true friends stab you in the front.
- oscar wilde
Ludwig is numb.
His boss shouts at him, speaks of the need to avenge such a betrayal, of the need to conquer the world, but his head is spinning and his limbs are filled with lead.
Feliciano's voice rings in his ears, speaking words only written.
Italy needs me. I'm so sorry; you may hate me as much as you want, but this is over.
Ludwig does not know tears, but his cheeks are cold and wet and his eyes are swollen. His heart is heavy in his chest and it feels as if though he's lost a battle, lost the war, lost the world.
Ludwig almost surrenders, almost gives in to the temptation to shoot himself and end it all, and absently, as he runs his gloved fingers over his gun, he wonders if Feliciano would mourn him.
No, he can hear Feliciano's soft, soft voice saying. I loved you once, but my love is no more.
You mean nothing.
If he died, Feliciano would win. Italy would win.
But Ludwig still stares out of his office window blankly, to the blue, blue sky and wraps his lips around the barrel of his gun and flicks the safety on and off absently as tears drip from his chin.
Italy needs me. I'm so sorry; you may hate me as much as you want, but this is over.
Ludwig sleeps in his office with the barrel of his gun shoved in his mouth.
The next morning, Ludwig hears of the rejoicing of Italy at the shattering of a pact made of steel and vows and Feliciano's letter crumples in his fist.
Everything's a lie suddenly: the gentle movements, the tender words, the lustful kisses, and nothing means anything anymore.
Feliciano used me.
He swears he'll never be anything but Germany again.
author's notes: i don't own hetalia.
sadly, this is based on my recent encounter with love and this fic is almost me talking.
please review & tell me what you thought. it'd mean a lot to me.