Hello readers ^^

So, for you guys new to this story, this is an Itacest (as says in the summary). There is no
Spamano, or RoBel, or GerIta, just these two lovely Italians.

Anything in here not-English might be inaccurate, and for that I apologize; just correct me if you notice anything.

Other than that, I hope you enjoy your read, and remember: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers

For not-new people, don't mind any alerts or whatever you might've gotten; I was a derp and almost lost this chapter, but I've got everything fixed now, Nihaha... ^^;; Remember to correct me if you notice anything from here missing or wrong, 'kay guys? Oh! and ignore the numbers-in-parenthesis; I promise I'll get around to adding in some footnotes... eventually.

Magneto

"Fratello~!"

Veneziano's close-eyed gaze passed over the endless open seats of the Colosseum, and his little shoulders heaved with a heavy, hopeless sigh. He looked about once more, slower, eyes open but squinting to the extent where it was almost imperceptible, only the little wrinkles of his forehead revealing his straining his eyesight. It was only when he was ending his second round that he saw it, impossible as it should have been: a thin, wiry curl that peeked out from the cover of one of infinite seats, all empty. The curl bobbed, a curious, eye-catching movement that had, in fact, seized Veneziano's attention. Face hurting now with the burden of his wide grin, Veneziano raced for the nearest staircase, lifting the hem of his white robes to avoid clumsy tripping. His focus, usually lasting no more than a few seconds at best, never strayed from the curl, and, thus immediately noticed when its bobbing motion abruptly stopped. Veneziano's pace faltered for only a moment before it doubled with his efforts. Romano was sad, or scared, or he wouldn't have – as Veneziano was absolutely certain – tensed upon hearing him approaching.

"Fratello!" Veneziano cried once more, somewhat happily, somewhat warily. His older brother turned his head sharply away. Veneziano pouted. "What's wrong~?" He asked in a gentle coo, and would have prayed had he not already been sure of the outcome.

"Nothing! Nothing is fucking wrong!" Romano yelled furiously as he suddenly stood, as Veneziano had known he would. Veneziano would have smiled at how predictable Romano had become to him, had his brother not been really, really upset. "Everything is as it's always been! No abnormalities! So everything is all right and nothing is wrong!" Romano's tiny shoulders hunched, and his hands were clenched fists at his side; he trembled with hate and the force of holding in his tears, Veneziano could tell, because hazel eyes that were usually lit up with a spark of some sort (angry, mischievous, challenging) were instead watering, and the way he breathed in through clenched teeth was different from when he was fuming. Veneziano stared at Romano's quaking frame sadly for a few seconds more before taking a few measured steps forward and he pulled his brother into a hug.

"Ti voglio bene, Romano. I love you. I love you, so you can tell me what's hurting you, right?"

Romano wasn't tense anymore, but he didn't reciprocate the hug. "Nothing." He mumbled stubbornly, purposely not acknowledging the endearment, though his cheeks burned with the proof he had heard, embarrassed at the proclamation itself, and at how it had somehow quelled the hollow aching in his chest that cried out for some sort of comfort. Veneziano's grip tightened, but Romano still refused to say anymore.

"Nonno… doesn't mean to hurt your feelings, ve."

And with the first seven words alone, Romano tensed again; the last just barely held him back from yelling in Veneziano's face, since the word only appeared when his younger brother was feeling nervous or scared, Romano could tell, because there was always a hint of a tremble in his voice when he said it. So, instead, he just muttered a vehement, "He's not."

When Romano's now-dry eyes glanced over at Veneziano, he found russet eyes staring at him with unwavering affection and a smile he thought was far too big to possibly fit cheeks even that large, but his sulky, not pouting lips turned up a little at the corners. Veneziano's grin widened, and Romano decided to ignore how creepy it looked and instead focused on the sentiment behind it.

1559 – South Italy coming to Spain's rule

Romano wasn't crying.

Veneziano was spoiled. Just a smile was enough for Veneziano to get what he wanted, and only because he was better and more likeable than Romano. He was too sweet, too nice – a pushover – and cried too much, and Romano didn't want to be with a baby all the time. They were separated by a few years, but it was so obvious Veneziano was the younger brother, and all because of his naïve attitude, always smiling and laughing at everything. He was too happy.

Romano wasn't crying.

Romano was always burdened with the responsibility to watch over his brother – not only from others but Veneziano himself as well, because he was so unbelievably clumsy and how many times has he told Vene to lift up the hem so he wouldn't trip and how many times has he told Vene to change if he was going to play in the field and how many has he told Vene to not play where there was mud and how many times has he told Vene to go to him if he couldn't reach something so he wouldn't fall; Romano didn't want to scold him day in and day out all the time. He was Veneziano's brother, not his father.

Romano wasn't crying.

He hated when Veneziano cried because it was fucking annoying. He talked loud enough already, but when he cried it was like he wanted all of Rome to fucking hear him throw a fit. He would wail and Romano would try to ignore it and the wails would become broken, cracked yells and Romano would cover his ears and the yells would become ear-bleeding screams and Romano would scream at him to shut up and then they would both scream and Veneziano would finally break down and tell why he cried and, if it was one of those increasingly not-too-rare occurrences where he was bullied, Romano would swear to take down the unlucky bastard, and he would follow through after Vene had calmed down, only to receive a half-hearted scolding from Nonno or, after the old man had disappeared without a trace, Austria or Hungary as he was fixed under the wide-eyed stare of his younger brother. It was a tiring process that repeated far too many times for Romano's comfort and, he realized with a wavering scowl, by allowing it to happen again and again, he was only spoiling Vene further. But, it wouldn't be happening again anytime soon.

Romano wasn't crying.

Austria had told them when the offer had been made, but he and Vene had both doubted he would be taken because it was Vene who was wanted by everyone, so what real reason was there for them to think otherwise? But, then Austria told them the offer had been accepted. And Vene cried and yelled and screamed his voice hoarse. And Romano screamed back and demanded and swore vengeance like he always did, but, it was an empty promise this time, for the first time, ever. The very next day Vene had asked Romano what he would do, and when Romano said nothing, because Spain was an empire and what could he, half of Italia, do against an entire empire, dumbass, with a dismissive snort and wave of the hand, Vene cried even more than he had the day before. But only Vene cried.

Romano wasn't crying.

The day Spain would arrive to collect his new ward, Romano had moped about the mansion more than usual, kicking up the dirt he was, on any other day, expected to sweep (only to unintentionally create an even larger mess), and sighing and muttering obscenities under his breath without any real anger and not pouting. Romano had already given Vene his final addio, thinking Vene would be even more inconsolable physically seeing him leave. When Spain picked him up and began to lead him to their ride to take him to his new home, Romano had looked back just once as he walked away, only to find Vene waving mournfully with a watery smile from a high window.

Romano wasn't crying.

Letting out an uneven breath, Romano allowed himself to look back with a blank expression in lieu of his typical frown, and gave a little wave that looked more like one of dismissal than farewell before turning away sharply and continuing on his trek. He tried to focus on Spain's ramblings when they reached their ride, but his mind kept returning to Vene's sad expression. Romano refused to believe his emotions were easy to see through, but it hadn't taken long to conclude Spain wasn't particularly observant, and yet the cheery bastard had managed to notice his discomfort, and asked Romano why he was crying.

Romano wasn't crying.

Spain's smile seemed to say he didn't agree, but wouldn't verbally confront him, either. He asked the younger if there was something in his eye, and Romano replied no; Spain asked if Romano was allergic to anything, and Romano replied no once more. With a defeated sigh, Spain asked once more why, then, were tears running down his cheeks. Rain, Romano had said.

"Rain?" Spain had repeated dubiously, eyeing the glaring sunlight that shone through the drawn curtains of their carriage. He refrained from saying anymore, though, when he glanced once more to damp, tomato-red cheeks.

1609

Spain had been the first to notice.

He made frequent trips to Austria – for those few times they both felt they could use a break from rather boisterous company, or to discuss a political matter or other – in the beginning, just after taking Romano into his home. Over those habitual visits, though, he found himself spending quite a bit of time fawning over Veneziano – not that he wasn't grateful or pleased with Romano! But, the boy was a hassle, and not the most welcoming of sights after a particularly draining day what with all the messes he made. Romano was cute, yes, but Spain could only get so close to Romano before the boy would snap at him, and Veneziano would let Spain coddle and coo over him.

It took a while, but, after a large number of visits to Austria's, Spain had been able to deduce why Romano's most foul of moods resulted from his constant ramblings of Veneziano's cuteness. Romano was jealous. Spain wasn't completely sure, though, so the visit after reaching that conclusion, he carefully observed Romano's reactions as he prattled on and on.

"Hah~ Your brother really is cute, Romano~ He even showed me some pictures he just painted-"

"Always with him!" "him", Romano would always say now, not "Vene" or "Veneziano" anymore, Spain noticed. "You talk and talk about him all the fucking time! Why don't you acquire him, too, if you like him so much?" Hazel eyes glared directly at Spain, obviously peeved but with an underlying sullen tone.

Spain blinked. Sad as it was, he had expected Romano to rant on about how he might as well trade Romano for Veneziano, as the boy often did when Spain would begin conversations about the younger half of Italia. "'Why don't you acquire him, too, if you like him so much?'" he had instead demanded.

Spain blinked, and, had he not remembered he was to feign ignorance, his eyes would have widened to impossible measures. Instead, he sighed and went about calming Romano, as it had become easier and easier over the years.

That night in bed, Spain restlessly tossed and turned, but he could only see hazel shining, glimmering as the glare lost its edge.

Romano was jealous.

But not for the reasons Spain had previously thought.

A long sigh and a glance to the window let him know the hour was far past midnight.

He scribbled down a note and had it delivered through the messengers.

When the day approached, Spain told Romano: "You're going on a trip with Boss, so pack up for a few days~"

Their destination wasn't revealed, because Spain thought, somehow, that Romano would appreciate the sentiment all the more if he wasn't provided any notice beforehand. Or maybe he wouldn't, but at least Spain would know Romano's genuine reaction if he wasn't told.

When the carriage pulled to a stop, Romano stood on quaking legs, shaking his head and rubbing at his face. The boy was obviously too sleepy to care for much of anything, because Spain was now carrying the boy to a small table out by the garden. Romano started when Spain began walking faster and a far-too-familiar voice rang out.

"Fratello~!"

Romano had to force his wide eyes to narrow ever-so-slightly.

"There, Romano. Here's Veneziano."

"What, it's just you." Romano forced out in a not-quite irritated tone. Then, with a backward glance to Spain, "Dammit, you bastard." as if Spain had promised him something better.

"Fratello, long time no see!"

Spain remained standing, watching Romano march away and Italia follow faithfully, and blinked as he heard Austria's third and quite miffed offer to take a seat.

There was a quiet minute or two as Austria finished the page he was reading before bookmarking it and setting down the book. "So, how's it going with Romano?"

"Wait! Ah! Austria! Look at that!" Spain exclaimed, straightening in his seat and pointing. "That's… aw!"

Not too far ahead from them both sat the brothers atop tall grass, leaning toward each other just a bit and curls overlapping to unintentionally resemble a heart.

It was too much for Spain.

"CUUUUUTE! SO CUUUUTE!"

Seeing no other choice to subdue him, Austria sighed and promptly hit the back of Spain's head with his heavy text. (1)

"Ve~ I missed you, Fratello."

Romano cast Veneziano a short glance and nodded with an uninterested, "Mm."

Veneziano blinked at what he thought was annoyance in his brother's tone and looked at Romano from the corner of a half-closed eye. He beamed at the quivering, upturned brows, tomato-red cheeks and twitching lips that were already puckered in a reluctant pout. Slowly, Veneziano shuffled just a tad bit closer, and winced in time with his brother when the tops of their curls tangled. They both instinctively flinched away, only to cry out when the knot tightened. They tensed upon hearing two pairs of running footsteps.

"What have you two gotten yourselves into this time…?" Austria mumbled after reaching them, making quick work of the knot with gentle fingers.

"Are they all right?" Spain asked, hovering over them with helpless hands outstretched, unsure of what to do.

"They're fine." Austria replied, coaxing the Italies farther apart before standing.

"Are they really…?" Doubtfully, Spain eyed twin flush expressions and tiny heaving chests. "Did it hurt that much for them…?" He wondered aloud.

Another sigh escaped Austria's aristocratic lips as he realized his acquaintance wouldn't let the matter go. "The curls," he explained with a rather stolid expression, "are their erogenous zone."

Spain's eyes blinked, taking in the information, widened with mortification as he remembered when he once yanked on Romano's curl for the sake of curiosity, then lifted to stare pointedly at the curl on Austria's hair. "So that…?"

Spain cocked his head to the side when Austria wordlessly walked away. He looked over at the brothers – no longer gasping and instead facing awkwardly away from each other – with furrowed brows before shaking his head at the thought with a humorless chuckle.

How silly of him.

1618 – A week before Thirty Years War

"Get the fuck away from us!"

Romano's glare only grew more intense when blue eyes narrowed challengingly at him. He didn't always mind the boy before him, but he was so fucking stubborn, and, with every visit to Vene, Romano had seen enough of that boy to forever hate black trimmed with gold, blue eyes and slicked-back blonde hair.

It was really obvious Holy Roman Empire thought Veneziano was a girl, but, Romano was pretty sure Veneziano would be upset if such a trivial thing as gender had scared off one of his friends. Besides, it was only a crush, so what did it matter if the brat didn't know Vene was a boy anyway?

But, really, what was this kid's problem? He did understand that, if he wanted Italia to join him in his empire, Romano would be included, and harassing Vene wasn't going to make Romano any more fond of him, right?

It was just the surge of overprotectiveness that was expected in all older brothers, he knew. There was no other reason for his animosity against Holy Roman Empire, aside from the whole 'I-demand-all-of-Italia-join-me' attitude. Though, Romano wondered why those feelings were so similar to how he had once felt toward Spain before he would be taken along with his Boss's visits to Austria's home and Vene.

10 September 1683 – Day before The Battle of Vienna

Vene hadn't stopped crying.

Romano was about ready to punch a wall.

"H-he just left, Romano, he's gone!"

A tick developed in Romano's left eye.

"I know, Vene, I know."

"I'm all alone now, Romano!"

The little shit

"I'm here, Veneziano."

It was so unbelievably frustrating how Vene didn't even react at that, just sobbed some more and shook his head mournfully.

"But you're not, Romano, you're not."

Why aren't you calling me "Fratello" anymore?

"Is he here?"

No answer. Romano shifted, getting ready to stand-

"I don't want to be alone forever, ve."

-and settled when he heard that damn vulnerable tremor. He gave a large sigh that had his tiny chest heave as Vene continued to cry into his shirt. Romano looked up, at the sky, and regarded it with a thoughtful scowl.

He hated the color blue.

April 1713 – Treaty of Utrecht

Romano idly noted that the tips of his toes could now reach the floor as he restlessly swung his legs, seated in an elaborate chair at an elaborate table. He stopped only when he felt Spain's tense hand on his own tense shoulder, squeezing once, softly, comforting and reassuring.

Romano's eyes flickered to Spain's carefully blank face, then to Veneziano's directly opposite himself.

(Veneziano had looked almost cheerful when he first saw them, earlier, but his smile had shrunk at Romano and Spain's somber expressions.)

Spain's hand moved from Romano's shoulder to his hand.

"… South Italy will be relinquished to Austria, as will Belgium…"

And with the first seven words alone, Romano felt his eyes prickle with the threat of oncoming tears; the last three barely held him back from crying, as it gave him just the tiniest shred of hope.

Spain's hand squeezed his own.

Belgium wordlessly held his free hand.

Veneziano stared at him.

He swore he wouldn't cry.

Romano began swinging his legs again, noting once more that the toes of his shoes scraped silently against the tiled floor.

Then, there was a snap of the papers as they were sharply set on the table in a neat stack, and Romano knew the conference was over, and he would have to return to Austria's home soon.

Too soon.

He looked over to his left, to Spain, and felt something in him wither at the depressed face he saw, the smile that didn't reach the dim, haunted eyes he found.

Spain's hand squeezed Romano's in a bone-crushing grip as Austria stood, Veneziano at his heels, to receive his new territories. Belgium and Spain got to their feet when Austria approached, pulling Romano up between them.

Spain let go, slowly, reluctantly, and only then did Romano realize how sweaty both their trembling hands had been.

When Spain muttered a polite greeting to Austria and Veneziano, and was responded with a nod and likewise reply respectively, Romano thought that, maybe, Austria didn't look quite as cross at Spain as he had before.

"I'll see you soon, Romanito." Spain promised, but the cheerfulness in his face so obviously forced as he added, "Cuidalo, Bélgica." Take care of him, Belgium, Romano mentally translated with a pout.

"Sí."

"España," Romano began with a shaky voice, a fierce blush on his cheeks as he recalled his first time learning Spanish, and hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself if Spain didn't even remember (but Spain was more sentimental than Romano, so he would, right?). Romano licked his lips nervously and lifted a trembling finger to his left cheek, the closest to Spain. "Bésame."

Spain's eyes widened, and, for the first time in weeks, Romano saw them light up with just a hint of their usual sparkle. The smile on Spain's lips seemed to have lost its bitter edge as those same lips only just puckered and pecked Romano just below the cheekbone and, Romano – much to his own mortification – felt the blush darken; he had no doubt Spain could feel the heat radiating off his face.

"Te ves como un tomate~" Spain cooed in a low murmur fondly, ruffling Romano's hair, taking care to avoid the curl.

"Idiota."Romano muttered back, for the sake of keeping some sort of normalcy between them, just one last time.

With one last glance over his shoulder at the doorway as he walked away, Romano caught sight of Spain waving, and then the doors closed.

If he didn't know better, he would have thought the frown Veneziano sent to Spain wasn't a trick of his eyes.

"I'm glad I'll get to see you more now, Fratello." Veneziano tried in a poor imitation of his usual chime after a somewhat long, somewhat awkward silence.

"Mm." Romano grunted, and he didn't protest when Veneziano decided to cling to his arm.

Hours later, Romano looked doubtfully up at Belgium as she tucked him into bed – a job that was once reserved for Spain, when they would share a bed.

"I've seen the signs. It will probably be a while, but, I know, Spain will return for you."

Romano snorted. "With how lazy that bastard is-"

"He's always been nicer and more lenient to you than any of his other colonies." Belgium responded knowingly. "Fathers don't abandon their sons."

A knock at the door had Romano bolting upright and Belgium turn sharply, a hand pressed to her mouth, and they both worried at who might have overheard.

"Fratello," A small voice called out softly, muffled by the closed door. "Fratello? Sei sveglio?"

Are you awake?

The two occupants of the room sighed with relief, and Belgium opened the door.

"Ciao, Belgio." Veneziano mumbled politely, and she responded with a gentle "hallo," as he shuffled up to his brother's bed, a pillow cradled in his arms, pressed against his chest.

"Vene?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Romano? Ve."

And Romano could hear it again, then, the hint of a tremble in that one word.

"I sleep naked, Vene." Romano replied, straight to the point, unabashed.

"It's all right, Fratello, so do I." Veneziano replied setting the pillow down and lifting the hem of his shirt.

"I-idiota! Of course it's not fine!" Romano snapped, a heavy blush settled on his cheeks.

"Eh?" Veneziano froze in his movements.

"B-Bella…" Romano mumbled, reverting to the old nickname to call the giggling blonde at his bedside, "C-could you get my shorts…?"

There was a soft plop when the bottoms Romano had shucked off a few minutes before landed beside him on the bed, and he muttered a short "Gracias," as he wriggled into them from under the blanket.

"Fratello…?"

"You can climb in now." Romano said as he emerged, scooting over to the right to make room for Vene.

Veneziano complied, crawling over to the left side of the bed and sliding beneath the covers. "Fratello?"

"Mm?"

"Why have you been speaking so much Spanish lately, ve?"

"Mm." Romano turned to face Vene, kicking his feet around when Belgium asked them to stay still as she began fixing the sheets, and he received a soft smack on his head. "Just habit, I s'ppose, after living with Spain for so long."

"Oh." There was a glum note in Vene's voice, but Romano was sure it was really just him – or his brother, or both – drifting off, tired, that made it sound so.

"Buenas noches, you two." Belgium called at the door.

"Buenas noches."

"Buona notte."

The door clicked shut, and the boys drifted off to sleep in companionable silence, hardly moving. Romano had been nodding off, lashes fluttering shut, when he felt his head shift, prompted by little fingers, and a pressure against his left cheek. A kiss.

"Ti voglio bene, Romano. Ti voglio bene."

"Mm. Ti voglio bene, Vene."

He felt Vene whisper a laugh at the unintentional rhyme, smiled, and fell asleep.

1723

"Però, it will be very fun Fratello!"

Veneziano's smile remained even as he received a peeved glare.

"Per favore~"

Romano swore he would hurt Bella if she secretly told Vene he couldn't resist his fratellino's pleading.

An hour or so later found them both rowing a gondola across Il Canal Grande in matching outfits of blue jackets and light brown slacks.

"Ve~ it's so nice out today!"

"Mm." Romano agreed, an almost invisible smile on his face as he looked at the land around him – Vene's land, he remembered, because they were in Venice. Venezia. He took a deep breath, and thought only of the clear water beneath them, the cloudless sky above them, the clean air surrounding them.

"Ve~ Fratello, guardami!"

Look at me!

Romano obliged, turning his head slowly, and blinked; atop his brother's head sat a hat given to him by their last passenger, a color matching their slacks with a blue ribbon fastened. With a wink and a grin, Vene lifted the hat, as if in greeting. When Romano didn't comment, Vene's face fell. "Ve~ did it really look that weird?" He asked with a pout.

"No, not weird. It looks…" Romano bit his lip and frowned, searching for a word that fit. "… good." He finally settled on. "It really suits you." He added, for good measure.

"Ve~! Does it really?"

"Mm. Ah, Vene! Oi! You're supposed to help me steer-!"

"Fratello also looks good with the hat, ve~"

Romano looked up at Vene from his not-quite-bowed head with narrow eyes that weren't quite glaring and flushed cheeks.

"Ve~ you look like a tomato with such a red face."

"You sound like Spain."

Romano frowned suspiciously when Vene pursed his lips and looked pointedly away. Before Romano could ask what was wrong, Vene skipped back to the other side of the gondola and pointed. "Ve~" Romano noticed how often Vene used that word nowadays, and wondered if there was maybe a reason why, "Look, Fratello, they're calling us over!"

And, a few hours later, Romano forgot what he wanted to ask Vene.

October 1733 – Spain joins War of Polish Succession

"He's coming to get you, ve."

"Mm."

Veneziano wondered if that was really the only answer he could get from Romano.

"Are you happy?"

Romano's head snapped up, and his wide, surprised eyes portrayed guilt, but, that could have just been Veneziano's paranoia acting up again.

"Happy? About what?"

"Are you happy? Here and now? Or that Spain is trying to win you back, and so soon, too? Where are you happiest?"

"Vene?"

"Where, Fratello?"

Romano blinked. Beside him sat Vene, arms around the knees pressed to his chest. He was pouting, face half-hidden behind his knees, and Romano decided the disheartened look didn't suit Vene at all.

"I… don't know, Vene. Here I have you, mio fratellino, però España… este… He's…" Romano thought back to a few years before, his first night there, after Spain's rule, at what Belgium had said. "He-he's not like a father, not really, però-!"

"What is 'este', Fratello?"

"Mm? Oh, it's like… 'um'… in Spanish."

"… I see." Veneziano mumbled, head bowed. Romano, forgetting what he had been trying to say, scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"We're getting pretty old, right, Fratello? We're almost fourteen physically now, ve."

It was the last word that had Romano tense, think over what Vene had just said, then again, and once more. "Yeah," he smiled, "we are."

1735 – Return of South Italy to Spain

"Romanito!"

Absentmindedly, Romano thought it might have been the ease with which the endearment was called – yelled, shouted out for the world to hear – it could have been the undeniable contentment – incapable of being weighed down even by the obvious tiredness – in the all-too-familiar voice, or, maybe, just maybe, it was how the arms wrapped around him and the breath by his ear and the heart thumping loudly against his own and the trembling of the body holding him so protectively all radiated unspeakable relief after fighting for him again so soon that had Romano stop short and remain immobile, unsure of how to respond. He blinked twice, closed his eyes, leaned into the familiarly intimate embrace and the warmth it offered, hands not-exactly-awkwardly settled on the arms that clutched at him with a sort of paternal possessiveness, if only to humor the man, not because he secretly enjoyed the contact, not at all.

"España."

There was a curt, impatient sigh behind him, and Romano knew it could only belong to Austria.

"You haven't officially reclaimed Romano yet," Austria said, and he said it with such conciseness Romano could imagine the snob turning up his nose and curling his lip.

"Ah, yes, of course!" Spain immediately agreed, taking only a half-step back and cradling Romano's face in his hands, thumbs rubbing cheeks that had, in his absence, lost its baby fat with a strange cross of awe and lament. "You've grown up so much… Where did poquito Romanito mío go? My little Romanito, he's not here anymore…"

"Idiota." Romano grumbled with no small hint of embarrassment, and he wondered if that was what Spain wanted to hear, because his already too-large grin grew. "The longer we stand out here…" Romano trailed off, unsure of how to word what he meant to say, but Spain seemed to understand.

"Ah, yes, that's right!" He agreed, grabbing Romano's wrist and almost began to walk, before stopping and smiling sheepishly. "Ahaha… I suppose you have to sit with Austria…"

"Quite right." The aforementioned nation confirmed, walking ahead into the building, Veneziano following silently, looking over his shoulder at them only once with a none-too-pleased face.

"I see Veneziano's wearing boy clothes now."

"Mm." Romano grinned. "The Prick and Hungary were surprised when his voice got deeper."

"He didn't say anything."

"No…" Romano agreed, "he's barely said anything all day…"

As the conditions of the treaty were read aloud, Romano noted that both his and Vene's feet could reach the floor just fine.

Across from Romano sat Spain, who looked as if he was trying to keep from bouncing in his seat. Now that Romano looked, really looked, there were dark circles under Spain's eyes, and slight creases on his forehead that should have resulted from frowning too much (but couldn't have, because it was Spain and Spain is always smiling and laughing at everything, right?)

With every passing minute, Romano lost more feeling in his right hand than he ever thought possible, what with how tight Vene's grip on it grew. A sideways glance showed Vene's lips pulled into a straight line, jaw locked and thin brows pulled into a frown as he stared at the wooden surface of the table.

Romano didn't think he'd ever seen Vene so sad over him before.

And then there was the snap of the papers, and Romano knew the conference was over, and he would have to return to Spain's home soon.

Too soon.

And Romano's eyes widened at the thought, because, hadn't he been reluctant to leave Spain before? Hadn't he wanted to forever stay in the cycle of waking up to a Spanish breakfast and complain for Italian even as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful, plant or pick tomatoes depending on the season, have a siesta curled up next to Spain, fix up lunch as Spain made churros and boast of his own culinary skills even as he finished off at least three or four churros, another, shorter siesta if he felt like it, help Spain with dinner, bathe and fall asleep on Spain's much bigger bed? Hadn't he been looking forward to this day?

Instead, Romano found himself upset that he wouldn't be returning to Austria's to fix up some sort of pasta for lunch with Vene, have a siesta with Vene, "teach" Vene about girls as if he had any idea what he was talking about, experiment with food with Vene for dinner, bathe with Vene, go to bed in his and Vene's now-shared room with his back facing Vene, waking up to find Vene and himself facing each other with their legs twined and sometimes holding each other's hands, fixing breakfast with Vene, doing a few menial tasks with Vene, having a siesta during or after cleaning (usually the former) with Vene (the Blonde Brat never returned, so keeping him away from Vene wasn't a part of the routine like it used to be before he lived with Spain) and repeating the pattern.

Romano didn't have much time to think this apparent complication over before Vene had them both out of their seats and held Romano hostage in his bone-crushing hug.

"Ti voglio bene così tanto."

I love you so much

And there was something in the hushed and hastened – heartbroken – way Vene whispered this in his ear that made Romano's heart freeze up and his chest ache with an abruptness that had him scared out of his mind.

"Ti voglio bene tanto, tanto."

I love you so, so much.

Romano's arms wrapped around Vene at that, because Vene had more or less choked that last sentence out, and now Vene had his face buried in the front of Romano's shirt, and now it was getting wet but Romano didn't care, didn't mind at all, hardly even noticed, as he pat Vene's head with one hand and rubbed Vene's back with the other.

But Romano couldn't deny how those simple admissions made his heart beat faster than he thought possible after it had skipped a beat, or how he felt like a knot was tightening in his stomach, or how he was suddenly somewhat light-headed, or how he could feel his blood thudthudthuding in his ears, or how there was suddenly a lump in his throat, or how he wanted to hold Vene closer, or how, when a hand strayed too far right – Vene's left – it stroked that hair, from its base at Vene's scalp to its curly tip, and Vene made a strained noise at the back of his throat that made Romano's ears strain to hear it clearer, and Vene raised his head and glanced up from under his (long, long) fluttering lashes pointedly at Romano's own curl-

-Romano stared directly into Vene's glistening eyes, daring Vene to pull his curl, if only to see what would result from it, to find out what this sudden onslaught of feelings meant-!

To see how far they would go.

But, he didn't understand what that meant, either.

"Romanito~!"

And the spell was broken.

Vene stepped back, head bowed as he rubbed his now-watery eyes, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"Vene…"

Veneziano tensed at that, the longing whisper echoing as he bit down on his bottom lip, confused.

"Romanito~!"

Romano turned, and found himself all but tackled by Spain.

Spain's last call had been halfway on his way to Romano, pushing and shoving through the rest of the attended, and Romano wondered whether Spain had taken his time to get to them, time had slowed down for himself and Vene, or if he had imagined everything.

"Ah, did you want to spend more time with Veneziano?" Spain asked, pulling back with a smile.

"S-"

"No."

Romano whirled around, surprised at the vehement reply Spain received.

Vene looked just as surprised as Romano, the pads of his fingers pressed tightly against his pursed lips, eyes wider than Romano ever remembered seeing them.

"I-I mean… Austria said we have to go back home soon, so…"

"Ah, I see." Spain said politely.

Vene's eyes flickered from Spain to the floor to the other side of the room to Romano to the table to the ceiling to Romano's curl to the wall to Romano to Spain to the floor to Romano to Romano's curl to Romano again.

Romano saw, too.

"Mm." Veneziano nodded, and with only a quiet "addio," and a nod to them both he walked, determined to bypass them without pause-

"Anch'io ti voglio bene, Vene."

I love you too, Vene

-and, though he faltered for a fraction of a second when Romano murmured right next to his ear, he managed.

"You want to return already?"

Veneziano didn't bother wondering how Austria knew it was him as he approached the older man from behind.

"Sì."

Veneziano hadn't been able to resist looking over his shoulder once, just once, as he reached the doorway.

His eyes met Romano's once again, and they bore one another farewell.

"Are you all right, Romanito?"

"Mm." Romano grunted, watching Vene leave and staring at the same spot even after the door closed behind him.

He hadn't imagined anything.

It was then Spain remembered when he first took Romano to visit Veneziano, and their curls accidentally tangled, and then he remembered hoarse gasps and heaving chests and red faces – all from a little knot.

Spain looked at Romano's curl, and wondered, what might have transpired had he not interrupted them?

17 March 1805 – Birth of the Napoleonic Kingdom of Italy

Fifty-six years later, they would find the date to be extremely ironic.

"You don't… mind it? At all?"

"Ve~ why would I? I mean… I do miss Austria and Signora Hungary, però… France is a nice caretaker too. Ve."

Romano lifted a brow, watched as Veneziano fidgeted nervously. "If you say so, then."

"Ve. At least France and Spain get along… I'm relieved. I'd hate it if we couldn't visit. I've missed you, Fratello, ve."

"…" Romano huffed, looked away, "-mo."

"Hm? Fratello?"

Veneziano blinked, and next he knew, Romano's arms were wrapped around him.

"Ti voglio bene, Vene. Ti voglio bene."

Veneziano blinked, again, again. He beamed, face absolutely lit up – glowing – and he glanced over at scarlet cheeks. "Ve! Ti voglio bene Roma~!"

Romano tensed.

"Don't call me that." He whispered.

Veneziano blinked, his smile fading.

"Ve."

He refrained from asking why.

1806 – End of the Holy Roman Empire

"He's really gone…"

Romano cursed his timing. That he happened to visit the day the blonde brat left to fight in the Battle of Vienna was bad enough, but for Romano to arrive just an hour before word came of the dissolution of the same boy…

His timing really sucked.

"Yeah, he is."

He winced at the careless tone even he could hear in his voice, but a glance to his side confirmed that Vene was too caught up in his own thoughts.

Tears spilled gently from Vene's uncharacteristically dull eyes – completely devoid of emotion – and a sad smile played on his lips.

He was sad – no, more than that, he was dejected, disconsolate, depressed-

Heartbroken

-and it bugged Romano more than it should have.

"He's really gone…" Vene repeated in an awed whisper, as if he couldn't believe what he had heard from France just a few minutes before. "I…

"I really miss him…"

It was impossible for Romano to ignore how those words stabbed at his heart, but, he managed to get his breath after his throat closed up for only a second, and he managed to blink away the abrupt stinging behind his lids, and he managed to stand his ground despite the tempting urge to just get the fuck away-

he managed to put the hollow ache of his chest to the back of his mind

-for Vene's sake, because Vene looked like he really need someone to be there with him. A-and Romano was only doing this because they were famiglia, t-that's all, n-n-not because he actually wanted to-!

"Romano,"

And there he fucking went again.

"What?"

So he had no reason to snap at Vene like that, but Vene was starting to make his head hurt, and he didn't think Vene would notice how angry he was getting with each passing second, but the wide, hurt eyes said otherwise.

Shit.

"N-never mind…"

Vene's head shook, dismissing whatever he had to say, and Romano never felt worse.

"Dimmi."

Tell me

"N-no, it's fine," a sniffle as Vene rubbed his sleeve against his eyes again, "it's nothing, Romano."

Those vulnerable emotions were smothered down again. His hand reached out and gently gripped Vene's, squeezing once, and he kept his face in his typical scowl when he felt Vene staring at him before entangling their fingers and squeezing back.

"We never really talked…"

Vene paused, and it took Romano a second to realize Vene was talking about himself and Holy Roman Empire.

"He was always so quiet and hesitant around me… and I still don't know much about him… but…"

The tears shed faster and faster, until they were no longer single drops but rivulets of despair.

"But… he was my dearest friend."

Vene squeezed Romano's hand.

"Don't leave me, Roma, ve."

And it was only because of how Veneziano sounded – desperate and needy and lonely – and that word that Romano refrained from yelling at Vene for calling him that.

"I won't, Vene."

Maybe Vene had noticed Romano calling his full name earlier after all, because his smile seemed a bit more genuine than it had been before.

18 June 1815 – Congress of Vienna

"Really now, France, to think a man of such stature could be your leader."

Romano took one glance at the bushy-browed nation across the room just itching to get under the Pervert's skin and took the comment as a warning to tune out the rest of their soon-to-be never-ending argument. He leaned against the wall behind him and watched as the twenty-three men in chairs argued and negotiated and sweet-talked their way into rearranging their country's boundaries as they saw fit. The entire process, from start to finish, took a total of nine months.

Romano was certain it was the longest nine months of his existence.

Britain and France managed to find something new to gripe about every day, Austria turned up his nose at the noise and the insults thrown around, Prussia cackled loud enough every five seconds for Romano to want to punch him in the fucking mouth, and Russia just smiled at everyone and successfully instilled Fear into every unlucky bastard who managed to make eye contact with him.

And those were only the "Great Powers"; there were plenty others – there had to be, or he wouldn't be there – but Romano really wasn't in the mood to focus on those other nations.

Romano turned to his right, to Vene, and could tell, from the blank expression alone, that Vene was just as distracted as he was, thinking about the same thing Romano was.

It had only been the day before, Romano remembered, when Vene caught him alone and proposed the idea, voiced it aloud, rather than the hidden implication within the comment of their aging so long ago.

After the last of the treaties had been signed, and every country's representatives shook hands with one another, Romano leaned over toward Vene, and, in his ear, whispered, "Okay."

He thought he saw Vene tremble at that, but his answer had received a determined nod. It was settled, then.

They would work their way toward unification.

1831 – End of the Carbonari (a group of secret revolutionary societies in Italy)

"FUCKING DAMMIT!"

Romano slammed his fists on the piece of shit table, and they tingled from the force, but he ignored the pain as he hit his forehead against the cheap ass wood.

"Roma…"

"Don't fucking call me that Veneziano."

The use of his full name hurt more than Veneziano would like to admit, but he ignored the constricting motion in his chest.

"Why don't you…?"

"You know why! Roma is the city, Veneziano! Imperium Romanum – Roman Empire, Veneziano, Nonno Roma! I'm… just 'Romano'."

"No… you're not."

Romano didn't move his head from the table, even as he heard Veneziano approach him from behind and lean over his shoulder.

"You're not 'just Romano' to me, Fratello, ve."

There it was again, that tremble.

Fingers ran through Romano's hair, from the base of his neck to the crown of his head, and, soon enough, snagged on his curl-

-and Romano couldn't smother the groan from the back of his throat.

Slowly, Romano's head rose, and the crease of his forehead evened out into nonexistence. His cheek rubbed against Veneziano's, and they stared at each other wordlessly for a minute, two, and then Veneziano's thumb and forefinger pulled at the curl again, and Romano-

"Ahn!"

-gave a little gasp, eyes shut and face unbearably hot, and Veneziano felt a tremor run up his spine, goosebumps prickle his skin, and a sadistic pleasure at Romano's reaction overtake him, and he would have pulled again-

-had there not been a frantic knock at the beaten down door.

Veneziano felt tempted to slam his own forehead on the table as Romano stood and stomped off to yell at the idiot at the door of their shared sad excuse of a house at this time of day.

24 February 1848

"Have you heard the news, Fratello?"

There was a snap of papers almost slammed on an almost-moderate table that was decorated with deep abrasions and missing chips of wood. Romano grinned. "It's in the avviso."

"Hm~" Veneziano hummed, dropping into the seat of the chair next to Romano's, eyes staring ahead and at nothing. "To think, the King of France would be forced to give up his throne and flee… and so abruptly, too."

Russet eyes flickered down when Romano slid the avviso over. "More people are speaking out, Vene, for the cause. We're almost there now, I can feel it!"

Veneziano smiled thinly as he glanced over to his right, to Romano-

A smooth, not-quite-tan cheek leaning against a loose fist, the elbow propped up on the table as hazel eyes stared straight ahead at their door, awaiting opportunity to offer itself to them, hair only marginally mussed up, a clear indication that he had woken up just a few minutes before…

-and twin spots of pink began to bloom on either of his cheeks. He turned his head sharply forward and hunched his shoulders as he brought the avviso close up to his face, pretending to read it.

He was well aware Romano was staring concernedly at him, but he played oblivious, because he knew that, if he turned back to look at Romano, he might-he might-might…

He wasn't quite sure, really, what he'd do, but, he wasn't sure whether or not it would be good.

For himself, for Romano, or for them both, he couldn't say.

"How's your side faring?"

"Pretty good, ve. You know about January 5th, right? When we stopped smoking and playing the lottery?"

"Yeah?"

"What it really did was keep government from getting income, ve~."

"Your people must do quite a bit of that, then, to make such a significant difference."

"Ve~" Vene repeated with a smile, purposely leaving the question unanswered. "And you, Fratello?"

"Well, as you well know, we already got Ferdinand to give our states four constitutions."

"Four?"

"Sicilia counts."

Veneziano grinned at that, and watched as Romano reached over to the map on the far side of the table and slid it between the two of them. "Where next?"

"You're… asking me, Roma, ve?"

"Of course," Romano replied, frowning. "You're half of Italia, your opinion matters, too."

Veneziano leaned over the map with his head bowed, if only to hide the second blush creeping up in less than five minutes.

"Times are tense in Milano and Venezia…"

"How long?"

"I think…" Veneziano hesitated, nibbling delicately on his bottom lip, oblivious to the intense gaze focused there. "Early March… maybe mid-March…"

"A couple weeks, then. Okay."

"Okay?"

"Mm. So." Romano kneeled on the seat of his chair and hovered over the map with a deep, concentrated look that rarely ever crossed his face-

Veneziano loved that look on Romano

-and began suggesting ideas for how to arrange the next raid aloud.

Veneziano nodded along, absorbing every sound, listening to every word with more focus than he knew he had.

20 March 1860

Romano sat at the table, upturned fists holding his otherwise suspended head up, serving as an anchor. He swung his legs under the table, scuffing up the floor as his mind raced.

It wasn't dark – another glance, the tenth within a minute, to the window confirmed that much – at all, the sun was practically glaring down at his and Vene's shared abode, but time suddenly felt unbearably slow, even as he counted the seconds with the ticktickticks with the second hand of their old clock with the cracked glass.

The eerie creak of the front door had him snapping his head up, and a smile effortlessly grew on his normally-frowning lips at the sight of Vene, already standing opposite him at the table, eyes bright, flushed and panting-

-Romano's nails bit into his palm.

"So, dimmi."

"We have North and Central Italy, Roma! We're almost there!"

Vene leaned his weight on his forearms, and his forearms on the table, and Romano could see a thin layer of sweat on Vene's forehead-

-Romano bit the inside of his cheek.

"È fantastico, Vene!"

"I suppose so, ve." Vene replied almost sheepishly, head cocked to the side, eyes closed, beaming-

-did Vene's lips always purse just the slightest bit when he said "ve"?

Romano cleared his throat.

"What do you think, Vene?"

"Ve~" there it was again. "We should get a new table soon."

"Hm?" Romano glanced down at the beaten up wood beneath him and smirked. "Yeah, we should. A brand new one, and matching chairs. Brand new furniture, dishes, cookbooks, clothes-"

"Clothes?"

"Well I can't go back to Spain's after moving out everything I could carry, dumbass!" a pause, and then a sigh, "Speaking of Spain…"-

Veneziano twitched at the remorse in Romano's voice, and had to remind himself that Romano could give up whenever – if he ever – wanted to, and hadn't left yet, so he obviously must not want to, unless! Unless-unless Romano just didn't want Veneziano to be alone and-!

-"We… have to deal with him now…"

Oh. Oh.

"You'll be fine, Roma, ve!" Veneziano exclaimed, straightening and walking around to Romano's side of the table and holding him in an awkward almost-hug – arms cradling Romano's head, which was pressed against his own chest, and the rest of Romano's body leaned sideways into Veneziano, whose head rested soundly atop Romano's.

"We'll be f-fine ve!"

Romano's hand rose to rest on one of his brother's arm.

"Roma…"

There was no denying they had both felt the electric jolt at the barest of brushes between their curls.

"Vene."

Church bells rang nearby, loudly as if in warning, clanging for everyone in the neighborhood to hear, and they almost pulled away after blinking, but, then they almost leaned forward, and then-

-there was a knock at the door.

Romano bristled, mouth set in a snarl, and he hissed like a cat on his angry stomping way to the front door.

Veneziano watched him go with wide eyes, distraught and disbelieving, before sinking into a chair, hands cupping his face as slowly breathed in, out, in, out, in, in, out, in through his teeth as Romano yelled at the none-too-happy brother of a young lady one of them had probably flirted with.

What was going on with them?

17 March 1861 - Italy's Unification

"Roma!"

In any other circumstance Romano would likely have wrenched his brother off of him and screamed himself hoarse, but…

they had finally done it.

Sincere laughter – a lovely, melodious note – poured from Roma's lips, and Veneziano, face pressed into the crook of his neck, flushed at the sound, unable to recall having heard it before.

"We did it, Vene! We did it…

"We're one now…"

And something about that last sentence sounded vaguely wrong to Veneziano's ears, but he ignored it, for the moment, as the civilians paraded through the streets and cheered for Vittorio Emanuele, their new king.

Later that night, they celebrated with some wine, drinking merrily at their scratched-and-splintered table and, when the little stools got to be too uncomfortable, they retreated to second-hand arm chairs and a shabby coffee table.

And next they knew, Romano had made himself at home squeezing into Vene's chair, downing Corvina after Corvina, and Veneziano allowed it, leaning into Roma and sighing softly with content.

And next they knew, Romano had wrapped a casual arm around Vene and pressed him close, and he leaned down, and he kissed Vene, and Veneziano's eyes were wide and his breath stopped – more from the shock than the pleasurable tingle of his lips – and he could only sit still, because what else was he supposed to do?

And next they knew, they were in their shared bedroom, on the squeaky bed kicking off too-thin blankets that were coming apart at the seams, lips locked and tongues exploring and fingers caressing and chests heaving and hips grinding.

And next they knew, their clothes had been more or less ripped off without either of them remembering how but not caring regardless, and Romano had lain across an equally-nude Veneziano with arms propped up on either side and just started rolling his hips and so that was rubbing against Veneziano's and-

"Mmm… Roma, more!"

-was met with no protest as Vene started bucking up, and his hands were wandering over Roma's back, chest, face, hair… hair…-

-and Romano's breath caught when his curl was pulled but he continued on, at a slightly faster pace, even-

-and back down to Roma's chest, skimming around and around rosy and perked nipples and experimentally pinched-

-and Romano's mouth let out a little groan and he arched into Vene as he shifted his arms farther apart, so he could be closer-

-and grinned at the sound Roma made and brought his hands to Roma's face and guided those barely-swollen lips to his own, coaxing them open and angling his head-

-and Romano moaned at that, and their kisses only became wilder and wilder, until they were pinching and biting each other-

-and he kept calm when Roma sucked on two fingers briefly and lowered until they were somewhere he didn't think anything should be, before, but now wanted nothing than for it to be filled, for it to be full-

-and it hurt at first, but Roma kept patient, watching his eyes shut and blink and pop open as he hissed and whimpered and groaned, because, after a little bit, it started to feel really good-

-and he didn't protest when Roma nudged his legs wider, he even lifted them above Roma's shoulders and crossed them at the ankles, and he arched his back as another finger was added, and they all went in deeper, deeper, deeper-

-and he cried out loud at the pleasure, and then his legs moved, because Roma was moving, lower, lower, lower and he didn't understand why, but then there was a tongue swirling across his navel-

-and he gripped the mattress-

-and it went further down his body-

-and he panted a little-

-and then it was there, right at the tip of his!-

"Roma!"

-and for a long second, all he saw was white.

He blinked his vision clear, and he couldn't help pushing Roma further down with his legs, because, even though it was so crude-

-it felt wonderful.

And then Vene was being pulled up, in front of Romano, panting and sweating and still trembling a little from the abrupt break from pleasure, and a little trail of saliva was at the corner of his mouth, but Romano simply caressed Vene's face and brought him down to his own manhood-

-and Veneziano obliged, and tried very much to make Roma feel good, and he got past the urge to gag at first, and Roma's moans made him feel like maybe he could do something right for once, and so he started touching and pumping and rubbing and, at the back, prodding a bit until Roma dragged his head up again and kissed him, hard, with tongue and so much passion-!-

-and then Veneziano was on his back, legs spread wide open, unashamed, and he was breathless when Roma was suddenly on top of him and kissed him again-

it was more from the pleasurable tingle of his lips than the shock

-and then Roma was in him, and, like earlier it hurt, but so much more and for so much longer, and he could see the struggle, in Roma's eyes, to hold back, and then - he wasn't sure why, but - he lifted his eyes and, Roma's curl-

-it formed a little heart.

And so he smiled through the tears that were raining down, and he shook his head when Roma asked if Veneziano wanted him to pull out, if they had gone too far - because they hadn't, not at all, this… this…-!-

-is what they had wanted, for so, so long, and, it was what they needed, so he leaned forward a bit, and he noticed the pain was fading a bit because he didn't flinch, and, in Roma's ear, murmured-

-"Sono felice"

I'm happy

And just like that, they were at it again, in and out, in and out, in-and-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, and there was never anything that felt better, and the pleasure was too much, and yet, somehow, not enough, and-!-

-when they finished, later, they lay next to one another, sated, getting their breath back, and they turned toward one another, legs tangled and fingers twining - like how they would more often than not find themselves when they'd wake up sleeping together when they were younger and under Austria's rule - and Veneziano couldn't help murmuring,

"We're one now, Roma…"

May 1882 – Italy's acceptance to Triple Alliance

Veneziano fully expected Roma to blow up in his face when he returned home, closing the door silently behind him, and found Roma already at their brand new table, head resting on crossed arms-

-Roma had fallen asleep waiting for him.

Veneziano's heart lurched and his face burned – with a strange mixture of embarrassment, flattery and guilt – because he was due to return two days before, and he was going to return home two days early to surprise Roma, but, he just met Germany, and he wanted Germany to feel more comfortable around him, but he hadn't realized time would go by so fast-!-

-Veneziano never had this much trouble losing track of time.

"Roma," Veneziano murmured in his brother's ear, shaking his brother's shoulders. "Wake up, Roma, ve."

Veneziano's eyes closed – as was their norm, just realizing they had been open when he entered their fixed-up home – as Roma roused himself awake, stirring and grumbling for a moment before starting and getting to his feet abruptly enough for his chair to lean back and stand on only its rear legs for a second before slamming down on all fours.

"Roma…"

"AH! O-oh, Vene…" Roma let out a slow breath, calming down, before he straightened and turned on his heel to regard Veneziano with narrowed eyes. "Veneziano…"

"Ve~ Roma,"

"VENEZIANO! Where the fuck have you been?"

"Roma…"

"You were supposed to be here two days ago! 'It won't take long, Roma' you said, 'I'll call you if I have to stay longer, Roma' you said, 'I won't forget to be here when Spain visits' you said! Well? You're fucking late, you didn't call, and you weren't here when Spain came over!"

Veneziano's brows furrowed (he wasn't frowning, because he wasn't mad, not really) and his lips pursed at the mention of the older nation. "Roma…"

"You knew this wasn't just a social visit – he hasn't seen you since you declared us unified, and he hasn't seen me since I left! What the fuck was going through your head-?"

"Roma… I'm sorry, ve…"

Romano paused, sucked in a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. "… Fine." he said, "Fine."

There was an awkward silence, and Romano started to walk away when Vene ran to their cupboards. "I'll make breakfast Fratello!"

Romano blinked, sighed and settled back down in his seat, leaning back and setting his arms down on the armrests. "Germany and Austria-Hungary?"

"Ve~ Bismarck helped us when we were trying to unify, and Signora Hungary said she really missed us. Ve."

Romano raised an eyebrow, and realized Vene was probably much more nervous than he thought. "Oh." a beat, "It's only defensive, right?"

"Ve~" Vene chirped, "Sì, Fratello, it's only defensive."

"… Good." Romano's head rested once more atop his crossed arms. "The last thing we need is to get involved in a war."

3 August 1914 – Italy refuses to join World War I

"Roma… are you really sure-?"

"Veneziano!" Romano snapped, and he ignored Vene's flinch – at his tone or that he said Vene's full name, he didn't know – as he continued, "You told me this was a defensive alliance!"

"It is, ve."

"Then? What's the problem?"

"We… they're our allies-"

"This is a defensive alliance-"

"Roma-"

"-so we don't have to attack. Right?"

"Però!"

"Right?"

"… Ve."

Romano glanced over at Vene, on the other side of their couch, and sighed, reaching over to pat his head, stiffly.

Veneziano raised his head, gave Roma a questioning look-

"It's better this way. We don't need to get into a war"

-and blinked slowly before realizing his brother's hand wasn't rigid from anger, but embarrassment from the gesture.

A smile spread across his lips, and he leaned into Roma's touch-

"Mm!"

-only to stiffen as the curl was snagged.

Romano turned, blinked, and his lips curved into a leer.

"Vene,"

Veneziano hissed at the intentional pull, and his just-darkening eyes looked up at Roma from under his lashes.

They were in their bedroom in a matter of seconds.

3 May 1915 – Italy joins the Triple Entente

"I'm not sure about this, Roma, ve…"

"Neither am I."

Veneziano's head snapped up at that. That was the first he had heard any form of hesitance from Roma on this matter.

"Roma?"

"You trust him though, right?"

Veneziano opened his mouth, closed it. He forced himself to keep calm, to keep his breathing even.

He didn't know what to say.

"… Vene?"

Veneziano inhaled sharply, and it was then, there, at that very moment – when he heard the hushed, cracked whisper from quivering chapped lips – did he realize Roma, in a sense, depended on him…-

-perhaps as much as he depended on Roma.

"Sì," Veneziano replied, blankly, and then, firmer, "Sì. I trust him, Roma-" his lips opened with the intention of adding "ve", but after a second's hesitance he let the sentence hang as he pursed his lips, but he smiled when Roma's gaze flickered to him, waiting for something and smiling nervously back when he received nothing.

"Ah, mes chers~! I apologize for the wait!"

The brothers looked up at France's abrupt entry into the office and remained silent even as the older nation took a seat behind his desk, opposite the two armchairs either of the Italies sat in. France's warm smile lasted all of a few seconds before it disappeared in favor of a pout.

"Ma, you two certainly aren't cheery today. Not even a 'hello' or 'good morning' to your frère!"

His smile faintly returned with the mumbled "buon giorno"s and he clapped his hands twice and spoke with his usual charm in hopes of lightening the mood.

"So, then, mes chers, ask me whatever you wish."

"We don't need to ask anything. Just give us the papers and we'll sign."

Vene didn't even blink at that, didn't think to mention the list of terms they had worked out and memorized the night before.

France raised a brow at Romano's reply, curt and demanding as they always were, and looked over to the younger Italy, and his brow rose further when he didn't find the hesitance in the downturn of lips he had seen the past few visits. He waited a second or two, waited to see if they would change their mind, and his glamorous smile made its third appearance.

"All right, then, here you two go."

It was, well, not exactly laughable, but the sight of Veneziano's eyes narrowed and brows delicately furrowed in concentration as he read the document in his hands – a look mirrored in Romano's face as he read over Veneziano's shoulder, and the silent agreement they made looking into one another's eyes for just a fraction of a second before the papers were transferred to Romano, and Romano's signatures were promptly followed by Veneziano's did bring a smile to France's face.

"All done?" he asked when the papers were dropped carelessly on his desk.

"Mm."

France spared them both a last glance as he stacked the documents in a neat pile.

"The lands and territories we discussed earlier, I understand. Aside from that, no other questions?" he asked a last time, and a spark lit in his heart when the boys came to another silent conclusion after another flicker of met eyes.

"No." Veneziano answered this time, and then, as an afterthought, "It's been nice meeting with you, France."

"Ah, as it has been with you, Veneziano," and then, with lidded eyes and a lower tone, "a pleasure doing business with you as well, Romano."

France wasn't even remotely surprised to be answered with two pairs of narrowed eyes – a pair exasperated and unbothered, the other a tad annoyed and quite possessive.

"Yeah," Romano commented as he stood, and walked out the door with only that and a dismissive wave.

"Farewell, France." Veneziano said politely, but his tone was devoid of its usual mirth and his smile looked quite strained, and he raced after his brother with a hurried "Wait, Fratello!" and an outstretched arm raised too high to hope to grab hold of a shoulder or sleeve.

France closed his eyes and waited for a second, and his smile stretched into a satisfied grin when he heard the muffled "mmph!" from Romano.

France was the second to notice.

But of course, it helped that he had stood beside door listening in – not eavesdropping – to their brief conversation just a few minutes before.

1919 – Paris Peace Conference

"Bullshit." Romano hissed. "All of it was bullshit!"

"Ve~ Roma, we got some land at least, right?"

"Not everything we were promised."

"It's a conference, we were all compromising, ve. Nobody gets everything they wanted, ve."

Romano glanced at Vene's passive expression, and was surprised at the closed eyes – he hadn't noticed, before, how unused he was to seeing them like that now, Vene's eyes were almost always open around him. He tried not to stare, but he didn't realize he was until Vene started fidgeting with his hands, so he looked forward again and sighed. "Mm." he grunted, and because he wasn't looking at Vene anymore, he didn't notice the displeased frown sent his way.

"Ah, mes chers~! Frère would like to have a word with you!"

Romano scowled as he turned, a protective look about him only enhanced by the protective arm he wrapped around Veneziano's shoulders, and France couldn't help his growing smile.

"What is it, France?"

"Hm~" An innocently thoughtful, pondering expression crossed France's face, complete with a single finger tapping on his chin. "Actually, I only need a word with," his eyes settled on the oldest of the Italies, "you."

Veneziano's hand tightened into a fist as he stiffened, a possessive look about him only enhanced by the possessive grip he had on Romano's white button-up shirt, and France couldn't help how his lips elongated into a not-quite-mocking leer.

Romano's eyes narrowed suspiciously at France. "Five minutes, Vene."

France blinked, and was only confused further when Veneziano responded, after a short glance to the wrist of the arm half-hidden beneath Romano's discarded suit jacket, "Half past three, Roma."

"Five minutes." Romano repeated, and, after Veneziano walked (not skipped, France noted with well-concealed glee) away, to France he demanded, "What do you want?"

"Now, now, Romano," France chimed, hands held up innocently in mock surrender. "You needn't be so cranky; I did everything I could, but I didn't know so many of those lands you wanted were already promised to other countries."

Romano waited for a moment, two, then, "That doesn't answer my question."

France didn't reply at first, just stared over Romano's shoulder, to where the younger Italie was pacing. "Veneziano looks happy with him. Germany, I mean. They get along well."

Romano frowned. "Yeah?"

France nodded, and continued. "Happy, like he is with you."

"We're famiglia," Romano reasoned, and he made a face. "Vene better not think of him as family; that would mean the cackling bastard would be considered family."

France chuckled darkly, shook his head. "Not quite what I meant." He took a step, two, five closer to Romano.

"What do you mean then…?" Romano asked warily, taking a step back for every step forward France took.

"I believe you and Veneziano are involved in a much more… intimate... relationship, non?"

Romano's heart beat frantically through the following silence. He licked his suddenly dry lips anxiously. "How… how did you know-?"

"You are talking to the country – non, the very persona – of love!" Pearl white teeth peeked out of the coy curve of coral pink lips. "It's impossible to hide such matters from me."

"… Bastard." Romano finally grumbled, and he crossed his arms with a large sigh. Another sigh, and then, softer, "You won't… say anything…?"

"You two are in love, non? Who am I to question l'amour you two share?"

Romano unconsciously sighed again, relieved, and he opened his mouth to say something-

"Roma!"

-but was cut off by Vene's call and abrupt hug that only managed to knock him off his feet.

"VENE!"

"Mi dispiace! Sono così, mi spiace!"

"Ow! That fucking hurt! What the hell were you thinking, dumbass?"

"Ve~ I said I was sorry, Roma!"

Romano grunted, sat up and didn't bother to push Vene off his lap, even when France gave him an all-too-knowing wink before skipping merrily away.

"Vene…"

"-really didn't mean to hurt you Roma! I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I-what's with that face? I told you-ve! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'mso-"

"Veneziano."

Russet eyes snapped wide open and stared into hazel. Romano smiled, and, only because he was certain there was no one else around, he leaned closer, lips brushing Vene's, and whispered,

"Ti voglio bene."

Veneziano opened his mouth, hesitated only at the abrupt confession in Roma's eyes, and smiled.

"Ti voglio bene, Roma."

They kissed under the sun's glaring rays beating down at them, and they ignored the church bells that chimed at half past three.

29 October 1922 – Mussolini's rise to power

"I don't want to be a part of this, Roma…"

Comforting and controlled, warm arms tightened around Veneziano's quaking frame as they lay in bed that night, hiding childishly under the comforters.

"Me neither."

Veneziano pressed his face further into the crook of Roma's neck, breathing in the familiar, indescribable scent, and he had his arms pressed together between their bare chests. Goosebumps raced up his spine as Roma's hands rubbed against his back, the sides of his arms, his waist, lower, teasing.

"What can we do? About Mussolini, I mean. He's killing innocent people, Roma."

He was rolled onto his back, and the sight of Roma crawling above him with a sort of predatory look was one that was welcomed. He wrapped his naked legs around Roma's exposed hips, coaxing Roma closer, closer, closer, even as he was stretched and his legs were lifted, until Roma was in him, and he let out a huge breath as he slid across their bed sheets, soaked with their sweat even after several minutes later.

"Nothing, Vene. We can't do… a-anything"

The conversation ended there.

Their grunts and moans and whimpers were muffled under the unnecessary heavy blankets and almost-chattering teeth pressing roughly down on now-bleeding bottom lips. Their endearments were uttered in indistinct whispers and inaudible murmurs and low indiscernible cries. Their fingers couldn't stop moving, tracing invisible shapes and words all over the other's skin, and grabbinggrabbinggrabbing so hard bruises were left behind. Their breaths were labored, heavy, but they tried to keep their gasps as low as possible.

There was a sort of excitement to this, to violating one another while trying to make as little noise as possible, when they were usually so caught up in their lust they wouldn't bother to quiet themselves. There was a sort of forbidden feel about it, their lovemaking, this way, under the covers with only the moonlight shining in from the head of the bed, where the blanket couldn't quite meet the mattress, to allow them sight.

They had already been approaching an hour's time when Veneziano pushed Roma into the bed and rode him, looking down at Roma's flushed and unguarded expression with a tired smile, fingers spread out on Roma's lower stomach as he shifted up and down and back and forth a little and rolled his hips and strained to last just a little longer-

-and Romano lay below, feet pressed flat onto the mattress and knees pointed up as he bucked up in time with Vene, and he admired the glisten of sweat on Vene's chest and Vene's swollen lips and Vene's half-lidded eyes that shone brighter than the sun even in pitch darkness, and he grabbed Vene's waist and forced him down as he thrust up-

-and Roma's hands at his hips and the thrust that hit him there for the nth time were altogether too much and he released with a long, pleased groan, and his breath hitched when Roma released inside him and threw his head back with a shaky mewl. Vene let himself fall on top of Roma as they tried to catch their breath.

After a minute or two, when their breathing almost returned to normal, Veneziano looked up to find Roma already staring at him with unmistakable fondness, and, higher up-

-Veneziano could see it, again, that Roma's curl had made a little heart, and the sight had his breath coming to him a little shorter now, had his eyes tearing up, had his heart racing all over again.

"Ti amo, Roma."

"Ti amo troppo, Vene."

Veneziano smiled, then wider at Roma's own, only to purse his lips when he shifted. "Roma… you're still, um…"

"A-ah, yeah…" Romano propped himself on his elbows to help pull out of Vene-

-Veneziano's gaze snapped back up to the curl that still resembled a heart, and, determined, he leaned forward-

-Romano fell back with a strangled moan when Vene's mouth caught the tip of his curl and licked at it fervently. His back arched and he found himself getting hard again, and his breaths were loud and raspy.

"Vene!" He practically choked out, hissing when Vene began to nibble on the strand of sensitive hair.

"Roma," Veneziano mumbled around the curl, rolling his tongue around it before sucking its tip delicately. His fingers trailed down Roma's stomach, stopped to pull himself off despite both their protesting whimpers, and, after gathering some of Roma's seed that had leaked out of him, reached down inside Roma-

"Hah-nngh!"

-and a shiver shot down his spine at the noise Roma failed to muffle. He leaned down, and whispered, into Roma's ear,

"It's my turn to make you feel good, Roma."

And so he did.

And they made love another time after that, and the sky was already a light shade of gray when they had finished, exhausted, and not quite as desperate to have a last night, just in case…

In case their new dictator separated them, changed them, reformed them, something, anything that made one a stranger to the other. Perhaps they were paranoid, but-

"Ti amo così tanto, Roma."

"Ti ami troppo, Vene."

-they had everything to gain, and everything to lose.

22 May 1939 – The Pact of Steel is signed

Veneziano sighed as he stepped foot into the living room and leaned against the door so it closed, waiting expectantly. One eye, then another, pried itself reluctantly open, and only then did he notice that no light had been left on. A saddened sigh left his lips, and he quickly bit down hard on his tongue, silently berating himself for the selfish thought, as he flicked on the light switch before peeling away his coat and hanging it up on the rack by the door. He toed out of his shoes and picked them up with one hand, clung to the handrail with the other as he stumbled up the stairs, and paused outside the closed door of his and Roma's shared room, smiling weakly as he thought of how nice it would be to lay down by Roma again after a tiring week.

He opened the door-

-and immediately wished he hadn't.

His heart raced at the scene illuminated by full moonlight before him, at the clothes strewn on the floor, at the still, naked legs that lay tangled, at the wrinkled sheets that only barely managed to cover both bodies from their hips to their thighs-

-at Roma held possessively in Spain's arms.

Spain

Veneziano's breath left him in an inaudible whimper, and he unconsciously clutched at the fabric of his shirt over his heart, as if he could somehow quell the aching in his chest.

His body felt chilled by the time he finally turned away, and after a step, two, three, he was hit with the sudden urge to get out, get out now!-

-so he ran down the stairs with energy he thought he lost hours ago and he didn't even stop to get his coat or turn off the light, just flung open the door, slammed it shut, leaned back against it and slid down, tears springing to his eyes and raining down his flushed cheeks as he choked on a sob. He clenched his hands into fists, and only then noticed he was still holding his shoes. He fumbled to put them on, and not a second after he had-

"Oi!"

-the bedroom window was thrown open and Romano's call hung in the air and echoed in his ears.

Roma

He would have expected Romano to actually yell, but a rumble from the house let him know Spain was still snoring-

Spain

-and Romano was probably just trying to keep Spain from waking up. Veneziano felt his lips curve in a bitter, mirthless smile.

Roma…

"Oi! Who the fuck was in here?"

Veneziano stood up on unsteady legs, rubbed at his eyes and cheeks, took a few steps forward-

"Hey! You! Get back here!"

-took in an uneven breath, rubbed at his arm and absently considered going back in for his coat as he continued on.

"I said get back here, you-!" a pause. "… Vene…?"

Veneziano froze, and that alone seemed confirmation enough for Romano.

"Vene!"

Another sob tore itself out of Veneziano's throat, and he ran-

"VENE!"

-and ran and ran, until he didn't know where he was, until he could only hear his short, labored breaths, until he couldn't feel the adrenaline supplying energy anymore and he had to slow down-

-but he could still see them, sleeping, content with one another and one another alone, looking tired, and Veneziano could only imagine what they had been doing the whole week he was away, when Spain was only supposed to be there for a day or two…

Veneziano stopped, chest heaving with every greedy intake of breath, and he dropped on all fours for all of a few seconds before his arms gave out and he fell flat on his face.

He couldn't care less, though, because Roma… Roma…

"VENE!"

Veneziano tensed, and had just forced himself back on his knees when Romano yanked the back of his shirt and pulled him to staggering feet, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him harshly back and forth.

"You fucking idiot! Just what the fuck where you thinking, dumbass? I don't know why you went back outside in the first place, but what I really want to know is why the flying fuck you didn't fucking come back when I fucking called you!"

Veneziano stared on blankly at Romano, hearing but not really listening to his brother's ranting as his head nodded along with the violent sway of his body on its own accord. He absently noted that Romano's hair was plastered to his skin, and a brief second of fear (that it might have been sweat from something Romano may have been doing with Spain) later he noticed Romano's clothes were as well, and distantly realized it was raining, which was weird, because he didn't feel the fingers digging into his soaked shirt or the water hitting him with enough force to make Romano flinch and shiver – he could only feel a cold numbness.

The dull look in Vene's eyes was starting to freak Romano the fuck out, and the lack of verbal response was only making him worry more.

When Vene's cracked lips parted, thought, he felt hope rise in his chest-

"Romano…"

-that only shattered with his heart, and he acted only on sheer impulse from that point on.

Veneziano's wet lashes fluttered, and his clammy hand, shaking, reached up to his damp, stinging cheek. Romano was suddenly only a hair's breath away.

"Cosa hai detto?"

What did you say?

There was no underlying threat or anger in Romano's voice, but, still…

Veneziano could feel the rain, now, and it made him shiver, and his teeth chatter, and his fingers tingle.

"Dimmi."

A dry tongue ran along lips moistened only by stray raindrops. "'Romano'." The hoarse voice repeated in the same low, whispered mutter it had spoken in before.

"I thought…" Romano stopped, hesitated, cleared his throat even though it did nothing to stop the trembling of his jaw. "I thought I 'wasn't "just Romano" to you', Veneziano."

Veneziano flinched at that, and he could see, in his brother's narrowing eyes, the thought that mirrored that of his own conscience.

Hypocrite

But it was unintentional, and he didn't mean to, not really, but-

"You're not 'just Romano' to Spain, either, ve."

-he just wasn't thinking.

Romano's brows pulled down only slightly, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"Clothes on the floor-in bed-sheets wrinkled-together- in his arms-naked-!"

"IDIOTA!"

Veneziano stopped, closed his mouth, swallowed tightly, waited.

Romano took a deep breath.

"He was… on his way out, when you called…" Romano began, in a somewhat embarrassed mumble. "I was trying to push him out the door because he kept bugging to talk to you, and he really needed to get back, his people really needed him. After I hung up he kept nagging to know what you said, I told him you'd have to stay in Berlin for a few more days but apparently you told him about the last time you came home late from a meeting," here Romano shot a suspicious not-quite-glare at Veneziano, "or something, because then he started insisting to stay with me so I 'wouldn't be lonely' and I hadn't seen him in a while, so I let him."

Romano paused to take another deep breath.

"I've been taking the couch and letting him sleep on our bed, so I'd know when you got home – nothing to do with how his back's been bad and shit from the civil war that barely stopped a month ago, I couldn't care less about the bastard's comfort." The untrue insults at Spain spilled effortlessly from Romano's lips, and Veneziano almost let himself smile. "But the day you called he made me sleep in bed with him, because he wouldn't let me sleep on the couch anymore, and I wouldn't let him either – only 'cause it's bad manners to not let the guest sleep comfortably," Romano cut himself off again, completely contradicting his last brash comment, "and it's almost summer so we sleep without shirts, but it was hot and stuffy, earlier, so we were in only our underwear tonight." Romano narrowed his eyes at Veneziano again, a warning to not comment. "When I woke up I noticed it got chilly, so I guess we just got cold in our sleep and leeched off each other's body heat."

"That's it?" Veneziano asked softly.

"That's it." Romano replied shortly.

Veneziano knew Romano more than well enough to have no doubt his brother was telling the truth.

He felt his face relax into a smile with his relief.

"You're such a fucking idiot, Vene." Romano muttered, taking no time to wrap his arms around his brother. "Spain is…" Romano paused, pouted, proceeded, "he-he's, well, like a father or… something."

"I'm your brother."

Romano blinked, and thought back to France's words twenty years before, and thought, maybe, he understood what the pervert meant now.

"We're lovers."

Veneziano looked up at Romano, blinked, smiled.

Romano tightened his grip on Vene, clutching him almost desperately.

"Ti amo così tanto, Vene. Ti amo tanto, tanto."-

The memory of the last time those same words had been uttered, save for a different name, brought another round of tears to Veneziano's eyes

-"Ti amo troppo, Roma."

Their lips met under the pouring rain, warm, a relief from the freezing pelts of water, and a pair – neither was certain whose – parted, granting the other's tongue entry, and the tender kiss became increasingly passionate, and the heat spread until it settled in the pits of their stomachs. Their cheeks flushed, and they kissed harder, and they desperately needed moremoremore-

-neither could remember just how in God's name they managed to stumble home, only that one second they were in the middle of the street, and the next, Romano had pushed Veneziano's back against the door, and Veneziano let him, mewling wantonly as Romano wrapped two saliva slickened fingers around his curl and pulled hard enough for Veneziano to see stars and throw his head back and buck his hips desperately.

They were impatient as they heated the water for their bath, sharing kisses chaste and lewd as they waited. When the water had been dumped into the tub, they stood before one another, kissed, once, twice, thrice, longer, maintained their next kiss from a hand wandering up a flat stomach under a soaked shirt till the last article of clothing had been slowly peeled off, and they broke off briefly to step into the steaming water, and tongues met after they had settled, Veneziano straddling Romano's lap.

They splashed as they fumbled, groped, bucked, rocked, pumped, thrust. The water made it difficult to find purchase, hands slipping and sliding off skin, the porcelain rim, skin. The thin fog only enhanced the heat they had felt outside, where the rain was pounding threateningly against the windows so loud they could still hear over the noises they made, and it somehow only added to the mood. Fingers were ensnared in tangled locks of hair, digging into pale and olive skin to leave spots that would soon bloom violet, teasing a path promptly pursued by prickles. Their throaty moans and uneven cries complimented one another, a perfect harmony.

Vene started to complain a bit, when Romano started to stretch him out, that water was getting in until Romano made him lean over the rim, finished stretching him out, and entered-

-Veneziano was already crying out for more before Roma had gone halfway in, and he asked to get into a new position only after a particularly rough thrust had him almost literally over the edge.

And so they did, into several-

-Vene's back gracefully arched against the inner wall of the tub again, both legs thrown over Romano's shoulders-

-Standing now, Veneziano's front pressed against the wall as Roma took him from behind, only one foot on the slippery tile floor, the other leg suspended by Roma's tight grip-

-Back in the tub, both of them sitting up, Vene lowering himself hastily on and off Romano, legs a welcome vice around Romano's waist-

-Veneziano barely supporting himself on all fours as Roma leaned over to turn his head so they could kiss, and Roma swallowed his broken moans-

-In the tub once more, Romano's neck just above the just-cooling water as his hands guided Vene, and, when they got close, so close, he gripped Vene's arms and pulled him down, down, down, so that they could kiss again, and their movements became more frantic, and, mid-kiss Romano's head slipped, and so did Vene's, and they shot up for breath, looked at one another, inhaled deeply, met lips, and dove underwater, looking into one another's eyes through a blue-tinted gaze as they continued, lasting only a few seconds more before they released, clutching desperately at one another until they had to come up for air and they choked on the water they hadn't realized they'd swallowed as they came down from their high.

After emptying the tub, mopping up the mess and toweling off, they stumbled almost drunkenly to their living room, tugged on some loose shirts and pants of Romano's they found lying around the floor, grabbed the spare blanket they kept there, and, after Roma climbed atop the couch and Veneziano atop Roma, Veneziano wrapped the comforter much as he could around them.

Romano fell asleep that night with his head resting on a small throw pillow, a hand through Vene's hair, the other around Vene's back, Vene's head resting on his chest, his heart beating by Vene's ear, and at more peace than he thought possible since their first night like this.

Spain continued to sleep on upstairs, oblivious to what had just transpired.

…

Spain's eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking a few times under the sun's glaring rays, and his lips puckered into a pout as he realized that, yet again, Romano had managed to wake up before him. He sighed, dressed, and stumbled out into the hall, only to frown at the small puddles he found, and followed them down the stairs and into the living room. With another rub at drooping eyes, Spain looked up-

-and found the Italies sound asleep under the heavy comforter.

Spain's lips grew into a smile so wide his cheeks were beginning to hurt, but he managed to silence the squeal rising in his throat and very nearly skipped into the kitchen humming an old song under his breath as he fixed breakfast for the three of them.

He left the food he made in the pan and covered it with the lid so it wouldn't get cool, and he gave the two slumbering nations another adoring glance as he passed them by again to return upstairs and wash his face in the bathroom, but-

-he paused, for just a moment, upon entering when he found two sets of still-wet clothes dripping on the counter even as they were laid out to dry, regarded them with a curious frown.

He didn't doubt that it had rained last night – even in the heat, the sparse gathered clouds had looked ominously dark – or that Veneziano would manage to get caught up in it on his way home, but, then, how could Romano have gotten wet, too…?

Spain took his time descending the stairs this time, watching closely as Romano stirred from his sleep and Spain could see Romano tighten his grip around Veneziano, relax and sigh, Veneziano's resulting shudder from the breath against his ear, Veneziano's face nuzzle Romano's chest, their breathing unconsciously even out in eerie unison. A second, two, three later, Spain gave a quiet, breathy laugh and shook his head.

How silly of him, he thought, unknowingly echoing a thought he had three hundred thirty years ago, when the young men before him had only been children.

Spain's lips unwillingly parted in a rather large yawn, so he padded off to the kitchen with his arms raised and back arched in a tired stretch, intent on setting the table and serving the three of them before waking the sleeping two. As he was setting the plates down on the counter, though, the light clinks were interrupted by a familiar padding of naked feet on the kitchen tile, and Spain turned quickly with a wide smile.

"Ah, Romanito!" he exclaimed, ignoring the frowning brows as he instead pinched puffed cheeks and cooed over their tomato-red hue.

"What?" Romano snapped, slapping away the invading hands with faux anger and rubbing at the slightly stinging spots of skin.

"Ah, nothing," and then, jokingly, "mi amor," he said sickeningly sweet, hand cupping under Romano's jaw, the index and middle fingers at one cheek, the thumb at the other, and squeezing twice so Romano's lips overdramatically puckered, looking so oddly out-of-place on his still-flushing face.

"Shut the fuck up." Romano muttered without any real bite in his tongue, batting the hand again and tensed when Spain predictably latched onto him.

"Ah, mi Romanito," he whined, "mi Romanito pequeño , where did he go? He was so small once, where did he goooooo?"

Romano sighed, but made no sign of moving from the prison of Spain's arms as he waited for the phase to blow over, as it inevitably would.

They would go throw this routine at least once every day one was visiting the other.

Romano's uncharacteristic patience wore itself out, though, when he caught whiff of the breakfast just beyond arm's reach. He was pushing Spain away, serving the food and setting the plates on the dining table in a matter of seconds, and he had just been on his way to wake Vene when was held captive in another possessive hold.

"Roma…" Vene mumbled into the crook of his neck, and the act alone caused a shiver to crawl up Romano's spine.

"Ah, Veneziano!" Spain beamed at the younger Italy, to Romano's relief, "How was your trip? Did you have fun?"

Spain blinked, taken aback at the narrowed russet eyes peeking over Romano's shoulders.

"The trip was fine."

Romano scowled at Vene's terse answer and sighed, reaching behind him to pat Vene's head. "He gets cranky in the morning. He'll be all right after he eats." He explained to Spain, who accepted it with a cheery laugh.

"Of course, of course!"

Spain had called for a ride just after breakfast, and he'd left after lunch and churros, bright smile dimming as he approached the front door.

"I'll see you soon, then, Veneziano… Romanito."

"Goodbye, Spain."

"Adios, bastardo."

Veneziano tried to ignore how Roma had intently watched the carriage drive away, or how slowly and reluctantly Roma seemed to close the door and sit down next to him, leaning back, eyes closed and hands at the back of his neck. Licking his lips nervously, Veneziano ventured, "Roma?"

"Yeah, Vene?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to… meet with Germany. I'm going back to Berlin in a week, ve."

Roma opened an eye and glanced over at Veneziano for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yeah, that's fine I guess." He mumbled before toppling over to his side, head on Veneziano's lap.

"Siesta?"

"Siesta."

Veneziano blinked, grinned, ran his hand through Roma's hair, fingered Roma's curl. "Oh?" He asked in mock innocence.

"Nngh-Wait. Oi, wait I said." Romano groaned, batting Vene's wandering hand away. "We need to wash those sheets first. The bed still smells like Spain."

Veneziano smiled at that, and his breathing came a little easier.

"The couch doesn't."

Romano blinked, grinned, reached up to the nape of Vene's neck-

"What are we waiting for, then?"

-and pushed Veneziano's head down, noses bumping, teeth clinking, lips locking.

They didn't bother to move after they finished, just settled for a well-deserved siesta.

…

Romano had regretted his decision to accompany his brother long before he even set foot in the foreign country, and had considered going back and letting Vene continue on no less than ten times – within the first hour.

But then Vene would look at him with what Romano swore were sparkles in his eyes and a smile so bright Romano thought it might blind him, and Vene would prattle on about how happy he was that Romano would finally meet Germany, and how they'd all get along, and how it would all be smiles and rainbows and bunnies and all that other shit, and Romano could never say no to that face, no matter how much that impossibly happy expression scared the ever-living shit out of him, so he bit his tongue, nodded along, grunted at a few comments and yelled when Vene started talking like a psycho. All was right in the world.

Romano had never seen Germany before, but he'd heard talk of the guy, from France, especially. Vene had been the one to establish the previous alliance with Germany, and the current one, and, though he'd also been at the Paris Peace Conference, Germany hadn't even been invited, and, while even he thought that was kinda harsh, he had otherwise shrugged it off, Vene had wanted to complain the whole time, but Romano made him keep quiet, because they had been on the other side of the war before, so France and the others probably didn't want to hear much from them.

In any case, France. France didn't hate Germany – or, at least, he claimed not to – but he wanted "justice" – though how, exactly, putting a country through such a demanding debt that had the entire country poor as fuck, enough for that spazz America feel bad enough to help him out (but, then, that wasn't exactly saying much 'cause that lunatic liked to run around helping everyone… except maybe communists), was justice, Romano would never know – for what Germany had done to him in the war and the people he lost, etcetera, etcetera, cue random input of some off-topic comment, a boring continuation of that, more talking, and then the conversation would be completely diverted.

Romano remembered raising his brows at Germany's charges, as demanded by France, who Romano didn't know could be so merciless to anyone other than England, and how surprised he'd been to hear from Vene how Germany had put up little resistance before reluctantly consenting with his sentence, and how, while he'd thought the guy needed to man up, he'd secretly envied the other's supposed tolerance.

Romano remembered a conversation long ago, a number of years before he ran away from Spain's, when that cackling bastard Prussia had visited and gone on some rant about a much younger Germany – which was how he'd found out the two were related – and, a few years ago, he'd been staying over at Spain's when Prussia happened to be visiting and complaining about how different he and "West" (what the fuck kind of nickname was that?) were, and Romano had perked up at that, because he'd hated that Vene might have spent even a short time with a mini-Prussia, so Romano asked if he was like Spain, then, with much apprehension, if he was like France, and when Prussia answered that, no, he was cold and boring and had even less emotion than Austria, Romano thought he might have been walking on air the duration of the day.

So, while Romano wasn't exactly jumping on the edge of his seat, he didn't think he'd mind Germany all that much.

…

"Look! Look! Germany! It's my big brother, Romano! Isn't he cool?" (3)

Romano stood awkwardly by his brother's side as Vene introduced them, not entirely sure of what to say, because everybody he knew he'd known since before he'd managed to fit into Spain's shirts.

"Hm. I'm Germany. Nice to meet you."

… Fortunately, it seemed he wouldn't have to say much.

"I'm the north half and he's the south half." Vene continued, and Romano's gaze fell on his shoes, but, he could see the other nation from his peripheral vision. "Since we were governed separately, he spent more time with Big Brother Spain." Less than a second's pause, then, "Now, you say hello, too, Fratellone."

Whatever good impression Vene must have expected him to make on his new friend was not going to happen, because Romano had already seen enough of Germany to hate him.

Slicked-back blonde hair

Blue eyes

If he had been wearing black, Romano might have been more tempted to punch the living daylights out of him.

"Go suck on some balls, you damn potato-loving bastard."

And thus began their one-sided antagonistic relationship.

"Ah, hey, Fratellone!" Veneziano protested, hauling his brother away with both arms wrapped around him in what looked like a sad attempt of a hug. Roma was never like that in public or new people…

"Hey! Dammit! Stop it, you jerk!" Romano protested, pulling away best he can, but this seemed to be one of few times Vene could get the upper hand on him. But, now, now, Romano knew why Vene was so excited and always spazzing over this bastard.

"Another troublesome guy…" Romano could hear Germany mutter under his breath.

…

"Hey, you macho potato jerk over there! How dare you hoodwink my stupid little brother!"

After a half-hour struggle that eventually resulted in him pulling Vene's curl hard enough for him to let go, Romano finally managed to wriggle out of Vene's arms and chase down Germany.

He had a few things to say to that bastard.

"Hm? What do you want?"

His unmoved answer, his unconcerned attitude, his unknowing tone…

Romano wanted to punch him in the fucking mouth.

"Don't play dumb! Che palle! My little brother now eats only wurst because of you!"

He had thought Vene had made a face at the breakfast Spain prepared for them, a week back, because it had been Spain and he hadn't gotten over his jealous feat yet. But, after their siesta, when Romano had tried to make dinner, Vene made a face again, told Romano to make just enough for himself, that he'd have wurst for dinner. It stung, sure, but he'd only winced and nodded stiffly, because there were times he was craving Spanish food and they would make their own dinners and Vene would have a kicked puppy look on his face Romano would pretend to not notice and make up for it later in bed, so he figured it would be hypocritical to blow up in Vene's face over it.

But, it hadn't just been dinner just that night.

For breakfast the next morning, lunch the next afternoon, dinner the next night, Vene had wurst. And the next, and the next, the whole week, on the way over he was snacking on some wurst he'd brought along, on the way meeting Germany at his house, Vene insisted on stopping by a German restaurant to eat more fucking wurst.

Romano was afraid he had gotten too used to the smell to want to gag at the mere sight of it.

How sad

It used to be one of few things he and Vene used to agree wholeheartedly on.

Before this bastard came along, anyway.

"Also you people come to my place in huge mobs during the summer and that's scary!"

It was something that had been starting to bug him, because they complained, butchering his language as they did so, about how Southern Italy needed to modernize, why was it less modernized than Northern Italy when it's all one country, Northern Italy was better than Southern Italy.

It was all the same shit he'd heard from older countries, though they had just been trying to get a jibe out of him, but to be hearing it from tourists from a country he'd just met earlier today that bore an eerie resemblance to the blonde brat?

Bull. Shit.

Plus those tourists were easy to differ from the others because they had this blank expression that bordered on angry. He just thought he'd inform Mr. Muscles so that guy's people would stay the fuck off his land.

"And I stepped on rabbit shit earlier. It's all your fault!"

What was the harm on putting a bit more blame on the jerk's plate?

"Hold on a second. You blame me for trifles, too?"

Was this shit actually back-talking him?

"Shut up! I'll rip off that annoying muscle of yours today for sure! Go to hell you jerk!"

"All right! I've succeeded in entering Germany secretly! I'm gonna take Germany by surprise!"

… The only reason he was hiding behind Germany was because France had been giving him particularly suggestive looks lately, especially when he was around Vene, and he'd really rather not be alone with the pervert. Germany made a perfect shield, simply because France wouldn't see Germany as "molestable" material.

"Ahh! It's Germany!"

See?

…

Romano was going to lose it.

"'Say, praise me like you just praised him.'" was all he'd requested, so, then why…

Why had Vene suddenly shrunk back at that, and with such an uncertain look on his face?

"I hate you!"

"Where are you going, Fratellone?"

Out. Away.

Because Romano knew, now, why Vene was so hung up on that bastard.

Slicked-back blonde hair

Blue eyes

It was all too clear now.

…

"That was fun, wasn't it, Roma?"

Romano didn't answer, but Vene didn't notice-

didn't pay attention

-and just prattled on.

"I'm going back for another week mid-June. Germany said that his boss," they both unintentionally cringed, "said the next war will start soon. I don't think we'll be able to enter soon though. I told Germany we'd need another year, and he said he'd talk to his boss, but… anyway, we can figure it all out when we go back next month, right, Roma?"

"Veneziano…"

"Eh…?"

How odd that Vene would react to that now, but when he'd been praising Germany…

"I think I'll just… stay behind. Watch over the government and stuff. Like last time."

"… Oh."

Romano forced himself to not wince at the obvious disappointment in Vene's voice, and he silently berated himself for his selfishness, because Vene had mentioned before how he'd hoped Romano would cooperate with them in the war, how Romano could show off his battle plans and strategies and how impressed Germany and the world would be and how proud he, Veneziano, would be for having such a clever brother, how they could all get over what their crazy bosses were making them do – because they had all confessed to not agreeing with how their bosses were ruling, but it was what helped the people through the depression, so they couldn't do anything, and it would be easier for the three of them together to have fun and forget, for just a few minutes or even seconds at a time, that they were mere puppets controlled by power-hungry mortals.

But… Romano didn't think he could go through another cycle of getting some persistent fucker leave Vene alone. It was too much, especially because Germany looked like an older version of the brat.

He'd make it up to Vene later.

And he tried to, but-

"Ve. I'm not in the mood, Romano."

Romano

Romano

Romano

-it didn't exactly work out.

He called Spain after they got home, when Vene had fallen asleep upstairs.

"I'm coming over."

That was all he said, all that needed to be said. He hung up, partly because he knew he didn't have to explain any further, partly because he was afraid Spain would refuse him for some reason or other, and he really wouldn't be able to handle that.

He got a suitcase – the biggest one he had – and packed all his oldest clothes, the still-too-long shirts and loose trousers he'd received or "borrowed" from Spain, because it made him feel better, somehow, to be wearing those clothes around Spain and Spain would notice and smile that stupid smile of his and coo about how cute he still looked even though he wasn't Spain's Romanito pequeño anymore and all grown up, and something about the way Spain would hold him close would quell the emptiness he felt, though not nearly as much compared to Vene, but enough to let him breathe a little easier. He stomped and threw a few trinkets and slammed doors as he packed, hoping Vene would wake up and beg him to not go and leave him alone.

Vene slept away, oblivious to the turmoil in Romano's heart.

After Romano finished packing his clothes, he called for a small carriage, and went to the nearest market he could find, knowing he had just enough time to buy a few things, cook and eat dinner before he would leave.

He made dinner for one, again, that night. He put away the sausage he bought, and scribbled a half-assed note before slamming it carelessly on the table.

He could see his ride approaching, so he ran up the stairs, kissed Vene chastely on the space between his brows.

He left before Vene woke up.

…

Once Veneziano finally roused himself, he frowned at the darkness of the room, of the hall, of the house.

"Roma?"

Veneziano couldn't find him, fumbling around in the pitch blackness and he panicked when he couldn't feel or hear any trace of his beloved brother.

"Roma!"

Veneziano ran down the stair without the light, turned it on, looked around the living room, back upstairs to their room, the bathroom, downstairs in the kitchen.

The kitchen.

A note in the center of the otherwise empty dining table.

Going to Spain's. Back in two days, maybe three.

Made dinner for myself. Got you some sausage for wurst. It's on your side of the kitchen.

Keep yourself busy Vene

-Romano

Veneziano clutched the note to his chest, unknowingly crumpling it into a little ball, and he bowed his head, and he tried to blink the tears away but they kept coming back – thick, fat drops of water that rolled over the sides of his cheeks and by his nose – and, when he licked his dry, cracked lips, he could taste them, salty and bitter, and he started shaking, and he bit his lips hard enough for some more skin to come off and a little blood roll down his chin and his throat to hurt so much as he stifled the lonely and needy scream rising in his throat, but it was too much and before he knew it he was sobbing, quiet little whimpers at first, then, loud ear-bleeding wails, and it felt good, so he kept right on crying and crying, hoping that it would be enough to bring Romano back somehow, because, when they were both living with Austria Romano would always somehow know when he was crying, but it was hopeless, Romano wouldn't come back from just knowing he was having a breakdown. So he cried, and cried, and cried some more.

He wandered into the connected kitchen for some comfort food, after his crying quieted down to little hiccups, opened the cupboards on his side of the kitchen, found the sausage Roma mentioned and wrinkled his nose as his stomach churned.

He'd been looking forward to have Roma cook dinner for them, because he'd stopped craving wurst since that morning, when he'd made a face as Roma's insistence to eat at a German restaurant for breakfast, but Roma hadn't been looking at him and so hadn't noticed the disgusted look, and Roma had already ordered wurst for him when he'd gone outside for some air, so he couldn't turn it down, not when it was from Roma, no matter how enviously he watched Roma eat the bread flavored only with butter, but Roma hadn't looked at him then, either, and so hadn't noticed.

Veneziano looked at the sausages, sighed, considered, sighed again and threw the sausage in their trash.

He would've eaten it, but he swore he almost gagged and he knew it would be impossible to force himself to choke the food down.

Veneziano made an Italian dinner for himself that night.

…

As usual, Spain had been waiting in front of his house when the carriage came around, and his already-large smile grew to twice its size when Romano stepped out.

"Romanito~"

Romano ignored him, pulled out his suitcase and let Spain carry it (because he was always too nice and had offered and Romano was tired and fuck if he'd do it himself) to the house and Spain's bedroom – Spain had given up on preparing a guestroom for Romano because Romano always slept in the same bed as him on his visits.

After dressing in an old pair of pajamas he'd received for some occasion or other, Romano stood outside Spain's door, heart pounding, and he wondered if Spain would get sick of him after doing this again, but…

"He's always been nicer and more lenient to you than any of his other colonies." Belgium responded knowingly. "Fathers don't abandon their sons."

Romano's resolve always returned with that memory, so he simply climbed into bed, curled up to Spain's body and welcomed the arms that encased him.

"Buenas noches"

"Buenas noches"

The flame from the candle was blown out, and they settled in the darkness.

Spain didn't comment on the reciprocation of the hug like he might have years before, just enjoyed the feeling of Romano's body in his arms – still quite small, compared to him, at least, and radiating heat like it seemed to be every day and night, hot or cold, and familiar and absolutely adorable and, if he wouldn't get punched for it he might've squealed.

Romano made a wonderful security blanket.

Spain had jokingly mentioned, a number of times, that he'd like to steal Romano back, if only so he'd at least sleep a decent number of hours, because of the trouble he's been having at home. And so they lay next to one another, sleeping together, an innocent and comfortable act appreciated for its simplicity.

But, Romano felt a niggling in the back of his mind, and he wondered what it may have meant, but, he was tired, so he tried to ignore it.

It kept him up half the night.

10 May 1940 – German invasion of France, Netherlands, Belgium and Luxemburg

When Romano first heard the news, from Vene a few days before, he didn't know whether Germany was cocky or stupid. Then he remembered it was Germany after all and decided the kraut was both.

France was old as fuck, he'd been through a shitload of fights, he wouldn't go down quick as most would assume. Netherlands and Belgium weren't big countries, but despite that disadvantage they didn't suck at fighting, and Belgium was a smart girl. Luxemburg, sure, he was pretty damn small, but how the hell did Germany expect to take down those three other countries and still have enough troops to invade Luxemburg?

"I know it sounds crazy, Fratello, ve." Vene said after he'd told Romano of the plans Germany had told him, after Romano made all his points clear on how Germany was insane if he thought he could actually succeed all four invasions. "But, Germany's boss," they flinched again, "isn't stupid. Power-hungry, blood-thirsty, yes, but not stupid, ve."

Romano knew that to be true enough, but he still thought it wasn't the best plan of action.

Still, he always kept the radio on, started reading up on the other countries from the newspaper, keeping up-to-date on the war in Belgium, and, sure, Vene noticed, but he didn't complain, about the constant noise or stacks and bundles of newspapers, because Romano would never admit how much he really worried for her-

"I can… trust you, right, Romano?"

Romano let his silence speak for itself, his gaze never wavering from hers, and she smiled at that.

It was October 1936, a few days after she'd declared neutrality. The Spanish Civil War had just started three months before, and Romano had gone over with the troops he and Vene sent to help the Nationalists; Belgium had also gone to Spain, after hearing of Romano's visit, and they spent some time catching up when Spain was napping (he did that a lot, lately).

"I don't… trust… France or Great Britain, I really don't. That's… why I've decided to go neutral, but… I'm pretty sure…" she paused to glance around the room, which Romano thought to be uncharacteristically paranoid of her until she continued, "that Germany will invade me either way."

Romano's eyes widened at that, and he didn't comment, but Belgium knew him well enough to know his silence to be another admission.

"I can trust myself, though, at least. You know?"

Romano nodded silently.

"What's with that look?" She asked with a worried frown and a hand atop his. "Are you all right?"

"You know Germany's here with the aid he sent. Why did you come here?"

"He only sent aid because you and Veneziano did. Besides, I haven't seen you in so long." She smiled, rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumbs. "Spain wasn't kidding when he said you've gotten big. You're not any less cute, though. He was right about that, too."

Romano returned her smile with a grin of his own. "Time hasn't done you bad, either. Still as pretty as I remember."

She giggled into the palm of her other hand. "You were always quite the charmer, even when you were little." There was a mischievous glint in her eye when she added, a bit too innocently, "What was it you said when we first met? Oh, yes, that's right: '¡Bésame, bésame!' wasn't it?"

She laughed when his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed in a way all-too-familiar to her. "No less cute." She repeated.

Romano stuck out his tongue, and there was a comfortable silence for all of ten seconds as they stared at each other.

"You know…" Belgium thought aloud, "you never did get your kiss. You turned bright red and your curl got all crooked and jagged. 'N-no thank you! I'm just fine, ma'am! I am not ready yet, ma'am!' (4) wasn't it?" She smiled, again, at the not-quite-scowl she received. "You would always duck your head or reject my kisses even after you asked for one. Would you do that now, I wonder?"

Romano smirked at the challenge she had subtly put out. "Why don't you find out?" He asked with a wry grin, turning his head slightly to the side.

"If you insist." She was standing from her chair, now, leaning forward…

"Roma!"

Romano and Belgium jumped, and she managed to pull back and cover her lips with the pads of her fingers before their lips could brush as they turned to face Veneziano at the doorframe, his eyes wide and almost wet, jaw noticeably trembling before he blinked and took in the scene before him.

Veneziano could see, now, from the angle Roma's head was turned that Belgium would only have kissed him on the cheek, but, he hadn't seen them when he'd been listening in, and the way they'd spoken, all flirty and whatnot, much more intimate than when he or Roma would flirt with other girls…

"What's wrong, Vene?"

"N… nothing, Roma."

"Are you sure?"

The mirth in her eyes was all too-obvious now, and both brothers wondered where she was getting at. Still, Veneziano nodded and he only barely tensed when she swooped down to kiss Roma on the cheek.

"Don't worry, Veneziano." She teased, giving Romano a look that was too-knowing. "I won't steal your brother away."

They had both been speechless when she glanced between them pointedly and practically strutted away.

-but he was the first to know when, eighteen days after the invasion, on the twenty-eighth, she surrendered, but, he knew she did all she could no matter how obviously hopeless the situation had been.

She was a smart girl.

10 June 1940 – Italy declares war on France and Britain

Romano stood, on the small wooden stage, behind and to the right of Vene, hands and arms at his side, straight-backed and posture rigid, like Vene.

"… and thus," Vene was saying, eyes open in public for once, looking over at their audience, speaking the words slowly, as if putting care and thought into every word of the speech one of Mussolini's cronies had written for them, but Romano knew that he was really hesitating – delaying, stalling – because he didn't want to have it out there, because it would shatter the false peaceful reality they pretended to live in at home.

"… on this day, the tenth of June," less than a second's pause and Romano knew Vene wouldn't say it.

"We, Italy, declare war on France and Great Britain!" Romano bellowed, his voice strong and steady – a sharp contrast to Vene's own, cautious and bordering-on-trembling – with insincere passion, no matter how heartfelt it sounded, and it caused the crowd to roar with approval, and he could imagine how the families still at home, listening to them on the radio, were probably cheering, too, and how quick word would spread – all over the country, the world-

"Roma."

-and, usually, those thoughts would fill him with pride, but… not this time.

"Roma." Vene whispered again, more urgently. Romano glanced over, and all he could see was how pale Vene looked, how obviously fake Vene's smile was, how Vene's eyes were twitching. Vene's hand was shaking, Romano knew, with the need to hold his, to grip his shirt, to clutch at his back.

"Vene," Romano murmured, "let's go home."

Vene nodded quickly, sharply, and he parted his lips in what Romano knew to be a sigh of relief.

They stepped down from the stage, returned nods and smiles and handshakes to their spectators, tried hard to not seize hands no matter how badly they wanted to.

They didn't even make it home.

They had just walked a few paces in an alleyway – a shortcut to their house – when Vene collapsed in Romano's arms.

"I don't want this. I don't want this." He sobbed quietly, breath hitching, and he shut his eyes tight, let the tears squeeze their way out between his lashes. "I don't want this, Roma!"

"Neither do I," Romano agreed, shifting Vene as he guided them both to their knees. "But it's what the people want."

"Nonno disappeared and he was an empire. I don't want to disappear. I don't want us to disappear, Roma." Vene whispered, leaning into Romano, face buried in his shirt.

"We won't." Romano muttered into Vene's hair, rubbing his back with one hand, cradling the back of his neck with the other. "You know us Italians. We're horrible fighters."

Vene smiled at that, Romano knew, even if his head was still ducked, and his hands were still clutching the front of Romano's shirt hard enough to leave it in wrinkles. Vene raised his head, tears spilling down thinly on either side of his wide close-lipped smile, and he raised his arms, and wrapped them around Romano's neck, and he leaned forward, and he roughly smashed his lips on Romano's.

Their following lip-locking was nothing like their usual gentle, tender kisses. They were desperate. They were harsh, choppy, coarse, broken, bitter, uneven. They were teeth digging into the corners of wide-open mouths to stay connected and tongues rolling and rubbing and flicking as they inhaled short, frenzied breaths through their nose.

Romano's teeth latched off Vene's skin so he could suck on Vene's tongue, and Vene's resulting wanton moan had him up and pushing them further in the alley, for a dead-end so they wouldn't have to worry about a civilian catching them.

Vene's uniform jacket was pushed off before his back even hit the brick wall. Their clothes weren't gently, slowly peeled away. They were ripped and impatiently pulled off already-bruising arms and trembling legs. Shoes were kicked off.

The ropes holding their crosses were pulled over their head and thrown somewhere – they didn't care where – never to be found again.

Their hands weren't gripping at one another gently, lovingly. They were savage clutches, nails biting into skin and fingers pressing hard enough to leave their imprint for the next several days. Hair was pulled and yanked hard enough to leave little webs of loose strands between their fingers.

It was a whole nother kind of passion that spoke volumes about just how much they absolutely needed each other, how undoubtedly empty they would be if there was only one.

Twin pairs of swollen lips pulled away, and their vulnerability showed, bare as their bodies, in their eyes alone, and Veneziano's arms wrapped around Roma's neck again, and Romano's arms wrapped around Vene's back again, and their lips met again and again and again and again.

Veneziano hitched a leg up, and it struggled to fasten itself around Roma's hip, and Roma helped him with the other leg, and Roma reached around behind him to put two fingers at his entrance.

They were dry, without even saliva for lubrication because that would take time, and with every second that passed Veneziano felt more and more hollow-

-Roma waited until Veneziano gave an almost imperceptible nod before he sent the trembling digits in, and that alone was such a relief that Veneziano arched his back right off the wall, and he cried sharply aloud when Roma's head ducked to lick at protruding rosy buds.

Roma didn't stretch him with even strokes or four fingers like he usually did. It was sloppy, and he only barely added a third one before adjusting so only the top of Veneziano's back was on the wall, and Veneziano knew it was because Roma would be allowed deeper, this way, leaning into his body, a much preferred angle for the both of them.

And then, Roma entered, and Veneziano thought he never felt so whole before.

Veneziano's hands were at Roma's shoulders for leverage, and yet, somehow, as they continued desperately on, his body dipped lower, lower, no longer suspended neatly. Only the top of his back was in contact with the wall, still, but he had somehow slid down, and his hands were at the tops of Roma's arms, gripping hard and trying to not let go, and Roma was leaning forward still, yes, but because Veneziano was lower Roma was allowed even deeper than if their upper-bodies were level, and Roma's hands were bruising his hips, and his legs weren't wrapped around Roma anymore, they were suspended in air behind Roma, and if Veneziano looked just a little below straight ahead he could see how Roma was thrusting into him and, oh, if that wasn't a sight to see…

Veneziano's hands were slipping, down to Roma's elbows, and he was sliding even lower, and his hands were at Roma's wrists now, and Roma had to take a step or two closer so he wouldn't slide down further, and he was perpendicular to Roma now, and his neck really hurt but he ignored it 'cause the pleasure he felt was so good, and he was afraid to think it was too good, and his knees he brought up at Roma's sides while his shins were still hanging behind Roma, and his nails were digging into the soft flesh just above Roma's hands and Veneziano was absently worried he'd pop a vein and he angled his head back best as he was able against the wall and he breathed out noisily between every moan and mewl and cry as Roma went faster and deeper and hit there with every buck of his hips, and the grunts and gasps above Veneziano aroused him even more and brought him closer, closer-!

They came so hard that time, some seed was leaking out of Veneziano, and, because of his position, he had managed to get some of his own all over both their stomachs and hair and face, and Roma fell to his knees and Veneziano brought his feet down on the ground and awkwardly pushed himself forward until he was chest-to-chest with Roma and hugged him dearly, closely.

It was innocent enough, at first, but somehow they were back to biting at each other's lips, then skin, licking the mess off each other's faces, and then they had to go another round, because why not when Roma was already still in him and they were both more than willing?

They had another round after that, with Roma in Veneziano's lap, and it was just as enjoyable for them both that time.

They were dead tired and stumbling to their feet, but they managed to dress themselves uncomfortably and wander on home to soak in the bath.

They had another round in the tub, and the tiles were littered with the gallons of water that had spilled over the rim that was in much need of mopping… in the morning.

That night, fresh and clean after a second, legitimate soak in the bath, they flopped on new, pristine white blankets and sheets, fully intent on getting as much sleep as humanly possible.

They had another round, or two, they weren't sure, tumbling around in bed, one in the other and then the other in one, touching and feeling, and it wasn't quite as rushed as the four times before, earlier, nor as desperate. Perhaps it was because they were exhausted, or because the panic had faded, but they were slower, gentler, and the noises they made were hushed and breathy little gasps, quiet mewls, almost inaudible whimpers and light sighs, murmurs of "Roma," and "Vene," and "oh!" and "mm, there…" and "yes," and "more!" for only them to hear, their already quite-pale bodies a matching glaring white in the moon's beams, and it was then that the fears and hurt and jealousy they were harboring, conscious of it or not, vanished and it was only them and would only be them, because they never ever needed another person, they were fine just on their own.

They fell asleep as they always did – legs and fingers twined – and awoke as they always did, as well – held gingerly in one another's arms.

…

"Get your asses moving or we'll never reach the deadline! Do you want us to leave our bastard allies to fight alone and carry our weight? If we don't hurry, France will take advantage and attack us! I want twice as much done by the end of the day! It's still early! Get moving!"

Romano sighed tiredly and slunk into a chair in the office he had marched off to, and Vene took it as his cue to settle behind Romano and rub his shoulders, and Romano stopped tensing and let his neck roll back.

"We won't make it in time."

"I know we won't. But we need weapons and fast."

"You do a good job of that. Of getting them to work harder, I mean."

"Mm. You think so?"

"Sì!"

Romano smiled at that. "You do a good job of that. Of massaging, I mean."

"Ve~ I thought you meant making you feel better."

"That too I guess."

"Hm~" Vene hummed, and there seemed to be a new intensity as his hands continued moving. "You like my massages?"

"Vene…" Romano warned, albeit reluctantly, "Mussolini-"

"Won't be in for another three hours, remember? Besides, you know us Italians…" Vene leaned down, his lips against Romano's ear, "we're very… passionate…"

"Mm, that we are." Romano agreed, turning in his chair and letting his fingers comb through Vene's hair.

The found a new use for the table in their meeting room that early morning.

…

Veneziano was half-hidden behind Roma, gripping his older brother's hand so tight he had no doubt Roma's was hurting just as much as his own. He licked his lips nervously, watching over his brother's shoulder as Roma and France stood stock still, on their respective side of the line of the French-Italian border.

"Pervert," Roma muttered, for the sake of some kind of normalcy before they would be forced into battle, "What do you want?"

France's pursed lips lifted at the corners in the saddest mimicry of his charming smile, looking so deadly serious Veneziano wasn't so sure it was the same man that insisted every other country to call him "Big Brother". Veneziano watched as the man before them stepped forward a few paces, halting only when he caught the warning flicker of Roma's gaze from the invisible border line to the man's feet.

"Mes chers," the man began softly, and its familiarity had Veneziano only slightly relaxing, "my people and I have discussed this matter. You have not yet attacked, I noticed."

"We just declared war ten days ago."

Ten days, Veneziano repeated in his mind. It was only the twentieth of June, then. How odd; he was certain more time had passed.

"Ten days…" France repeated, slowly, before continuing, "My people and I, we asked the same of Germany just a few days ago and were rejected. We would like to know if you would be willing to sign an armistice with us."

Veneziano noticed Roma's eyes meeting France's, but the older nation's gaze seemed to focus only on Roma's lips, and it caused a violent stirring in his stomach. He watched as France watched Roma swallow tightly, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and France's closed in silent defeat when Roma's lips parted to speak.

"We haven't… done… anything…"

"I see." France conceded. "'I only need a few thousand dead so that I can sit at the peace conference as a man who has fought.' That is what he said, non? Your dictator?"

"… His words, not mine." Roma murmured, and France nodded.

"'It is by making myself Catholic that I brought peace to Brittany and Vendée. It is by making myself Italian that I won minds in Italy. It is by making myself a Moslem that I established myself in Egypt. If I governed a nation of Jews, I should reestablish the Temple of Solomon.'"

"Napoleon…" Veneziano breathed, surprising himself and Roma both by recognizing the quote, but France simply nodded again.

"So, then, there will definitely be no armistice?" France clarified, eyes open and looking only at Roma's lips again, and, when they didn't so much as quiver, France just closed his eyes in silent defeat, nodded again, and walked away.

He looked like a man on the verge of surrender.

And surrender he did, on 22 June, 1940.

He and the Italies signed an armistice on 25 June, 1940, five days, 40 dead, 84 wounded and 150 missing men after their original request.

The Italians suffered casualties of 631 killed, 2,361 wounded, 2,000 cases of frostbite and 616 men missing.

Mussolini wasn't pleased at those results, but Roma held Veneziano close, shivering and naked under their covers that night, kissing away the pained tears running down his face as he did with Roma, shifting around as they tried in vain to get warmer and ignore the discomfort in their arms and legs as their men were treated, but, soon, their shifting around became something so much more intense, and they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and lips were kissing and tongues licking and teeth biting at the most sensitive patches of skin, and both layers of comforters were kicked off when their chills were quelled, leaving their bodies trembling only from arousal and anticipation, and a heat completely different than what they had wanted settled in the pits of their stomachs, and they were moving with more than the simple need to keep warm – it was so much more.

It was always so much more.

September 1940 – The Tripartite Pact is signed

"Fratellone~"

"Hm?" Romano looked up as Vene skipped merrily into the dining room after slamming the front door shut, face propped lazily atop the palm of a half-fist. "What now?"

"Germany and I-"-

Romano's fingers uncurled and his nails bit into the flesh of his cheek

-"made a new friend recently, ve~"

"… Oh." Romano breathed, curling his fingers again as if he hadn't felt waves of jealousy overtake him, and he turned his head to look out at the setting sun from their window.

"Ve. Roma, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Vene. I'm fine."

"Ve~ um, Roma, I was wondering…"

"Mm?"

Romano heard Vene flop down into the chair next to him, but he didn't turn around to look.

"Would you… do you think you would like to meet Japan, ve?"

After having met Germany, Romano was really tempted to refuse the offer, but…

How long had it been since he'd heard Vene say "ve", and approach him so nervously to boot?

Romano sighed, turned around in his chair to see Vene's carefully blank expression, but Vene couldn't hide the oh-so-obvious hope sparkling in his eyes, and Romano could never deny Vene when he had that absolutely vulnerable look on his face.

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Yay! We leave for Japan in two weeks, Roma!"

…

If Romano thought Germany had little emotion, then Japan had absolutely none.

Well, Vene had mentioned it before, but, shit.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." He had said with a low bow when they were introduced, and Romano had stuck his hand out for a rather awkward handshake.

At least the women here were normal, flocking to him by the dozens, but, then, that might have just been because he was obviously a foreigner, and Asians seemed to have a thing for foreigners.

Not that it bothered him, of course.

"Your brother did the same during his first visit here, three weeks ago." Japan said with an almost-amused tone, taking a seat in the available chair next to Romano when the women had all as one migrated away.

"Mm. Yeah, I would expect that." Romano replied, a smirk on his lips as he watched the women he'd been chatting up flock around Vene.

"Why is that, I wonder?" Japan had asked with a cocked head and regarded him almost-curious expression.

"We're Italy." Romano said with a shrug, as if those two words explained everything.

"I see." Japan had said, but Romano knew damn well he didn't, because the Asian countries were so much more different than the Europeans. Then, in forced almost-nonchalance, "Why is it, I wonder, you turn red and frown when your brother and Germany-san are in close proximity?" The almost-shining eyes were almost glittering with a dare to speak the truth, and there was something about that almost-coy almost-grin, something about it reminded him of Belgium.

Bella…

It had been so long, or, at least, it seemed that way, since he'd last seen her.

"I'm pretty sure… that Germany will invade me either way."

She was a smart girl.

"I wouldn't worry about Germany-san, Romano-san."

"Hm? Why do you say that?" He asked in a lazy murmur.

"Veneziano-san talks only of you, and he looks forward to returning home to spend time with you, he almost literally glows at the mere mention of you."

"We're brothers." Romano reasoned, and he frowned when Japan shook his head slowly.

"I would have expected you to already be aware of what I was talking about, or, perhaps you are, and you are just… ah… 'pulling my leg' is how the phrase goes, yes?"

"Yeah." Romano grumbled, and almost wanted to take his reply back, because he could have been answering to either part of the question, but Japan seemed to have an almost-pleased look on his face as he nodded, and he left it at that.

Romano sighed, crossed his arms on the table and rested his head atop them, and thought.

He hadn't remembered until Japan had mentioned it, but, he and Vene hadn't seen each other in almost a month, because Vene was working with Germany and Japan directly, and he stayed in Italy to take care of the government and the endless mountains of paperwork.

A whole month had gone by, and he barely even noticed, barely missed Vene at all-

"Spain, you bastard!"

"Ah, Romanito, please. Boss is tired querido, let Boss sleep, okay?"

"SPAIN! You haven't been home in two months!"

"I know, querido, I know."

"… W-well! I didn't miss you either, dipshit!"

"Hey! Romano, Romano! What have I said about the bad language in this house?" Spain sighed, ran dirty fingers through dirty hair, "I have missed you, but I'm tired, querido. Boss is gross and sweaty and you don't want to hang around Boss right now. Boss wants to bathe and sleep until dinner, but Boss will definitely spend time with you tomorrow, okay, Romanito?"

Romano pouted and crossed his little arms, ducked his head and clenched his fists, turned around and walked-almost-stomped away.

"Hey… Romanito?"

Romano hated how quickly he stopped and how he still continued to hope even though he knew there was no point. "What?" he tried to snap, but there was a too-obvious tremor in his voice.

Spain smiled thinly, glad now that he had stopped his smallest colony. "We can bathe and nap together, if you don't mind."

Romano froze, pretended to consider the offer and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Well, fine, I guess since you suggested it, you dumbass."

"I'm sorry Romanito. Even though the two months felt long for you, it was so short for me. But, still," puckered lips were planted softly on reddening cheeks plump with baby fat, "I missed you every second of every day."

"Hmph!" Romano huffed, but he didn't object to Spain's arms around him when they settled down to sleep.

-he wondered, did that make him a bad brother, a bad lover?

Later, when he would return home, he would wonder about those infuriatingly knowing smiles he and Vene had been receiving, and the words that weird Asian would insist on repeating whenever he was scowling at Vene and the kraut.

"I wouldn't worry about Germany-san"

Just what the hell did that even mean?

23 April 1941 – End of Greco-Italian War

The war started just a few weeks after Romano and Vene met Japan, but, despite their brief meeting, Romano could tell Japan was acting just the slightest bit distant toward them. It was subtle, yes, because Japan had always been reserved, but, Romano was unwaveringly certain, because Japan seemed unable to meet their eyes.

He and Vene were all about eyes – eye contact was a big deal in their country, so they knew. They didn't say anything, because Vene didn't want to see Japan sad by bringing it up, and Romano empathized, to a point.

"I'm pretty sure… that Germany will invade me either way."

But they were done. After six months it was all over.

"Japan wasn't happy."

"Mm."

It was the day after, now. They were sitting on the shore looking out at the sea, legs outstretched, Vene leaning heavily on his shoulder. The water lapped gently, little waves reaching out for their scuffed boots. The sun peeked out from its shelter, painting the sky a blood red Romano thought only appeared when night was near.

"He'll be happy we're done here."

"Mm."

"… This beach is very nice, ve."

"Mm."

Disappointed at the answers he was receiving, Veneziano pouted, looked up at the sun once more, and his hand slid up Roma's thigh.

"It's like a scene out of a painting."

Two nimble fingers, index and middle, crawled up Roma's chest, and his other hand joined to unbutton the pajama shirt.

"Vene…"

"It's very romantic, ve."

"Vene…"

The low groan brought an uncharacteristic leer to Veneziano's lips, and he continued to suck on the skin presented to him.

There a shifting sound behind them, of feet almost kicking up sand, and they jumped apart immediately, snapping their heads around, hoping whoever it was hadn't seen them.

"I didn't mean… to interrupt… you two…"

Romano felt something in him die, and he swore he'd never seen Vene's face so pink.

"Greece…"

The other nation paid them no mind, merely laid down on the sand about an arm's length away from Veneziano, closed his eyes, and his breath evened out.

"… Can you believe him?" Roma hissed in Veneziano's ear incredulously. "We just conquered him! We settled everything yesterday! I'm surprised he even let us stay here last night, but to fall asleep right in front of us, when not long ago we were his enemies-!"

"I'm not… asleep…" Greece murmured, shutting Romano up. His eyes flickered open at the still-crimson sky. "It's usually lighter by this time…"

There was an awkward silence among the three, in which Romano embarrassedly buttoned up his shirt once more.

"The rising sun…" Greece muttered, and the way he said it somehow sent a chill down both Italies' spine, "It symbolizes… the Beginning… and opportunity… but … there is only the End… and misfortune… whether soon or later… it is inevitable…"

Greece turned his head, expression blank, but his eyes were serious as they somehow met with both Italies'.

"The sun may rise… but it will always set… It is only… a matter… of Time."

Simply put, Japan's Empire could only last so long – and neither the Italies doubted him. Greece, Greece's mother, France, England, Spain, Austria, Nonno… they had all been an Empire, at one point, extremely powerful, and yet, they had all fallen, hard.

Because everything falls.

Romano's eyes widened.

Everything falls…

He looked at Vene, and then at his hands.

He knew better than anyone that life never followed the path it was wanted to go through. Life chose its own path, and to try to change that fact was pointless, ineffective.

Everything falls…

He looked over at Vene again.

How long did they have?

1943

Veneziano had been so distracted with his headache, he hadn't felt the unidentifiable pain until the ceramic mug had clattered as it fell in the sink and Roma had made a low, pained grunt.

Veneziano was kneeling next to Roma within seconds, fighting his labored breathing as he clutched at his chest. Roma was bent over and holding his stomach.

There was no question as to what had happened – because the pain was minimal and their desperate intakes for air was more from shock, they knew they were invaded, and because they still weren't really sure where, exactly, it hurt (they weren't sure how it worked for other countries, but it was always their leg – nowhere else – that they could feel what was happening in their land) they knew it could have only been one of two places.

"Sicilia." Roma forced out through clenched teeth as the nausea finally faded away, and Veneziano could only nod as his body began to relax.

Sicilia

Sicily

They got into Sicily…

"Vene…" Romano mumbled, a few minutes later when they were both leaning against the cupboard below the sink, "How long, do you think, until my foot will begin to hurt?"

"As long as it takes for my thigh to hurt."

Roma had smiled wanly at that, shook his head slowly. "We might be done with this war, soon." He said, and the calm, almost-optimistic tone of his voice, so rarely heard, reminded Veneziano of those times they were fighting for unification, when it was only Roma's voice that kept Veneziano going.

Vene had cheered loudly at that – threw his arms around Romano's neck and planted a big kiss on Romano's expectant lips.

They couldn't get to their shared room fast enough, and there was only roaming hands and daring lips, before it got to be too much and they were almost bursting with excitement and they didn't care for anything except for themselves and their touch and their smell, and their taste and their sounds…

They lay under the covers, again, when they were done, breathing hard and fast. Their hands were twined with those of the other.

Veneziano absently noted Roma was holding him tighter than he usually would.

It was the 10th of June

…

It was a shooting pain that flared in his knee and hindered his walking. His leg would lock up, and he was always fortunate Vene had stayed home since the invasion of Sicilia to watch over his clumsy ass and catch him.

The Allies were bombing Rome.

They were bombing Roma.

Romano's teeth bared and he hissed through the pain, breathing heavily and slowly to calm himself down. He could feel Vene watching him, worriedly, not three steps away.

"Rom-"

"Dammit, Vene!" Romano finally snapped, but there was only a blink of surprise from Vene, not a flinch. "I'm sitting on the goddam couch. I'm not going to fall."

"But, Ro-"

"Sit your ass down." Romano demanded tiredly, and he nodded at the space left on the couch past his outstretched legs, hands cupping the front of his face as he tried to get past the throbbing nightmare of a migraine.

"Ve~"

Romano looked up, and there was Vene, still standing over him. Quickly, yet unhurriedly, Vene managed to move Romano so he was lying on the cushions, and then turn him so Romano was lying on his stomach.

"Vene?"

"I'll help you get through this, Roma."

Romano flinched at that, but then he had trouble keeping the moan threatening to burst from his throat when Vene started sucking on his curl and sliding fingers up his shirt, drawing invisible patterns.

Romano experienced pleasure that overrode all thoughts and feelings of pain that afternoon.

It was the 19th of July

…

"… It finally happened."

Romano nodded.

"He's really… gone."

Romano nodded again, looking at Vene from the corner of his eye with an almost-amused raise-of-the-brow.

"He's… He's gone, Roma!"

Romano smiled, and caught Vene as his brother very nearly tackled them to the ground with his enthusiastic hug.

"Mussolini… he's gone!"

The people crowded the streets, sharing the news, cheering, visiting loved ones as they gossiped.

Their dictator had been removed of his power, which had been returned to their king, just the day before.

Just hours ago, Mussolini had been dismissed as prime minister, and shortly after he was imprisoned.

Their kisses spoke volumes that night.

It was the 26th of July.

…

Romano ignored the tingling in his feet as he continued to listen on, to the terms, what their armistice meant, where it would leave them.

He didn't hesitate to pick up the pen and sign – he wanted out with this damn war already – and he went back to trying to distract himself from his foot as Vene's signature followed his.

Vene had beamed at him, later that day, and Romano tried to respond with his own sarcastic, distorted version.

Did bushy brows really need to fucking invade the "toe" of Italy today?

But, even that couldn't dampen his mood. They were finally done.

It was the 3rd of September

…

Romano stood, on the small wooden stage, behind and to the right of Vene, hands and arms at his side, straight-backed and posture rigid, like Vene.

Though, he was not quite as tense as he had been just three years before.

"And so, we, Italy," Vene was saying, voice loud and projected perfectly and kind and obviously cheery under the surface, "have signed an armistice with the Allies in Sicilia just five days ago."

There were cheers in the crowd, but, they knew, it was the German forces still posted on mainland Italy that was causing trouble, because Vene's thigh had been paining him lately.

It was the 8th of September.

4 June 1944 – Rome is liberated

"We're finally free…"

Veneziano let out a soft sigh and nodded, looking Roma over. His face was much more relaxed, Veneziano noticed, and his gait wasn't awkward as it was just a few months before.

"So glad they finally liberated Rome… from the Germans, I mean. My knee fucking hurtlike a bitch."

Veneziano giggled as Roma sat down once more on the steps to the house behind them, watching as Roma gave a few experimental kicks, and, seemingly satisfied, leaned his weight back on his hands.

Veneziano smiled, watched Roma for a little longer before sitting next to him, trailed his own hand from Roma's, up Roma's arm, up to Roma's hair-

"V-Vene!"

-ran his index and middle finger through Roma's curl…

"Ve~ Roma, now that we don't have to stress over the war anymore…" another, deliberately harsh, yank, "and your leg is much better now…" fingertips skimming smoothly up a knee, "I just thought that, maybe, we might want to catch up on our time in bed, ve~"

Not five minutes later they were home, in bed, nude, and Romano was licking and biting and sucking Vene's neck, lower, to Vene's chest, lower, to Vene's stomach, lower still-

"Ahn! Roma~!"

-and a dark smirk pulled at Romano's lips around Vene, and the smirk only grew as Vene continued to arch and buck and writhe and wriggle and grab at the sheets and pull at his hair and wrap his legs around Romano's neck and push Romano further down with his ankles…

Romano kept his eyes up, watching Vene's reactions hungrily. They seldom did this before the moon was out, but, now…

Russet hair highlighted and shining, almost blinding, from the rays of the sun, sweat a fine layer on a now-golden chest, every wrinkle resulted from furrowed brows and the indents at the corners of clearly picked lips more visible than ever, the slight shadows in the dips of his elbows and under his neck and in the space between each finger and between his thighs and-

-Romano felt almost as if he was falling in love all over again.

How was it, he wondered, that every time seemed better than the last?

Romano held up Vene's legs as he entered, and he wondered how they could have possibly gone so long without doing this almost every other day, and-!

Vene's trembling moan told him he thought so, too.

Some times, they tried to be purposely quiet, focusing only on the hitches and gasps with every breath, the almost-shy mumbles and genuinely endearing whispers. Some times, they didn't care about sound, because it was always just them in the house, and it wasn't like they were that noisy anyway.

This time, they seemed to want to make as much noise as humanly possible, yelling and screaming at the loudest volume they could manage.

"R-ROMA! I-I'm almost-nngh-AH-R-R-ahn! ROMA!"

"Mm, V-VENE, j-just-hn!-I-I-o-OH, Vene! VENE!"

Even catching their breath, the noise they made seemed to amplify, seemed to reverberate off their empty walls.

Romano didn't protest as Vene rolled on top of him and began to trail up his leg, peppering every inch of skin he could reach with kisses, but he did fail in his attempt to choke back a moan when Vene stopped and turned his attention from Romano's leg elsewhere.

Romano wasn't alone in thinking he was treated to a sight that afternoon.

They had long since settled for a nap when the sun dipped behind the peaks of Monti Apennini.

28 April 1945 – Mussolini is captured and hanged

The most Romano did was land a kick on the bastard.

The most Veneziano did was spit, surprising Roma and even himself.

They let their people take care of the rest.

Romano wanted to help secure the body upside-down, but Vene's grip on his hand tightened, so he didn't move from where he stood, watching.

Veneziano didn't want Roma to touch that horrible man, dead or not – it would taint him, to lay a finger on someone so disgusting and evil. He made a mental note to burn the boot Roma had kicked with.

Neither of them so much as flinched at their once-leader's face as it swung with the rest of his suspended corpse.

They had a quiet dinner that night, silence broken only by the clinks and clanks of forks against plates.

It was after they had put away the dishes and passing by the fireplace when Veneziano leapt at Roma with a sort of needy gasp and seized his lips in a frantic kiss, pushed him against the wall and hoisted up a leg.

Romano would have, even through the shock at the sudden move, yelled at Vene for yanking off his boot and throwing it into the fireplace that uncharacteristically cold night, had Vene not quickly wiped his hand off on his shirt – that alone let Romano know what had probably been on Vene's mind since that afternoon.

"You know," Romano murmured in Vene's ear, just as his second boot was coming halfway off, "if the bed is too far, the couch…"

Vene's eyes lit up with that, and they didn't waste a second stripping to situate themselves on the couch.

The fire burned on when they had fallen asleep, Vene atop Romano's chest, Roma's arms around Veneziano, the spare comforter over them both.

13 June 1946 – Italy is declared Republic

"… I still think he would have been good for the people. Umberto, I mean."

A smile easily pulled at the corner of Veneziano's lips. "I know, Roma, I know. I don't doubt he would have."

His smile grew wider at the fingers tapping impatiently at the tabletop, and he tried to hide it behind a too-big bite of his pasta.

"We should have given him a chance…" Roma murmured into the palm of his other hand, the one cradling his head. His eyes snapped over to Veneziano with a narrowed glare, and, with the tone of one who has repeated himself one too many times, added, "The forty days he ruled doesn't count! That wasn't a fair chance!"

"Yes, Roma, yes, I know." Veneziano agreed, continuing to pacify his brother.

Still Roma's eyes narrowed further. "You wanted the republic…"

"The people want a republic, Roma. It's about the people, remember?"

"Mm."

Veneziano's smile twitched at that. "Ve~"

They shared a glance, looked away at the awkward eye contact.

"I think… Umberto did very good, even if he reigned for only a few weeks. He would have made our people very proud, ve."

"I guess… I guess a republic wouldn't be too bad… it seems to work well for other nations…"

They shared another glance, a smile. Shortly after, they shared a kiss, another, another, one more.

A few minutes later, they found themselves in a passionate embrace, unsure of who exactly had made the first move, of who had been in whose arms, who had been in who.

Such happened when the line between roles blurred, disappeared completely – when a compromise was reached, when two were set on equal footing.

Such happened when two found themselves irrevocably in love.

18 March 1948 – Day after Treaty of Brussels is signed

"Chi è?"

Who is it?

Romano grumbled when his mumbled inquiry received no reply.

"Who is it?" He repeated irritably, and his mood lightened at the familiar muffled giggle behind the door as he opened it.

"Knock knock~" She chimed, smile breathtaking as ever, hair shining bright as the sun's rays hitting her.

Romano felt his own lips effortlessly stretch into a grin, and he opened the door wider to let her in.

"It's well past noon, and you're tired?" She coined as she walked through with a glance at his lidded eyes, and for the first time Romano noticed the basket over her shoulder, the red-and-white plaid pattern covering it.

"Mm. Jus' got outta bed." Romano said with a yawn, reaching up to attempt fixing his mussed hair.

"Oh?" She said in mock ignorance, and with a gaze that, despite the shorts he slid on before answering the door, made Romano feel naked. "So late? Rough night or rough morning, I wonder?" Then, ignoring Romano's suddenly alert wide eyes, an innocently thoughtful, pondering expression crossed her face, complete with the single finger tapping on her chin, and Romano was suddenly reminded of that time, almost thirty years ago, when France had that same look…

"Or both?" She asked with a wolfish, all-knowing grin.

… when France revealed he knew the truth behind Romano and Vene's relationship.

She really was a smart girl, though she proved that enough when they last met.

Romano didn't offer a verbal response, just gave her a deadpan stare. His silence seemed to speak for him.

"It is both?" She practically squealed, and Romano had to force his eyes to not widen as he gave a dramatic sigh, closed the door and turned to the kitchen.

"Spain didn't tell me." She pouted as she followed.

She blinked when Romano didn't say anything.

"He doesn't know?"

He didn't mean to, but he tensed, and he knew she knew, but that didn't stop him from asking, "What makes you think that?"

"You didn't go on a rant about what you'd have done to him if he dared to tell a soul."

"Yeah, well," Romano muttered, running a finger along the counter as he walked, and, while he wanted to leave it at that-

"'Yeah, well,' what?"

-she didn't.

"Bella…"

Belgium sniffed, but said no more as Romano made lunch for three.

"… I'm sorry I missed you two yesterday."

"I know. It was in your letter. 'Treaty of Brussels', huh?"

Belgium shrugged. "A little pact between five countries for protection – purely just-in-case – against Germany and communism is all it is." She accepted the mug of coffee Romano had just warmed up. "Dank u."

"I suppose."

"Mm. Unfortunately the signing couldn't be rescheduled, so I'm a day late. Forgive me?"

"Depends." Romano's amused smirk and raised brows met her cheeky smile. "What's in the basket?"

"How selfish of you." She teased even as she removed the cloth. "Ta-da!"

"Wine?" Romano accepted the bottle, and his brows rose higher at the label. "Merlot?"

"What's wrong with Merlot?"

"Everyone's had Merlot." Romano said matter-of-factly, but he began to open it regardless.

"Hm~" Belgium stared up at the ceiling. "Veneziano?"

"Still in bed."

"I didn't interrupt you two, did I?"

She struggled to smother her delighted giggles at the embarrassed glare he shot her.

"He'll be up when he smells the food." Romano muttered, and he smiled with a little "ah-ha!" when the cork popped loose, and he began pouring the wine into three glasses.

"This early?"

"Never too early for wine."

It was about five minutes later when the smell of food was beginning to infest the house, and light patters of footsteps let the two know Veneziano had woken up.

"You better be dressed! We have company!"

The sound remained, retreated and returned after a few seconds' time.

"Ve~" Veneziano chimed as he stepped into the kitchen, blinking and then eyeing the two seated with what almost bordered on suspicion.

"Bella's here to visit, and she brought wine." Roma said, gesturing to Veneziano's usual seat, to the right of Romano. Veneziano sat next to his brother and dug into his plate.

"Happy belated birthday, Veneziano."

"Ah, grazie Belgium!" Veneziano managed around the food in his mouth. She giggled and turned to Romano.

"Entonces, ¿cómo fue anoche?"

So, how was last night?

"¿Por qué preguntas?"

Why do you ask?

"Quiero saber~"

I want to know~

"¡Qué pena!"

What a shame!

"Estás tan malo!"

You're so mean!

"¡Deja de preguntarme, pervertida!"

Stop asking, pervert!

"¡Quie-ro-sa-ber!"

I-want-to-know!

"¡Te-di-je-que-u-na-lás-ti-ma!"

I-told-you-it-was-a-shame!

Veneziano bit on his lip as he hopelessly tried to follow their conversation, wishing for all he had that he could understand Spanish. He clutched at Roma's hand as he ate and drank, listening as they unintentionally left him out.

1969-1988 – The Years of Lead

In the beginning, they had worked out a system.

It had been an unspoken agreement, that it would be Vene to represent them in meetings, because Romano was just too awkward around others; not to say that stopped him from participating – he showed up every once in a while, and both Italies' signatures were needed for treaties so he was there then, too, but he pulled his weight helping with Vene's speech and what Vene would discuss with the other nations. At home, they would work on the matters of their respective halves of Italy, but when Vene left he would take over Italy's relations worldwide, Romano would take over the concerns of Italy north and south, and it was he who would work out whatever temporary solutions necessary until Vene would return and they could focus on the situations properly.

It wasn't hard at first.

It started with NATO, in 1949.

There was the Korean War, which Vene helped out with, and then in '52 of September, the maritime exercises, and the exercises in Northern Italy, which they both had to cooperate on to work out.

Of course, he went to less NATO meetings after Turkey joined with Greece, in '52. Not that he was afraid of the masked bastard, 'cause he wasn't! I-it was just that Turkey was ugly and gross and ugly and perverted – and did he mention ugly? – and Romano really would rather not lay eyes on such disgusting monstrosity unless there was absolutely no way out of it. Y-yeah, that was it…

In the '60's, though, France's boss started getting wary of East Germany, and Romano couldn't see why the man wouldn't – Bird Complex was weird as shit, but then, that wasn't why de Gaulle withdrew France. He was convinced France needed its own defense system and shit. The year before, the Mediterranean Fleet went back to French command from NATO, and later banned any nuclear weapons on French land.

The Pervert stuck through, though he kept withdrawing shit from NATO's command to French, intent on strengthening their defense.

That man was too paranoid for his own good.

In '68, The Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) was open for signing. It was a horribly long bit to take in, that treaty alone, and between him and Vene, they weren't entirely sure they understood all the complicated shit, but it all boiled down to keeping the nations from becoming explosive-happy pyromaniacs by achieving "nuclear disarmament".

And the whole tension between America and Communist Bastard, of course. From what Vene told him, the blonde lunatic spent half a meeting bitching over the creepy fuck. It was always easier to tolerate when it was Bushy Brows and The Pervert, 'cause their tension was always relieved after a round (probably more knowing Frenchy, but he'd rather not think about it) of… stuff… and then they'd be back to insulting each other they day after, and all was right in the world.

Somehow, though, he didn't exactly think that would work with Hero-Complex and the scary fuck.

Then, there was the London and Paris Conferences, where the original five countries from the Treaty of Brussels met with the chatterbox blonde, the blonde whose name Romano could never remember (and could hardly ever see, even when he was there), the kraut, and him and Vene. The signing allowed him, Vene and the kraut to cooperate with the five from Brussels in what became the WEO (Western European Union). It wasn't just about self-defense, especially with the kraut having joined – it also dealt with economic, cultural and social collaboration. It brought the nations somewhat closer together, and relationships among nations has always been important when it came to future alliances and treaties – familiarity with nations made alliances easier to sustain, and so friendships among nations was always encouraged.

In '57, he and Vene signed the Treaties of Rome with Bella, the kraut, The Pervert, Luxemburg and the Netherlands to create the EEC (European Economic Community).

They were so busy, they just barely managed to get their 100th anniversary free - they spent it lazing around the house together, a short and blissful break from all the work they'd had so far.

In '67, it just became the EC (European Community) instead, and Denmark, Norway, Ireland and Bushy Brows resubmitted their applications to join – de Gaulle, the nervous tick he is, vetoed their previous attempt.

It was a lot to take in, just the affairs with the world alone, but then, turmoil began in Italy, and Romano was left to deal with it while Vene was with the other nations.

There was a shitload of public protests in '69, Romano remembered. It didn't matter what it was, there was a fucking protest for it, and it was getting hard to put up with that shit every day.

If he wanted to see strikes everywhere every day, he would've been living in France. Lord knew nobody was ever fucking satisfied there, they always wanted something more.

But then, on November 19th, a policeman was shot, only the first of many, later.

Some people called this time "The Years of Bullets".

December 12, the Piazza Fontana bombing, was what really scared the ever-living shit out of him.

There had been no warning. A normal morning, normal afternoon, then, at 16:37 – 4:37 p.m. – a bomb set off.

17 people died, and 88 were hurt.

Three other bombs set off. On the same day. In the same city. In Milan.

Police arrested at least 80 suspects.

There had been a few bombings, earlier in the year, in March and April. But, four in one day was just insane and absolute crap to deal with.

Romano was well aware of the Brigate Rosso – the Red Brigade. They wanted to get Italy out of NATO, and to create a "revolutionary" state. Those people were seriously fucked up in the head, robbing and assassinating to try to get their way.

That year was only the beginning.

1971. There was an assassination.

1972. Another assassination and a bombing.

1973. An arson in Romethat resulted in burning an eight and a twenty year-old. Both were sons of a neo-fascist leader.

There was also that oil crisis that was a total load of bullshit, all of it. Simply put, there was an embargo put on oil and everything went to more shit because of it.

1974. In May a bombing, another on a train in August, and arrests of a man in conspiracy and arrests of Brigate Rosso leaders

1976. Another assassination.

1977. An assassination in March and a shooting in May.

1978. There was a huge issue in March of with a politician's – Aldo Moro – kidnapping-turned-murder.

1979. More assassinations – in January, in March, in July, in September. Among them, a journalist who made a connection between Moro's murder and NATO's Operation Gladio.

1980. More assassinations – in February, in March, in April, a bombing in August.

Romano was embarrassed that he and Vene had to host a G7 meeting that June with everything that was going on.

1981. An American general was kidnapped in December, and rescued a month later. Romano couldn't remember America ever looking at him so pissed off – not pissed off at Vene andRomano, but at Vene and Romano's people, and somehow that was worse.

1982. A massacre in August, two murders in October.

1984. A bombing on a train.

1987. An assassination on a general in the air force.

They had to host another meeting that year, in June again. But at least the chaos had calmed some.

1988. An assassination on a Senator.

It was hard as fuck for Romano to be putting up with all this shit.

Meanwhile, with Vene, there wasn't too much change.

Denmark, Ireland and the UK joined the European Community in 1973.

In 1975, France's boss invited the bosses of Japan, West Germany, England, America, and him and Vene. The six bosses agreed to meet somewhere French and thus the G6 was born. A year later what's-his-face joined and it became the G7.

Greece joined the European Community in 1981. Portugal and Spain joined in 1986.

Romano began attending EC meetings.

It got harder, when Vene got involved in more and more meetings and the Years of Lead began and Romano couldn't rely on Vene to take care of his half of Italy anymore, because he was always so busy with other issues that concerned Italy's relations with other countries. Vene would try, but he'd have to leave to another meeting just when they were making headway.

It was too stressful for Romano, especially since he had little patience to begin with.

It became less rare for Vene to fall asleep on the couch after coming home straight from a meeting, or for Romano to fall asleep at the dinner table after staying up for hours, trying to find some kind of solution to something. It became increasingly less often for either of them to make use of their bed.

They hadn't made love in so long.

The most they shared were tired kisses. Tender, touching, teasing, but tired all the same – not of each other, but of the situation they were in.

After World War II, Spain, under his boss's orders, had become an isolationist. Romano knew it had to be driving the bastard crazy, to not have any contact with other nations when he so enjoyed having company.

Spain's isolation ended in 1953. Romano would visit, before Italy went to shit from terrorists and he could afford a few days off to see his old caretaker.

Franco didn't like it at first, probably because Romano cut it a little close with his first visit, and Romano didn't give a fuck. Franco backed off after realizing Romano wasn't trying to make any political offers, though he did give Romano suspicious looks every once in a while-

"Why does your boss look at me like that? Like he's looking for some kind of blackmail or something?" He asked once, when he was already comfortable in Spain's bed and held in Spain's arms.

"Ahaha… he thinks you're… um…"

"What?"

"… homosexual…"

"… WHAT?"

"I've tried to tell him, Romanito, but he's not a man so easily convinced."

Romano didn't comment, just shifted until he felt a bit more comfortable.

Vene…

"Buenas noches, bastardo."

"Mm. Buenas noches Romanito."

-Spain joined the UN in 1955, and Romano would visit Spain a bit more often, and he was there when the economic boom hit in 1959. He couldn't be there for much after that, his visits less frequent until they died out at some point midway through 1969, but Spain and his country's simplicity had become familiar and another home to Romano.

It was therefore reasonable that he was certain to have stepped foot into a poor mimicry of Madrid with his first visit in years, in 1986.

He was therefore reasonably shocked at how much had changed since he last visited Spain.

"… Where are we?"

"Madrid, mi hijo. Why do you ask?"

"… You're such a fucking liar!"

"Hm? ¿Qué estás diciendo?"

"This can't be Madrid!"

"Y ¿por qué no?"

"There's a Playboy on the shelf of that magazine stand!"

"Ah, sí, they were allowed in '76. But I don't recommend them, Romanito. Too tame."

Romano ignored that last comment for the sake of his sanity.

"There's a hooker at the corner of this sidewalk!"

"Prostitute, Romanito, not hooker."

"There's a brothel across the street from us!"

"Oh, hey! I haven't noticed that one before. It seems like there's a new one popping up every week, ahahaha~"

"España."

"Hm?"

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"Well, this is how it's been since Franco died in '75."

A pair of young men walked by them, whispering in soft tones and smiling. They approached a building Romano didn't remember passing, and walked in after a short peck on the lips.

Romano stared, mouth agape, but Spain looked unbothered by the scene.

"I-I don't understand…"

"You don't have to, Romanito. This is just us – the country of Spain – modernizing."

"Open homosexuals walking into a disco?"

"It's a gay-themed disco!"

"… Gay-themed disco." Romano repeated dryly, and he face palmed at Spain's enthusiastic nod.

A sigh. "… Okay." There really was just no point in arguing with the idiot.

Romano decided he would just have to get re-used to Spain.

…

"Why don't you ever bring Belgium or Spain over?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

Veneziano continued to chop the vegetables, though he noticed his grip becoming tighter and his arm shake and his voice tremble.

"Ve, you are always at Belgium's or Spain's, but you never bring them over, ve."

Was it just Veneziano, or did Roma pause just a second too long before answering?

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"We don't have a guest bedroom."

It was true – they never moved out of the little house they got when they struggled for unification, it had far too much sentimental value for them both. They'd had it fixed, patched up a few things themselves (badly), but neither brought up the idea of moving into a bigger place.

"We can see if we can add more to the house." Veneziano suggested over his shoulder, and he found his brows frowning at the immediate headshake he received.

"No, I don't think so."

"… We can always rent out rooms at the mansion reserved for us. We don't even use it anymore unless we host meetings, and there's plenty of rooms. We can all stay there."

"No, I don't think so." Roma repeated, and Veneziano bit down on his lip.

"Is there something you're… hiding from me, Roma, ve?"

"Of course not Vene."

"Then why do you never stay when Belgium hosts a meeting? You and Spain go to his place right after. And when she doesn't host, you three just go straight to her house. Why is that, ve?"

The clinks and clanks of the dishes being put away stopped, and the cupboard was slammed shut with enough force to make Veneziano flinch violently.

"… What are you implying?"

"… Nothing, ve."

"Vene…"

"Forget I said anything, Fratellone. So, for the sauce, should we add-?"

"Just what the fuck are you implying Veneziano?"

Roma didn't raise his voice, but Veneziano always found his calm anger much more frightening. He couldn't help the hitch in his breath at his name. He froze, hesitated, gave up and slammed the knife on the cutting board.

"When I was swamped with meeting after meeting, you couldn't always be there! I understood that, because you were taking care of Italy! I had to be gone for days at a time and so you visited Spain! I understood that was so you wouldn't be at home alone all the time! But now! Now, I have more meetings and more work and I want to come home and make dinner with you and make love to you – have you make love to me – fall asleep with you in our bed and wake up in your arms and make breakfast-in-bed for you and have a siesta with you in the afternoon after we make lunch, but we can't do that if you're always off with Spain! It's barely been a little over a year since he joined the EC, but you've been to his house at least once a month! I've been to Madrid, I know what it's like there! If there's something going on, just tell me-!"

"THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON! I fucking told you so years ago, I'm telling you now!"

"Well how am I supposed to know when you're always over there-!"

"Fuck, Vene, I thought you trusted me!"

"I thought so too!"

There was a long, awkward silence, the atmosphere was tense, and there was a ringing in their ears as the words hung in the air.

There was a CLINK as Roma set down the ceramic mug in hand on the table with probably enough force to leave a crack.

"… I should go."

Veneziano didn't try to stop him. He was blinking rapidly; he hadn't noticed his vision going blurry until Roma spoke up. His eyes had been open the whole time, focused on the food he'd cut instead of facing Roma as he confronted his brother – a true coward 'til the end. He hadn't noticed his eyes were open, as he now noticed they always were when it was just him and Roma. His eyes were always open, but he could never really see, because even when he knew what was running through Roma's head, Roma was never any less unpredictable.

He looked up when he heard Roma stomping down the stairs. He walked out into the living room.

"Where are you going…?"

Romano froze.

The same murmured question.

The same heartbroken tone.

The same cheap bag slung over his shoulder.

The same olive shade on the front door.

Spain…

"Out."

He left, ignoring the pelting rain as he walked, and then ran until he couldn't breathe and his legs couldn't carry him and he couldn't bear to go on any longer, but he pushed himself until he found a ride to take him to Italy, ran some more, another ride to Rome, to the cheap piece of shit house he bought the week before, that Spain had just found out about.

"Out."

He wanted to break down, to stay, to work it all out with Vene. He wanted to hear Vene call him, ask him to not leave.

He continued to walk.

Veneziano wanted to speak up, to beg Roma to not abandon him. He wanted to hear Roma say he'd been bluffing and work it all out with him.

He didn't move.

Veneziano let himself choke out silent sobs when the door swung into its frame and shut, but he didn't expect anything out of it.

He already learned his tears wouldn't make a difference.

Romano had to bite his lip, hard enough to draw a few drops of blood, when the door slammed closed behind him, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, or cry, or both, at the irony as the heavens cried above him.

Even the shitty weather was the fucking same.

…

Romano had only spent the night at a hotel, and he returned home the next day.

He tried a kiss, and Vene let him; as soon as he reached for Vene's hair though, he had backed off.

"Not right now, Roma."

"It's been a long time since I slept together with you, Roma."

Romano really wished Vene hadn't pointed that out, crawling in bed next to him.

"Shut up! You should have at least two beds!"

Empty words, because they would get over their spat, one of the few they've had. And Vene knew he didn't mean it.

Vene could always see through him.

"Is it strange? I sleep together with Germany and Japan…"

The words registered even before Vene had finished talking.

That was why he didn't mind Romano's visits to Spain and Belgium as much as he probably should!

"Wha…! Are you still close with them?"

He really didn't think his actions through, because he really didn't mean to strangle Vene…

"Roma, I can't breathe! Roma, I can't breathe!"

… Really, his hands weren't that tight around Vene's neck… but he did loosen his grip… and the head-butting was only for good measure.

Yeah.

Two minutes later they were kneeling on the bed and he was trying to take out the damn knot, eyes shut, because he knew what he'd do if he looked at Vene… and it wouldn't be all that comfortable at the moment…

He'd noticed Vene pick up the phone, but he was sure he was almost done…

"Germany! Germany! Help!"

Vene didn't even give the kraut time to respond, just continued on.

"I'm in bed right now and Fratellone's… ouch… won't come out!"

Fucking Vene and his nervous fidgeting!

"Don't move!"

Shit, and he almost had it, too!

"N-Not there! Hey!"

What the hell did he just tell Vene!

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"You idiot! Don't call him! Hang up, already!"

"Get it out! Take it out!"

What the hell did Vene think he was trying to do, leave their hair like that?

He sighed and hung up the phone for Vene.

That jerk couldn't help them, anyway.

… He didn't even realize what it must've sounded like to the kraut until the guy had burst into their room – who the fuck told him where-oh, right, Vene… - and started yelling.

"Italy! Are you okay? What happene-?"

"Oh, I was waiting for you, Germany."

"Ow, ow, ow…" (5)

Fucking Vene…

…

Veneziano wasn't sure what to think when Roma pinned him down on the bed the next night.

A hot, heavy, heart-pounding kiss later, and he didn't let himself think.

The tongue tracing a path down his chest had him breathless, and he absently noticed he was especially vocal from that treatment alone.

They had gone so unbearably long without this, everything almost seemed new, and he found his eyes closing in absolute bliss.

It was all so… s-so… so…

There weren't any words to describe it.

They were pressed so close together, legs wrapped somewhere around Roma, arms somewhere over Roma's back, and he couldn't keep his upper body on the mattress if he tried, it was all too good…

They kissed and cried and their lips' caress banished each other's tears away as they climaxed.

He couldn't believe he could have ever doubted Roma for even a second when they had… this.

They lay as they always did at night together, staring at one another, and when Vene's gaze flickered up, he saw Roma's curl, the little heart shape it made, and he couldn't help but draw Roma into another deep, passionate kiss.

He had never felt happier than he had there, that night, at that moment, in Roma's arms.

3 October 1990 – German Reunification

They were all there, the European countries and Hero Complex and What's-his-face, to see the Berlin wall open in 1989.

Vene had stood next to the kraut, and he had stood on Vene's other side, and they all watched it get torn down.

Romano had never seen anything like it.

Several months later, Germany formally declared his and the cackling bastard's intentions to "reunify", which they did eventually achieve.

"Ve~ I wonder about those two, sometimes."

"Who?"

"Germany and his brother!"

"… Oh."

Romano yawned, climbed into bed and threw the blankets over his shoulder, assuming that was the end of the conversation.

"They did just reunify, ve!"

… Apparently, it wasn't.

"Yeah, I know."

"Ve~"

… Fucking Vene

"All right. I'm tired so speak up already."

"Tired? But Roma, we just had a siesta a few hours ago!"

"That's not keeping you from yawning."

Vene's lips pursed, and Romano could see the water gathering in his eyes as Vene forced himself to keep the yawn in, and it had Romano feeling a little less cranky.

"Dimmi."

"Well, I was just wondering, ve, if…"

Romano blinked slowly as Vene began fidgeting with the blankets in his lap. "If…?" He prompted.

"If… if unified countries become one like we did... ve…"

Romano opened his mouth to say 'No, because countries don't all unify for the same reasons, dumbass, so of course they're not the fucking same' until he understood what Vene was actually talking about, and his face began to burn, and his eyes widened in realization, then disgust, mortification.

"Ewww! Ugh, Vene! That is some gross shit!"

The little fucker intended for that, Romano knew, because he was laughing in that merry little chime that would stick in Romano's head like a song he'd never forget. Romano took the pillow he'd been resting on to whack Vene over the head with it.

"You're fucking disgusting, Vene!"

"I was only joking, Roma!"

"That doesn't make the thought any less revolting! Why the fuck would you even think of something like that? Ugh, Vene…"

But Veneziano didn't mind, he just laughed and laughed, and began hitting Roma with his own pillow, and they somehow wound up on the floor, lips locked and hands roaming over half-naked bodies, and they didn't stop there, they never did. The night was young, and sleep could wait.

16 January 1994 –Christian Democracy is dissolved

"Democrazia Cristiana is gone, Roma."

"Yeah, it is…"

Vene gave a forlorn sigh, and Romano's eyes were drawn naturally to his sulking brother.

"Everything is changing… and so quickly, too."

"… Because we're trying to modernize, Vene. That's why we went from a monarchy to a republic, remember?"

"The people want reform now, Roma."

"Then they'll have it. It's more northerners than south, more your people than mine, in any case." Here, a pointed side glance. "And Northerners always get what they want. They always do."

Veneziano felt better at that, and he offered Roma a cheeky grin.

"Ve~

"In any case, the European Union will be relieved. Partito Socialista Italiano has been losing popularity."

"Yeah, they will be."

The EC had just been renamed the previous year.

"Everything will work out, Vene."

Veneziano blinked, looked over to Roma, and found that rarely-seen optimistic expression he so adored.

He smiled.

"… It will. It will, Roma, it will."

1997 – Russia joins the G7

"Another country?" Romano asked. "For what?"

He and Vene should have known when America's smile withered substantially-

"Ahaha… ha… ha…"

-and his annoying-as-fuck laughter wasn't all it was supposed to be.

"Hello."

"GAH!"

"R-Roma…"

They hadn't much exposure, but they'd heard the voice enough to know it anywhere.

"O-oh, s-so it's Russia…" Romano muttered, and he tried and failed to keep from shaking at the "da" he received in reply.

It sure as hell explained why they'd discussed the creepy fuck so much at the last meeting he hosted, the one in '97.

… If anyone outside the meeting asked, Vene jumped into his chair.

It was the first official G8 meeting.

31 December 1998 – New Year's Eve

Romano knew what day it was the moment Vene had started prancing around the house in red boxers.

"Roma~" He'd called, skipping up to him with another pair, and Romano gave the saddest excuse of an irritated sigh before shucking off the pair he was wearing and changing into the pair offered.

They were in the room, they had no company, and it was nothing Vene hadn't seen before. There was no problem.

He sent a smirk in response to Vene's hungry stare.

"C'mon," Romano yawned as he padded bare-chested into the hallway and downstairs. "let's have some breakfast before getting rid of all our shit."

"Ve~"

…

"Ro-ma!"

"It's out of season, Vene! You need to get rid of it!"

"Give-it-back!"

Romano's grin grew as the Armani shirt dangled from the tips of his index finger and thumb out the window, and Vene hovered at his side, fists not-exactly-hitting his shoulder in hopes to convince him against dropping the rather-fashionable article of clothing that was most certainly not out of season.

"Ro-ma~!"

"What?" Romano asked, chin in upturned palm, blinking his eyes open when he didn't receive a response, and he turned around just in time to see Vene strutting out their door with a Versace shirt in his grasp.

"VENE!" Romano roared, chasing after the younger half of Italy.

"Yours for mine, Roma!"

"Give that back!"

"It's a fair trade~!"

"VENE!"

…

Eventually the shirts were put away, and their shitload of honest-to-God useless crap was thrown carelessly outside their second-story windows.

For dinner they had cotechino, as they did every New Year, and it was nothing new, but they had joked and laughed and pushed around and smacked and shared tender glances and kisses in the kitchen as they cooked.

They looked out their bedroom window, elbows leaning on the nightstand below, bowls of lentil resting on the sill, not-quite-crowded even pressed against one another shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the fireworks burst ever-so-brightly in the sky, taking a sipful of lentil soup with every toll of the bell counting down to midnight.

"It's 1999…"

"Mm."

"Our country is going to start using the euro, now…"

"Our economy is going to be fine, Vene, don't worry."

"Ve."

Romano watched the crease formed by the just-frowning brows, the lips turned down just-slightly-so at the corners, the lone finger tapping every now-and-then at the rim of the bowl, all illuminated by the flickered remains of the violent reds and verdant greens lighting up the entire city, and reached over to kiss the not-pouting lips shallowly, then firmer, more tender, kneading with the reciprocation as tongues met and twined, mouths open and all there was were hollowed cheeks and invading wet muscles and labored breathing through bumping noses. There was a hasty break, and Romano quickly moved their empty bowls on the dresser in the corner before Vene grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed their lips together once more, and pinned Romano's wrists to the nightstand, teeth biting into toned skin – neck, collar, shoulder, chest – that called out to him.

At some point they'd shut the window. Romano was pressed against the glass, sweat creating a replica of the perspiring back as Vene thrust harder and deeper and harder and deeper into him, his hot breaths fogging the once-clear view outside. Their arms encased one another in a passionate embrace as they kissed and kissed and kissed as they made love under the fireworks' fluttering flickers.

January 2000

"Human name…?"

"America suggested it at the last meeting yesterday afternoon, ve." Vene explained as he dropped his bag at the door and staggered to the couch, flopping on it face-down and letting Romano close the door.

"What is it, exactly?" Romano asked as he straddled Vene and began kneading his shoulders.

"Mm– it's a pseudonym, for when we come into contact with humans. America said it was because people have – ahh – their own opinions, and some people might hold – hmm~ – animosity toward a nation even if… their own country doesn't, so he wants to avoid terrorists attacking nations directly, ve. Y-you're really good at this, you know, Roma, ve."

"So che." I know that. "When does he want this again?"

"He wants all of ours in writing before the next G8 meeting."

"Ah."

There was a short silence, interrupted only by Vene's coos and purs as he was massaged.

"Come stai?"

How are you?

"Mm, sono felice."

I'm happy.

"Feli…"

"Hm?"

"F-Feli… Fel... isi… Felicia... no… Feliciano. Feliciano."

"… 'Feliciano…'" Vene repeated slowly, and then again, once more. Vene blinked, and his face was suddenly lit up with a wide grin.

"Ve~ I love it, Roma, I love it!"

"Hm, well of course!"

Vene giggled at that, and he began pondering on a surname for them both, already knowing Romano would want to make his own first name.

Romano bit his lip as his hands continued to move across Vene's back-

-"Nothing! Nothing is fucking wrong!"-"Everything is as it's always been! No abnormalities! So everything is all right and nothing is wrong!"

"Ti amo, Romano. I love you. I love you, so you can tell me what's hurting you, right?"-

-Vene had asked Romano what he would do, and when Romano said nothing, because Spain was an empire and what could he, half of Italia, do against an entire empire, dumbass, with a dismissive snort and wave of the hand, Vene cried even more than he had the day before. But only Vene cried.-

-"Ve~ I missed you, Fratello."

Romano cast Veneziano a short glance and nodded with an uninterested, "Mm."-

-"Get the fuck away from us!"-

-"I'm here, Veneziano."

"But you're not, Romano, you're not."

Why aren't you calling me"Fratello" anymore?-

-(Veneziano had looked almost cheerful when he first saw them, earlier, but his smile had shrunk at Romano and Spain's somber expressions.)-

-"Ve~ you look like a tomato with such a red face."

"You sound like Spain."

Romano frowned suspiciously when Vene pursed his lips and looked pointedly away.-

-"Are you happy? Here and now? Or that Spain is trying to win you back, and so soon, too? Where are you happiest?"

"Vene?"

"Where, Fratello?"

Romano blinked. Beside him sat Vene, arms around the knees pressed to his chest. He was pouting, face half-hidden behind his knees,-

-"Ahaha… I suppose you have to sit with Austria…"

"Quite right." The aforementioned nation confirmed, walking ahead into the building, Veneziano following silently, looking over his shoulder at them only once with a none-too-pleased face. – Romano didn't think he'd ever seen Vene so sad over him before. – Vene stepped back, head bowed as he rubbed his now-watery eyes, a sad smile playing on his lips.-

-"Ti amo, Vene. Ti amo."

Veneziano blinked, again, again. He beamed, face absolutely lit up – glowing – and he glanced over at scarlet cheeks. "Ve! Ti amo troppo Roma~!"

Romano tensed.

"Don't call me that." He whispered.

Veneziano blinked, his smile fading.

"Ve."-

-"Romano,"

And there he fucking went again.

"What?"

So he had no reason to snap at Vene like that, but Vene was starting to make his head hurt, and he didn't think Vene would notice how angry he was getting with each passing second, but the wide, hurt eyes said otherwise.-

-Romano leaned over toward Vene, and, in his ear, whispered, "Okay."

He thought he saw Vene tremble at that, but his answer had received a determined nod. It was settled, then.

They would work their way toward unification.-

-"Roma…"

"Don't fucking call me that Veneziano."-

-"More people are speaking out, Vene, for the cause. We're almost there now, I can feel it!"-

-Romano's hand rose to rest on one of his brother's arm.

"Roma…"

There was no denying they had both felt the electric jolt at the barest of brushes between their curls.

"Vene."

Church bells rang nearby, loudly as if in warning, clanging for everyone in the neighborhood to hear, and they almost pulled away after blinking, but, then they almost leaned forward, and then-

-there was a knock at the door.-

-And next they knew, Romano had wrapped a casual arm around Vene and pressed him close, and he leaned down, and he kissed Vene,-

-"You knew this wasn't just a social visit – he hasn't seen you since you declared us unified, and he hasn't seen me since I left! What the fuck was going through your head-?"

"Roma… I'm sorry, ve…"-

-"We… they're our allies-"

"This is a defensive alliance-"

"Roma-"

"-so we don't have to attack. Right?"

"Però!"

"Right?"-

-"We don't need to ask anything. Just give us the papers and we'll sign."-

-"Veneziano."

Russet eyes snapped wide open and stared into hazel. Romano smiled, and, only because he was certain there was no one else around, he leaned closer, lips brushing Vene's, and whispered,

"Ti amo."-

-"Nothing, Vene. We can't do… a-anything"

The conversation ended there.-

-"You're such a fucking idiot, Vene." Romano muttered, taking no time to wrap his arms around his brother. "Spain is…" Romano paused, pouted, proceeded, "he-he's, well, like a father or… something."

"I'm your brother."

Romano blinked, and thought back to France's words twenty years before, and thought, maybe, he understood what the pervert meant now.

"We're lovers."-

-Whatever good impression Vene must have expected him to make on his new friend was not going to happen, because Romano had already seen enough of Germany to hate him.

Slicked-back blonde hair

Blue eyes

If he had been wearing black, Romano might have been more than tempted to punch the living daylights out of him.-

-After a half-hour struggle that eventually resulted in him pulling Vene's curl hard enough for him to let go, Romano finally managed to wriggle out of Vene's arms and chase down Germany.

He had a few things to say to that bastard.-

-"'Say, praise me like you just praised him.'" was all he'd requested, so, then why…

Why had Vene suddenly shrunk back at that, and with such an uncertain look on his face?-

-After Romano finished packing his clothes, he called for a small carriage, and went to the nearest market he could find, knowing he had just enough time to buy a few things, cook and eat dinner before he would leave.

He made dinner for one, again, that night. He put away the sausage he bought, and scribbled a half-assed note before slamming it carelessly on the table.

He could see his ride approaching, so he ran up the stairs, kissed Vene chastely on the space between his brows.

He left before Vene woke up.-

-A note in the center of the otherwise empty dining table.

Going to Spain's. Back in two days, maybe three.

Made dinner for myself. Got you some sausage for wurst. It's on your side of the kitchen.

Keep yourself busy Vene-

-But, Romano felt a niggling in the back of his mind, and he wondered what it may have meant, but, he was tired, so he tried to ignore it.

It kept him up half the night.-

-"Don't worry, Veneziano." She teased, giving Romano a look that was too-knowing. "I won't steal your brother away."-

-"We, Italy, declare war on France and Great Britain!" Romano bellowed, his voice strong and steady-

-A whole month had gone by, and he barely even noticed, barely missed Vene at all – he wondered, did that make him a bad brother, a bad lover?-

-Everything falls…

He looked over at Vene again.

How long did they have?-

-"He's… He's gone, Roma!"

Romano smiled, and caught Vene as his brother very nearly tackled them to the ground with his enthusiastic hug.

"Mussolini… he's gone!"-

-They had long since settled for a nap when the sun dipped behind the peaks of Monti Apennini.-

-The most Romano did was land a kick on the bastard.

The most Veneziano did was spit, surprising Roma and even himself.

They let their people take care of the rest.

Romano wanted to help secure the body upside-down, but Vene's grip on his hand tightened, so he didn't move from where he stood, watching.-

-"Yes, Roma, yes, I know." Veneziano agreed, continuing to pacify his brother.

Still Roma's eyes narrowed further. "You wanted the republic…"

"The people want a republic, Roma. It's about the people, remember?"

"Mm."-

-"Ve~" Veneziano chimed as he stepped into the kitchen, blinking and then eyeing the two seated with what almost bordered on suspicion.-

-"-If there's something going on, just tell me-!"

"THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON! I fucking told you so years ago, I'm telling you now!"

"Well how am I supposed to know when you're always over there-!"

"Fuck, Vene, I thought you trusted me!"

"I thought so too!"-

-"You're fucking disgusting, Vene!"

"I was only joking, Roma!"

"That doesn't make the thought any less revolting! Why the fuck would you even think of something like that? Ugh, Vene…"-

-"… Because we're trying to modernize, Vene. That's why we went from a monarchy to a republic, remember?"

"The people want reform now, Roma."

"Then they'll have it. It's more northerners than south, more your people than mine, in any case." Here, a pointed side glance. "And Northerners always get what they want. They always do."

Veneziano felt better at that, and he offered Roma a cheeky grin.

"Ve~"-

-"Another country?" Romano asked. "For what?"-

-… Vene strutting out their door with a Versace shirt in his grasp.

"VENE!" Romano roared, chasing after the younger half of Italy.

"Yours for mine, Roma!"

"Give that back!"

"It's a fair trade~!"

"VENE!"-

"R.."

"Ne-"

"Rovi…"

"-Fratellone-"

"Lovi…"

"-how about-"

"Lovino"

"-Vargas?"

They blinked at one another, and Romano's smile earned only an insincere upturn of trembling lips.

"Ve~ I don't know, Roma. It sounds cool, però, ve, its meaning…"

"What meaning?"

"You… you got it from… from 'rovino' didn't you, ve?"

"… You're happy. I ruin. I spoil."

"'Intolerable Cruelty' it means."

"Rovino. Lovino."

"Ve…"

Vene licked his lips, but he eventually conceded with a sigh and a shrug. "I can't tell you what to do, Roma, ve."

"… Lovino Vargas. It sounds good."

"… It does." Vene smiled feebly back. "It does."

"I just wonder…"

"Hm~?"

"What are you supposed to use for a surname?"

"…! Ro-ma~!"

Romano kissed the offending pout away into nonexistence. "'Lovino,'" he corrected in a husky whisper, and he didn't miss the way Vene's eyes darkened at that.

On the kitchen table, where they'd just been talking, they shouted and yelled and screamed and yelped and moaned and groaned and mewled and growled, unfamiliar names of all-too-familiar people, legs wrapped around a lean torso and folded into their owner's body and suspended and parted widely, and arms wrapped around a bent neck and draped over a sweaty back and were folded up and reached to curl around that strand of hair…

An exhausted, spent Romano lay, sated, atop a just-as-spent, just-as-sated and sore Veneziano on their now-corrupted dining table. They exchanged kisses, and murmurs of "Feli" and "Lovi" met between swollen lips.

July 2003 – Italian soldiers deployed in Iraq

Veneziano wasn't even sure how it had all started.

The amount of soldiers they would deploy had, thankfully, reduced some 200, from 1,800 to 1,600, which he and Roma both were grateful for, because they really weren't all for getting involved in this war (America's people got crazy over everything (but maybe he was a hypocrite, after the violent protests when they hosted that G8 meeting in Italy, in 2001 (then again, it wasn't just Italians that were protesting (regardless, Roma was embarrassed they had to host that meeting, too)))). But, they weren't fighting, they were participating in a "peace operation".

He and Roma had both been against the decision since it had only been an idea, and so many of their people were, too, but their government had decided, and so they had to obey.

Spain had deployed his own troops some three months before, and he'd volunteered to accompany them to see their men off when Roma refused to stop complaining over the matter. But, if Spain would be there, Roma would spend all his time with Spain, and Veneziano would be lonely, and Roma might even forget about him and-! So when he'd voiced these concerns to Germany, Germany offered to accompany him, even though he wasn't participating in anything regarding Iraq, and Veneziano had accepted, and they'd even invited Japan to join.

At some point or other, still long before the soldiers had actually been sent, they'd split up, with Roma and Spain heading off one way and Veneziano and his friends around in another direction.

It was really sudden, too.

He'd wandered off, in search of pasta, he remembered, and he'd just happened to turn around in time to catch a distraught Roma in his arms.

He wasn't entirely sure what the problem had been, or what had happened, but all he could really understand from Roma's yells was "Fucking Spain" this and "Damn bastard" that, with every curse imaginable shouted in-between.

"Okay, okay," he'd cooed, patting Roma's back without further comment, and he'd leaned a bit of his head closer to Roma comfortably, and, after a minute, he happened to glance up, and he found Spain quite a ways away, looking confusedly at them, but Veneziano only sent a closed-eyed smile at him from behind Roma's trembling shoulder.

… After another minute, Veneziano gave into temptation – he pulled down the skin just below his eye with a single finger and stuck out his tongue.

Roma was his.

…

More often than not Romano had no problem understanding Vene's rambling at impossible speeds, and he prided himself a bit on it, but even he had his limits, among those being when Vene felt the need to cry- a lot.

And so, just a few hours after Vene had calmed him down (an occurrence he would take to his grave), Vene himself was apparently having some kind of problem with the kraut and the Asian (or, most likely, he'd misunderstood something they were trying to say), because he'd just managed to catch Vene in his arms when Vene started babbling something about the potato bastard.

"Yeah, yeah," he'd muttered under his breath as he pat Vene's back, leaning a bit closer as Vene continued to cry and whine. He looked up after a minute, only to find Germany several meters away, staring somewhat surprised at them both. Romano offered a shaky, awkward grin… before cutting the crap and just flipping off the damn bastard.

What the fuck, it wasn't his friend.

And besides, Vene was his.

…

Veneziano wrinkled his nose at every brothel and newsstand he passed by in Madrid.

Spain had offered to let them visit him, and they'd agreed, because it'd been so long since they got to spend any time with anyone like this, but he'd forgotten how disgusting the city had become.

At least Roma looked every bit as uncomfortable as he did.

"… I think we lost him…"

They and Spain had decided to go out for a walk around the city, primarily because when Belgium accepted Spain's invitation to join them, Netherlands had followed her. But then, he wanted some time to have Roma to himself, so they'd turned tail and ran, and Spain had continued on without a pause, oblivious as ever.

"Yeah…"

Self-consciously, and somewhat paranoid, they glanced around before reaching out for each other's hands, twining their fingers together, and, as they walked, their joined hands swung casually between them.

…

It was a few, maybe three or four, hours after he'd lost sight of the boys, and Spain had remembered that he'd need to get tomatoes – because he and Romanito alone could eat a whole garden each if they so wanted, and Veneziano and Belgium liked them, too – and so after he'd run a few early errands, he'd bought a crate of tomatoes and began walking home, only to find the boys again-

"You keep… you know I… never… love… Roma, ve!"

"Hypocr… always accusing… Spain… sick fu… you with that bast… kraut… full of crap… brat!"

-in the midst of a shouting match. He was too far to hear everything, though, so he was just about to approach them and intervene, but-

"Mm!"

"Ahn!"

-they'd just yanked on one another's curl…

Spain's eyes widened, and his grip on the box was becoming gradually looser. He watched, as if fascinated, by the scene.

Veneziano leapt into Romano's expectantly open arms, and their lips met in a furious, violent kiss, a kiss so intense Spain thought he could see sparks between them, and Romano was pushed against the wall, still holding Veneziano desperately close to him, and, now, Spain could see tongues coming into contact between what little space was between them, and Veneziano's back arched, and Romanito leaned closer to him, and just when it looked like Veneziano was about to raise a leg around Romano's hip…

Spain's nose erupted in an imitation of a volcano- his nose the active mountain, his blood the lava – and the crate clattered loudly to the floor, just narrowly missing his feet.

They pulled abruptly apart, but they were still clinging tightly to one another's now-wrinkled clothes, and Spain knew he had not been imagining anything.

After dabbing his nose dry, he found Romanito still somewhat embarrassed – mortified, really – and Veneziano looking somewhat proud and mildly challenging at him.

He only wondered why they hadn't told him before.

3 July 2005 – Gay marriage declared legal in Spain

"Is that so?"

"Mm."

Romano, for lack of any other idea on how to respond, bobbed his head in an absent nod.

"I'm the third country to allow it, ever. Third only to the Netherlands and Belgium."

"Is that so?"

"Mm."

Romano tapped a finger against the neck of the Oloroso in his hand, raised the bottle, brought the rim to his lips, took in a few gulps of the smooth wine-

"I think you should get married here."

-promptly choked on and spit out said wine…

"Wha-what…"

There was no time to react- Spain already had a bruising grip on his upper arms, had him pressed against the wall, had their faces an inch away from bumping noses. Romano struggled to keep his face neutral as he could manage.

"Married! Right here, right now! At this moment!"

Romano let out a shallow, shaky breath. "Spain…"

"It can't wait!"

"S-Spain…"

"Please-!"

"I can't! Y-you know I can't! Why would I even- where did this even come from!"

"You… you won't…?"

"Spain… what the fuck-?"

"I… I thought…"

Romano breathed out through clenched teeth, pushed Spain roughly away. "Fucking bastard, I can't believe-"

"It would have been really nice in the summer, or, better, on your birthday. I'd even let you use the backyard…"

"-you'd even try to do this to me and… what…?"

"You two, with your fitted name brand tuxedos… your kiss illuminated in the sunlight of Madrid's sunset… Ahh… what a sight it would be…"

"… What are you talking about?"

"Hm? Oh, nada, Romanito…"

"… Y-you meant me and Vene… right?"

Spain blinked, looked back to Romano with a puzzled frown. "Of course, Romanito. Who else could I have meant, I said 'you'…"

"A-ahahaha… nothing, nothing, just…" Romano ruffled the back of his hair awkwardly, looked away before freezing and turning back to Spain. "Oh. Yeah. So, uh, what brought on that whole business with marriage?"

"Hm~" Spain hummed, sitting down on his bed with his chin cupped in his hands, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"We're nations, I know, but you've always been my little Romanito. You're mi hijo, and I've always wanted – more than anything – you to be happy. I've always hoped for and dreaded the day you might find love. Love is… wonderful. Beautiful. More than I could ever hope for you to experience. But… we're nations, and love is… you've seen England and France, Austria and Hungary, maybe you've heard about Japan and Greece… love is… love doesn't always work out. So, to know you're in love with Veneziano… It's a comfort. I know you'll never leave him, and he'll never leave you. I…" Spain sniffed, blinked a few times, licked his lips. "Me alegro por ti."

I'm happy for you

Romano's eyes widened at the admission, blinked, he smiled softly. "Grazie, España. Grazie mille."

"So… este… about that marriage…"

"Hm?"

"Are you… are you sure you won't want it done here…?"

"… We'll see."

6 April 2009 – L'Aquila Earthquake

"Vene!"

They weren't exactly sure how they'd ended up like this, lying on their sides, on the floor, Veneziano leaning into Roma's open and supporting arms with one leg bent in, the other stretched out, a hand at the back of his knee, where he felt the cramp, where the tremors in his leg began, where the pain was unbearable, where it was too much-!

Romano cradled Vene's head, tilting it up, pursed his lips at the pained grimace, the trembling jaw, the pinched brows, the hitched breaths, the tightly shut eyes. Vene…

"Roma…"

Romano brought his head closer to Vene's, their foreheads pressed together, hands cradling the sides of Vene's face, rubbed circles on Vene's cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm here, Vene. I'm here."

"Ro…ma…"

Romano winced as his name was harshly panted out by cracked lips, and he didn't bother to put up a front to hide his worry.

Vene didn't like for him to pretend like that.

"Vene."

Romano removed a hand from Vene's cheek, placing it instead on the dip of his leg, rubbing the sore spot as if he ease the pain.

"Ti amo."

"Ti amo così tanto, Vene. Ti amo tanto, tanto."

…

A little over 300 people died that day.

1,500 were injured.

About 65,000 went homeless.

Romano had even felt the faintest trace of a tingle in his knee, the earthquake was that bad.

Vene's leg hurt almost nonstop for the remainder of the day, the next day, the next, the next, and then off and on a few days after.

Romano never left Vene's side, unless it was to get something for him.

The G8 meeting they were hosting that year was moved from La Maddalena to L'Aquila, so that funds could reach the damaged city directly.

There was no shortage of offered aid – from their own people, from fellow nations, from the European Union. Silvio Berlusconi, the Prime Minister, had downturned all foreign aid, except for the help offered by the USA. Neither of them really understood that, but they wouldn't argue with their boss's claim – because they, Italy, really were proud people.

That didn't deter concerned visits, though. Austria, Greece, France, Germany, and Spain especially made a point to visit them often when their help had been rejected, sometimes accompanied by Hungary, Japan or Belgium, and all of them, save for one, gave the two of them all-too-knowing looks – even Vene's parental figures.

Romano wasn't sure how he felt about the kraut being the only one out of the loop.

17 March 2010

Almost a year had passed.

They were getting better, Vene was getting better.

"Ve~" Vene hummed as he stood hesitantly on the tips of his toes, reaching for something in the cupboard before he finally gave up with a miffed huff and turned to Romano, who'd been watching him from the dining table.

"Ve, Roma~ I can't reach…"

"Get a chair then."

"Ro-ma!"

Romano grinned, and without another word he walked up to Vene, climbed on the counter and retrieved the big pot they used to make pasta from the top shelf.

"Ve~ Thank you Roma~"

"No problem," he muttered, standing on the tiled floor now. Romano watched Vene nod and walk around, watched Vene's leg as he went back and forth to the fridge and the stove, and noticed for the nth time that his leg wasn't jerking or bucking under him…

But Vene was probably still too afraid to test out how much better his leg had gotten.

Romano licked his lips and looked at the calendar.

"Have you… thought about next year?"

"Ve! Yes, I have, Roma! Però, ve, I can't think of anything… I want us to do something special for next year – to celebrate being together for 150 years! – but I… I don't know… I don't know what to do…"

Romano licked his lips again, felt in his pocket, circled the small, hard object his fingers found. "I have an idea…"

"Do you really, ve?" Vene turned to look with sparkling eyes, a smile so wide Romano wondered idly if it'd make his face stick. "Dimmi! Dimmi!"

Romano parted his lips to speak, hesitated, clamped them shut, closed his eyes and shook his head. "N-nevermind…"

"Di-mmi~!" Vene begged, tugging on the front of Roma's old worn shirt. It was the first he'd actually bought for himself, since, after he'd started outgrowing his own he'd just wear Spain's old clothes.

"Ro-ma~!" Vene was in nothing but a long-sleeved shirt that was buttoned and almost reached his knees.

"Per favore~!"

Romano licked his lips again, got down to his knees. "Vene."

He glanced up and found Vene blushing hotly, found Vene's fingers clenching on the hem of his too-long shirt, and somehow Vene's awkward misunderstanding had him breathing a little easier. "Vene." He repeated, leaning all his weight on one knee instead and he removed the ring from his pocket, held it up in offering. "Vene."

"Roma…"

"Sposarsi con me"

Marry me

It wasn't a question.

Even if it was, it couldn't be, because there was only way to answer.

"Roma!"

Veneziano got down to his own knees, hugged Roma tightly, tightly, as close as possible to himself as he could manage. There were spots on Roma's shirt that were darker than the rest of the worn fabric, and it took him a while to realize he was crying.

He was breathing unevenly. He licked, bit, pursed his lips. He turned to find Roma staring at him so, so contently, and it made his chest ache. He could feel his own rapid pulse thudding in his ears. It was all so… s-so… so…

He captured Roma's lips in a kiss, a kiss so hungry and full of love and their everlasting devotion to one another. It was everything they were, everything they could be.

Hands reached up, combed through mussed hair, cradled the back of a head, rested on the nape of a neck, wandered exposed arms or legs.

When they broke away, breathing in harsh pants, they were smiling, and Vene reached out, plucked the ring from Roma's hands, slid it on his finger.

In bed, with the blankets kicked off, they were going nonstop, arms a welcome, tightening vice around one another.

They didn't dare let go.

Roma was thrusting, and Veneziano swore he'd reached up and touched Heaven that day. So unbearably happy, the ring's weight felt heavy, but also as if it belonged. His hands were cupping Roma's face as they kissed and kissed and kissed endlessly, barely daring to part for a second or two at most, and only for breath, and, with his eyes open, he could see the diamond on the ring glint from the sunlight from their window, and it was all so wonderful.

They lay in bed all day, staring at one another, completely at peace with the world, their world, everything.

The curl on Roma's head made that adorable heart again, and it was all Veneziano could ever ask for.

Romano was staring at the curl on Vene's head, eyes softening at the little heart it became every time they made love.

They were engaged.

17 March 2011 – 150th anniversary of Italian Unification

Romano tried to not look as nervous as he felt, up there at the altar at the eyes of so many nations.

To his right stood Belgium and Hungary in identical cream-colored dresses, to his left Germany (Romano would have preferred someone (anyone) else, but, Vene insisted…) and a sickly Japan ("The earthquake that hit me will not hinder your marriage. I will be there whether or not you approve, and, this time, I will not accept "no" for an answer."). Austria sat at the piano, nimble fingers waiting an expectant hair's width from the ivory and ebony keys, half-turned to the double doors, where France waited idly.

Behind Romano stood Spain in a black robe, a bible in hand, and, behind him, a window that was just beginning to bathe the church in a glorious golden glow.

It was originally supposed to be just the nine of them, but word got out, and next they knew, countless nations arrived, taking up all the room in the pews, and a few were even left to stand in the back by Hungary – granted, it was a pretty small church, but the point stood.

The bell chimed half past three.

The music began.

The doors opened.

Romano's breath caught in his throat.

Even a veil wouldn't have obstructed wide, watery grin on Vene's face as he stepped through, blinking madly in vain attempts to banish the tears that never stopped gathering at the tips of his lashes. Even when all the attended turned to him, even when he paused briefly and linked his arm with France's, even as France walked him down the aisle, he was smiling and blinking, and he had eyes only for Romano.

Romano couldn't help the incredulous grin on his lips or the slow shake of his head when France put Vene's hand atop his, gave him a light pat on the back and his trademark smile, walked to stand a little ways behind them both.

"What's with the dress?" Romano murmured lowly, eyeing the lacy white material with a critical eye.

"Signora Hungary got to me, ve." Vene whispered back, still blinking, and, with a smug, still-watery grin, "You're wearing a black robe. We were both supposed to wear tuxedos."

"Minor details."

It was an image that would forever remain in Spain's mind as he preached, had them speak their vows, watched them stare lovingly into one another's eyes…

"Puoi baciare la sposa"

You may kiss the bride

… witnessed their amorous kiss (simple, mouths parted just-so, eyes closed lightly, their lashes fluttering, a tear streak, another, one more) – their first as a couple officially joined together forevermore.

He was right.

Their kiss was breathtakingly beautiful, illuminated in the sunset of Madrid.

…

"Ohhh~!"

They were gentle, they were rough; they were slow, they were hasty.

They were in love.

"Ah!"

They had been encouraged to have a honeymoon, a night at an expensive hotel, a resort of some kind – to have their first time in bed married in a bed that wasn't theirs, hadn't been theirs for the approximate hundred-and-fifty years they'd been them.

They refused, of course.

"Mmm – ah – R-R-R-Ro-maaaa~!"

"Nnngh! V-Vene!"

The skirt of Veneziano's wedding gown was pushed up to just below his hips, as was the bottom of Romano's robe, but the loose clothes did nothing to keep them from continuing on without pause.

Beads of sweat were making their hair stick to their face, their neck, rolling down their skin, creating an imprint of Veneziano's body on the mattress, dripping down on Veneziano from Romano's chin.

Romano was breathing hard out his nose, between clenched teeth, panting as he watched Veneziano from above – his half-closed eyes and long lashes fluttering, his trembling lips that gave voice to irresistible mewls and moans that had him moving faster and faster, the head thrown back at semi-regular intervals and arched back. It was all so, so…

He groaned leaning further down, pushing Vene's parted thighs up between them, so the knee-up was raised in the air, ducking his head between Vene's legs – because they were still caught in the panties Hungary had somehow persuaded him to wear – and kissed him, long, hard, deep, hands cradling the beautiful face illuminated by the full moon's beam.

When they broke apart, Vene was outright gasping, head turned submissively to the side, hands brought up against the pillow and grasping tightly, arching his back a little and panting out an "ah" with every thrust, and Romano didn't pause as he sucked and bit at Vene's exposed neck, marking it like he'd always been afraid to before, and it got Vene more worked up, pushing his legs down against Romano's clothed back and moaning louder, "Ah! Ah! Ah! AH!",which only got Romano worked up, too, had him thrusting longer, harder, deeper.

They screamed as they finished, lost in the heat of their passion and trapped in one another's encasing arms – a cage to an all-too-willing prisoner.

And then they had another round.

Naked now, their clothes discarded in a heap on their floor, they moved slowly, breathlessly, "ti amo"s exchanged between met wide-open lips slick with exchanged saliva, holding each other closely.

Romano's kisses were rough, hasty, bold – fierce. A fire that lit up sparks between them with every brush, with every inch of skin that met skin, with every breath they shared.

Veneziano's kisses were smooth, unhurried, meek – tender. So heartbreakingly gentle, his lips moved with upmost delicacy, almost fragilely, and it was enough to make Romano's heart race.

Veneziano arched, hands flat on Roma's back, upturned brows creating a slight crease in his forehead above his lidded eyes, his lips round with a released "oh!" when Roma found that spot once more. His legs fastening themselves more soundly around Roma's waist as he continued to buck under Roma, he threw his head back when Roma continued to hit that spot again and again and again and again-!

Veneziano could feel him lean forward, chin resting on his shoulder, lips against the outer shell.

"Un magnete sei, mi attrai sempre più a te,"

A magnet you are, you attract me more and more to you

Roma murmured in his ear as he thrust-

"Ovunque tu sarai io riuscirò a trovarti,"

Wherever you will be, I will be able to find you,

-and Veneziano-

"Se mi toccherai, indietro non si tornerà,"

If you touch me, don't go back

-couldn't help-

"Non mi interessa nientaltro solo te,"

I don't care about anything but you

-the overjoyed tears.

"per sempre ti apparterrò…"

I will belong to you forever…

He loved Roma so much…

"Ti amo." Veneziano managed to gasp as he came, digging his nails into Roma's back.

Romano didn't so much as flinch at the pain.

"Ti amo troppo." Romano replied, just as breathless, releasing deep into Vene, and he struggled to get his breath under control as he pulled out and lay down on his back.

Veneziano rolled himself atop Roma, made himself comfortable, hands skimming sweat-soaked skin. He hummed happily, nuzzling Roma's bare chest, looked up, smiled at Roma, at Roma's tired smile, at Roma's heart-shaped curl.

Veneziano leaned down and pressed a final kiss (for the night) to Roma's upturned lips before settling more comfortably and falling asleep, the ring on his finger pressing against his cheek.

Romano traced an idle finger around the stray strand that had curled into a heart, smiling gently at Vene, at the ring on his own finger, at them.

He fell asleep with an arm wrapped around Vene.

17 March 2012

Veneziano woke up to a familiar light pressure on his forehead, and he sighed through his nose, too tired to move.

"Buona mattina."

"Mmm… buon giorno, Roma."

Another sigh, longer, and the surprisingly soft lips removed themselves from his forehead. Veneziano opened one eye, two, glanced over to where Roma was slumped against the wooden headboard – a sight he could barely see with the dim gray light that meant dawn was on its way – smiled thinly and rolled over on his stomach.

"Ve… I don't want to move, Roma."

"Me neither." Yet another sigh, from Romano's lips this time. "Fucking Spain…"

"I told you we should have gone last night, Roma."

Veneziano didn't so much as blink when Roma's pillow hit him smack in the face.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Ve~" Veneziano shook off the pillow and reluctantly tumbled out of bed to dress, just as Roma was, before hurrying to pack some food for their trip.

"Buon anniversario."

"Mm. E buon compleanno, Roma."

"Mm."

They shared a glance, a smile, a kiss. They grabbed their light travel bags and ran off to the airport that was, fortunately, a few minutes' distance.

…

They met Spain in Madrid.

There were hugs and kisses on the cheek that were well-received and rejected.

And then Austria and Hungary happened to stop by.

Pleasantries were exchanged.

Germany, Japan and Greece arrived.

There were more hugs, warm smiles shared.

Bella, France and Prussia stopped by to visit.

Some lighthearted teasing and flirting.

It was like a family reunion.

…

Two pairs of feet – one walking, one skipping – continued on down the main street of Madrid, admiring the late-morning – or was it early afternoon? – view contently.

"Ti amo Roma~"

"So che."

I know that.

Romano glanced over, grinned at the slight pout he found, kissed it away.

"Ti amo troppo Vene."

Veneziano blinked, smiled, removed the arm that had been linked with Roma's, wrapped both around Roma's neck, kissed him back, and then again, again, again.

"Ti amo." he repeated as their lips met without end, "Ti amo."

Romano smiled through the kisses, glanced up at the sun, raised high enough that he thought it might be noon, and then at the heart-shaped curl protruding from Vene's head, at the rings on the fingers that were now entwined with one another's.

"Ti amo."

The sun never set for them.

"Ti amo."

Not everything had to fall.

"Ti amo."

Their lips met relentlessly.

Ti amo."

They were in love.

"Ti amo."

"Ti amo troppo Vene."

They were one now.

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, constructive criticism, etc., please review or send a message and I'll get back to you when I can

Ja Ne =D!