A/N: Hello wonderful people! I'm so happy I've finished a fic that I am really proud of. I never thought I'd be able to write angst, but see what happened here? I might have started crying while writing this and asking myself why…

But yeah! Because of my first language being Swedish, correct the English or Spanish mistakes, I've only read Spanish for two years, so be nice to me. Anyways, the fic itself is 2397 words, and I am actually really impressed with myself. So, read and review~ Also, thanks to Mighty Agamemnon for correcting the Spanish!

Warnings: Angst and character death

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the characters used in this fic. Hetalia and it's characters belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. All I own is the plot.

We met in the summer on a sunny day. I had been in Italy for three years, and you had just moved to Spain. Thinking you were a tourist, I stepped up to you and asked if you needed help. You said you really didn't have a house before tomorrow, so I offered you my couch for the night. You declined at first, but after dinner you changed your mind. You told me about your life, you said that you were a painter, traveling to see the world. I told you about myself, how I had spent three years in Italy, traveling around and learning about the traditions. I learned that tomatoes were your favorite, and when you got embarrassed, you looked just like one. You head-butted me for that.

After helping you move in to your apartment the next day, I thought that we wouldn't meet again, but then you asked me what we would eat that evening and I smiled and promised your favorite food.

In the fall we had become the best of friends. We spent time watching movies and eating popcorn in my basement, and you told me about your earlier years. I got to know that had been an outsider and doubted yourself, always been compared to your brother. You had stopped caring about life and gotten in touch with the wrong kind of people. You had cried. I had seen you cry before, but on that day, it felt like you let all feelings and tears you had kept inside fall. You had cringed on to my shirt and cried in to my chest, and I had comforted you the best I could. After calming down, you fell asleep with your head on my chest, and I didn't dare to move. We had spent that night squeezed together on the old couch in my basement, under a fleece blanked. The next day I didn't mention it, not wanting to make you angry, but before you left after breakfast, you had whispered a small 'thank you' while hiding your flushed face in my shirt. I had been stunned at first, but after a while, I had hugged you back. We didn't talk about that night after you left my house.

When winter came, I noticed that you had started to thin out. I came to your apartment to ask you about it, and when I opened the door I finally understood. After summer, when the tourist had gone back to work, your paintings didn't sell. You didn't have any hot water in the flat, and the only furniture you had left was your couch. I didn't ask you about it, I told you that from there on, you would live with me; I didn't want to see you die. You had laughed about that, and I hadn't understood, not at that time.

You moved in with me. From the start, I had slept on the sofa. You had complained about it, saying that it was my house, and therefore, I should be sleeping in the bed. I had told you not to worry, and you had glared at me before going in to the kitchen to cook us some food. I bought you a new bed that weekend, and moved it in to my office, I didn't use that room anyways. When I had gone to my bed that night, the pillow and sheets had smelled of you. That's when I realized that I was in love with you.

Spring came. Flowers started to bloom, and so did you. You started to smile again and your inspiration came back. You painted beautiful sketches and paintings of the spring flowers, the animals and one time, when we went on a trip to Barcelona, you painted the Sagrada Familia. That painting was the only one you didn't sell, but you gave it to me that day. A way to say thanks, you claimed. I hugged you, and god how I wanted to kiss you. But all I got was to smell your hair when you didn't notice. Your hair had smelled like herbs. When you had noticed what I did, I got a fist in the gut and your face turned red again. A tourist had helped us to take a photo of us in front of the Sagrada Familia, after you said how much you loved the building.

We went on another trip that spring. A flight to Lanzarote, one of the Canary Islands, with me was what you got for your birthday. At first you had refused, saying that it was too much, we hadn't even known each other for a year yet. But I convinced you, we had already gone to Barcelona together and we shared a house, what was the difference now? On that trip, I got to know a lot of things about you. You loved Italian and Spanish wine, red being your favorite. You refused to drink French wine, and I didn't question you about it. When we went to the beach, it was the first time I saw your scars. You told me that was why you declined, not wanting me to see them. I had hugged you and told you it was okay. Those scars only made me love you more. One night, we watched the sunset on the beach. My hope only got bigger when you didn't move the arm I had draped over your shoulders.

A year after we met, another warm summer came to Spain. You smiled at me more often, but when you didn't think I saw, tears rolled down your cheeks. Your family came to visit. Your father was from the south, Rome to be exact, and so were your mother. Your brother's mother was from the north, giving him a lighter skin tone then you. He was your opposite, but he was the one you cared for the most. Your father and brother had cried when they met you, and I had been on my way of leaving you alone, when you had gripped my wrist and introduced me to your family. They had thanked me for taking care of you, and I had just told them that you actually took care of me too. You had smacked me in the head and screamed at me to 'stop saying idiotic things' as your face turned red once again. I had just laughed and hugged you with one arm. You had tensed up at that, but relaxed after a while, shooting worried glances at your father. Your brother and you had talked in the kitchen that night, and your father had taken me out on the balcony to have a talk. I had been worried, maybe they wanted you with them home, but the talk had been about something else. He had asked why I took care of you, and I had told him. I had told your father how much I loved you, how I wanted to spend the rest of my life protecting you and how I would die for you. He had asked me if that really meant that, and I told him that if he took up a gun to shoot me for not being the best for his son, I would gladly take that bullet. Your father had been shocked at first, but clapped me on the back and told me to take care of you, since I was the first one to do so. I gladly accepted the offer.

When they left a week later, they had hugged you for really long, and I hadn't really understood, but the three of you had both laughed and cried and saying how much you loved each other. Your brother had sneaked out of the hug and had walked up to me, asking me to please, please take care of you, and never leave you. I hadn't understood back then, but his eyes were begging me just to promise him, and I had. I had promised to take care of you as long as you would live. Your brother had smiled and asked me to please take care of you in heaven too, and I had told him I would.

One week later, we had decided to watch a movie. You had laughed the whole day, and asked me to thank God for life before we ate breakfast and I happily did so, because I was so happy for my life right now. After the movie, you had asked me to stay with you in the basement for a while. You had turned around so we were lying face to face, you on top of me, and started to tell me. Last year when you had moved here, the doctor had told you that you had one year to live. You had decided to take a chance the last year you had, and moved to Spain. You had seen me on the plane, and were interested in me from that time forward. It had been something about me, you said, that made you wanting to know more. When I had stepped up to you at the airport, you had thought it was a dream. 'I love you, Antonio' was the last thing I heard before I crashed my lips on yours. That night was the first one we spent together. I had loved you, and only you. I had loved every inch of your skin, every straw of hair on your head, and kissed every one of your scars. You had whispered my name as you reached your peak, and then you fell asleep with your limbs tangled with mine. I had kissed your head, and I had felt like the happiest man alive.

Fall came again and we got an invitation from your father, saying that he wanted to see you again. We had packed our bags and flew to Italy, and I could see how happy you were, seeing the town you had grown up in again. We both know that it was for the last time. On the first night, when you and your brother once again were busy with the food, I had a talk with your father. I asked for his blessing. I was really scared of him saying no and he noticed this. He smiled and told me I was welcome to the family.

The next day, we went on a walk in town. You told me about a beautiful park, and we decided to go there. You were so happy and all you did was telling me about all the flowers, how you had painted them. We bought some street food for lunch that day, and when the evening came we saw the most beautiful sunset. We were standing on a hill, and I instantly knew that this was the perfect timing. 'Lovino' I started, 'Even though we've only known each other for a little more then a year, I feel like I have known you for all of my life. You know all of my dark secrets, all of my happy memories and you still love me. I know that this might be sudden, but, Lovino Romano Vargas, will you marry me?' You had started to cry, and I had tried to comfort you, thinking I did something wrong, before you threw yourself at me and making both of us fall to the ground while screaming out a yes. That was when I started to cry too, because I knew that I had made both of us as happy as we could be. We didn't have a big wedding, quite the opposite actually. It was you and I, the priest that you had known since birth, your brother and your father. It went fast, but you didn't mind and neither did I.

The rest of the week passed before we went home. You started to get tired, and sometimes I had to support you when you walked, but you still smiled.

When winter came, you had started to thin out. Some of your bones were showing, your once sun kissed skin had paled, your hair had thinned out and you slept more. You complained about how the house was cold, and you slept under the warmest blankets I owned. From there on, it went pretty fast. Your legs gave up, and you had to be pushed around in a wheel chair. 'Tonio' you said one day, 'I want to go out and see the Christmas lights. They were so beautiful last year, but I didn't have any time to paint them.' I had dressed you in a warm jacket and packed down your art supplies alongside a thermos of warm tomato soup. You had painted for hours when we finally went home and when we were lying in bed that night you had whispered a soft thank you before you drifted of to sleep. Some time later you were hospitalized. You couldn't eat food anymore, and all I could do was sit with you in the white hospital room and see your body give up. Every night you would ask me to tell you the same thing. A children's good night poem. Eres mi mundo, eres mi sol, eres mi etrellas en la noche. Buenas noches.

'Antonio' you said. 'I'm going to die Antonio, and I'm so, so scared.' Your words came out as a whisper, and you started crying. 'Don't cry my love, you will be all right. Nothing bad will happen you, and you won't be in pain anymore. God will meet you at the gates of heaven.' You started crying even more. 'I don't want to go in to heaven alone.' You said. 'Then wait for me my love, and we will enter heaven together.' You nodded and thanked me. You told me how much you loved me, and I told you how much I loved you. You passed away that night in your sleep. I noticed when your hand started to slip out of mine. The last words you said before your heart stopped beating was the words I would never forget. 'Don't ever leave me alone Tonio.'

†

In loving memory of:

Lovino Romano Fernandez Carriedo

Beloved husband, brother and son

March 17 1988 – December 28 2013

Eres mi mundo, eres mi sol, eres mi etrellas en la noche. Buenas noches, mi corazón.

†

A/N: So, I hope that you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hope that I didn't make you cry *hides in corner*

Spanish translation: Eres mi mundo, eres mi sol, eres mi etrellas en la noche – You are my world, you are my sun, you are my stars in the night

Buenas noches – Good night

Mi corazón – My heart