Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, nor any of it's characters - I only borrow them occasionally!
Shamelessly written with "Staring at the Stars" by Passenger on repeat!
Slowly the smoke spirals towards the stars overhead. They twinkle down at him, like they know a secret he does not.
Gently they shine, almost taunting.
Shaking fingers moves the cigarette back to chapped lips. Taking a long draw from the glowing stick he could almost feel the cancer spreading over his lungs.
He could not care less.
Another drag, and he closes his eyes. He feels the tiredness burning behind his eyelids, and yet he knows that he could not sleep even if he wanted to. Which he didn't. Because although he might be able to shut the ghost of Him out during the day, there was no fighting it when he was sleeping. memories haunted him, days past and days that never was to come. And Him. Always Him.
No, it was much better to stay awake.
Opening his eyes again, he gazes up at the stars above. How can they look down at him like everything is well? How dare they shine with that warm glow, the same warmth and gentleness as when He... he stops himself there, cursing over the forbidden subject. Why would his brain even go there?!
He feels the tell-tale burn in his eyes, and suddenly it feels as if someone stabbed him in the gut with a red-hot knife, twisting it around and around. Desperately trying to avert his mind from spiraling further along this road, he raises the cigarette again, but it had all burnt down during the time he was lost in thoughts. Cursing under his breath he reaches for the package, stamped with warnings he ignores – or even welcomes. He pulls another stick out, wondering quietly for himself if this will be the cigarette to finally kill him off. He doubts it.
Lighting it up, he lies down in the grass, staring at the stars. The familiar lights, that almost seems to be smiling down at him, makes his heart constrict painfully yet again. His cheeks grows wet without him noticing it. The wind ruffles his hair, making him shiver from the chill, and for a second he closes his eyes, hearing that treacherous voice ringing in his head.
"Are you going out, Lovi? Tie your scarf on tight, it's going to be a cold night!"
He burned that scarf up, not more than a day after the funeral. He couldn't bear to see it. He had gotten it from Him. It was Christmas, many years ago, and He had been whining for weeks about how he always was ice cold and shivering, never dressing enough. Smiling He had handed him a package, a smile that only grew larger as the package produces a long ( and probably home knitted if the uneven stitches had anything to say about it) scarf in the colours of the rainbow. And although he claimed not to wear things like that, it had come to be one of his most prized possessions.
He almost regrets burning it up... but at the same time he knew that he could never wear it again. Not now. Not when He..
Another deep drag from the cigarette takes him back to the present.
Tears are now running down his cheeks freely, and he wipes them away angrily. He was done crying over that idiot! He told himself that days ago.
But he knew that it was a fight already lost. How could he keep from crying when it felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, and then been replaced with a burning hot iron? When it felt as if he was empty, except from a big pool of tears, leaking out no matter how hard he tried to prevent them?
He could feel the worried looks from his brother, peering through the curtain in his bedroom. But he did not even glance his way. His brother had moved in with him short after /that/ day, saying that he did not want him to be alone. Like he couldn't take care of himself, like he was some kid! All the same, he appreciated his brother's concern.. But no matter how much his brother tried, he did not understand how he felt. And how could he? His boyfriend was still there. Still calling every day, calming and comforting.
Not like his.
He had called His phone several time. He knew no one would answer, but he did not care. Every time he waited until the voice-mail took over, and once again he could hear his lover's voice. So happy, so alive. Telling him to call up, or leave a message! But no matter how many times he called up, he knew that He would never answer it. There would never be anything but a voice-mail ever again.
He silently wondered why no-one bothered to even turn His phone off. But he is happy for it. It's the only way for him to hear His voice now, as it never again will spill freely from His lips.
The silent stream of tears have now turned into loud sobs. The words "never again" keeps ringing in his mind, louder and louder until it's like someone screaming in there.
Never again His smile, never again His laugh.
Never again His eyes shining bright at him.
Never again His hugs, never His kisses.
Never again His hands, softly treading through hair, or drawing nonsense onto skin, with fingertips soft as butterflies wings...
Never again /Him/. Because He was gone and He would never return...
He feels someone coax the burnt out cigarette from his hand, wrapping a blanket around trembling shoulders. As his brother guides him back into the house, Lovino looks up at the stars, eyes filled with hatred, cursing them in his head.
It's all wrong. How can they be there, when He is gone.
He... Antonio... promised his love was as eternal, and as countless as the stars. He told Lovino that whenever he missed him, he should just look up the stars, and try to count them, knowing that even all the stars could number up to how much he loved him. And that no matter if they were apart, they were always standing under the same stars. As long as the stars was there to greet him, so would He.
And there they are, right up ahead, tormenting him with their presence. So how can He be gone? How can someone just be gone?
The last thing Lovino sees as his brother closes the door behind them is the stars, twinkling down at him, like they knows a secret he does not.
Gently the shine, almost taunting.
A.N. I did not specify the cause of Spain's death, I know. One because it really doesn't matter to the story, and two because I think it's something the reader should interpret as they want, without me as an author to ruin it!~
That's not to say I don't have my own picture of what happened, I wrote this with that clear in mind, and who knows - maybe you see the same picture I did! :)
Not the best thing I written, although it is the first thing I decided to share here. Hopefully I'll get around to upload other (better!) stories in the future!