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hetalia2011-04-13 07:10 pm
littlelooloojr.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-04-13 07:10 pm
Entry tags:
Twelve
Title: Twelve
Author/Artist: Me, littlelooloojr
Character(s): North Italy, Germany, Holy Roman Empire, brief France. GerIta
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst, lots of sadness beware. My first time trying a fanfic with not much dialoug.
Summary: At the stroke of twelve, everything changed.
At the stroke of twelve his heart was broken.
This was not any heart, this was the heart of a young country (currently a colony) who fell in love. He fell in love with a great empire. A shy small boy, with blue eyes like the sky, blonde hair that could remind anyone of yellow poppies and a hand that promised everything to be better once he won the war. That hand offered him to join, to become the Roman Empire again.
The little country refused, fear of an empire for he knew what happened to his own Grandfather. A great empire. So powerful and strong but not without a price, the young boy learned.
Now his first love, who went to war, who wanted to become the greatest empire of all, who wanted to bring happiness to the small country, was dead.
Yet he did not believe that.
Big brother Francis came to the little country, claiming the empire was dead. He could not believe it. He wouldn't. It was all a lie, he thought to himself. So he told his 'brother' that he was being silly and retired for the whole day. It was not until he looked out the window and saw a red sky from far away, almost trying to over power the blue night sky but failed and slowly surrendered. Dying. Just like his beloved.
His wonderful and beautiful Holy Rome.
And so the small boy cried, sobbed all night until morning came. He couldn't stop thinking of the small red sky in the far distance, believing the fire was his beloved that was struggling to live but failing. Failing for other countries have beaten him down and won't stop. Not ever stopping. Just keep going and going and going and going...
This time he screamed. Screamed out his name through sobs and tears. His brown eyes burned from crying all night, lack of sleep and stress. He wanted to believe that he wasn't dead, he was just lost, he was just missing, or that he was just in hiding so he wouldn't be killed. How he wished he could...
He wished he could but at the same time he knew deep down in his mind, he would die. He would fall like his Grandfather. He would lose his way of life that made him so happy, forced to do something he wished not to do. The little country kept screaming, sobbing and gripping his hair.
Who could he blame? No one. In his heart he could never blame his beloved, Francis nor Mr. Austria. No one. Only himself.
His screams were now muffled by a body, the scent of roses filled his sense, somewhat calming him. He knew it was Francis. He knew he heard his screams and cries. He too looked tired, almost as if he was woken up by the young boys screams and was set into panic mode. His pajama's soft with silk and fine. His french voice whispering sweet and wonderful things to him, with promises of food and happiness. It was comforting. So he stopped his screams.
But he did not stop his cries. Those tears couldn't stop flowing, it was as if he would create a river through his hot tears.
He soon forgotten how long he wept, he forgot how he fell asleep as well. What an over whelming moment for the young country to face. It wouldn't be strange. He would sleep for days, wake up once in a while, nibble on food and not talk for a while. He would cry himself to sleep sometimes or just flat out fall into the promising slumber.
Tears would slowly mend his broken heart, time will teach him not to love once more and forever will make him hate midnight.
And so Feliciano slept, crying even in his dreams, seeing his beloved in his dreams and overcomed by nostalgic memories of his beloved and he.
It will never be the same again.
~ ~ ~
Another great war came. World War II.
It was much like World War I, but more people were killed for being a certain race, the want for more land and once again; an empire. Something he hated.
He did not want to join. The depression was enough, even the first World War but yet he joined. Why?
Feliciano was devoted to someone.
A great country with amazing strength. His body much like a Roman God, arms that could maybe manage to pick the world up and hold it on his shoulders. The man was not without beauty. The country's face was even strong as well, however, he would look softer with a smile. If only he didn't wear a scowl all the time. Although his face was tough and scary (at times), his eyes showed something pure and soft. Blue like the soft sky, to touch and sore through. Even his hair, although slicked back, looked soft. The color reminded the Italian of a warm summer sun, that maybe if you touch it, the warmth will tingle your skin and over power you.
Even his voice was over powering.
It was deep, stern and thick with a german accent. Feliciano could only wonder what he sounded like when he was a child. Maybe he was squeaky like himself when he was young. It's hard to imagine that.
With a voice, strength, soft eyes and warm colored hair, his heart had a nostalgic feeling. Like he knew him, and yet, he could not put his finger on it.
How could this man remind him of anyone? No. He was just him.
He was Germany. The Third Reich.
A country that Prussia (the awesome) raised by himself. He was a tidy country, but had hard-core porno's under his bed (don't tell Germany that!) and he was shy, as well.
Like his beloved. But he dared not to compare the two of them.
They looked like eachother, shy expressions were the same as well, their language and origin was a shocking match and yet Italy did not believed it.
Germany was not his beloved. He looked like him, a relative to him maybe but no; they could not be the same.
His beloved was dead. Germany is here now.
~ ~ ~
At one time, when he was young, Italy and his beloved ran into the fields. They were in trouble. Italy was supposed to clean and his beloved had to study. Both had refused. With the help of Hungary they escaped into the back and ran into the fields to be children, not caring about the world and just having fun.
It was spring.
The field was full of flowers, so colorful that it would be impossible to take the colors away. Many butterflies fluttered around the flowers, as if they were dancing little fairies. Italy would love to be one, to fly away and be happy once again. To fly into heaven and see his beloved grandfather.
Yet he did not want to.
Little Italy started to fall in love with his beloved. He learned much more about him, saw a side that no one else saw, he knew how shy he was and how awkward he is. All the more reasons to fall in love with him was his eyes. They were gentle. Even as he might grow big and look scary, his eyes will be soft. Little Italy knows it.
With excitement in his chest, heart beating from running and fear that Mr. Austria will punish him, he took his beloved's hand and dragged him into the field of colorful flowers. His shyness surfaced, his cheeks becoming red and little hands became a little wet. Still he didn't let go. How could he let go?
He was in love.
Through the day, while hiding from Mr. Ausrtia and avoiding punishment, they ran around the field and forest, put their feet into the river to soak up and refresh, pick flowers and made flower charms. All was well, no interuptions were made and it was peaceful. They were, at least for one day, free from everything.
Little Italy was so happy, his delicate fingers picking every flower he came across and putting them in a pile on his dress. He found the most beautiful flower, it was big and pure. He turned to his beloved but found no one. This was nothing new. He could have gone off to get something since he was like that. However, this didn't stop him from becoming worried. He knew how clumsy his beloved can be, he always messes up and becomes distress over little things. That is why he worries.
However, this time he will not for long. His beloved's hat popped out of the field of flowers, he ran to him with a flushed face. He was very tensed.
"Ve~? Whatever is the the matter? Did you get stung by a bee?" Little Italy asked.
With no reply, his beloved's little hand puts the most beautiful flower in his brown hair. He gave him a simple compliment.
"You're beautiful."
Little Italy was amazed. He was never shy around him, he was always the bold one and yet, right now, he couldn't help but be over come by shyness. What should he say back? What if he said something weird? He can't mess this up. Yet he couldn't believe it, he lightly touched the beautiful flower. It was truly soft.
Like his skin.
Before he had time to think once more, he was given many flowers into his hands. They were such beautiful colors. White and red flowers, with wonderful green leaves that added to its beauty.
Should he thank him? Tell him how wonderful they were?
He couldn't say more. A strict voice was echoed.
Mr. Austria. Oh no.
Oh well, Little Italy thought. It was short lived anyway, he had so much fun. And he'll treasure these wonderful flowers. Not all of them sadly, since Austria will make him drop them all and bring them back into their home. Was it worth it?
By the look of his beloved's smile and happy glint in his blue eyes, yes. It was.
~ ~ ~
He could no longer blame the stroke of twelve.
It was New Years. Another year for people, countries and the world to celebrate. Another year. Another time.
Italy was not looking forward to it, sadly. Germany was no where to be seen you see. He promised the italian that he would be there by the time Italy arrived.
Germany was horrible at his predictions. It was 11:49 pm. Almost time for everyone to gather into the ball room and countdown to the New Year. A celebration that everyone will look forward to. All but Italy.
He did not want to deal with them. The other countries. All they will do is get drunk, promising things they were never truly promise, persuading to have more territories or Russia wanting everyone to become one with him. Like that will happen.
Without any thought, Italy left the building. Half because he can't handle people at the moment, another half was a broken-heart. He couldn't care less on where he was going, all he wanted to do was get away from the crowd. This wasn't like him at all, yet he didn't care once more. What brought him to not care right now? Italy had no answer to that. No answer to any question inside his head anymore.
If only someone was there to answer it. His beloved would...
~ ~ ~
"Holy Rome? May I ask for your name?"
"W-what? My name?"
"Yes! You see, you know my name, now I want to know yours! Please tell me!"
"I-I-I don't want to..."
"Eh? Why?"
"...I'm ashamed of my name...it's not beautiful like your name..."
~ ~ ~
Italy was led to the balcony.
He took in the view of the rose garden then he looked up to the beautiful night sky. They were so beautiful. The dark blue sky fit well with the twinkling little stars. They looked like angels, waving to the people down below a good night or in this case, a Happy New Year.
Maybe he could pretend to have a good New Year. Everyone thinks he's dumb anyway, what's the point in having someone take him seriously. Not evern his brother took him seriously. So he should just go on and act all happy when really he's a big mess and deeply missing Germany.
These days the Italian has noticed that he doesn't feel very complete with the german with him. He always wants to be with him, all the time. It may seem creepy but he thinks of himself as a wife, like Finland is to Sweden. Italy would be happy to cook him food, welcome him everyday as he came back from work, give him hugs and kisses all the time. In general, he wants to be with Germany...like he was his wife. As tabboo as it was, Italy would love the idea. He didn't have to be a woman to be his wife, he's just become one and be happily married to him. They would be a happy couple, oh if only he knew...
Trying to ignore his thoughts once more, Italy looked at the garden. It was filled with little lights, the roses having a texture of golden light in their ruby petals. They glint into the small lights, they could have been sprayed with water just a while ago. Why so? Whatever the case, they looked beautiful. Mysterious roses in the night, having little lights as their only sun made them all the more wonderful little plants.
He'd very much like to go through the garden.
He knew how big and long it was. Curiousity got the best of him anyway.
Italy walked down the balcony steps and entered the beautiful garden. They truly were wet, as if rain gently poured down on them and added more beauty to their petals. He had the urge to feel the petals, see how soft they've gotten from their little soaking. He was afraid to feel them though, he did not want to be reminded of how their soft skin reminded of his beloved's skin...
His beloved Holy Rome.
Italy dashed away, walking deeper into the garden. He didn't know it was the New Year, he didn't hear any screaming or yelling or fireworks. He checked his watch.
11: 55 pm
He wished it was time.
Maybe his clock was slow or too fast. He tapped at it, that would usually work. It didn't though.
How frustrating.
A rustle in the bushes snapped him out of his concentration. Italy turned around frantically, he could see nothing, no one or anything but the roses. Yet the rustling kept coming closer and closer. It was time to think like Germany! He would put himself into a defensive stance and not back down. Or he could do it the italian way; wave his white flag and surrender. That saved him from harm alright!
He didn't need to do any of that.
"Feliciano?"
A german voice broke the rustling noise.
Germany's voice.
Italy looked around once more and saw Germany come out of the bushes. He looked like a total mess. His best suit was full of dirt and slight rips, the seams looked like they were about to break with any instant movement. The man's usual slicked back blonde hair was a mess as well. Some of his hair was falling on his forehead, some sticking to it, showing that he was sweating. He was also out of breath and in a hurry.
How odd.
"Germany?"
"I thought you would be inside...I was running late because of Gilbert, I'm so sorry!" The german man put his hands on the Italians shoulders in a soothing comfort, "My car suddenly lost power and I had to run over here, my shoes weren't meant for running so I kept tripping! Tripping more than you whenever you train..."
The blonde babbled on. Somewhere Italy could have sworn he heard America yell out 'It's almost time!' back in the building he left behind.
It was kind of cute, Germany babbling on and on about why he was late. For a moment he was being the italian and not Germany himself! There was something off though about the man...
He looked nervous, stressed, embarrassed and unsure. Why though? Italy looked right into Germany's eyes as he continued to babble on (and for once Italy was quiet and Germany wouldn't shut up). It was a pure glint in his eyes, like his beloved. Devotion in those blue eyes, like his beloved. How could he think of his beloved when he's looking into Germany's eyes and not his beloved? How felt like a traitor.
"Feliciano..."
Italy flinched and looked up to Germany. The man was red in the cheeks, ready to do something and surprising.
"I'm really sorry, for being late. I know New Years is special to you."
"It is." Italy muttered out.
"Yeah...I...I uh want to make it up to you. I want to let you know something I just found out today..."
Italy waited. Germany's face looked like he was ready, almost too ready to say what he wanted to say. It was like his mind was fighting to find the right words. Italy took a glance at Germany's watch.
11: 58 pm
Italy couldn't take it.
After the german looked ready to give up, Italy muttered;
"Ludwig..."
The man looked at him, surprised by this.
"Tell me, what is it Ludwig?"
Germany turned away, he let go of the italian and turned his back to his. It was a shame posture, Italy could tell. He wished Germany would hold him again, tell him what he wanted to tell him and just celebrate New Years.
"Please don't say my name..." Germany suddenly mumured.
Ialy squinted his eye a bit, becoming confused. "Why?"
"I'm ashamed of my name..."
A sudden spark came to Italy's head.
"...it's not beautiful like yours..."
It couldn't be.
"...I'll tell you now...Feliciano, after all we've been through and how hard I've been to you for quite sometime...I've always had some sort of feeling towards you..."
This was too similair...
"...I- I'm not sure how to say this but..."
Just say it.
Say it now.
Italy tensed up.
"I've had the urge to say that I've loved you for a really long time, atleast a tenth century..."
Germany stopped. The silence was broken by a countdown, from the 20's. Italy didn't care now. Screw New Years...he found something better, or better put as re-found.
How could he not let himself see that his beloved was Germany, that he didn't die and he was still alive but had no memory of who he was somehow. It was like he had started slowly remembering who he once was. All this time...he was here.
His beloved and Germany were the same.
Holy Rome was no longer...but he was alive. He just turned into a different empire, a country with power and strict rules, yet he still had the shyness, the soft golden hair, the pure blue eyes.
He was now Germany.
Italy had no idea he was crying, almost close to a sob even. The though of Holy Rome being gone, just the name, was alright now...the real person, Ludwig, who was ashamed of his own german name, was alive.
"Feliciano? Are you alright?"
10 seconds.
Italy immediatly clung to Germany, sobbing into his chest, screaming 'i love you's' and 'you meany!' to him but becoming muffled by his chest and the countdown.
He didn't stop until his chin was lifted up, showered by a warm and shy smile. That smile that won his heart when he was very young. Too young to be frank. Italy's head was lifted up, close to Germany's warm lips...
"3...2..1..!"
And then they kissed.
At the stroke of twelve, Feliciano's little heart was mended perfectly.
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