Chapter 3

Something was wrong with Romano. Gilbert could tell as soon as the Italian showed up on their doorstep late at night, soaked wet by the rain and unable to speak.

"East? What is going on down there?"

"Don't worry West, just go back to sleep. I'll take care of it."

Gilbert laid a hand on the small of the other's back and guided him to the living room. Romano didn't say a thing as the ex-Prussian softly pushed him down onto the couch, left for a short moment, and returned with a towel. Gilbert sat down next to him and began rubbing the towel over his hair and face, gently. Following the curve of his face, watching as those greenish golden eyes teared up and finally overflowed. Gilbert also didn't miss the red flush on his cheeks, indicating the Italian was probably a bit drunk. He didn't reek of it, but that wasn't necessary.

"What's wrong, Spatz? Come on, you can tell me."

Romano looked away, as if embarrassed by this sudden display of emotions. Ever stubborn, he took a moment to choke back the tears before speaking up.

"I was visiting Spain, but his girlfriend came over. Again. And he embarrassed me in front of her. Again. And then we went drinking, and he said something stupid, and I guess I sort of… hit him."

A flash of pain shot over his face, and he worried his lower lip.

"I didn't mean to, but it happened anyway. And then he looked at me like… as if he saw me for the first time. The real me. Not the child that lived with him. And then I realized. He never wanted me to grow up. He hates the person that I've become."

Gilbert didn't hesitate before pulling the other into a tight hug. Romano buried his face in his shirt, and the albino stroked his back.

"He doesn't hate you Spatz, don't think that. Antonio might be a bit of an airhead sometimes, but he's not that stupid that he would think you're still a child."

"Then why can't he ever take me serious?!" Romano growled, sentence breaking in weird places. "Why can't anyone take me serious? Why is it always Feliciano this and Feliciano that, but whenever I am around they just act like I'm unwanted, an annoying presence that's just sort of there?!"

"You're not unwanted here," Gilbert whispered, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "You're never unwanted here, Lovino. Don't you forget."

The brunette didn't answer to that. Maybe he hadn't heard, or maybe he was too tired to speak. Romano kept crying until every last tear was spilled, and after that he just left himself slump in Gilbert's hold, let himself be caressed and comforted.

They watched a film afterwards, some silly comedy to take their mind off things. Gilbert insisted that the Italian stayed in Berlin for the night, and made the guest room for him. Then he went to bed himself, but couldn't find sleep for quite some time. His mouth tasted bitter, and worry coiled in his stomach. And there was something else, something he didn't have a name for. Something that made it impossible for him to get the other's face out of his head, something that made him want to get back out there and hold him again.

Something extremely painful, something reminding him of the time right after his Fall. But warm and tingly all the same.

With those mixed feelings and thoughts, he finally dozed off, but not for long.

Gilbert had a very strange dream that night. In the dream, he could hear the door to his basement room creak open and a person sneaking in. He could feel warmth as said person crept into his bed beside him, and called his name. In the dream, that person kissed him, and it felt so desperate and needy yet so gentle that his stomach squeezed together in a weird way. But the strangest thing of all was that the other was crying, and he only spoke one sentence before leaving his dream again.

"You fucking bastard… How dare you be kind to me…"

xoxox

Something was wrong with Romano. Gilbert could see it, feel it.

Ever since that one night he had come to his house, the Italian had become quieter, more distant, always looking like he wanted to say something before turning away with a deep and troubled frown. Gilbert hated seeing him like that. After all that Romano had done for him, he felt like he needed to do something back.

Romano meant too much to him not to care.

"Where are you taking me?" Southern Italy grumbled.

"You'll see Engel!" the ex-Prussian laughed.

They were walking up a hill, twilight painting the sky a lovely pink and orange. After an hour of their usual drinking at the bar, Gilbert had suddenly said he wanted to go somewhere. Now he was dragging the other along, keeping a firm hold on his hand. They were both already a little intoxicated, but were still able to think clearly.

"Look, we're here!" the excitable albino announced. Romano sullenly looked up, eyes widening when he found a red-and-white striped blanket, a basket filled with tomatoes and a nice bottle of Merlot, and rose petals scattered all across the hilltop.

"Don't look at the roses," Gilbert grumbled, cheeks tainted a faint pink. "I asked Francis to help set up a nice spot to look at the sunset, and he must've done it after I left."

Romano said nothing. The crease between his eyebrows grew heavier, even as he let himself be pulled down onto the blanket. He stubbornly remained silent while the other poured them both a glass of wine, only muttering a small thank you when his glass was handed to him.

Gilbert secretly watched him from the corner of his eye. Looked at the pensive expression he sported, the soft glow of the sunset on his tanned cheeks and hair, the worry written all over his eyes of green and brown.

"There's something bothering you," he stated more than asked.

The Italian flinched, shooting him a swift glance before looking away again.

"Nothing important," he murmured, taking a quick sip of his wine to try and avoid this conversation.

"Yes, it is," Gilbert insisted. "You once said you don't like me when I'm depressed. Well, I don't like you when you're all quiet. It doesn't suit you, Engel."

"…Stop calling me that. Please."

"What, Engel?"

Romano's lips tugged downwards in response.

"Why? What is wrong with me calling you that?"

"Because I'm not a fucking angel, okay!" the brunette spat, furiously locking his eyes with the tips of his pointed boots. "Feliciano is! It's always him! He's the one everyone likes, he's the one everyone adores. So stop trying to compare me with him! I'm not an angel, and never will be! Stop trying to make me fucking replace my stupid little brother!"

He was panting a little after that outburst, salty tears streaming down his eyes. Gilbert was shocked, for more than one reason. He gripped the other's shoulders tightly, not letting go when he tried to squirm his way out of the hold.

"Lovino," he said, and his soft voice made the Italian give up his struggle.

"You really think I see you as a replacement for Feli? After all this time we spent together, you really think that?"

"Of course I do!" the other growled, looking him dead in the eye with an unexpected fierceness, further accentuated by the tears blurring the outlines of his irises.

"You were in love with him, still are as far as I know! Why else would you treat me the way you do? Take me in, be nice to me? It's because I remind you of him, admit it!"

Gilbert let out a soft noise and pulled the other into an embrace. At first Romano tried to push him away with all his might, but soon he was unable to do anything other than cling to him. Gilbert soothingly stroked his back as wretched sobs quaked through his body, lightly rocking him sideways.

He wanted to tell him he was wrong.

Prove that he hadn't thought about Veneziano like that for a long time.

God, how he wanted to kiss all his doubts away.

Gilbert paused, sudden realization hitting him like a freight train. Or not that sudden, as if he'd somehow known all along.

Holding that warm body close, feeling a strange fluttering in his chest as a hand found its way to his scalp, fingers burying themselves in his whitish hair.

"Lovino…"

His voice sounded strangely hoarse, causing the other to look up. Romano's heart sped up at seeing the whirling emotions in those ruby red jewels, half-hooded and smouldering.

"You kissed me that night, didn't you?"

The brunette's face went beet red, heart dancing at the speed of light by now.

"N-no!" he sputtered, blush spreading to his ears and neck when the albino came just that much closer.

"Gilbert, don't you dare!" he hissed (and Gilbert inched even closer, able to taste the alcohol in his breath now). "Don't you fucking dare! I swear, if you kiss me, I'll-"

His sentence was cut off as chapped lips were forcefully planted on top of his own. His protests were forgotten as he kissed back with all the fire he had left, salty wetness drying up on his overheated cheeks. It didn't last long, but it meant more to him than he would ever admit.

Gilbert pulled back, lovingly stroking his cheek.

"Lovino. I have not once thought you are the same as your brother. You think I would have shown you my weaknesses like that if I did?"

The Italian was speechless, mouth opening and closing without any sounds leaving him. Gilbert leant forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"You are not forgotten, Schatz. I am not nice to you out of sympathy or pity. I am nice because I truly want to, because you deserve it."

Romano still hadn't said a thing. Slowly, carefully, as if this was all just a dream, he bent over and let his head rest on the albino's shoulder. Gilbert grinned, the fluttering in his stomach increasing when he felt lips on the section dividing his shoulder and his upper arm.

"What does Schatz mean?" Romano asked, voice soft and almost inaudible.

Gilbert smiled as he plucked a tiny little flower from the grass, a little blue forget-me-not he'd somehow overlooked up 'til now.

"It means 'treasure'," he whispered, placing the flower behind Romano's ear.