A/N: I do not own Hetalia or the characters of Hetalia; these belong to Hidekazu Himaruya. I only own this story.

The best possible atmosphere for reading this story would be with the song

stated below playing (preferably). You don't have to…but… you know.

Phantom of The Opera – Love Never Dies

TIL I HEAR YOU SING

The day starts, the day ends; time crawls by. Night steals in pacing the floor…
Ludwig stared at the open planner on his desk. He took out a pen from a drawer and began to write regarding his day. It was another one of those bleak days that went by quickly, fleeting and most likely unmemorable. By the light of the flickering bulb above him he recalled the day's activities as a blur and decided to write the same things that he would write every day. The trend continued to the point that in the years after the war, he would write the exact same thing, although at times the routine was broken when he was allowed a timed visit to East Berlin.

The moments creep, yet I can't bear to sleep; 'Til I hear you sing…
The old watch he wore on his wrist reminded him that it was close to 2a.m. and it would be best if he were to retire to his bed soon. He closed the leather-bound planner and tidied up his desk before slipping under the covers of his small bed by the corner. But he could not sleep yet, not without completing his usual ceremony. Ludwig slipped a calloused hand under the thin mattress and fished out an old, crumbling picture.

And weeks pass, and months pass; Seasons fly
It was the height of spring then, the time where the best flowers were beginning to bloom, as was their friendship.

That day was one of the occasions where Ludwig had been ordered to maintain good relations with their allies in the Far East, and so had ended up walking in the park clad in his full uniform alongside his longtime ally. Said man was wearing a yukata whose designs matched the pink flowers that were blossoming overhead. Ludwig had taken the photo when the smaller man wasn't looking, hastily pressing down on the shutter button of his new Leica and praying hard that he somehow managed to capture the moment of sheer beauty. The breeze blew the fine strands of black hair astray surprisingly elegantly and a delicate hand had shot up to push the disobedient strands behind an ear. Large chocolate orbs gleamed in surprise at the sudden gust of wind and the small mouth was ajar, commenting on how the wind usually messed up his hair.

Still you don't walk through the door; and in a haze, I count the silent days – 'Til I hear you sing once more…
The year was 1952, which meant that it had been seven years since the war had ended.

Seven years since Ludwig had seen the small smile on the petite man's face as he walked through the heavy doors of his home, often bending down to remove his shoes out of habit, but straightening up again with a sheepish look plastered on his face, remarking, "I always seem to forget…"

Ludwig took up the piece of broken chalk on the floor and drew another line on the wall of his room next to the bed.

And sometimes, at nighttime, I dream that you are there! But wake holding nothing but the empty air…
Sometimes the blue-eyed man swore that he could hear a soft, gentle voice calling out to him: "Lud-kun? Lud-kun…" On more than one occasion, he had dreamt that the owner of the angelic voice was seated on his windowsill, thin yukata swept up by the breeze, exposing a pair of bare ankles. He had kind eyes and kept his gaze lowered, but Ludwig knew that he had his eyes on him. On each of these occasions, he would attempt to run to the accursed window, thereby snapping out of the dream, and realizing that the angel had gone. Once, he recalled that he had flung his torso upon the windowsill and looked around frantically on the outer wall for some trace of that man. He almost fell out himself, but at the last moment managed to anchor himself back inside his room.

And years come, and years go, time runs dry…
Dawn came along not long after, sunlight pouring into the small room and bathing the half-asleep figure in light. He blinked away the grogginess of morning and started to get ready for work. Glancing for the last time at the marked wall, Ludwig turned to walk towards the bathroom. There was one thing that was keeping his spirits up – the chance of meeting him again. The time was coming. He just didn't know if he could muster up enough strength to carry out all the necessary procedures.

Still I ache down to the core; my broken soul can't be alive and whole – 'Til I hear you sing once more
Ludwig glanced at his watch and it showed 12p.m. It was time for his lunch break. He took out his tin lunchbox and started to gnaw on the sandwich he had made that morning. Ludwig hated his lunch break. Lunch break meant that he was going to sit in his office alone and not be preoccupied by work. Not being preoccupied by work gave his mind the freedom to roam into his memories. Often he would catch a whiff off that scent, subtle and sweet. Then he would remember everything in agonizing clarity.

No one questioned the increased level of privacy that he would demand from his subordinates during visits from their Japanese allies. No one asked why Ludwig would close all the windows, pull the curtains shut and lock the door of his office. The smaller man was straddled on his lap, locked in a sensual embrace. Ludwig had to admit, the Japanese man was surprisingly experienced in these matters, though he himself had dappled in it before the war. He honestly didn't expect that one could go so far without undressing. It was ecstasy, their superiors had no clue and business arrangements would go smoothly afterwards. It was a win-win situation, a bonus, and neither of them bothered to stop.

And music, your music, it teases at my ear…
The German man swallowed a mouthful of sandwich and tried to calm himself. He felt guilty for betraying his superiors at the time, but he was happy that their blissful encounters had advanced into the uncharted waters of love.

Their encounters had been passionate, but never left any marks or evidence. The Asian man clad in the black uniform would often pace around Ludwig's seat and table, whispering erotically into his ear about business matters: "And the blueprints, Lud-kun? You'll teach me…?"

The voice echoes in his head, pounding in his ears.

I turn and it fades away and you're not here!

He keeps his head down as though he's staring at his paperwork, but his eyes roam the room hungrily, looking for the source of that voice. He cannot forget it, not while he is still breathing and alive. But sometimes the voice speaks in more heart wrenching tones: "It hurts, Lud-kun…help me…"

He can almost feel a cold bony hand on top of his, badly bruised and littered with burns.

Let hopes pass, let dreams pass, let them die!
They had stripped him, burnt his uniforms, threw out his medals and smashed the eagle into smithereens. They had denounced everything he believed in and called him a monster. Then they told him that that man had been broken. They had taken his precious from him. He felt hollow. So very hollow. Germany had been torn down, piece by piece, broken into two like some toy unable to be shared, and his soul mate kept away from him. It took him quite some time to start acting like a person instead of a country. He had little hope or willpower; days being led by the four who controlled him like a puppet. He felt immense pain, sorrow, and loneliness. He couldn't think, he just let them think for him. The helplessness comforted him.

Without you, what are they for? I'll always feel no more than halfway real – 'Til I hear you sing once more!

Ludwig walked home in dreaded silence. Memories loved to assault him, pouncing on him at the most unexpected moments.

The staff car sped on the cobbled streets, whizzing past civilians and saluting subordinates. The delicate hand had slipped over a larger, gloved one but the owner of the delicate hand stared out into the evening as though he had not noticed the act committed by the offending hand. Ludwig understood and glanced out into the streets as well, clasping the other's hand tightly in his own.

He trudged on home as fast as he could, dying to check his calendar again and see how long it would be until the time where he could meet Honda Kiku again.