Racing memories

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: world meetings

Her name was Byzantine. His name is Italy Romano, and they share the same body, mind and soul, forever hidden, forever stolen and in a never ending loop of pain and memories that are whitewashed but as clear as glass and as delicate as such object. Romano sat in the midst of chaos. Countries screaming, talking, fighting or flirting where everywhere, and whether or not they realised it, only a few brave souls where trying to get everyone quiet, but with no success. After he watched Canada try to catch America's attention for the third time that morning he finally decided to speak up..

But then again he could just wait a bit more..  America, he realised, had started closing in, a dangerous mix of stupidity and bad replicas of his food. He hissed slightly, his green eyes glaring menacingly at him, to no avail. In reality it was just a friendly (although overly so) country coming over to say hi, but in the mixed areas of his minds all he could see was the enemy, a Crusader, getting closer and closer. panic began to rise in his stomach and the ghost of a searing pain went all across his body, the feeling of  Constantinople being attacked over and over again. by the time America had reached him and tapped him on the shoulder the Italian's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder attack had passed he was left angry, in pain and scared.

"yo what's up dude!?"

he glared at the male, who looked so much like.. like.. like him. like the person who had hurt him.

"che, what do you-a want Burger Bastard?"

what really made things worse, was that just like him, America had hurt him too, during the 1880's he had to immigrate to his country, and America had treated him and his people like dirt. sure, he apologized and later on helped him out, but what had been done, was done. Romano was the one who paved many of the streets in America, Romano was the reason why so many buildings stood proudly, Romano built up America and he poured all his work and heart into it, only to get thrown aside, and to get attacked during the second World War. Sure, it should be normal, as they were countries. Taking, Killing and Expanding, but something upon the way America behaved and treated him in all the years they had known of their existence hurt him more than anything. how could those baby blue eyes look so innocent over all the pain and misery they had looked over?

"..Mano? ROMANO ARE YOU THERE BROOOO?!?!?"

he jumped, startled. 

"WAHh.. what the fuck do you want?!"

the blonde smiled.

"i wanted to know if you were okay, since you looked kinda odd"

thoughts raced through his head, alternating between A bittersweet feeling that the male had cared enough to come over, to an annoyed and angry feeling towards himself for giving something away and finally sadness and jealousy for he probably only came over after being nagged by the easily annoyed British man across the table, currently fighting with France.

"hmph, why would you-a care?"

the cheerful male shrugged.

"i always care, you simply never notice.. also England sent me to check up on you."

bingo.
"Well. I'm-a just fine, all that food you-a eat must have finally started hitting your-a brain then"

His face seemed to have fallen, although only momentarily. Had he gotten upset that Romano had said that? A female voice in the back of his head screamed that, no, he simply was upset he hadn't risen to the bait.

"Aw, Roma, that's not cool!"

He glared at the strong male.

"I don't care. Leave me alone, and don't call me that!"