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Romano had made yet another attempt at using a mustache to humiliate Ludwig, the boyfriend of his brother, Feliciano. Since World War II, Romano had a long-running grudge against Ludwig for persuading Feliciano to join the Axis. Out of desperation to have a friend, Ludwig concealed his boss’s carnage from Feliciano. From day one, Romano knew every graphic detail Ludwig was hiding, and humiliation was the only means he had of fighting back. Within Italy’s borders, the northern and southern populations were at war, and one blow to his brother's boyfriend would have been enough to divide the nation in two. Embarrassing Ludwig in front of Feliciano was his best hope to get them apart, both in World War II and in present-day life. The fall of the Axis separated Ludwig and Feliciano until they found each other again in the ivory tower of academia.
A second romance seemed like whimsical nostalgia that would end upon Feliciano’s graduation. Romano hated every second where his brother gushed about Ludwig, but he kept his mouth by waiting on their seemingly inevitable break-up. Such a hope, however, was dashed when Feliciano was accepted into his school’s graduate program for Fine Art and Ludwig was hired to improve America’s car engineering. With two years of a love that seemed stronger than ever, Romano had to do something to save his brother. If he used a mustache to Ludwig look ugly and stupid, Feliciano would lose all physical attraction and dump him immediately. Caught up in the moment, Romano failed to remember that holding a mustache in front of Ludwig’s face did not account for other vantage points.
Once again, Ludwig noted, “You do realize from wear I’m standing, it looks like you’re wearing the mustache.”
“WHAT? NO! DON’T LOOK AT ME! I’M SO UGLY!”
For the rest of the day, Romano locked himself in the guest room to cry underneath the covers.In spite of the early September sun, Romano could not have been gloomier. Two months had gone by since he started living with Feliciano, and he had made little progress in his mission. His observations of Italian-American families provided very little information to his boss on how to repair Italy’s reputation in the U.S. Tomato season was coming to a close and Romano’s wages were reduced alongside hours in the tomato fields. Attempts to find an apartment were proving fruitless, as his boss’s budget gave him extremely limited options. Romano tried his hardest to conceal the agony over each failure, but the mustache plan put him over the edge. Every wall Romano put around his heart had cracked, and the floodgates had opened behind his eyes.
Oblivious to the mood, Feliciano attempted to cheer Romano up by telling him everything that was wonderful about Ludwig.
“Romano, don’t cry. You don’t look ugly in your mustache, and Ludwig wouldn’t care if you did. He’s such a wonderful and helpful guy, and he keeps so much organized while being strong and pretty. Plus, Germans sound really funny, even when they’re angry. They can yell swear words at you, and you’ll still be laughing, which is really good for the heart when you’re sad. Maybe I can play some videos of him for you and you’ll feel better when you laugh.”
“You know what would make me feel better, Veneziano?”
The only time Romano ever called him Veneziano was when he desperately needed help. It was an unspoken code between the two brothers, they would use the other’s most vulnerable names when they needed help. Feliciano was called Veneziano, the nation name that made him feel ripped from his brother. Romano was called Lovino, the embarrassing first name he shared with very select people. Feliciano put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and thumbed a teardrop off his cheek.
“Just once, would you say nice things about me like that?”
Tentatively, Feliciano took his arm off of Romano and backed towards the door. Finding a compliment for Romano was always difficult. Around men, he was especially volatile and often took phrases out of context. Repeated abandonment by father figures in favor of his brother left Romano wary that men would look for an excuse to leave. Of course, Feliciano did not understand this fear, having received nothing but love since the day he was born. All he knew from Romano was that seemingly insignificant phrases or actions would generate fiery rage, which was always worsened during Romano’s breakdowns. Feliciano’s silence was interpreted as having nothing nice to say, and Romano responded by screaming.
“I HATE YOU SO MUCH! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!”
Feliciano bolted out of the guest room and grabbed his cell phone, desperate to find anyone who could help. Elizabeta? No, she was on a Labor Day vacation with her ex, Roderich, in hopes of getting back together. Antonio? Too far away—even if he could come over from Spain, Feliciano was not sure if it would be fast enough to help Romano through this crisis. Kiku had Alfred at his house for the weekend, and America’s hyperactive nature demanded a near-impossible level of energy. Like Antonio, Arthur was too far away to help, and had the potential to make things worse with endless snarking. Just when Feliciano thought he had no one to call, his phone’s calendar sent him a reminder.
Pasta party with (Reader) tomorrow at 8:00 P.M.
“Bella, of course! Why didn’t I think of her sooner? If there’s anybody who can make Romano smile, it’s her!”
Feliciano’s inability to read the atmosphere kept him from knowing Romano would be humiliated if (Reader) saw him. Romano thought crying in front of her would make him look like a sissy, and guarantee she would reject him no matter what he did. The help he gave (Reader) to seek better treatment for her Ménière’s would be meaningless. No tarantella dance or fancy Italian dinner would be enough to overcome looking weak. Time spent with (Reader) felt like the only hope Romano had left, and the thought of losing it was unbearable.
Romano’s ego could not have been further from Feliciano’s mind when he called (Reader) for help. All he thought about was how often Romano returned with a huge blush after taking her to these so-called “doctor’s appointments.” It was true that (Reader)’s Ménière’s had shown signs of improvement in the two months she and Romano had known each other. Her dizzy spells were occurring less frequently, and if she had one unexpectedly, (Reader)’s switch from Antivert to Valium drastically reduced their intensity. No drug or happy piece of medical news, however, was capable of creating the same joy he saw in Romano and (Reader)’s faces after each appointment. Rarely did any two people come out of a doctor’s office holding hands or dancing in the driveway. Regardless of any mood, Feliciano could spot a blossoming romance from miles away, and he knew right from the start that Romano helping (Reader) was never “just to shut you up, Buttcrotch.”
If the romance between them was real, Feliciano knew (Reader) would help Romano as much as he helped her. Maybe she couldn’t provide Romano treatment for a serious illness, but caring for him amidst this crisis was almost as good. At bare minimum, she would come up with a ridiculous plan to make him feel better. (Reader) had a talent for devising out-of-the-box solutions, and if anybody needed one right now, it was Romano. Nevertheless, neither brother anticipated how much (Reader)’s scheming would change their lives. For Feliciano, it would be his strongest connection to Romano since World War II. For Romano, it would be the first time someone truly opened his heart.
You keep me spinnin' around
Round, round, round, round,
Round, round, round, round...
A second romance seemed like whimsical nostalgia that would end upon Feliciano’s graduation. Romano hated every second where his brother gushed about Ludwig, but he kept his mouth by waiting on their seemingly inevitable break-up. Such a hope, however, was dashed when Feliciano was accepted into his school’s graduate program for Fine Art and Ludwig was hired to improve America’s car engineering. With two years of a love that seemed stronger than ever, Romano had to do something to save his brother. If he used a mustache to Ludwig look ugly and stupid, Feliciano would lose all physical attraction and dump him immediately. Caught up in the moment, Romano failed to remember that holding a mustache in front of Ludwig’s face did not account for other vantage points.
Once again, Ludwig noted, “You do realize from wear I’m standing, it looks like you’re wearing the mustache.”
“WHAT? NO! DON’T LOOK AT ME! I’M SO UGLY!”
For the rest of the day, Romano locked himself in the guest room to cry underneath the covers.In spite of the early September sun, Romano could not have been gloomier. Two months had gone by since he started living with Feliciano, and he had made little progress in his mission. His observations of Italian-American families provided very little information to his boss on how to repair Italy’s reputation in the U.S. Tomato season was coming to a close and Romano’s wages were reduced alongside hours in the tomato fields. Attempts to find an apartment were proving fruitless, as his boss’s budget gave him extremely limited options. Romano tried his hardest to conceal the agony over each failure, but the mustache plan put him over the edge. Every wall Romano put around his heart had cracked, and the floodgates had opened behind his eyes.
Oblivious to the mood, Feliciano attempted to cheer Romano up by telling him everything that was wonderful about Ludwig.
“Romano, don’t cry. You don’t look ugly in your mustache, and Ludwig wouldn’t care if you did. He’s such a wonderful and helpful guy, and he keeps so much organized while being strong and pretty. Plus, Germans sound really funny, even when they’re angry. They can yell swear words at you, and you’ll still be laughing, which is really good for the heart when you’re sad. Maybe I can play some videos of him for you and you’ll feel better when you laugh.”
“You know what would make me feel better, Veneziano?”
The only time Romano ever called him Veneziano was when he desperately needed help. It was an unspoken code between the two brothers, they would use the other’s most vulnerable names when they needed help. Feliciano was called Veneziano, the nation name that made him feel ripped from his brother. Romano was called Lovino, the embarrassing first name he shared with very select people. Feliciano put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and thumbed a teardrop off his cheek.
“Just once, would you say nice things about me like that?”
Tentatively, Feliciano took his arm off of Romano and backed towards the door. Finding a compliment for Romano was always difficult. Around men, he was especially volatile and often took phrases out of context. Repeated abandonment by father figures in favor of his brother left Romano wary that men would look for an excuse to leave. Of course, Feliciano did not understand this fear, having received nothing but love since the day he was born. All he knew from Romano was that seemingly insignificant phrases or actions would generate fiery rage, which was always worsened during Romano’s breakdowns. Feliciano’s silence was interpreted as having nothing nice to say, and Romano responded by screaming.
“I HATE YOU SO MUCH! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!”
Feliciano bolted out of the guest room and grabbed his cell phone, desperate to find anyone who could help. Elizabeta? No, she was on a Labor Day vacation with her ex, Roderich, in hopes of getting back together. Antonio? Too far away—even if he could come over from Spain, Feliciano was not sure if it would be fast enough to help Romano through this crisis. Kiku had Alfred at his house for the weekend, and America’s hyperactive nature demanded a near-impossible level of energy. Like Antonio, Arthur was too far away to help, and had the potential to make things worse with endless snarking. Just when Feliciano thought he had no one to call, his phone’s calendar sent him a reminder.
Pasta party with (Reader) tomorrow at 8:00 P.M.
“Bella, of course! Why didn’t I think of her sooner? If there’s anybody who can make Romano smile, it’s her!”
Feliciano’s inability to read the atmosphere kept him from knowing Romano would be humiliated if (Reader) saw him. Romano thought crying in front of her would make him look like a sissy, and guarantee she would reject him no matter what he did. The help he gave (Reader) to seek better treatment for her Ménière’s would be meaningless. No tarantella dance or fancy Italian dinner would be enough to overcome looking weak. Time spent with (Reader) felt like the only hope Romano had left, and the thought of losing it was unbearable.
Romano’s ego could not have been further from Feliciano’s mind when he called (Reader) for help. All he thought about was how often Romano returned with a huge blush after taking her to these so-called “doctor’s appointments.” It was true that (Reader)’s Ménière’s had shown signs of improvement in the two months she and Romano had known each other. Her dizzy spells were occurring less frequently, and if she had one unexpectedly, (Reader)’s switch from Antivert to Valium drastically reduced their intensity. No drug or happy piece of medical news, however, was capable of creating the same joy he saw in Romano and (Reader)’s faces after each appointment. Rarely did any two people come out of a doctor’s office holding hands or dancing in the driveway. Regardless of any mood, Feliciano could spot a blossoming romance from miles away, and he knew right from the start that Romano helping (Reader) was never “just to shut you up, Buttcrotch.”
If the romance between them was real, Feliciano knew (Reader) would help Romano as much as he helped her. Maybe she couldn’t provide Romano treatment for a serious illness, but caring for him amidst this crisis was almost as good. At bare minimum, she would come up with a ridiculous plan to make him feel better. (Reader) had a talent for devising out-of-the-box solutions, and if anybody needed one right now, it was Romano. Nevertheless, neither brother anticipated how much (Reader)’s scheming would change their lives. For Feliciano, it would be his strongest connection to Romano since World War II. For Romano, it would be the first time someone truly opened his heart.
You keep me spinnin' around
Round, round, round, round,
Round, round, round, round...
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