8I'm not jealous. Really, I'm not. I mean, Feliancio gets things I want, but so what? It isn't like it's that big of a deal, right? No reason to be afraid, is there? I mean...it isn't bad...
After all, it doesn't matter if I'm not the most popular guy, does it? Or that people have decided I'm not worthy of being their friend like Feli is? I don't think it is. I mean, I'm not lonely...I'm really not! No matter what that damn tomato-bastard says...
Y'know...now that I think about it, that tomato bastard's really the only person who pays attention to me. To everyone else, all of Feli's friends, it's like I don't even exist. Well, except that damn potato-bastard boyfriend of his, some German guy...what was his name, Ludig? Luvid? Oh well, it doesn't matter - he only acknowledges me when I make threats to him, and even then...he doesn't really care. I can see it in his eyes: he only cares about Feli. Everyone cares about Feli.
I'm the eldest brother in my family - Feli's in the middle and the youngest, Marcello, is rarely around - and I should be my father's pride and joy because of that, shouldn't I? He should think of me as the best kid he has, as the greatest one, souldn't he? He should, but he doesn't - sometimes, my father even forgets I'm his son. I've had to introduce myself to him over and over again, or live through Feli or Marcello doing it. The second one's more embarrassing, because then my father looks at me with pity, like it's my fault he can't remember me, even as he's apologizing for it - "Sorry, Romano, it won't happen again."
Except it does happen again, and not just once, but many times. Sometimes I wonder if everyone's going to forget me one day, because I'm not really important: unlike Feliancio, I'm not an artist. His paintings hang around the house alongside our father's, all proudly displayed. I tried my hand at drawing once, and while I'm a somewhat good sketch artist, my real skill is in culinary arts. I am a master with food, something everyone in my family, even Papa, has told me many times before. I'm proud that I can cook, and do it well - the only thing Feli really likes to cook is pasta, so it's the one thing I'm really better at him than. Antonio really likes my cooking, too, and has taught me how to use many different recipes (most of them involvig tomatoes). I'm proud of myself, because I'm better than Feli at something, and everyone acknowledges it. Even if it's such a small thing.
I'm not jealous of my brother. I'm really not. But...sometimes, when Antonio and I are at his house, alone (his parents rarely come home, not that he minds - at twenty, no one really minds him), and we're curled up on the couch, I'll get a look on my face and he'll ask me what's wrong. And...then I'll let it spill. How mad I am that Feli gets recognized so well, how papa remembers him and forgets me, how Feli is so popular and how he has a boyfriend, and how people just like him. I'll tell him all of this and somehow by the end of it that bastard's holding me and stroking my hair and whispering, "Roma, it's fine...I promise it'll be okay. And you know...Feli doesn't have everything. He doesn't have me...because I'm all yours."
He says the same thing every time I tell him about this and when I look at him he kisses me, and for some reason...it's all fine in my world. I'm not jealous of my brother, you know. I'm not.
Because I have one thing he will never have...My Antonio.
And that's fine with me.
BB: Well! My first Spamano fic...and it's fluff. ...What the fuck is up with me and Hetalia fluff? Why can I not write anything else? LIFE? WHY?
I own nada, like usual. Hope you enjoyed! It's now...some really late time and I should be asleep but ah, fuck it. I'll stay awake.
Hope you enjoyed this!