Broken Wings
Romano hated the fact that he couldn’t fly.
It… he had no idea how to tell anyone that he was one of the only that couldn’t fly. It ached as he saw his little brother fly above him with Germany, who was glaring at everyone, crossing his arms and bright yellow wings fluttering in distaste.
Fuck, even his wings look pissed off.
Prussia was hanging upside down on a tree, his wings touching the floor and brushing the dirt off, leaving a smudge on the perfect white feathers.
Sure, Romano had such a hate for the albino, but for some reason, he found himself connecting more with this potato bastard than the other, angrier one.
Japan was no where to be seen, but it didn’t bother the italian. Something about the dark and creep man was just a little unnerving for Romano
“Oi oi! Romano!”
He turns and bites out a lump of tomato, glaring and flipping off Prussia.
“The fuck you want, bastard!?”
Prussia cocks his head, and his body swings side to side, smiling lightly.
“You are quiet chipper today are you not?”
He laughs loudly, and then does some weird acrobatic shit that makes him look like a fucking squirrel.
He flips through the air, and his wings snap out, helping out his stability. He gracefully glides through the air, the soft and almost silent wings of his flapping around him.
Romano had to swallow the lump in his throat, and look away.
The man was older, so he had more grace and more practice… but he was also jealous that he could do that…
“Mm… what do you mean?”
