Seven Day Flood {APH}

TUESDAY

Romano took a bite of his tomato while leaning on wall, waiting for Veneziano to come down. His olive green eyes stared up at the stairs, getting even more irritated at the aburnette. What was taking him so damn long?

Finally, he heard the light footsteps tumbling down the stairs. Romano looked back up and took another bite of his tomato. He started to walk to the front door, but stopped once he saw his brother's legs buckle from under him.

He would have fell down the last few stairs if it wasn't for his brother thinking quickly. Romano had abandoned his tomato to catch Veneziano mid fall. The oldest brother helped Veneziano back onto his feet at ground level. His irritation being replaced by worry.

"Vene, are you okay?" Romano asked. "Sì! Just dandy." Veneziano replied cheerfully, but his twitching, pained smile said otherwise. "Just tripped is all. You know how clumsy I am." The aburnette reassured. Romano narrowed his gaze at him, but left it off at that. Romano lead Veneziano to the car with an iron grip on the younger's wrist.

Halfway through the drive to the world meeting, Veneziano coughed semi harshly. When Romano asked what was wrong, the aburnette said he just choked on air. Romano wasn't thoroughly convinced.

Upon arriving at the meeting room, Romano had sat closely the Veneziano's side. His olive gaze glanced over to his left to check on his brother. The small Italian seemed to be in slight pain by the way his smile was faltering and furrowed eyebrows.

Halfway through Belgium's presentation, Veneziano's stomach suddenly clenched and caved in, sending him to hunch over it with a green face. His hand flew to his mouth while the other was pressed to his stomach.

Romano furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and worry. His body shifted completely to face his little brother as Veneziano's stomach heaved again, making his small body jerk painfully.

Belgium had stopped her speech and was quickly making her way to Veneziano. This allowed more nations to follow her gaze to a suffering Veneziano.

"Dude, are you alright?!" America asked quickly. He didn't like seeing his friends in any type of pain.

In response, Veneziano had coughed, and with it, had spilled his breakfast.

The room gasped in shock and Romano was immediately at his brother's aid.

Veneziano was spilling his guts out, stomach twisting and convulsing sporadically to send out bile, and now, water.

The aburnette had fallen out of his chair and was now quivering in pain, salt water rising up his throat to be thrown up on the gray carpet of the meeting room.

Romano hissed at any nation that dared to come any closer than two yards from Veneziano. He rubbed his back in he hoped was a comforting manner. The other hand gently pushed Veneziano's hair out of his face. The Southerner muttered soothing Italian words to his tortured brother as his eyes examined the twitching body he was softly consoling.

A few nations went to retrieve a bucket of warm water with a wash cloth and another empty bucket for Veneziano to throw up in.

Once the empty bucket was placed in front of the withering Italian, he pounced on it and spilled ounces of salt water out of his system. Tears ran quickly down Veneziano's blotched red cheeks.

Romano soaked the cloth in the warm water, rung it out, then placed it on brother's neck.

By now, Veneziano's contents had been spilling for 25 minutes straight. A handful of nations left while the others were debating on calling an ambulance. They decided not to even though they knew puking sessions don't last this long. And that people, even nations, don't spill out water when puking.

Romano was close to calling the hospital as well. It just wasn't normal. Suddenly, a prick cut into his soul. It was subtly felt, and was only like a pinprick. Like a needle entering the skin...

Another 15 minutes and Veneziano's hacks were becoming more spread out, allowing him to catch a breath in between contractions.

Adding on another 10, and the now frail Italian had finally stopped puking his guts out. His stomach heaved a bit, but nothing rose up to Veneziano's throat.

Romano had resoaked the cloth many times to add heat to his brother's increasingly cold body. He slowly leaned his brother into him and placed his head gently on his shoulder. He held and cradled him like he was going to break and shatter at any second.

He lightly swayed them both back and forth with a soft hum to help settle Veneziano. Romano could tell the auburnette was exhausted and struggling to breath normally again. Dried bile was left on the corners of his parted lips as tear and salt water slipped down his face to stain Romano's uniform.

Veneziano's eyes were blank and tortured and had lost their energetic spark. He had dark bags deeply sagging into his flushed cheeks. His eyelids hung over his cold, dead-looking honey gold irises.

The nations were appalled by the weak Northerner.

The water and bile stained the carpet and an overflowed bucket full of water that smelled like the sea sat there...

Mockingly...

Teasingly...

Glaring...