The time when he delivered the revelation, France wasn’t entirely sure how to say, or what to do afterwards. He expected it—very much—to be so hard on the nation before him to receive. A breakdown or maybe even pushing all the blames on him (which really were his, France admitted) were what he readied himself to accept. Nonetheless, it didn’t go as well as he predicted. Not with the blank stare Italy gave him, nor the stillness in his movement as though the Italian had transformed into a stone. But somehow, young Italy’s lips managed to part in a reluctant U-shape.
“It’s not like I didn’t know what to come, Big Brother France,” shaky, yet for the first time in his life France was surprised to see the strong part of Italy—fortitude it was, something that rarely to apprehend from the weak nation in its teenager form.
“Italy, I want you to know that although it is my responsible, but—“
“Nations like us have nothing to say about what the people choose…”
Yet again, France was clammed up; he had lost to Italy, not physically, but the child was actually more than his look. Had he really missed something? Or was it all the work of his arrogance and indulgence in the long war that caused him to oversee Italy’s depth?
“I’m sure Holy Roman understood what becoming of him. His fate as a nation.”
And with the lines, Italy traversed the corridor that used to belong to a nation named Holy Roman Empire; gradually disappearing under the darkness some parts of the house emitted. Shaking his head in sheer stupefaction and guilty as he was, France couldn’t muster himself to do anything more.
Pitiful for him, considering how he had practised countless times of what he should do when the time had come.
ーーー
Maybe, Romano was the first one to realize something negligible in his brother.
The thing in the way he spoke, perhaps. It occasionally messed up, and clearly Romano could see Veneciano wasn’t paying attention to him, to anyone.
Or maybe it was in the way he walked. The clumsy Veneciano was an everyday show, but this time he was alert. He didn't—or maybe hadn't done anything stupid all day. But Romano would want to think that it was merely Veneciano's lucky day, despite how ridiculous it sounded even to his own ears.
However, the way Veneciano missed his siesta, or the visage that sometimes lost its cheeriness and easiness, maybe the most convincing things above all other matters Romano would notice. Perhaps, again, Veneciano was really not being himself—
“Brother, look!”
That smile came back to him, Romano stared with narrowed eyes.
But were his eyes also participating in his smile? Romano was thinking, very hard even, but it wasn’t that easy for him to read whatever behind Veneciano’s gleaming gaze was.
Was it because of his years of experience for being an ignorant person, or was it really his ability to read people was as low as the Italian blood running inside his vessels allowed him to, that he really couldn’t guess what weird with his brother was?
“Ve~ Isn’t he cute?”
The cat purred inside Veneciano’s embrace, as minutes later the North Italy began to roll over the grass, ignoring how dirty and messy his clothes—his apron would get.
And seeing how the felicity had claimed over Veneciano’s entire being again, Romano bit back all of his thoughts almost too immediately. The heat must have made him think of the things that unsuited him. Maybe it was better for him to start undo his clothes and surrender to the sun above.
But it was unfortunate for him, to miss the whisper Veneciano had slipped out of his lips while laying on his side, eyes half-lidded with a part of his face buried by the grass that smelt like the sun.
Ethereal Threads of Fate [1/7]
The time when he delivered the revelation, France wasn’t entirely sure how to say, or what to do afterwards. He expected it—very much—to be so hard on the nation before him to receive. A breakdown or maybe even pushing all the blames on him (which really were his, France admitted) were what he readied himself to accept. Nonetheless, it didn’t go as well as he predicted. Not with the blank stare Italy gave him, nor the stillness in his movement as though the Italian had transformed into a stone. But somehow, young Italy’s lips managed to part in a reluctant U-shape.
“It’s not like I didn’t know what to come, Big Brother France,” shaky, yet for the first time in his life France was surprised to see the strong part of Italy—fortitude it was, something that rarely to apprehend from the weak nation in its teenager form.
“Italy, I want you to know that although it is my responsible, but—“
“Nations like us have nothing to say about what the people choose…”
Yet again, France was clammed up; he had lost to Italy, not physically, but the child was actually more than his look. Had he really missed something? Or was it all the work of his arrogance and indulgence in the long war that caused him to oversee Italy’s depth?
“I’m sure Holy Roman understood what becoming of him. His fate as a nation.”
And with the lines, Italy traversed the corridor that used to belong to a nation named Holy Roman Empire; gradually disappearing under the darkness some parts of the house emitted. Shaking his head in sheer stupefaction and guilty as he was, France couldn’t muster himself to do anything more.
Pitiful for him, considering how he had practised countless times of what he should do when the time had come.
The thing in the way he spoke, perhaps. It occasionally messed up, and clearly Romano could see Veneciano wasn’t paying attention to him, to anyone.
Or maybe it was in the way he walked. The clumsy Veneciano was an everyday show, but this time he was alert. He didn't—or maybe hadn't done anything stupid all day. But Romano would want to think that it was merely Veneciano's lucky day, despite how ridiculous it sounded even to his own ears.
However, the way Veneciano missed his siesta, or the visage that sometimes lost its cheeriness and easiness, maybe the most convincing things above all other matters Romano would notice. Perhaps, again, Veneciano was really not being himself—
“Brother, look!”
That smile came back to him, Romano stared with narrowed eyes.
But were his eyes also participating in his smile? Romano was thinking, very hard even, but it wasn’t that easy for him to read whatever behind Veneciano’s gleaming gaze was.
Was it because of his years of experience for being an ignorant person, or was it really his ability to read people was as low as the Italian blood running inside his vessels allowed him to, that he really couldn’t guess what weird with his brother was?
“Ve~ Isn’t he cute?”
The cat purred inside Veneciano’s embrace, as minutes later the North Italy began to roll over the grass, ignoring how dirty and messy his clothes—his apron would get.
And seeing how the felicity had claimed over Veneciano’s entire being again, Romano bit back all of his thoughts almost too immediately. The heat must have made him think of the things that unsuited him. Maybe it was better for him to start undo his clothes and surrender to the sun above.
But it was unfortunate for him, to miss the whisper Veneciano had slipped out of his lips while laying on his side, eyes half-lidded with a part of his face buried by the grass that smelt like the sun.
“Holy Roman.”