Prologue

The last memory that the Holy Roman Empire ever had of Veneziano was the day that they kissed. He had awoken early, wanting to avoid her. Holy Rome had already said his goodbyes, and there was no need to further prolong the pain of leaving. Yet, something inside him was reluctant to go. He found himself carrying the painting that he'd done of her once, even though there wasn't really any space left. It wasn't rational, but it would be the one exception that he allowed himself to have. Then, just as he was about to depart, familiar light footsteps filled his ears. She was there, carrying a bucket full of water. As she ran up the path, the water sloshed over the sides and spilled onto the ground. Don't do that! He thought. You could slip!

"Good morning, Holy Rome!" She called, cheerfully, like she would on any other day. The sight of it made his heart twist painfully.

"Stop!" The moment the harsh word left his lips, he regretted it. Veneziano's face crumpled in hurt confusion, and the Holy Roman Empire found himself scrambling for anything to say. "Why," He asked, "do you follow me when I run away, even though you run when I follow?"

She tilted her head, "Holy Rome-"

Before Veneziano could say anything else, he found that his mouth started moving on their own accord, "Hey, Italy, there's something I have to tell you." He could feel the blood rushing to his face as she waited expectantly. These were words that he could hardly bring himself to say, but if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Holy Rome took a deep breath, "I'm sorry for everything." He meant it, every word. He was truly sorry for how harsh he'd been, how he couldn't have been nicer to her. The young boy found that he couldn't seem to meet Veneziano's eyes. Perhaps if he had a second chance, he might do things differently. But for all he knew, this would be the last time he ever saw her. "This is goodbye, so don't worry." Maybe if he'd been kinder to her, she wouldn't even have reason to worry.

Veneziano, bless her innocent soul, didn't comprehend. "M-Meaning…?"

"Just what I said," Holy Roman Empire muttered, praying that he wouldn't have to elaborate. This was war, terrible war, and even though he knew Veneziano was no stranger to conflict, he didn't want to explain why she might never see him again. He wanted to be confident, to say that he would be okay, but Holy Rome felt it inside. The boy was intelligent, and he knew that the odds of him surviving this was slim.

The guards saved him from having to answer. "Holy Rome, let's get going." They called to him, and he panicked. There wasn't any more time! But there had to be more- he couldn't leave like this!

"Sure," He said, hiding the sadness from his voice, "Later. Stay healthy." It was a lukewarm farewell at most, distant and unfit even for friends. In her mind, he couldn't help but wonder, was that all they were? When she didn't say anything, he turned to leave, slightly hurt. Holy Rome had barely taken a few steps when he heard Veneziano's voice again.

"Are you really leaving?" The pain he heard was almost enough to make him stop. "No way," She murmured, the dawning realisation causing her words to grow louder. "No way, Holy Rome!" The young boy forced himself to keep going as if he'd never heard her. It would be easier this way, he told himself, quick. How quickly will she forget me? "Wait, wait! What do I do?" Veneziano was agitated, and her voice had started trembling, almost as if she was crying. "Holy Rome!" The desperation pierced his heart, and Holy Roman Empire paused, turning around for one last look. She was holding out her broom to him, saying, "I'll give this to you. Take it, and think of it like you would me."

"A deck brush?" He stuttered, shocked. "Why are you giving that to—" The realisation hit him, and a gasp left his mouth. This was her brush, the one that she always used. The first time he'd seen her, she had been sweeping the floor with this too. "Italy…" He murmured, stepping forward to take the brush from her hands. Despite being used to putting on a strong façade no matter what, the Holy Roman Empire found it a struggle to keep it up this time. "Thanks," The wood of the brush was smooth beneath his hands, worn down by constant use. It felt warm. "I'll accept your feelings." The boy allowed a small, genuine smile to break through that hard disposition; only for her. Dimly, he was aware of the guards behind him murmuring, but they were inconsequential at this moment. He wanted to give something to her, like she gave this to him, But he had nothing left to give. "Then in return…" He trailed off helplessly, "At your house, what do you do with people you like?"

"You kiss them, I guess." Veneziano said, tears still lingering at the corners of her eyes.

"I-I see." The boy blushed. I've always loved you since the 900s. He thought, leaning in slightly. The heartbeat in his ears quickened as his lips met her's, a gentle brush like the touch of a butterfly's wing. When he pulled back, the look on Veneziano's face warmed his heart.

"R-really?"

"Really," He said with conviction, "I'm not lying." This was his last chance to say it, and he had to take it no matter what. And Veneziano smiled, the biggest one that he'd ever seen.

"I'm so glad," She sniffed, and Holy Rome found that he was smiling again.

"Later, Italy." He said, feeling more confident than he had in the past few weeks. "When the war's over, I'll come to see you for sure." This promise would be a hard one to keep, but with the memory of her smile and her kiss in his mind, he would fight harder than he ever had. He was determined to return, determined to see her again. I have to leave, he thought. If he stayed any longer, Holy Rome knew that he wouldn't be able to pull himself away. The boy began to walk away, gripping the deck brush tight.

Over the clatter of the horses and the marching of the guards, her voice found his ears again. "I'll wait." She cried, "I'll be waiting- I'll wait with plenty of sweets! And don't get hurt or sick! Let's be sure to meet again!" Her voice was growing fainter now with every step he took. "For sure!" He couldn't help it- The boy pivoted around and flung his arm out in a wide wave, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. No matter how many years pass, I'll love you the most out of anyone in this world! He vowed silently, that he was sure of.

After this, the Holy Roman Empire threw himself into a long, long war.

Many, many years had passed since that day, and with each passing battle the Holy Roman Empire found himself growing weaker and weaker. The battlefield was harsh on his fragile body, wracked by many past illnesses; he had never been a very healthy child. Still, he fought on, chasing after the day where he would keep his promise to Veneziano. One night he lay in his tent after a long battle, alone, staring at the deck brush that was propped up against his chest of belongings where the painting lay. The Holy Roman Empire pushed himself off weakly and grasped for her gift to him. Even in the chill of the night, the boy could have sworn that he felt the weak remnants of remembered warmth in the wood, and he fell back against his sleeping bag, clutching it with whatever strength he had left. "I'm sorry, Veneziano," His voice was hoarse and soft, shattered with the knowledge that he would never be able to fulfil his vow to her. A bout of coughing shook his emaciated frame, and he curled on his side, trying to ignore the blood that dribbled down his chin and onto his uniform. He dragged in a wet, ragged breath and tried to sit up again. The painting was in the chest, only a few feet away, but he couldn't reach it. His arms refused to push him up, and dark spots were appearing in his vision. Finally, he gave up and slackened where he was, struggling to keep his grip on the deck brush. "I tried." And then the darkness crept up on him, taking him into its arms like an old friend.