Post by Königreich Preußen on Jun 8, 2015 16:48:19 GMT -8
This is a little fic that I haven't finished yet and I'm not really sure what to do with it...? Or if I should change a lot of things...? If you read it can you please leave your thoughts!! :* (If you like Prussia headcanons, this is the place for you... but where I stopped might make him seem a little out of character?)
Also please forgive any HTML--I write it this way to make it easy to post in AO3.
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Rome was glowing in the summer. Prussia sat outside the capitol building on the top few steps, his legs extended in front of him and leaning back on his hands. They were starting to sting from being pressed against the gritty landing for so long but he was too warm and content to move.
Every citizen and tourist was glowing as well. He watched them take pictures and eat churros and be generally happy, a genuine smile on his face. Rome was so bright and welcoming because it was Romano's heart, and he was also bright and welcoming for the first time in Prussia's memory. Or as welcoming as he could get.
Also please forgive any HTML--I write it this way to make it easy to post in AO3.
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Rome was glowing in the summer. Prussia sat outside the capitol building on the top few steps, his legs extended in front of him and leaning back on his hands. They were starting to sting from being pressed against the gritty landing for so long but he was too warm and content to move.
Every citizen and tourist was glowing as well. He watched them take pictures and eat churros and be generally happy, a genuine smile on his face. Rome was so bright and welcoming because it was Romano's heart, and he was also bright and welcoming for the first time in Prussia's memory. Or as welcoming as he could get.
Prussia watched him converse with Spain and Belgium for a while, his normally frowning expression cleared and almost happy looking. The meeting was going well for him, as told by his fantastic report; Gini was low, trade was high, and he was fast catching up to his younger brother's levels of financial security. Unfortunately, his self-confidence boost didn't do anything for his personality.
It wasn't like there was any directed abuse. Every country more than a century old had been on the bad end of Romano's verbal onslaught at least once, and every country also knew he didn't usually mean it. Prussia could see him now gesturing violently at Spain, no doubt slinging insults with a smile on his face. A few hundred years ago Prussia could take it like the best of them, but his time with Russia had shattered his tenuous grasp on his ego.
Here, in a foreign country, already unsure of his position in the new post-Soviet world, Romano's, "What are you, an idiot?" when Prussia had asked him whether seats were assigned had rattled him badly. From far away Prussia was feeling a lot better about the whole thing, but he wasn't really looking forward to going back to the meeting and having to present in the second half of the day. He was sure Romano was going to make some scathing comment and everyone would see he wasn't able to brush it off.
Someone sat heavily beside him and he looked over, coming face-to-face with France. "What's up?" he murmured, shifting so their shoulders bumped companionably.
France shrugged, his hands folded in his lap. "I've not known you to be worried about dear Antoine," he replied, gesturing with his chin toward a grinning Spain, "And you're not that into lovely Belgium, besides that passing dream. So," he continued over Prussia's vehement denial, "You're looking at Romano?"
Prussia pressed his lips in a thin line, not confirming or denying anything. France had known him for too long, though, and the nation's arm came around his shoulders. "No shame in it, Gil. He would be very feisty in bed, no?"
His mouth's line of annoyance twitched up at the corners into humor despite Prussia's continued wariness. "I guess, but that's not really what I'm thinking about." He didn't say anything further on it, watching Belgium pat Romano's cheek and get a fierce blush in response.
"Come back inside and tell me about it," France said, making it sound like both a question and a command. Prussia remained silent, seeing France's expression go from teasing to worried out of the corner of his eye. "Prusse, up." He stood and reached out a hand, and Prussia took it dutifully, allowing himself to be pulled up and ushered out of the warm Roman sun into the A/C cooled capitol building.
They walked a ways down the hall, Prussia still silent and France looking more and more worried by the second. Prussia knew it wasn't like himself to think so long and hard about something he couldn't change--half of the beauty of strategy was knowing when you were beat and accepting it--but this was different. Romano was--
"Gil, Francis!" Spain called, rushing to catch up with them. He threw one arm around France's shoulders and the other around Prussia's waist, knocking them forward a little. "What's the rush? Meeting doesn't start for another half-hour, I think!"
France wasted no time in speeding their stride, pushing the three of them into a smaller office that was left open and shutting the heavy wooden door. Sunlight streamed into the room through the wide window, and from his angle Prussia could see Romano with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the tourists while Veneziano held his arm and chattered at him. Even with his brother attempting to talk his ear off he didn't look as frowny and angry as normal, just content.
Spain stood closer to him to get a better view of what he was looking at. "Ah, Vene! You haven't been to visit him in Italy in a while, have you?"
No, not since reunification, Prussia wanted to say. He shook his head instead of truly answering.
Ten years had passed without incident and the year 2000 marked his representation of de facto Ostdeutschland. A few months back in the spring Germany let him draw up finance and economic plans to aid the struggling East--and didn't look over his shoulder to approve them--under the guise of having too much work to do. Then, he had asked Prussia to check them over with his boss Schröder, telling Prussia he had to make sure Veneziano didn't destroy the house while playing with the dogs. Somehow he had also roped Prussia into presenting his research in their summer World Meeting, and being thrust onto the political stage after so many years in near-isolation was… different, to say the least.
"He wasn't looking at Vénitien, Antoine." France leaned back against the large wooden desk in the room, crossing his legs at the ankle.
Spain blinked, and then rounded on Prussia, the easygoing glint gone from his eyes and replaced with a kind of coldness. "Mi pequeño Romano," he said more than asked.
Prussia didn't even drag out Spain's misunderstanding to toy with him or get a good fight going. He just shook his head again, hunching down in his suit jacket to better hide himself from France's curious and Spain's murderous gazes. "Not like that, Spain," he said flatly. "It's nothing, France, lay off."
Now both France and Spain had twin looks of anxiety furrowing their brows. "Gil, you're not alright," France was saying, pushing Prussia to sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. "I'm going to get you some water and your brother--"
"No!" Prussia collected himself and took a deep breath. "No, just some water, bitte. West is probably busy." I don't want him to see me like this, went unsaid.
France nodded slowly, touching Prussia's shoulder before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Spain sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Has he said something to you? Romano has a sharp tongue, mi amigo, but he doesn't mean it."
"I know," Prussia began, and then bit his lower lip to halt the flow of words. He had just admitted what his problem was and he knew that Spain wasn't quite as thickheaded as most other nations assumed he was. He had quick eyes and a quick mind and even if he couldn't read the mood, he could read Prussia and France like open books.
"What did he say?" Spain said in a no-nonsense tone.
Prussia's leg jittered anxiously. "It wasn't that bad, I'm overreacting." He stopped his leg with his hands on his knee, tightening his fingers harshly. Maybe if he could scream at Russia for a while without causing an international incident he would feel better.
"I don't think so, chico. When you overreact, you start yelling and drinking and fighting, and this is the opposite." Damn Spain and his perceptiveness. Prussia tried to avoid his eyes but Spain just leaned further forward and put a warm hand on his forearm. "What did he say?"
France returned with the water and gave it to Prussia, then sat on the arm of Spain's chair and waited for the answer to a question he hadn't heard, one thin brow raised. Prussia conceded defeat, taking a small sip of water and then just holding the glass between his hands. "As the GDR," he began softly, staring into his glass, "Russia kept me in St. Petersburg. All of us, the Baltics and the littler states, you know. The less powerful ones."
He swallowed harshly and brought one shaking hand up to rub over his mouth. "I used to have an army. A fucking invincible army. And, um… and Russia liked to remind me that I didn't anymore. He hit me, all of us, a lot." He swallowed again and had to make a conscious effort not to drop the glass. Rome's cheerful sunlight slanted into the window, across his shoes, and he concentrated on that. "But he used to insult me, too; little things. Idiot, stupid, weak, stuff like that. I guess I haven't really gotten over it."
The glass of water was taken from him and then France was kneeling in front of him and holding both of his hands, bringing them to his lips affectionately. "I'm sorry, ma chère," he said against Prussia's knuckles. Prussia supposed the one good thing to come out of Russia's rough handling was that he didn't cry as easily anymore. Fifty years ago his friends doing such tender (sappy, Prussia thought amusedly) actions would have sent him into hysterical tears, but now he just felt a little sting behind his eyes.
As it was, he smirked down at France almost meanly. "Now who's overreacting?" he asked both of them, but his cruel mood faded quickly and he felt even more tired than before. "It's not that big of a deal. I just… I hadn't heard it since reunification, and it surprised me."
Spain fretted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before saying, "I can talk to him--"
Prussia extricated one hand from France's grip to grab Spain's shirt. "Please, don't," he insisted, willing to fight over it. "None of them need to know. I only told you two because I trust you." It was still true, even after France pushed so fucking hard for his dissolution after the war. He later explained that he thought it was for the best at the time, and Prussia forgave him without going into detail of his Hell at Russia's hands. Now it looked like France was going to burst into tears after learning the truth, and Prussia was still holding a lot of facts back.
Spain held his hands up in surrender. "I won't, Gil. I promise." He laid a hand on top of Prussia's head, rubbing at his scalp for a moment. At least he wasn't about to cry like France, and now Prussia was feeling guilty and freed his other hand to cup France's cheek. "Why didn't you tell us…?"
Prussia smiled slightly, swiping his thumb under France's eye. "'Cause of this," he said simply. "I didn't want you to worry over something from the past."
"But clearly you are," France said under his breath.
Prussia's smile faltered. "Well," was his oh-so-convincing reply, and then there was a soft knocking on the door. Prussia didn't bother pulling away from France in embarrassment, and France didn't get up off his knees, but Spain went to open the door just slightly. "I haven't eaten yet," Prussia said softly, his attention still on France. "Do you guys want to grab something and come back?"
"Big brother Francis?" Veneziano called from the doorway, and both of them turned to look. He seemed surprised to see them all, but it was quickly replaced with determination. "And big brother Antonio, and Gilbert." The latter attempted a smirk again and could feel it threatening to crack. "Fratello and I are cooking at his house after the meeting, and I wanted to invite you all."
Spain's easy grin seemed a bit strained at the edges as well but he resisted automatically turning to look at Prussia and giving away his apprehension, something the Germanic nation was thankful for. France, not so much, but he covered his automatic turn by pressing his hands to the arms of the chair and pushing himself to standing. "We’d love to, Feli," Spain answered for all of them. Prussia nodded as well, taking his glass back off the desk and drinking deeply to avoid talking.
"Good!" Veneziano chirruped. "You can get changed and things at your hotel rooms and we'll pick you up around eight!"
"Damn late Italian dinners," Prussia groused without any real heat. Veneziano giggled at him and waved his goodbye before skipping out of the room, leaving the three of them alone again.
The two Western powers started to say something but Prussia interrupted them, cackling and grinning almost like normal. "I'm fine, you two, really!" he told them, even if he didn't truly feel fine. "Don't get all sad on me just because I got my ass kicked daily for a few decades. The awesome me is made of stronger stuff than that!"
France hummed in obvious disagreement but didn't say anything more. Spain clapped his hands once lightly and changed the subject. "Let's get lunch! Italians eat long lunches normally but I think Germany is making everyone keep it to an hour, so we don't have that much time!"
"I'm getting gelato and leaving it at that." Prussia stood and stretched, running his fingers through his hair to push it up and out of his eyes. Dinner with Romano sounded like a horrifying experience but he knew he had to at least try to keep his friends from worrying. It would help to have a little bit of a sugar high.
Prussia tried to steel his nerves during their short lunch and it almost worked. He thought about his army's rally at the end of the Napoleonic wars, sending a silent apology to France for getting relief from his loss. It was enough to help him walk confidently into the conference room with his neat sheaf of papers and sit in his seat to the left of Germany.
The younger of the two looked over at him appraisingly. "What's wrong?" he said bluntly, and it was only because he raised Germany that Prussia didn't startle at the directness of his question. His little brother was never one to beat around the bush.
"Just a little personal thing, nothing to do with the presentation." Prussia didn't think it would be easy to get Germany's attention off him when he was usually demanding it to be put on him, but now was not a good time and here was not a good place. Germany tried to say something further but Prussia continued over him, "Are you excited to eat at Italy's house? They seriously make the most awesome fucking food."
Germany hummed in what could be agreement and turned his attention to the podium where Romano was calling everyone to "shut the fuck up, now." He motioned to Prussia to present first. The white haired nation stood up with a wide grin and strolled over to the podium, setting up his slides and shuffling his stack of papers.
The thing that threw Prussia off the most during those fifteen minutes wasn't everyone talking over him like he expected. Everyone was silent, Germany was taking diligent notes and looking almost proud (the big brother was supposed to be proud, Prussia thought irritably, but maybe he could let this time slide). England's gaze held a respect that Prussia had never seen directed at him before.
Toward the end, he added a few more 'awesome's to try to get a rise out of at least Austria, but he didn't even get a scoff. Everyone applauded when he finished and he felt himself turning an embarrassing shade of red that would be totally visible on his skin. He did a little nervous bow and hurried back to his seat, much less cockily than on his way up. Romania on his other side shot him a toothy grin and he found himself shyly smiling back.
From the other side of the table, completely ignoring Qatar's presentation (he really didn't seem to mind), Spain and France were sending Prussia thumbs up and mouthing words of congratulations at him. He turned even redder and put his right hand up to shield his eyes, leaning over his notepaper and scribbling nonsense with his left. They were being unawesomely obvious and while the Prussia of old couldn't even comprehend the notion of embarrassment, this one felt like his whole face was on fire.
Every presentation afterward went rather quickly. Some got questions or objections, and Veneziano left partway through to get a snack for him and his brother, and the Roman sun remained as bright and cheerful as it was at midday even as it set. Prussia's mortification settled and he was able to look up again, as long as he didn't make eye contact with Spain or France.
As soon as the clock struck six everyone was out of their seats, packing up. Or, in France and England's case, bickering. Spain came around the table to stand with Prussia, but they weren't joined by France who waved them both off, still in the middle of shouting at his long-time rival.
"Gilbert," Germany said from somewhere behind him. Prussia turned and saw Veneziano and Japan with him, Romano thankfully nowhere in sight. "The car is coming to pick you up--"
"At eight, I know. You worry too much, West! Who is it that taught you to be punctual?" Now it was Germany's turn to redden, and Veneziano giggled at him. Prussia felt a lot better when his little brother was having all the grosser emotions, like 'unawesome' and 'things involving being giggled at'.
Spain started to tug at his sleeve like a little kid, talking away to no one in particular, and Prussia was forced to bid the three friends farewell with a wink and follow his own friend out of the room. In the hall there were a lot of other nations still milling about. "You did so well, amigo!" Spain gushed, very loudly.
Prussia froze and was about to slap a hand over Spain's mouth to silence him but a soft, "Congratulations," stopped him. He looked over to see Poland and Lithuania joined at the hip as always, Lithuania looking him square in the eye with a confidence that quite frankly unnerved him.
He was expecting a jab about how Germany must have done all the work for him, or that he didn't even belong at a conference because he had no country to represent. Spain must have been too, because he was standing slightly in front of Prussia with furrowed brows and thinned lips, staring down at the former commonwealth.
"Yeah, like, congrats Prusy," Poland said with an unreadable expression, seeming uncomfortable in his well tailored suit. Prussia didn't know what he was revealing with the way he was standing or the look on his face, but both Poland and Lithuania smiled not quite twin smiles of reassurance at him.
Lithuania spoke again. "Freedom suits you," he said kindly.
"And you. Both of you." Prussia couldn't help his gaze from flickering to their left where Russia was standing with Ukraine, saying something that had the other nation wringing her hands. Lithuania followed his gaze, and then calmly laid a possessive hand on Poland's hip that made the shorter man grin and lean into him.
"Nice seeing you, Poland, Lithuania," Spain said almost formally, and then he continued to pull Prussia down the hallway and out into the evening light. "I want to get back in my tee shirt," he complained, fanning himself in the oppressive heat. Prussia quietly agreed.
---
The thing about living with someone for centuries upon centuries is that one inevitably learned all of their quirks and idiosyncrasies. For example, Romano knew Spain had a tendency to get lost in his thoughts and stare at people. His stare wasn't like Romano's, directed and piercing and often making people uncomfortable. It was light and non-invasive, so most just brushed it off.
Those long years honed Romano's "someone's eyes are on me and I'm going to kick their ass" sense amazingly. Romano was standing outside, waiting for the chauffeurs to start taking his colleagues back to the hotel when he noticed he was being stared at. He very carefully glanced over to his right where he felt the stare coming from.
To his surprise, it wasn't one of the usual culprits like Spain (affectionately) or Switzerland (disdainfully). France's bright blue eyes were locked on him and he wasn't even leering, just staring intensely. "Can I help you?" Romano called over the seventy feet or so that separated them, not minding the other nations that began to look over.
Prussia and Spain were standing on France's other side but neither one reacted to the shout, seemingly caught in their own little world. Romano wasn't sure what he felt at the realization that Spain wasn't paying exclusive attention to him, but then he remembered that all that morning Spain had talked and talked and talked and maybe his mouth just needed a break.
"No," France said thoughtfully, not bothering to come any closer. Romano gritted his teeth; he sure as hell wasn't moving any closer to the wino bastard so if he wanted their whole conversation to be audible to the rest of the conference then so fucking be it.
"Then fuck off!" Romano grumbled back. He wasn't feeling as vitriolic as he could have, especially considering that it was France staring at him. He was just having a very rare good day.
Veneziano skipped over to his side, grinning widely. "Hi fratello! Ready to go back?" he asked excitably as always. Romano didn't push him off when Veneziano wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him even closer than they already were, no doubt wrinkling his suit jacket. They were going home and he would be able to change.
With that comforting thought, Romano slung an arm around Veneziano's shoulders, earning himself an admittedly adorable giggle. Damn his brother and his cuteness! "Sure thing, Feli," he muttered, ruffling Veneziano's hair. "I'll drive. Just seeing everyone off first."
"Ve, that's nice Lovi!" Veneziano fell silent after that, waiting and watching with him as nations left in groups to go back to the fully-booked hotel. Romano knew his brother would love it if all the nations' aides and assistants could come to dinner later as well but Romano had to fight tooth and nail with him to narrow their guest list down enough that everyone could sit at the table, never mind comfortably.
Romano knew the instant the self-named "Bad Friends Trio" got into their car and left because that feeling of being watched went away almost immediately. Their departure left he and Veneziano standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk. "I think everything went really well," North Italy said then, taking Romano's cue and staying relatively calm and quiet. "Prussia did especially well for his first time in so long!"
Without answering, Romano pulled his car keys out of his back pocket and led his brother around the gated side of the capitol building to go get his car. It was red and flashy and ostentatious, just how he liked it normally, but apparently with his contented mood came the urge to tone everything down. A black car would have suited him better today, he mused. Veneziano hopped into the car and Romano slid inside in a much more adult fashion, and then pulled out of the private driveway and onto the north road leading to his city home.
"I think everyone will be used to a heavy dinner, except maybe Antonio, so we might have to cook a lot more than usual," Veneziano started up chattering again, fiddling with the air conditioning and the brightness of the dashboard and which Bluetooth connection the stereo was getting music from. Romano frowned when he didn't feel the urge to knock Veneziano's hands away. "Pasta, of course, but I don't think we have time for a whole pizza…. Remember when Herakles came over and taught us how to make that olive and bean salad?"
Oh, well. It wasn't like Romano didn't like feeling happy. He really did. It was just so rare that it surprised him this time. "Yeah, I remember," he replied, leaning back in his seat and pressing just a bit harder on the gas, flying through a yellow light. "It was good."
"Do you remember how to make it? Ve, maybe we can call and ask!"
"Mmhm."
"We have to make sure some stuff is vegetarian though! I think Feliks is trying a new diet, even though me and Toris keep telling him he looks amazing!"
"Vegetarian?"
"Yeah, I mean, not even eating fish?" Veneziano visibly shuddered and Romano cracked a grin, taking the turn onto his street. "I can't imagine!"
"Mm."
"And then, you'll never guess what happened when I went to invite Francis and Antonio and Gilbert over!"
Romano pulled into an empty space in his garage, leaving enough room between his and Veneziano's car so that the other man wouldn't "accidentally" scrape half his paint off while opening his door again. "What happened?" he asked indulgently, even letting Veneziano take his hand and drag them both into the lobby of his building.
Veneziano pressed the elevator button too many times as usual, and after they got in leaned forward and conspiratorially cupped his hand around his mouth. "I think Gilbert was crying before," he stage whispered. Romano actually paid attention to what he was saying then, barely noticing when Veneziano dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway to his door.
"What an idiot. Before his presentation?" Romano asked, unlocking the door and swinging it open wide enough for Veneziano to come through and make a beeline for the kitchen.
"Ve, yeah! I don't think it was just nervousness, though, because Francis looked like he might cry too!" And now, of course, Veneziano's eyes filled with tears. "You don’t think something bad is happening, do you? What if Gilbert feels like he's fading away?"
Romano rolled his eyes and dropped a kiss on Veneziano's forehead as he passed. "We'll eat on the terrace rather than the dining room," was all he said, already unbuttoning his shirt. He went into the master bedroom and dropped his suit jacket and shirt on the bed without bothering to make them neat--they would need to be dry cleaned anyway.
This whole Prussia business wasn't normal, he thought while putting on a much lighter cotton button down and jeans instead of his full suit. He lightly rolled his silk tie around his hand, staring out of the window into the busy street. The Germanic nation was supposed to be bright and excitable, kind of like Romano's brother, but also annoying and potato-y and a general pain in the ass. This Prussia was almost worryingly quiet.
Even before he began to speak at the meeting he looked… sick. Romano didn't make it a habit to notice people he didn't care about during conferences but Prussia did seem somehow paler than usual--his skin was paper white and he looked thin and tired. Italy would feed him up tonight and maybe the northern half would ask him to come over again before everyone's flights left. Romano sure as hell wouldn't but he also wouldn't say no if Veneziano suggested it.
"Farfalle or penne?" came Veneziano's voice from the front of the house.
Romano ran his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face, and left his room. Veneziano had already started a light soup and was looking through their pantry at the dated glass jars of dried pasta. "Farfalle," Romano muttered, taking over the soup while Veneziano set a pot of water to boil. "Was that potato bastard really crying?" he asked before he could check his thoughts.
Thankfully, Veneziano wasn't really the type to poke fun at his brother too much and didn't gape at him like an idiot. He just nodded and glanced at his watch. "He was. I'm really worried but Ludwig doesn't think anything is wrong."
Romano resisted the urge to snort. "Yeah, if that potato bastard isn't worried then it can only be an emergency between a cup out of place and the counter being dirty." As it was, Romano rolled his eyes as he picked around in their spice rack. "I would offer to talk to him but I don't give a shit."
Veneziano did that thing where he tried to frown but it turned out as a mildly irritated pout. "We are the hosts, Lovino, we need to make sure everyone is comfortable!"
"You're half the hosts, then. You talk to him." Romano tuned out the rest of Veneziano's babbling, concentrating on getting a sauce together so it would have time to sit before their guests arrived. Veneziano concentrated on the pasta and the soup, moving effortlessly with his brother like they were truly two halves of a whole. They got the whole dinner done with an hour to spare, and decided to spend that time sprawled on the couch outside.
Romano let Veneziano lie on top of him since it was late enough the sun wasn't frying the city and their combined heat wouldn't set them on fire. His brother was a warm and familiar weight on his chest, reminding him of when they were younger and didn't have anything better to do than laze around and eat.
"I thought you and Ludwig were getting along," Veneziano murmured apropos of nothing, nuzzling closer under Romano's chin.
"Just because I don't actively want to castrate him for touching my brother doesn't mean we're 'getting along'." Romano lifted a hand to stroke Veneziano's hair. "I'm glad you're not staying in that fucking hotel so he doesn't have a chance to harass you."
Veneziano giggled and kicked his legs, one knee coming perilously close to Romano's junk. "It's not harassment if it's consensual!" he squealed, and Romano groaned in disgust, throwing an arm over his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, the buzzer was ringing from inside the house. Veneziano was snoring lightly so Romano slid out from under him as carefully as he could, letting him curl up on the couch and sleep a bit more. People were going to be invading his home and he had to pretend not to hate them, so one of them should be properly rested.
---
South Italy's penthouse was gorgeous. Prussia had no doubt the farming nation had another, more treasured house in the country, but the city home looked both modern and reminiscent of his renaissance time. Veneziano played perfect host, welcoming them in and bringing them drinks while Romano supposedly continued whatever he was doing in the kitchen.
"I'm going to see," Spain said about five minutes after they arrived with no sign of Romano, and France promised to say something nice at his funeral. Prussia couldn't help but laugh loudly, earning a scathing look from Austria that he returned by sticking out his tongue.
There were a lot of nations fitted into not such a huge space, crowding into couches and leaning against doorways. Him, France, Spain, his brother, of course, but also the Baltics, the rest of the Allies, Japan, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Poland, Austria, Hungary, Belgium, and Netherlands. Prussia was just happy that Russia wasn't invited, and so were the Baltics--he locked eyes with Latvia for just a moment and the young nation looked inordinately relieved. The room was a lot warmer, too. Prussia wished he still had an army so he could kick Russia's ass just for cute little Latvia.
"You look so nice!" Veneziano squealed, lightly brushing past Prussia and France and toward Poland. Prussia hadn't realized the two were so close, but the way Veneziano was touching all over Poland's very pretty blue sundress spoke of a deep friendship past "allies." "Feliks, can you take me shopping?" he asked, grabbing Poland's hands and bouncing in place.
Germany looked flustered at the thought of Veneziano in a dress, which dragged another round of laughter from Prussia. This whole dinner thing was turning out to be more entertaining than he thought it would be.
Poland was chattering away with Veneziano, Lithuania attached to his side nursing a drink, for almost ten minutes before Romano walked into the room. Here, as the ruler of his own home, he got even England and America's friendly shouting match to quiet with just a look.
"Dinner is ready, you shitstains," he said harshly, golden eyes flashing. France grabbed Prussia's hand behind his back when Romano's eyes swept over them, and Prussia squeezed his fingers thankfully. With France and Spain (and where was that Mediterranean bastard?) he could probably get through the night without a huge altercation. He felt sick to his stomach but would eat, compliment the chef, and get the hell out of there.
Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. The dining table was round, so there was no 'head' or 'place of honor' near the host, and so Prussia ended up between his brother and Romano. Spain was sat on his former charge's other side, and Veneziano beside Germany. France was at least directly across from him so at least he could make faces of sympathy.
Once America thanked Romano and began to dig in, everyone else followed his lead. Prussia found his plate heaped with spaghetti thanks to Veneziano, but had his eye on a dish just past his reach. "West, pass me the, um… the bread," he said haltingly, making grabby hands that had Germany frowning at his rudeness.
"Bruschetta," Romano muttered, and Prussia froze, then lowered his hands, nodding. Germany did as asked but Prussia was too preoccupied trying to reign in his urge to apologize lest he get hit. "What's the matter with you, kraut bastard? You just did your first presentation in like fifty years right?"
Prussia nodded mutely. He couldn't meet Romano's eyes, instead staring down and poking at his food. France gave Prussia a meaningful glance and he managed, "Y-yeah. I mean, I did."
"Then eat up. Why, you think my food is bad?"
Prussia shoved a forkful of pasta in his mouth mechanically, shaking his head. Just as Belgium was going to comment on his quietness, France diverted her attention, and Prussia made a mental note to thank him with free booze later. "It's awesome," he said around his mouthful, and it was, but he felt like he had a rock in his stomach from nervousness.
Romano's normal frown, gone during the daytime, returned with a vengeance. "I wanted to, I guess, fucking congratulate you." Prussia blinked a few times, not answering, and Romano continued, "It was great, actually. I could use some of your tips." Prussia swallowed his mouthful and bit his lip. "Well? You're not going to thank me, you fucking stupid--"
"Romano, could you teach me this recipe later?" Spain interrupted, smiling and sunny, and Romano huffed, irritated.
"Sure, bastard. Tomorrow, I guess," Romano replied, and then they were conversing and Prussia could grip his shirt and will his heartbeat to slow down. Romano didn't have a weapon, he called everyone stupid, it wasn't about him and he wasn't going to get hurt.
There was movement at his left and he turned very slightly, watching Lithuania ask Germany to switch places with him so he could talk to Prussia. His brother glanced at him but did as asked. Lithuania had been the strongest and most level headed of all of them and made it his personal mission to keep them all calm even when Russia was at his worst. When Poland was freed he seemed to relax a little himself, but that didn't stop him from protecting everyone else.
"Gil, look at me." Prussia shook his head and stared at his plate, another forkful of pasta passing his lips. He could kind of see Lithuania piling vegetables on his own plate for a moment, trying to look busy, but then he put the bowl down and pressed his hand onto Prussia's shoulder. "We're in Italy, Gil. It's warm and sunny here, yeah? Your borders don't even touch Russia."
Prussia nodded, licking his lips and getting ahold of himself. There would be time to panic when he was in his hotel room. "My borders are along Poland's," he replied, and then cleared his throat. "And I'm not stupid, I'm awesome."
Lithuania smiled softly at him, taking a bite of his own, different pasta dish. "True." The rest of the meal was loud and excited, and Prussia made a few jabs at Austria because Hungary didn't have her frying pan with her and couldn't punish him. She threatened to use Romano's and Romano vehemently refused, but Prussia was able to hold in his newfound, unnecessary fear of Romano and laugh along with them.
Poland, still telling Lithuania something no doubt riveting, talked twice as loudly to be heard over Germany and Veneziano. Prussia took his chance with Lithuania distracted to stand up from the table and make his way back into the living room. It was loud, and loud was good. Quiet meant that every whimper he accidentally made would be heard when he was trying to prove his strength, and Russia would beat him twice as hard to wring more out.
"Bastard." Prussia closed his eyes resignedly at the voice, then opened them again, turning around and finally looking Romano in the eye. "What the hell has gotten into you?"
Romano never came with Veneziano to visit Germany. They hadn't spoken in well over a century--Romano only dealt with Germany during the second world war. Today was the first in so many years that the southern half of Italy was talking to him and he couldn't get a word out because while Russia was quiet and methodical and Romano was the opposite, somehow he had gained Romano's ire and--
"What did they do to you?" Romano asked, softer, taking a step forward, and Prussia stepped back. He stopped, blinked, and Prussia could almost see the cogs turning in his head. "Poland has no problem showing his scars, now. The Baltics jump if you even touch their shoulders without telling them you're behind them." Jesus fucking Christ, Romano must have picked up that perceptive shit from Spain sometime in his childhood.
"The awesome me is perfectly fine," Prussia said overconfidently, smirking at Romano. "Your summer sun just tires me out." That wasn't a lie, just a little misdirection.
Romano rolled his eyes. "Should have taken a fucking siesta, id--bastard."
Oh no. Oh no, he'd figured it out. Or, "Did Spain tell you?" Prussia said through gritted teeth.
"No, but you just did." He didn't look as cocky as Prussia thought he would at the pronouncement, but that wasn't a guaranteed safe. "Is it just that word, or…? Feli told me Lithuania can't stand being called Litva, even by Ukraine."
Prussia's mouth twisted. "You're not going to use this against me," he almost ordered, hands on his hips and feet planted. He had a height and battle record advantage on Romano and would fight through his fear to defend himself if need be.
"I'm not," Romano confirmed, and Prussia faltered. "Feli wants me and you potato assholes to start to get along, and with the Euro on a downturn I figured it was worth a shot. As nations we're in deep shit but as people we can… fucking support each other, or something." Romano turned tomato red and Prussia thought over his words, then stuck out a hand to shake.
"Alright, Romano." He took a breath and said in a rush, "Please don't call me stupid or weak, or any of the unawesome synonyms."
Romano shook his hand, his smirk almost kind enough to be considered a smile. "Sure thing, Prussia."
It wasn't like there was any directed abuse. Every country more than a century old had been on the bad end of Romano's verbal onslaught at least once, and every country also knew he didn't usually mean it. Prussia could see him now gesturing violently at Spain, no doubt slinging insults with a smile on his face. A few hundred years ago Prussia could take it like the best of them, but his time with Russia had shattered his tenuous grasp on his ego.
Here, in a foreign country, already unsure of his position in the new post-Soviet world, Romano's, "What are you, an idiot?" when Prussia had asked him whether seats were assigned had rattled him badly. From far away Prussia was feeling a lot better about the whole thing, but he wasn't really looking forward to going back to the meeting and having to present in the second half of the day. He was sure Romano was going to make some scathing comment and everyone would see he wasn't able to brush it off.
Someone sat heavily beside him and he looked over, coming face-to-face with France. "What's up?" he murmured, shifting so their shoulders bumped companionably.
France shrugged, his hands folded in his lap. "I've not known you to be worried about dear Antoine," he replied, gesturing with his chin toward a grinning Spain, "And you're not that into lovely Belgium, besides that passing dream. So," he continued over Prussia's vehement denial, "You're looking at Romano?"
Prussia pressed his lips in a thin line, not confirming or denying anything. France had known him for too long, though, and the nation's arm came around his shoulders. "No shame in it, Gil. He would be very feisty in bed, no?"
His mouth's line of annoyance twitched up at the corners into humor despite Prussia's continued wariness. "I guess, but that's not really what I'm thinking about." He didn't say anything further on it, watching Belgium pat Romano's cheek and get a fierce blush in response.
"Come back inside and tell me about it," France said, making it sound like both a question and a command. Prussia remained silent, seeing France's expression go from teasing to worried out of the corner of his eye. "Prusse, up." He stood and reached out a hand, and Prussia took it dutifully, allowing himself to be pulled up and ushered out of the warm Roman sun into the A/C cooled capitol building.
They walked a ways down the hall, Prussia still silent and France looking more and more worried by the second. Prussia knew it wasn't like himself to think so long and hard about something he couldn't change--half of the beauty of strategy was knowing when you were beat and accepting it--but this was different. Romano was--
"Gil, Francis!" Spain called, rushing to catch up with them. He threw one arm around France's shoulders and the other around Prussia's waist, knocking them forward a little. "What's the rush? Meeting doesn't start for another half-hour, I think!"
France wasted no time in speeding their stride, pushing the three of them into a smaller office that was left open and shutting the heavy wooden door. Sunlight streamed into the room through the wide window, and from his angle Prussia could see Romano with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the tourists while Veneziano held his arm and chattered at him. Even with his brother attempting to talk his ear off he didn't look as frowny and angry as normal, just content.
Spain stood closer to him to get a better view of what he was looking at. "Ah, Vene! You haven't been to visit him in Italy in a while, have you?"
No, not since reunification, Prussia wanted to say. He shook his head instead of truly answering.
Ten years had passed without incident and the year 2000 marked his representation of de facto Ostdeutschland. A few months back in the spring Germany let him draw up finance and economic plans to aid the struggling East--and didn't look over his shoulder to approve them--under the guise of having too much work to do. Then, he had asked Prussia to check them over with his boss Schröder, telling Prussia he had to make sure Veneziano didn't destroy the house while playing with the dogs. Somehow he had also roped Prussia into presenting his research in their summer World Meeting, and being thrust onto the political stage after so many years in near-isolation was… different, to say the least.
"He wasn't looking at Vénitien, Antoine." France leaned back against the large wooden desk in the room, crossing his legs at the ankle.
Spain blinked, and then rounded on Prussia, the easygoing glint gone from his eyes and replaced with a kind of coldness. "Mi pequeño Romano," he said more than asked.
Prussia didn't even drag out Spain's misunderstanding to toy with him or get a good fight going. He just shook his head again, hunching down in his suit jacket to better hide himself from France's curious and Spain's murderous gazes. "Not like that, Spain," he said flatly. "It's nothing, France, lay off."
Now both France and Spain had twin looks of anxiety furrowing their brows. "Gil, you're not alright," France was saying, pushing Prussia to sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. "I'm going to get you some water and your brother--"
"No!" Prussia collected himself and took a deep breath. "No, just some water, bitte. West is probably busy." I don't want him to see me like this, went unsaid.
France nodded slowly, touching Prussia's shoulder before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Spain sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Has he said something to you? Romano has a sharp tongue, mi amigo, but he doesn't mean it."
"I know," Prussia began, and then bit his lower lip to halt the flow of words. He had just admitted what his problem was and he knew that Spain wasn't quite as thickheaded as most other nations assumed he was. He had quick eyes and a quick mind and even if he couldn't read the mood, he could read Prussia and France like open books.
"What did he say?" Spain said in a no-nonsense tone.
Prussia's leg jittered anxiously. "It wasn't that bad, I'm overreacting." He stopped his leg with his hands on his knee, tightening his fingers harshly. Maybe if he could scream at Russia for a while without causing an international incident he would feel better.
"I don't think so, chico. When you overreact, you start yelling and drinking and fighting, and this is the opposite." Damn Spain and his perceptiveness. Prussia tried to avoid his eyes but Spain just leaned further forward and put a warm hand on his forearm. "What did he say?"
France returned with the water and gave it to Prussia, then sat on the arm of Spain's chair and waited for the answer to a question he hadn't heard, one thin brow raised. Prussia conceded defeat, taking a small sip of water and then just holding the glass between his hands. "As the GDR," he began softly, staring into his glass, "Russia kept me in St. Petersburg. All of us, the Baltics and the littler states, you know. The less powerful ones."
He swallowed harshly and brought one shaking hand up to rub over his mouth. "I used to have an army. A fucking invincible army. And, um… and Russia liked to remind me that I didn't anymore. He hit me, all of us, a lot." He swallowed again and had to make a conscious effort not to drop the glass. Rome's cheerful sunlight slanted into the window, across his shoes, and he concentrated on that. "But he used to insult me, too; little things. Idiot, stupid, weak, stuff like that. I guess I haven't really gotten over it."
The glass of water was taken from him and then France was kneeling in front of him and holding both of his hands, bringing them to his lips affectionately. "I'm sorry, ma chère," he said against Prussia's knuckles. Prussia supposed the one good thing to come out of Russia's rough handling was that he didn't cry as easily anymore. Fifty years ago his friends doing such tender (sappy, Prussia thought amusedly) actions would have sent him into hysterical tears, but now he just felt a little sting behind his eyes.
As it was, he smirked down at France almost meanly. "Now who's overreacting?" he asked both of them, but his cruel mood faded quickly and he felt even more tired than before. "It's not that big of a deal. I just… I hadn't heard it since reunification, and it surprised me."
Spain fretted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before saying, "I can talk to him--"
Prussia extricated one hand from France's grip to grab Spain's shirt. "Please, don't," he insisted, willing to fight over it. "None of them need to know. I only told you two because I trust you." It was still true, even after France pushed so fucking hard for his dissolution after the war. He later explained that he thought it was for the best at the time, and Prussia forgave him without going into detail of his Hell at Russia's hands. Now it looked like France was going to burst into tears after learning the truth, and Prussia was still holding a lot of facts back.
Spain held his hands up in surrender. "I won't, Gil. I promise." He laid a hand on top of Prussia's head, rubbing at his scalp for a moment. At least he wasn't about to cry like France, and now Prussia was feeling guilty and freed his other hand to cup France's cheek. "Why didn't you tell us…?"
Prussia smiled slightly, swiping his thumb under France's eye. "'Cause of this," he said simply. "I didn't want you to worry over something from the past."
"But clearly you are," France said under his breath.
Prussia's smile faltered. "Well," was his oh-so-convincing reply, and then there was a soft knocking on the door. Prussia didn't bother pulling away from France in embarrassment, and France didn't get up off his knees, but Spain went to open the door just slightly. "I haven't eaten yet," Prussia said softly, his attention still on France. "Do you guys want to grab something and come back?"
"Big brother Francis?" Veneziano called from the doorway, and both of them turned to look. He seemed surprised to see them all, but it was quickly replaced with determination. "And big brother Antonio, and Gilbert." The latter attempted a smirk again and could feel it threatening to crack. "Fratello and I are cooking at his house after the meeting, and I wanted to invite you all."
Spain's easy grin seemed a bit strained at the edges as well but he resisted automatically turning to look at Prussia and giving away his apprehension, something the Germanic nation was thankful for. France, not so much, but he covered his automatic turn by pressing his hands to the arms of the chair and pushing himself to standing. "We’d love to, Feli," Spain answered for all of them. Prussia nodded as well, taking his glass back off the desk and drinking deeply to avoid talking.
"Good!" Veneziano chirruped. "You can get changed and things at your hotel rooms and we'll pick you up around eight!"
"Damn late Italian dinners," Prussia groused without any real heat. Veneziano giggled at him and waved his goodbye before skipping out of the room, leaving the three of them alone again.
The two Western powers started to say something but Prussia interrupted them, cackling and grinning almost like normal. "I'm fine, you two, really!" he told them, even if he didn't truly feel fine. "Don't get all sad on me just because I got my ass kicked daily for a few decades. The awesome me is made of stronger stuff than that!"
France hummed in obvious disagreement but didn't say anything more. Spain clapped his hands once lightly and changed the subject. "Let's get lunch! Italians eat long lunches normally but I think Germany is making everyone keep it to an hour, so we don't have that much time!"
"I'm getting gelato and leaving it at that." Prussia stood and stretched, running his fingers through his hair to push it up and out of his eyes. Dinner with Romano sounded like a horrifying experience but he knew he had to at least try to keep his friends from worrying. It would help to have a little bit of a sugar high.
Prussia tried to steel his nerves during their short lunch and it almost worked. He thought about his army's rally at the end of the Napoleonic wars, sending a silent apology to France for getting relief from his loss. It was enough to help him walk confidently into the conference room with his neat sheaf of papers and sit in his seat to the left of Germany.
The younger of the two looked over at him appraisingly. "What's wrong?" he said bluntly, and it was only because he raised Germany that Prussia didn't startle at the directness of his question. His little brother was never one to beat around the bush.
"Just a little personal thing, nothing to do with the presentation." Prussia didn't think it would be easy to get Germany's attention off him when he was usually demanding it to be put on him, but now was not a good time and here was not a good place. Germany tried to say something further but Prussia continued over him, "Are you excited to eat at Italy's house? They seriously make the most awesome fucking food."
Germany hummed in what could be agreement and turned his attention to the podium where Romano was calling everyone to "shut the fuck up, now." He motioned to Prussia to present first. The white haired nation stood up with a wide grin and strolled over to the podium, setting up his slides and shuffling his stack of papers.
The thing that threw Prussia off the most during those fifteen minutes wasn't everyone talking over him like he expected. Everyone was silent, Germany was taking diligent notes and looking almost proud (the big brother was supposed to be proud, Prussia thought irritably, but maybe he could let this time slide). England's gaze held a respect that Prussia had never seen directed at him before.
Toward the end, he added a few more 'awesome's to try to get a rise out of at least Austria, but he didn't even get a scoff. Everyone applauded when he finished and he felt himself turning an embarrassing shade of red that would be totally visible on his skin. He did a little nervous bow and hurried back to his seat, much less cockily than on his way up. Romania on his other side shot him a toothy grin and he found himself shyly smiling back.
From the other side of the table, completely ignoring Qatar's presentation (he really didn't seem to mind), Spain and France were sending Prussia thumbs up and mouthing words of congratulations at him. He turned even redder and put his right hand up to shield his eyes, leaning over his notepaper and scribbling nonsense with his left. They were being unawesomely obvious and while the Prussia of old couldn't even comprehend the notion of embarrassment, this one felt like his whole face was on fire.
Every presentation afterward went rather quickly. Some got questions or objections, and Veneziano left partway through to get a snack for him and his brother, and the Roman sun remained as bright and cheerful as it was at midday even as it set. Prussia's mortification settled and he was able to look up again, as long as he didn't make eye contact with Spain or France.
As soon as the clock struck six everyone was out of their seats, packing up. Or, in France and England's case, bickering. Spain came around the table to stand with Prussia, but they weren't joined by France who waved them both off, still in the middle of shouting at his long-time rival.
"Gilbert," Germany said from somewhere behind him. Prussia turned and saw Veneziano and Japan with him, Romano thankfully nowhere in sight. "The car is coming to pick you up--"
"At eight, I know. You worry too much, West! Who is it that taught you to be punctual?" Now it was Germany's turn to redden, and Veneziano giggled at him. Prussia felt a lot better when his little brother was having all the grosser emotions, like 'unawesome' and 'things involving being giggled at'.
Spain started to tug at his sleeve like a little kid, talking away to no one in particular, and Prussia was forced to bid the three friends farewell with a wink and follow his own friend out of the room. In the hall there were a lot of other nations still milling about. "You did so well, amigo!" Spain gushed, very loudly.
Prussia froze and was about to slap a hand over Spain's mouth to silence him but a soft, "Congratulations," stopped him. He looked over to see Poland and Lithuania joined at the hip as always, Lithuania looking him square in the eye with a confidence that quite frankly unnerved him.
He was expecting a jab about how Germany must have done all the work for him, or that he didn't even belong at a conference because he had no country to represent. Spain must have been too, because he was standing slightly in front of Prussia with furrowed brows and thinned lips, staring down at the former commonwealth.
"Yeah, like, congrats Prusy," Poland said with an unreadable expression, seeming uncomfortable in his well tailored suit. Prussia didn't know what he was revealing with the way he was standing or the look on his face, but both Poland and Lithuania smiled not quite twin smiles of reassurance at him.
Lithuania spoke again. "Freedom suits you," he said kindly.
"And you. Both of you." Prussia couldn't help his gaze from flickering to their left where Russia was standing with Ukraine, saying something that had the other nation wringing her hands. Lithuania followed his gaze, and then calmly laid a possessive hand on Poland's hip that made the shorter man grin and lean into him.
"Nice seeing you, Poland, Lithuania," Spain said almost formally, and then he continued to pull Prussia down the hallway and out into the evening light. "I want to get back in my tee shirt," he complained, fanning himself in the oppressive heat. Prussia quietly agreed.
---
The thing about living with someone for centuries upon centuries is that one inevitably learned all of their quirks and idiosyncrasies. For example, Romano knew Spain had a tendency to get lost in his thoughts and stare at people. His stare wasn't like Romano's, directed and piercing and often making people uncomfortable. It was light and non-invasive, so most just brushed it off.
Those long years honed Romano's "someone's eyes are on me and I'm going to kick their ass" sense amazingly. Romano was standing outside, waiting for the chauffeurs to start taking his colleagues back to the hotel when he noticed he was being stared at. He very carefully glanced over to his right where he felt the stare coming from.
To his surprise, it wasn't one of the usual culprits like Spain (affectionately) or Switzerland (disdainfully). France's bright blue eyes were locked on him and he wasn't even leering, just staring intensely. "Can I help you?" Romano called over the seventy feet or so that separated them, not minding the other nations that began to look over.
Prussia and Spain were standing on France's other side but neither one reacted to the shout, seemingly caught in their own little world. Romano wasn't sure what he felt at the realization that Spain wasn't paying exclusive attention to him, but then he remembered that all that morning Spain had talked and talked and talked and maybe his mouth just needed a break.
"No," France said thoughtfully, not bothering to come any closer. Romano gritted his teeth; he sure as hell wasn't moving any closer to the wino bastard so if he wanted their whole conversation to be audible to the rest of the conference then so fucking be it.
"Then fuck off!" Romano grumbled back. He wasn't feeling as vitriolic as he could have, especially considering that it was France staring at him. He was just having a very rare good day.
Veneziano skipped over to his side, grinning widely. "Hi fratello! Ready to go back?" he asked excitably as always. Romano didn't push him off when Veneziano wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him even closer than they already were, no doubt wrinkling his suit jacket. They were going home and he would be able to change.
With that comforting thought, Romano slung an arm around Veneziano's shoulders, earning himself an admittedly adorable giggle. Damn his brother and his cuteness! "Sure thing, Feli," he muttered, ruffling Veneziano's hair. "I'll drive. Just seeing everyone off first."
"Ve, that's nice Lovi!" Veneziano fell silent after that, waiting and watching with him as nations left in groups to go back to the fully-booked hotel. Romano knew his brother would love it if all the nations' aides and assistants could come to dinner later as well but Romano had to fight tooth and nail with him to narrow their guest list down enough that everyone could sit at the table, never mind comfortably.
Romano knew the instant the self-named "Bad Friends Trio" got into their car and left because that feeling of being watched went away almost immediately. Their departure left he and Veneziano standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk. "I think everything went really well," North Italy said then, taking Romano's cue and staying relatively calm and quiet. "Prussia did especially well for his first time in so long!"
Without answering, Romano pulled his car keys out of his back pocket and led his brother around the gated side of the capitol building to go get his car. It was red and flashy and ostentatious, just how he liked it normally, but apparently with his contented mood came the urge to tone everything down. A black car would have suited him better today, he mused. Veneziano hopped into the car and Romano slid inside in a much more adult fashion, and then pulled out of the private driveway and onto the north road leading to his city home.
"I think everyone will be used to a heavy dinner, except maybe Antonio, so we might have to cook a lot more than usual," Veneziano started up chattering again, fiddling with the air conditioning and the brightness of the dashboard and which Bluetooth connection the stereo was getting music from. Romano frowned when he didn't feel the urge to knock Veneziano's hands away. "Pasta, of course, but I don't think we have time for a whole pizza…. Remember when Herakles came over and taught us how to make that olive and bean salad?"
Oh, well. It wasn't like Romano didn't like feeling happy. He really did. It was just so rare that it surprised him this time. "Yeah, I remember," he replied, leaning back in his seat and pressing just a bit harder on the gas, flying through a yellow light. "It was good."
"Do you remember how to make it? Ve, maybe we can call and ask!"
"Mmhm."
"We have to make sure some stuff is vegetarian though! I think Feliks is trying a new diet, even though me and Toris keep telling him he looks amazing!"
"Vegetarian?"
"Yeah, I mean, not even eating fish?" Veneziano visibly shuddered and Romano cracked a grin, taking the turn onto his street. "I can't imagine!"
"Mm."
"And then, you'll never guess what happened when I went to invite Francis and Antonio and Gilbert over!"
Romano pulled into an empty space in his garage, leaving enough room between his and Veneziano's car so that the other man wouldn't "accidentally" scrape half his paint off while opening his door again. "What happened?" he asked indulgently, even letting Veneziano take his hand and drag them both into the lobby of his building.
Veneziano pressed the elevator button too many times as usual, and after they got in leaned forward and conspiratorially cupped his hand around his mouth. "I think Gilbert was crying before," he stage whispered. Romano actually paid attention to what he was saying then, barely noticing when Veneziano dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway to his door.
"What an idiot. Before his presentation?" Romano asked, unlocking the door and swinging it open wide enough for Veneziano to come through and make a beeline for the kitchen.
"Ve, yeah! I don't think it was just nervousness, though, because Francis looked like he might cry too!" And now, of course, Veneziano's eyes filled with tears. "You don’t think something bad is happening, do you? What if Gilbert feels like he's fading away?"
Romano rolled his eyes and dropped a kiss on Veneziano's forehead as he passed. "We'll eat on the terrace rather than the dining room," was all he said, already unbuttoning his shirt. He went into the master bedroom and dropped his suit jacket and shirt on the bed without bothering to make them neat--they would need to be dry cleaned anyway.
This whole Prussia business wasn't normal, he thought while putting on a much lighter cotton button down and jeans instead of his full suit. He lightly rolled his silk tie around his hand, staring out of the window into the busy street. The Germanic nation was supposed to be bright and excitable, kind of like Romano's brother, but also annoying and potato-y and a general pain in the ass. This Prussia was almost worryingly quiet.
Even before he began to speak at the meeting he looked… sick. Romano didn't make it a habit to notice people he didn't care about during conferences but Prussia did seem somehow paler than usual--his skin was paper white and he looked thin and tired. Italy would feed him up tonight and maybe the northern half would ask him to come over again before everyone's flights left. Romano sure as hell wouldn't but he also wouldn't say no if Veneziano suggested it.
"Farfalle or penne?" came Veneziano's voice from the front of the house.
Romano ran his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face, and left his room. Veneziano had already started a light soup and was looking through their pantry at the dated glass jars of dried pasta. "Farfalle," Romano muttered, taking over the soup while Veneziano set a pot of water to boil. "Was that potato bastard really crying?" he asked before he could check his thoughts.
Thankfully, Veneziano wasn't really the type to poke fun at his brother too much and didn't gape at him like an idiot. He just nodded and glanced at his watch. "He was. I'm really worried but Ludwig doesn't think anything is wrong."
Romano resisted the urge to snort. "Yeah, if that potato bastard isn't worried then it can only be an emergency between a cup out of place and the counter being dirty." As it was, Romano rolled his eyes as he picked around in their spice rack. "I would offer to talk to him but I don't give a shit."
Veneziano did that thing where he tried to frown but it turned out as a mildly irritated pout. "We are the hosts, Lovino, we need to make sure everyone is comfortable!"
"You're half the hosts, then. You talk to him." Romano tuned out the rest of Veneziano's babbling, concentrating on getting a sauce together so it would have time to sit before their guests arrived. Veneziano concentrated on the pasta and the soup, moving effortlessly with his brother like they were truly two halves of a whole. They got the whole dinner done with an hour to spare, and decided to spend that time sprawled on the couch outside.
Romano let Veneziano lie on top of him since it was late enough the sun wasn't frying the city and their combined heat wouldn't set them on fire. His brother was a warm and familiar weight on his chest, reminding him of when they were younger and didn't have anything better to do than laze around and eat.
"I thought you and Ludwig were getting along," Veneziano murmured apropos of nothing, nuzzling closer under Romano's chin.
"Just because I don't actively want to castrate him for touching my brother doesn't mean we're 'getting along'." Romano lifted a hand to stroke Veneziano's hair. "I'm glad you're not staying in that fucking hotel so he doesn't have a chance to harass you."
Veneziano giggled and kicked his legs, one knee coming perilously close to Romano's junk. "It's not harassment if it's consensual!" he squealed, and Romano groaned in disgust, throwing an arm over his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, the buzzer was ringing from inside the house. Veneziano was snoring lightly so Romano slid out from under him as carefully as he could, letting him curl up on the couch and sleep a bit more. People were going to be invading his home and he had to pretend not to hate them, so one of them should be properly rested.
---
South Italy's penthouse was gorgeous. Prussia had no doubt the farming nation had another, more treasured house in the country, but the city home looked both modern and reminiscent of his renaissance time. Veneziano played perfect host, welcoming them in and bringing them drinks while Romano supposedly continued whatever he was doing in the kitchen.
"I'm going to see," Spain said about five minutes after they arrived with no sign of Romano, and France promised to say something nice at his funeral. Prussia couldn't help but laugh loudly, earning a scathing look from Austria that he returned by sticking out his tongue.
There were a lot of nations fitted into not such a huge space, crowding into couches and leaning against doorways. Him, France, Spain, his brother, of course, but also the Baltics, the rest of the Allies, Japan, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Poland, Austria, Hungary, Belgium, and Netherlands. Prussia was just happy that Russia wasn't invited, and so were the Baltics--he locked eyes with Latvia for just a moment and the young nation looked inordinately relieved. The room was a lot warmer, too. Prussia wished he still had an army so he could kick Russia's ass just for cute little Latvia.
"You look so nice!" Veneziano squealed, lightly brushing past Prussia and France and toward Poland. Prussia hadn't realized the two were so close, but the way Veneziano was touching all over Poland's very pretty blue sundress spoke of a deep friendship past "allies." "Feliks, can you take me shopping?" he asked, grabbing Poland's hands and bouncing in place.
Germany looked flustered at the thought of Veneziano in a dress, which dragged another round of laughter from Prussia. This whole dinner thing was turning out to be more entertaining than he thought it would be.
Poland was chattering away with Veneziano, Lithuania attached to his side nursing a drink, for almost ten minutes before Romano walked into the room. Here, as the ruler of his own home, he got even England and America's friendly shouting match to quiet with just a look.
"Dinner is ready, you shitstains," he said harshly, golden eyes flashing. France grabbed Prussia's hand behind his back when Romano's eyes swept over them, and Prussia squeezed his fingers thankfully. With France and Spain (and where was that Mediterranean bastard?) he could probably get through the night without a huge altercation. He felt sick to his stomach but would eat, compliment the chef, and get the hell out of there.
Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. The dining table was round, so there was no 'head' or 'place of honor' near the host, and so Prussia ended up between his brother and Romano. Spain was sat on his former charge's other side, and Veneziano beside Germany. France was at least directly across from him so at least he could make faces of sympathy.
Once America thanked Romano and began to dig in, everyone else followed his lead. Prussia found his plate heaped with spaghetti thanks to Veneziano, but had his eye on a dish just past his reach. "West, pass me the, um… the bread," he said haltingly, making grabby hands that had Germany frowning at his rudeness.
"Bruschetta," Romano muttered, and Prussia froze, then lowered his hands, nodding. Germany did as asked but Prussia was too preoccupied trying to reign in his urge to apologize lest he get hit. "What's the matter with you, kraut bastard? You just did your first presentation in like fifty years right?"
Prussia nodded mutely. He couldn't meet Romano's eyes, instead staring down and poking at his food. France gave Prussia a meaningful glance and he managed, "Y-yeah. I mean, I did."
"Then eat up. Why, you think my food is bad?"
Prussia shoved a forkful of pasta in his mouth mechanically, shaking his head. Just as Belgium was going to comment on his quietness, France diverted her attention, and Prussia made a mental note to thank him with free booze later. "It's awesome," he said around his mouthful, and it was, but he felt like he had a rock in his stomach from nervousness.
Romano's normal frown, gone during the daytime, returned with a vengeance. "I wanted to, I guess, fucking congratulate you." Prussia blinked a few times, not answering, and Romano continued, "It was great, actually. I could use some of your tips." Prussia swallowed his mouthful and bit his lip. "Well? You're not going to thank me, you fucking stupid--"
"Romano, could you teach me this recipe later?" Spain interrupted, smiling and sunny, and Romano huffed, irritated.
"Sure, bastard. Tomorrow, I guess," Romano replied, and then they were conversing and Prussia could grip his shirt and will his heartbeat to slow down. Romano didn't have a weapon, he called everyone stupid, it wasn't about him and he wasn't going to get hurt.
There was movement at his left and he turned very slightly, watching Lithuania ask Germany to switch places with him so he could talk to Prussia. His brother glanced at him but did as asked. Lithuania had been the strongest and most level headed of all of them and made it his personal mission to keep them all calm even when Russia was at his worst. When Poland was freed he seemed to relax a little himself, but that didn't stop him from protecting everyone else.
"Gil, look at me." Prussia shook his head and stared at his plate, another forkful of pasta passing his lips. He could kind of see Lithuania piling vegetables on his own plate for a moment, trying to look busy, but then he put the bowl down and pressed his hand onto Prussia's shoulder. "We're in Italy, Gil. It's warm and sunny here, yeah? Your borders don't even touch Russia."
Prussia nodded, licking his lips and getting ahold of himself. There would be time to panic when he was in his hotel room. "My borders are along Poland's," he replied, and then cleared his throat. "And I'm not stupid, I'm awesome."
Lithuania smiled softly at him, taking a bite of his own, different pasta dish. "True." The rest of the meal was loud and excited, and Prussia made a few jabs at Austria because Hungary didn't have her frying pan with her and couldn't punish him. She threatened to use Romano's and Romano vehemently refused, but Prussia was able to hold in his newfound, unnecessary fear of Romano and laugh along with them.
Poland, still telling Lithuania something no doubt riveting, talked twice as loudly to be heard over Germany and Veneziano. Prussia took his chance with Lithuania distracted to stand up from the table and make his way back into the living room. It was loud, and loud was good. Quiet meant that every whimper he accidentally made would be heard when he was trying to prove his strength, and Russia would beat him twice as hard to wring more out.
"Bastard." Prussia closed his eyes resignedly at the voice, then opened them again, turning around and finally looking Romano in the eye. "What the hell has gotten into you?"
Romano never came with Veneziano to visit Germany. They hadn't spoken in well over a century--Romano only dealt with Germany during the second world war. Today was the first in so many years that the southern half of Italy was talking to him and he couldn't get a word out because while Russia was quiet and methodical and Romano was the opposite, somehow he had gained Romano's ire and--
"What did they do to you?" Romano asked, softer, taking a step forward, and Prussia stepped back. He stopped, blinked, and Prussia could almost see the cogs turning in his head. "Poland has no problem showing his scars, now. The Baltics jump if you even touch their shoulders without telling them you're behind them." Jesus fucking Christ, Romano must have picked up that perceptive shit from Spain sometime in his childhood.
"The awesome me is perfectly fine," Prussia said overconfidently, smirking at Romano. "Your summer sun just tires me out." That wasn't a lie, just a little misdirection.
Romano rolled his eyes. "Should have taken a fucking siesta, id--bastard."
Oh no. Oh no, he'd figured it out. Or, "Did Spain tell you?" Prussia said through gritted teeth.
"No, but you just did." He didn't look as cocky as Prussia thought he would at the pronouncement, but that wasn't a guaranteed safe. "Is it just that word, or…? Feli told me Lithuania can't stand being called Litva, even by Ukraine."
Prussia's mouth twisted. "You're not going to use this against me," he almost ordered, hands on his hips and feet planted. He had a height and battle record advantage on Romano and would fight through his fear to defend himself if need be.
"I'm not," Romano confirmed, and Prussia faltered. "Feli wants me and you potato assholes to start to get along, and with the Euro on a downturn I figured it was worth a shot. As nations we're in deep shit but as people we can… fucking support each other, or something." Romano turned tomato red and Prussia thought over his words, then stuck out a hand to shake.
"Alright, Romano." He took a breath and said in a rush, "Please don't call me stupid or weak, or any of the unawesome synonyms."
Romano shook his hand, his smirk almost kind enough to be considered a smile. "Sure thing, Prussia."
