literature

RomanoXSick!Reader Spinnin' Around: Part One

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I was thinking ‘bout yesterday
I was thinking’ bout tomorrow
In a dizzy kind of sort of way, like vertigo


With her parents at the beach for Labor Day weekend and her brother back at Emory, (Reader) was the happiest she had been in months. Nobody was around to belittle her for being sick, and she could play her music full blast without wondering if it was “too loud” for her parents. A temporary respite from comparisons was granted after her brother left two weeks ago. To celebrate, (Reader) treated herself to blasting 90s and 00s bubblegum pop music while cleaning up her room. Tidying was always more fun when she had music, but especially so when she had a crush on someone. The moment her heart felt the tiniest flutter, she played all of the cheesiest pop songs she could find. Even in her twenties, (Reader) believed one was never too old for the joyful infatuation that defined ‘falling in love’ at age thirteen. To her love was beautiful in all of its forms, and embracing crushes was one of the best parts about being alive.

Could she call her current situation just a crush? (Reader) was still struggling to answer that question after two months of growing closer to Romano. The answer would be obvious if most of their time together was not in relation to (Reader)’s fluctuating health Going to the Italian restaurant only happened after seeing the ear doctor for Ménière’s. A home cooked meal was only prepared when (Reader) was too dizzy to go out after her hearing test. Romano and (Reader) only watched the sunset in the tomato fields after a neurology appointment related to potential vestibular migraines. (Reader) had been in the chronic illness community long enough to see how its members supported each other. Friends often visited the doctor together, and some went out to lunch after doctor’s appointments. Though Romano was also chronically ill from benign hereditary chorea, it seemed like outings were more than post-appointment fun. Community member or not, Romano’s choices often included dancing, holding (Reader)’s hand, and hugs so tight that (Reader) thought she’d melt into him.

Only one thing kept (Reader) from knowing for certain: not once had Romano kissed her.

Each time he dropped her off at home, (Reader) found herself in the same situation. Romano would hold her close, forehead pressed to his as his hands stroked her back. Both of hers would be wrapped around his neck, fingers twirling around the ends of his hair. Beneath her skin, (Reader) could feel how much Romano wanted her…yet somehow, she also received a conflicting signal.

He’s not ready.

Inevitably, she’d bail him out with more hugs while resting her head into his shoulder. On the first and second outing, (Reader) understood Romano might have wanted to wait a bit longer. Third outing, she was a bit disappointed with him, but (Reader) reminded herself that it could have easily been a cultural difference. Being the human manifestation of South Italy, she recognized that Romano, at bare minimum, was strongly influenced by Catholicism. Such might cause him to be more physically conservative, in contrast to the overly amorous nature that made (Reader) want to kiss him after their first tarantella. A fourth outing kiss-free left (Reader) questioning whether the problem really was Romano not being ready, or if she had a one-sided crush. (Reader) would have minded a lot more if being with Romano didn’t make her so happy and she wasn't trying to remember the backwards pep talk he gave during their last outing.

While they were watching the sunset over the tomato fields, (Reader) was fretting over an upcoming MRI. The neurologist had scheduled it to rule out any other problems that could cause vertigo. Though (Reader)’s last MRI came out perfectly normal, the neurologist made a point of noting that it was taken eight years ago. A new one was necessary to further enhance (Reader)’s treatment, and just the thought of it was enough to make her cry.

The moment Romano saw her misty-eyed, he blurted out, “Oi, ragazza, what the fucking hell? I brought you here to look at all the colors you love, and you’re too stuck in your own head to see them. You think constantly worrying about the future will make it better? It only makes you sad when you can’t control it, so stop fucking thinking about it and be here. This sunset is beautiful, and you should be here to see it, not wherever the fuck it is you are right now. Get out of your fucking head, and watch it with me. I don’t bring people here often, and I won’t bring you back if you can’t appreciate it.”

Much as (Reader) hated his delivery, she was factual enough to acknowledge he was right. Sometimes, she lived inside her own head too much and spiraled into a series of what-ifs that only made her miserable. (Reader) knew she couldn’t be as in-the-moment as Romano, but she could take his advice enough to let enjoy her feelings in the present. For all of the frustration she had with him not kissing her, (Reader) loved how good she felt after every outing they had together. Thus far, taking Romano’s advice had strengthened the joyous feel of a teenage-feeling crush, especially in the (ever increasing) moments where he would text and call.

Unfortunately, trying to be more in-the-moment caused the sound of her cell phone to puncture the atmosphere. Somehow, without being the same room, Feliciano still had a knack for not reading the environment. (Reader) sent him voicemail before resuming her dancing chores, but no sooner had she ignored his call than she heard his ringtone competing with her music. Rolling her eyes, (Reader) turned her stereo off and reluctantly answered the phone. If Feliciano called back immediately after going to voicemail, he would likely call another five times before getting the message.

“Hey, Feli,” (Reader) said, “What’s up?”

“(Reader), (Reader),” he howled into the phone, “You got to help me!”

“Please don’t tell me the cockroaches got into the pasta again. You know I don’t like bugs.”

“No, fratello is in trouble and he won’t let me help him!”

(Reader)’s stomach clenched with a violence she had not felt in years.

This is why I don’t live in the present more, Romano. Just one wrong sensation is enough to make me sick unless I keep a foot in my own world.

“What happened? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

“He’s fine physically, but he hasn’t been able to stop crying since he tried the mustache plan again.”

That’s why he’s in trouble? He got me worried sick over a plan he failed to think through? If I didn’t like him so much I’d smack him.

“How many times is he going to try that thing before he realizes it needs refining?”

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Not me. Not any of our friends. Not Antonio.”

“Well, definitely not me either cause I didn’t know this was happening until you called.”

“If I picked you up and made you all the pasta you could eat, would you try talking to him? I don’t know who else I could call.”

“I mean, I could. I don’t know how he’d feel about me being there, but at least he knows I won’t judge him.”

Meraviglioso! Grazie tanto, sorella! Grazie, grazie, grazie!” (Marvelous! Thank you so much, sister! Thank you, thank you, thank you!)

“Okay, but if he throws an especially bad hissy fit, you’re buying my next makeup palette.”

“Deal! I’ll be over in a half-hour.””

With a yelp, (Reader) scrambled to pick out a “cute” outfit and matching makeup. Though she treated cosmetics and fashion as celebrations health and self-expression, (Reader) wanted to look especially good for Romano. Amidst previous crises, (Reader)’s spangly outfits soothed her friends by distracting them from their pain long enough for them to regroup. Noting Romano’s emphasis on living in the present, a highly fashionable outfit was guaranteed to calm him down. His eyes would have an immediate focus to distract him from his failed execution and focus instead on (Reader)’s idea for a refined mustache plan.

I’ve been trying hard to figure out
But it’s driving me crazy…


“…Well you’d think I’d know by now,” Romano shouted as he kicked his wastebasket, “You’d think I’d know by now that anything I try is going to fail. Everything I touch turns to shit and everything I try always fails. I’ll never be good enough for anything, not even these shit missions I get from the boss. I am so fucking stupid! That’s the only reason I keep trying at all! I’m so fucking stupid!”

With Feliciano gone, Romano found it safe to leave the guest room and stick half of a leftover pizza into the oven. Much as he hated reheated slices, Romano wanted nothing more than heated slices of his homemade pizza: the only thing he knew he could do right. His previous successes with pizza, however, were not enough to soothe his aching heart. Each slice of pizza had the additional flavors of saltwater and snot, but Romano hardly cared. What did the taste of his own misery matter in comparison to every other failure in his life?

Maybe if I weren’t such a fuck up, I wouldn’t have been abandoned so many times by the other nations. Roderick didn’t want me, so he sent me to Antonio, but then he tried to trade me back for my buttcrotch brother. Fucking Feliciano. Even Grandpa Rome liked him better than he liked me, all because I couldn’t fucking draw. Anytime someone “likes” me, it’s only because they can’t have my brother, or they want my inheritance from Grandpa Rome. Why can’t I just get one thing right so someone can like me for me? Is that too much to ask?

No sooner did Romano present his question to the universe than Feliciano returned with (Reader) in tow.

“Fratello, I’m home. Are you feeling any better?”

“I was until you showed up,” Romano spat, aggressively hiding the evidence of his upset, “What the fuck is she doing here?"

“He brought me here, Captain Obvious” (Reader) snapped.

Romano was fuming as his face turned magenta. Rapidly, (Reader)’s eyes darted towards the apartment door. The last time she had seen someone turn that color, her mother was screaming at her for having a different opinion about what color she should paint the kitchen. Chewing her lips, she fought the urge to scream.

“…I, I thought she would be able to ch-cheer you up…” Feliciano stammered.

Non mi parlerà mai più adesso che mi ha visto così fottutamente debole! Dovevi solo peggiorare la mia vita distruggendo la parte migliore al momento. Come mai vorrà vedermi di nuovo se pensa che io sia un uomo inferiore?” (She'll never want to talk to me again now that she's seen me so fucking weak! You just had to make my life worse by destroying the best part of it right now! How will she ever want to see me again if she thinks I'm a lesser man?)

Okay, so Romano thinks I won’t talk to him again because I saw something fucking…it sounds like deber, but I don’t think that’s right. He only…something his life destroyed…part…this moment…How will she see me…she thinks…inferior man?

Romano, ascoltami! Lei non è quel tipo di persona. (Reader) non penserà che tu sia debole se ti vede piangere. Ho pianto di fronte a lei un sacco di volte e siamo ancora i migliori amici!” (Romano, listen to me. She's not that kind of person. (Reader) won't think you're weak if she sees you crying. I cried in front of her lots of times and we're still good friends.)

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!”

Both brothers froze, unexpectedly surprised by (Reader)’s overpowering scream. All of the color drained from Romano’s face, and Feliciano’s eyes widened as though he feared she would hit him.

“I don’t understand entirely what you two are saying, but I got enough to see you two think you know what’s on my mind. Unless you ask, you don’t, and I will not have either of you dictate how I think or feel! I put up with this shit enough with my fucking mother trying to talk over me all the time. I don’t need it from either of you, so if you won’t let me speak for myself, I’m out!”

(Reader) slammed the door behind her as she stormed through the hallway of Feliciano’s apartment. Fuming, she let out an exasperated growl every time she stomped her feet. In the moment or not, (Reader) was completely enraged by anyone who tried to dictate anything that passed through her mind. For as long as she had been sick, her mother took every single chance to talk over her and use the Ménière’s to declare that she knew better. Hearing it from her was bad enough, but watching her best friend and her crush do the same thing stung on a whole other level.

Between the hearing loss and the boiling fury inside her mind, (Reader) took no notice of the footsteps trailing behind.

“If you want to leave, whatever,” she heard a voice call, “But how the fuck do you think you’ll get home if Buttcrotch can’t drive you?”

Turning around, (Reader) saw Romano standing in the hall, barefoot with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, right…I, I wasn’t really thinking about that…”

“No shit. There’s no good way to get back to your house without your own car. Uber is too fucking expensive and the train close by doesn’t go anywhere near where you live. If you want, I’ll drive you back home and you’ll never have to deal with us again after that.”

(Reader) sighed and said, “I don’t want to walk out on either of you. Feli’s one of my best friends, and…well…I…”

Of course. She gives an obvious reason to stay with my brother while finding none to

“…I’m really starting to like you.”

“That’s not funny, ragazza. Don’t make jokes like that.”

“I’m not, Romano. I really am starting to like you.”

Romano gasped as (Reader) took both of his hands and looked straight into his eyes. The end of his curl twitched in a way he had not felt in years. Instead of pulling into a perfect spiral, Romano’s curl twisted itself into a tiny heart. Underneath his this bangs, it was subtle enough to stay hidden. One wrong shift of the head, however, and Romano would have been mortified by his curl revealing the truth: he was really starting to like her too.

“I got enough of your Italian to guess that you somehow think I’ll see you as inferior because of what happened. Don’t. You’ve done so much for me and made me so happy in these past two months. I could never see you that way. Let’s be real, as well. I nearly threw up on you hours after we met because of my fucking Ménière’s. Who am I to judge?”

Awkwardly, Romano smiled while shuffling his feet.

“What do you say we either give Feli enough money to go out for lunch, or we ditch this place and go get gelato in the city? My treat.”

“Is there any reason why we can’t do both?”

“As long as Feli’s okay with it, I don’t see why not.”

Hand-in-hand, Romano and (Reader) walked back to Feli’s apartment. Romano blushed as (Reader) gave his hand an extra squeeze.

I hate to admit it, Buttcrotch, but you were right about bringing (Reader) over. Thank you.
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