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Italy is so cute! Italy is a great artist! Obviously, Italy is better than Romano! I mean, he's not even called Italy anymore!

Lovino listened as the other countries chatted from behind the brick wall of the meeting building. He always heard the same thing, every day. Sometimes, they would even say he should kill himself. He leaned his back against the wall, his eyes glazing over as he listened to the comments, comparing him to his brother. He didn't even know why he came and listened to them anymore; all it was doing was making him more depressed than he already was. He finally decided after an hour of sitting and listening that he heard enough and started walking back to his home, where he lived with his 'oh-so-great' brother. The southerner walked down the dark, peaceful streets of Italy, being introduced to new voices along the way.

He knows he should just die off, and let his brother be the country of Italy. His pride just wouldn't let him allow such things.

No matter what he does-

He started walking faster, nearing his home that was settled just around the corner, an anxious feeling taking over his body. He was just a couple metres away from house, thoughts whirling around in his head like a tornado. He came down to the same conclusion that he always did.

He'll just never be good enough.

Lovino slammed the door shut and slid down the cool fixture. The thoughts never stopped. They never did. The tears he had been fighting for so long fell slowly down his tan cheeks as he lifted himself up and trudged quickly up to his room. The rage inside of him had built up over the last couple hundred years, and now, he would finally let it go. As he entered the dark red room, his hand absentmindedly grasped an expensive statue his grandfather left for him before he disappeared, and threw it against the wall, leaving a very apparent dent in the wooden interior of the room. As his gentle tears became quiet sobs, the ring of the phone broke him out of his fury-fueled hurricane of solid, breakable objects. He took a moment to gather himself before slowly approaching the dark green telephone that sat in the barely used desk. He picked it up, taking a deep, shaky breath before putting it to his ear.

"Ciao..." He answered the caller, blandly.

"Ve! Ciao, fratello! Sorry I'm not home yet. I was just picking up the ingredients I need to make some pasta! I'll make it when I get home, ne?" The voice on the other line tilted and twisted in the most cheerful fashion, making his chest hurt even more than before.

He bit his lip, hoping just enough so that the pain would somewhat rival the pain residing in his chest. It wasn't nearly enough.

With the nicest voice he could muster, he managed to recite the, "Okay. But don't take too long, bastard!" he had practiced in his mind over and over.

He repeated the vulgar sentence in his head again, trying to reconstruct it to make it sound a pinch kinder, without making it seem too suspicious.

"Ve! Alright, fratello! Ciao!" The voice exclaimed, happily.

The line had fell silent before he could make another comment.

He looked down at the phone in his hand. The slightest twitch instigated the rage once again, making him screech a quick 'Damn it!' before throwing it with all of his might against the desk, making an audible smack as it hit the surface. It was then that he noticed the old picture frame on the other side of the desk. Inside the frame, laid a photo with his Nonno, brother and himself. Well, He wasn't exactly the main feature in the picture. The only reason he kept it  was for the benefit of being able to see his Nonno's happy face. A similar face was pictured on his brother. It could've been drawn, and the smile could not look more brilliant. Then, there stood himself, a permanent scowl glued on his face as he stood behind his brother, face flushed red due to his constant camera-shyness. A growl illuminated from his throat.