I'm back in Hetalia Hell, and I can't even figure out how to use this website again. Bruh.

"God...Arthur, what have you done?"

"He deserved it, he - ...he, to Alfred, so I -"

"Arthur."

"Oh God...Oh God no please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never wanted to drag you into this, I never thought...please forgive me, God...no, I..."

"He spent his last days thinking about you."

"It comes out sometimes, and I don't think you notice."

"Why did you throw away all our photos? Even our yearbooks? What the hell?"

"...I won. I won, mi corazón...it can't hurt you anymore."

"This isn't winning!"

"Arthur, get away from me."

( I )

Arthur grunted into the palm of his hand as his train car passed a particularly wonky part of the track. Dismally grey countryside blurred past hi s window, showing an expa nse of muddy fields . It was a shame, really – there were areas that weren't nearly as miserable, but here he was. Making an overnight trip to an area so remote, it was only accessible via rail.

Not that, Arthur shook out the worn letter in his hand with a slight smile, it wasn't also exciting. The letter was yell owing at the edges from the times he'd flicked through it over morning coffee . At this point, he felt like he knew the contents by heart.

Look, eyebrow bastard: (Direct and to the point, as always.)

It's been 6 years and you haven't even shown your ugly face around here once. What's going on with that? Is that how you pay back ten years of friendship? Come back home, it's Antonio's birthday soon. Bring a gift.

Lovino.

The idea of returning home after so long had admittedly nonplussed Arthur initially. There was a nagging in his chest that seemed to vehemently reject the notion. But, Lovino had sent out a letter after all these years. That had to mean something.

Arthur leaned back in his seat, sagging downwards when his stiff back made a concerning creaking noise. It was actually kind of funny, imagining Lovino sitting with his nose scrunched up in disgruntlement as he wrote out a letter to Arthur - Arthur, of all people. At least he'd had the convenient occasion of writing on behalf of Antonio.

Arthur's slight smile faded away. There it was, the name he'd been avoiding for years.

Green eyes. Goofy smile. That tendency to blow up one cheek while in thought.

Despite how Arthur's childhood memories seemed to fade the more he spent away from his home town, there was one thing he remembered in vivid detail.

And that was Antonio.

He felt the familiar sinking sensation, and the rising bitter taste at the back of his throat. He knew what some would call this exact feeling, but Arthur wasn't personally sure what to call it. It was like what he remembered about his childhood always held a bit of Antonio in it.

It took five years, but eventually Arthur gave up hope. Maybe the letters aren't reaching his address. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he's replied, but the postal service is slow . He'd dutifully sent out letters every week, every month, until the empty mailbox became too much. People grew apart, and Arthur understood that well. He'd resigned himself to the thought that, maybe his old best friend had found a life without him, and he stopped sending out letters as well.

Then a year later, came the letter from Lovino.

"West Station, West Station." A female voice droned over the train's loudspeakers. Arthur started, gathering his belongings in a panic as the train slid to a smooth stop. He managed to stumble onto the platform right as the doors closed behind him . Missing stops in the boonies was a great way to ensure four more h ours of painful train travel , and if unlucky - an overnight stay the next town over. Trains only ran once a day.

"Arthur!"

The blond only had a second to glance around himself, before a blur of brown and red collided into him. There was a moment of horror, as Arthur felt his footing slip and he vaguely wondered if he was about to fall onto the train tracks. Then he'd regained his balance, and was staring into vividly green eyes a few notches darker than his own.

He hesitated.

"A…Antonio?" Arthur breathed out, suddenly very aware of the other man's proximity. It had been six years. "Is that you?"

"Yes!" Antonio bounded backwards, seeming to burst at the seams with excitement. " You haven't changed!" He gave Arthur a quick look-over, smile increasing in intensity. Arthur couldn't help but give a small smile back. It was just as he remembered. Antonio, with his never ending energy and warm hugs. Antonio, smiling, as if six years weren't between them and it was the same as before.

Arthur's chest burned.

He looked away, wondering if he'd always felt so overwhelmed by Antonio's presence. Looked at anywhere but Antonio, till a surly looking Italian with a deep scowl finally caught his eye.

"Yeah, I'm here too." Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms. "Not like I'm the one that told you to come back or anything. Your eyebrows are still dumb."

Arthur rubbed at his eyebrows. "Thanks. For coming to pick me up. And the eyebrow comment." He attempted to straighten out his jacket, hyper aware of how Antonio stood beside him, eyes practically sparkling.

The blond swallowed back a million emotions. "We've got a lot to catch up on," was what he finally managed to mumble out.

Under Arthur's watchful eye, Antonio's jawline seemed to tighten. But the smile remained.

It was Lovino who replied, tone biting: "Yeah. You do."

( II )

"Are you okay with using the guest room?" Antonio's voice rang out from upstairs, echoing in the front entrance oddly. Arthur glanced up from gazing blankly at the white walls.

"I, uh...is that where my old room used to be?"

Antonio's head popped out from a doorway, eyebrows furrowed apologetically. "Yeah, I ended up converting it. Gilbert and Francis crash there sometimes when, you know, they're drunk and they lock themselves out. It wouldn't have felt right if I kept it like your room, but other people kept sleeping in there. You know?"

"Yeah, I know." Arthur sat down heavily on the stairs, fatigue overcoming the growing restlessness at the pit of his stomach. "It's been a long time, after all."

Six years, actually.

It was hard to tell why the knot in his chest seemed to become heavier the longer he spent time in this house. It had been six years, but Antonio had been his best friend since Arthur could remember, and what was six years apart in what was soon turning into twenty years of friendship? He'd been excited to see Antonio again - elated, even - yet Arthur couldn't shake this feeling that he was terribly out of place, in this small brick house they had once shared.

"Arthur?" Antonio was there suddenly, crouched a step lower than Arthur and looking up quizzically. "Are you tired?" An idea seemed to strike him. "You don't like the redecorating I did! Is it the new paint? Maybe white is too bland? But it was green before, and Lovino would say it made everything look green-y, and - "

"Mint." Arthur found himself saying. His own voice seemed strangely distant. "The walls were mint, and upstairs used to be a gentle yellow. When I walked out of my room in the morning, you'd be there in the sunrise, and everything would look golden." He brushed the white paint on the wall with his thumb. Looked back at Antonio, and felt his chest constrict. Antonio's smile had faded, leaving behind a strangely empty stare that didn't suit him.

Arthur broke the staring contest first, rising to his feet hastily. "Let's go out for something to eat. I'm starving."

This seemed to break whatever trance Antonio had entered as well, because the other beamed up at him. "There's a new 24/7 breakfast place, how do you feel about that?"

"Sounds perfect. Lead the way."

(III)

The walls used to be this light green. In the evenings, I'd come home and you'd be there with the sunset, and everything would look like a shade plucked from your eyes.

They're lighter than mine, you know. We both have green eyes, but yours are like freshly cut grass.

I won't be sending you this letter.

I'm sorry.