rather confused himself. The older Nation coughed awkwardly, and pointed at the shirt he was wearing.

"..that's mine."
"What?"
"That shirt.. it's mine."

Feliciano took the hem in his hands and studied it, finding that he was right, and smiled apologetically. He took it off and Romano spun around to shield his sight, catching the fabric as Italy threw it his way. He put it back while his brother put on a shirt of his own, his eyes still shifting through the room as if searching for something. Lovino frowned.

"You lost something?"
Italy looked up from where he was kneeling down and flushed.
"N-no."
It took Romano three seconds to see his brother was wearing one sock instead of two, and he shook his head. Another sorry smile found its way to Feliciano's face when he sat down beside him to look under the bed.

They searched together for a while, Romano picking up all the pillows and throwing them back down, looking under the couch and in the drawers, while Italy checked the bathroom again. Then, the older Italian heard giggling.

"Did you find it?" He asked, peeking around the corner to see what his brother was doing.
"No~" Italy said in between giggles while he put the towels back in place. "But this is just like when we were at brother France's house~"
Romano grimaced. He was pretty sure Francis had taken their underwear, instead of them losing it.
"Or when you lost your shirt~" Another bubbly laugh slipped from his lips. "and you had to wear one of Antonio's!"

Romano arched a brow, not sure if Italy was making fun of him or if he was just being nostalgic. That had been quite embarrassing though. He coughed, a little flustered.

"At least I didn't lose my pants." He said, attempting to get even.
"No, you just had to walk all the way back to the station on your socks because you couldn't find your shoes." Italy was still smiling, and Romano felt a grin pulling at his lips as well.
"And you caught a cold because you forgot to bring a jacket."
"But you made us wait three hours at the airport because you lost our tickets~"
"Then you got lost, so we still couldn't leave."

Their eyes met, both blinked, at the next thing they knew, they were laughing.

"Eh, Feli?"
"Yeah~?"
"..is this the sock you were looking for?"

Italy looked up and smiled widely.

"Yes! Where'd you find it?"
"..you already packed it, it was in your suitcase."

Again, they looked at each other, and Italy grinned in a way that said; at least we've made another memory, and Romano just sighed, knowing some things would never change.

He was glad they wouldn't.

"Hey," Feliciano started, gazing outside as he put on his other sock. "the rain stopped."

Right there, in that small, fragile moment, nothing stood between them. No mist in their eyes, no doubt in their smiles, just two brothers in an hotel room, not wanting to be anywhere else. It was a moment of calmness, a soothing warmth that curled around them, melting away their shields, and briefly, for a split-second, they felt each other's heart.

How they'd missed that feeling.

"..let's go get some souvenirs~" Italy suggested, needing to breathe in fresh air. Romano nodded, snatching an umbrella before following him out, just in case.

*

The sky was clear, clouds nowhere to be seen, and the brothers walked side by side through the busy streets of London. Many people were out, abusing the absence of rain for as long as it would last, getting last-minute groceries or almost-forgotten souvenirs. They walked together through the stream of humans, and it was like they moved at a different speed, as if they experienced a different flow of time.

And Romano's hand felt terribly empty as he glanced sideways at Italy, who was window shopping with a happy smile on his face. Maybe they were meant to be like this, together as brothers, as halves of a Nation, and as long as they could maintain this, things would be alright.

But then Italy turned, met his eyes for the shortest moment and smiled so brightly Romano felt like he had been struck by lightning, and he knew-

He didn't want to maintain this.

His love went so much deeper than the love shared between family, it was so much more meaningful than needing each other around. He loved Feliciano, loved him with an intensity close to the burning of the sun, and every second spent near him only made the feeling stronger, urging him to just break and show it all.

He would make him happy.

He'd make him happy like no one else could, he'd show him all the warmth and care he held, reserved for him alone, the kind of happiness only he could bring him, it went beyond love.

A sudden rush of adrenaline toned down his insecurity, rendered his fear to the mere feeling of taking a risk, and when Feliciano pulled him into a small tourist shop he knew he had to do something, anything, because the silence would kill him if he didn't.

They had been silent for way too long.

Italy didn't know what was happening when he felt Romano's hand grabbing his, gently yet strongly pulling him back out the store, and then their pace increased and they were walking faster, running, and with every step Lovino took it all seemed to be more clear, right there in front of him, he just had to reach out, and leap, and-

And tell him.

So when they came to an halt in the heart of one of London's many parks, he felt determined to spell out his every thought and feeling, but when he looked into his brother's eyes his resolve melted and the bitter taste of fear slipped back into his mouth as if he had been running from it the entire trip there. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force it away, because he couldn't wait anymore, he couldn't take any longer, it had to happen now and it had to happen here below the cloudy sky of London, or he'd never make it home.

Feliciano's hand on his arm snapped him back to the present, and his questioning look increased the pressure on his lips. They needed to talk, to speak, for they had been relying on their silent communication for much too long, and it couldn't be trusted to convey feelings like these.

So he opened his mouth, and tried.

"We have to talk." He said, trying hard to keep his voice stable. Italy blinked, unable to read the look in his brother's eyes, and it confused him greatly.
"W-what?"

Romano took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you." He started. "I'm sorry I yelled, and-"
"..Wait, Lovino, you don't have to-"
"I know you were trying to help but-"
"Lovino, it's okay, I understa-"
"No!"

Italy's eyes widened and Romano stared at him, almost looking through him, begging him to let him finish, just this once.

"It's not okay, you don't understand, so let me explain, damn it!"

And Feliciano nodded despite himself, despite his fears, because this was way too soon and he wasn't ready to lose him yet, he wasn't ready to change, he wasn't ready to let go of what they had, no matter how shaky it had become.

So he looked at his brother in anticipation, dreading the words he was going to say, searching for answers in his eyes, but all he found was unfamiliar determination and a loud wish to be heard.

"I.." Romano tried to find his words again. "..I want you to stop helping me make friends."
Italy opened his mouth to reply but Romano raised his hand.
"I don't need them. They'll never get it anyway."
"B-but.." Italy interrupted, feeling bad for doing so yet needing to say this. "..you need friends-"
"No, Feli, I.."

Gathering all the courage he had, he looked up into Italy's wondering eyes.

"I need you."

As soon as he said this, all his emotions got caught up in each other and he knew he had to keep talking now that he started because he didn't want Italy to tell him off yet, so he averted his eyes to avoid any rejecting stare and allowed a waterfall of words to flow from his mouth.

"I need you to warn me I cuss too much, I need you to defend me against those other stupid idiots, I need you to welcome me home every day, I need you to hold me back from killing that potato bastard because I swear he'd been dead if it weren't for you, I need you to tell me it will be alright and I-"

Romano looked at him and now Italy could read him perfectly, and the desperation almost hurt.

"-I need you to keep trying. I need you to keep me alive because.. damn it…"

He rubbed his forehead, trying to realize all the things he just said, knowing there was no going back now. When he felt his brother's hand brushing his arm, he looked up to meet one of the most serious looks he had ever seen Feliciano wear.

"Lovino.."

Romano winced, not wanting to hear, but he had to be fair and allow him his time, now that he had his. He had to face the consequences of his actions, and he could only pray it wouldn't end in separation.

Feliciano stood before him, shaking a little, unable to believe this was really happening. He was so relieved, so happy, so-

"..you have me~"

He wasn't going anywhere, because he needed Romano as much as he needed him, he needed him to hold him, to listen to him, to tell him not to get himself stepped on. Needed him to hold him tight, and wish him goodnight, and kiss him every morning. He needed him to be the Italy he was and always wanted to stay. He wished to say all these things like Lovino had, but all he could manage was a shaky 'Ti amo', and a bone-crushing embrace.

It was enough.

Romano caught him and tangled his hand in his hair, pressing him close against his shoulder, closer to his heart, and he knew, he just knew what Italy had been wanting to say.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you.." Lovino whispered, and Feliciano nodded, because he did, and he returned every fraction of that love with all he had within him, and they could feel it.

Then they shifted in the embrace, and they parted a little, temples brushing, noses touching-

And their heads tilted, breaths mingled as they got more labored, and Feliciano's hands tightened in the fabric of Lovino's shirt as he felt his brother drawing him in as close as possible-

And they looked at each other, a single moment before their eyes closed, and the final distance between them vanished as they sealed their lips together in a warm, loving kiss, and it was everything they had left to say, as if they were stealing the words from each other's mouth, and Lovino pressed, deepening the kiss, wanting to show Feliciano exactly how much he loved him-

And Feliciano wrapped his arms around his brother's neck and followed, pressing back with all he had, drawing out the moment until they were out of breath, parting shortly to breathe in, then reaching for each other again.

When they truly parted, what seemed like hours later, they eyed each other seriously. There were still many things they had to tell each other, many questions they had to answer. Romano slid his hand down, reaching for his brother's, intertwining them together.

"Andiamo a casa."

Feliciano nodded, holding on to his hand strongly, unable to force the smile off his face.

They weren't there yet, not by far, but they had taken the first steps, started their journey, and now;

They were going home.

Fin.

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