The small sigh slides past my lips, appearing before me in the cold air. I pull my jacket closer around me in an attempt to please my frozen limbs and to supply some semblance of the warmth and love I'm so desperately missing.
I don't want to be here without him.
Cars speed by, shooting along and emphasizing the stereotype of this country's drivers. The snow under my feet crunches quietly, almost silent next to the sounds of the city, and I wonder if it's cold where he is, or if he's warm. I hope it's the second, he never could stand the cold, so much more accustomed to the Mediterranean summers as he was.
I hope he knows how missed he is.
I refuse to even consider that he misses me though, he chose to leave after all, so certain that his brother could handle it without him, certain that he was no longer needed. He wouldn't have left if he missed me, I shouldn't be surprised. He never actually said he loved me back, I just assumed, just hoped. Maybe that was a missed placed wish, but I couldn't help it, I loved him so much. I still do.
I wonder if he can think of me.
Would he if he could? If he was here he'd say no. That he would never waste valuable sleeping time on someone like me. Well, there would be more cusses in his version, but it would be the same basic idea. I'd laugh and hug him, only to be elbowed in the stomach. God, I miss him.
Is he in heaven?
He must be. He may have cussed but never with the Lord's name. He killed, but only as a country. There is no reason he wouldn't be accepted with open arms. Unless of course, my love is counted against him. And if so, then heaven doesn't deserve him.
He was my world.
He was everything. The beautiful, stubborn saving grace of a life full of war and duty. Every country has something that keeps them sane. Roderich has music, Feliciano has pasta, Ludwig has Feli. I had him. And now he's gone. I can't figure out what to do, and so I'm here. Wandering around his city searching for some sign of him, a resemblance to hold on to. But, it's hard, I'm not even sure if this is even his city anymore, or if it's become his brother's. I search anyway.
There is nothing.
Nothing at all, no hint at his sharpness, no glimpse of his rare laugh, just snow. I wonder if I'll loose my mind, the way Francis did when he lost Jeanne. But I push that idea away, Francis moved on, he learned to live again. But, I don't think I will. I've had him for so long, I won't be able to survive without him.
I wonder when I started crying.
I hadn't noticed it, not until I see my reflection in a store window I pass. The tears are streaming quickly down my face, leaving thin tracks in their wake. I don't care. No move is made to push away the tears, instead I just let them continue, remembering the first time I saw him openly cry. 1588. He had been so scared, so upset when I returned home, covered in blood and horrendously weak. He let me hold him while he cried, further staining my already wrecked uniform with salt water.
I know I can't keep on.
It won't be too long until I give up, this is obvious to me. Not with the knowledge I have. The knowledge that, if I'd payed more attention I could have talked him out of this. It's not just my fault, but I could have fixed the mistakes of others. Unification would never be worth losing him. Not to me, not to Feli, not to anyone. I wonder if it would have been different if I'd made him know what he was.
Needed.
Wanted.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
My wonderful South Italy.
My Lovino.