His Black and White Mirage

by mythical57

Italy always thought that Holy Roman Empire had died, but he never forgot about his first love. He finds a new love with Germany though, a country that strikes an uncanny resemblance to the boy he once loved. Germany finds himself falling in love with Italy too, but then things get turned upside down when a certain love returns to keep his promise with his Italy.

1. Promise

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia unfortunately, though I wish I did!

A/N - Be warned! There is yaoi, or boyxboy in this fanfic. The pairing is obviously a love triangle between Germany, Italy, and Holy Rome. And before some of you start hating on it because you believe Holy Rome is Germany, I'll explain what I think about that in later chapters!

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Holy Rome laid on the ground for a very long time. He curled up into a ball, clutching his knees to his chest as he closed his eyes to keep the burning pain at bay. The rest of him felt numb and he was scared to look at the world around him. To see what was left of the disaster he had made.

Time passed for Holy Rome, but he was unaware of it. The only thing he was aware of was that simple promise he made to the girl he loved. He clung to that promise like a lifeline, his heart unfailing to flutter as he thought about her crying face. Badly he wanted to see her again. The need to be near her another time was agonizing, more painful than the fatal wound in his stomach.

Holy Rome was cold, but the pain was finally ebbing away. He slowly opened his eyes and was terrified. The world was black around him. He sat up slowly, his stomach clenching painfully. He didn't know where he was. How was he supposed to return if all he could see was an endless darkness that stretched as far as he could see?

The German boy - now a young man - struggled to his knees. There was a soft clang and he jumped, startled. When he reached out, he felt something cold touch his fingers. He relaxed. It was his sword. He took ahold of the handle, wondering why it felt so light and tiny. Then he remembered that he was older now. He was no longer a child.

"Italy," he whispered.

He finally stood, his small blade in hand. He fiddled with it for a moment, pondering if he should throw it away. He couldn't bring himself to throw it off though. It was too precious. He had slain many and caused them to fall before him with this sword.

Holy Rome straightened and took his first step into the shadows. If he was going to see his love again, he was going to do it standing strong. It didn't matter that his empire had fallen. He was still Holy Rome, even if some of his memories were faded or patchy in some areas.

In the distance, there was a sudden hazy patch of gray. Holy Rome walked towards it with his head held high and a promise heavy in his heart.