Hey guys! This is my very first fanfic so please not to much hates.
This story was written by Me and my friend Brian for our great friend booklover4816's birthday.
So please enjoy and review. Thanks!
I do not own hetalia. If I did would I be here?
"Holy Roman Empire!" Italy cried while running towards him. He was the love of Italy's life, but he didn't accept it. They'd been friends since the young countries were born.
Over time without realising it Italy grew to love Holy Roman Empire, more than a friend. There were few people other than Hungary that loved Italy. He had been conquered by a mean man named Austria and was force to serve as a maid, just as Hungary was.
Holy Roman empire turned when he heard Italy's yells. He smiled at the sight of his friend. Italy ran up and hugged him, out of breath. Holy Roman empire was use to his over friendly gestures. Italy was always a touchy feely type of 'girl', but lately he's gotten more touchy.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be cleaning?" Holy Roman empire asked jokingly.
"I missed you Holy Rome, besides I'm done with my chores for the day." Italy said pulling away from the hug.
"Well then how about we go painting?" Holy Rome asked, pulling Italy towards their special painting place on the hill under the tree.
"Italy, does this bunny look right?" Holy Roman Empire asked looking at his painting then at Italy's.
Italy smiled and said "yes Holy Rome its beautiful"holy Roman empire wasn't so sure, it looked kind of special. After the two painted their bunny's they headed back inside for dinner.
Italy hated how oblivious holy Roman empire was to his affections. Holy Roman empire didn't notice anything new that Italy did to try and hint at his love. Every night after spending the day with holy Roman empire Italy would go to his quarters and cry.
Lately Italy had thought about stealing a knife from the kitchen and cutting. Anything to relieve the emotional pain. He'd tried to paint, draw and sculpt his feelings, but it never worked. The creative outlet just wasn't 's world was growing bleaker and bleaker with every passing day. The only thing that kept him going was the time he and holy Roman empire spent creating art.
Then one day Italy gave up. He gave up on holding off the desire to cut. His love didn't love him back. His life was controlled by someone else, someone who didn't care about him. He waited for night to fall then snuck down to the kitchen and took the sharpest knife he could find.
Back in his room he took off his shirt and sat on his bed. He stared at the blade for a long time, testing it on his fingers. Finally he got the guts up to do it. He pressed the sharp blade against his soft skin and pushed hard, dragging it across his arm until bright red blood trickled from the wound. Italy gasped sharply as the red hot pain traveled up his arm.
Once he had finished the first cut he had an urge to do it again, and again, and again. He grew to love the sharp red hot pain the blade caused and the beautiful bright red of the blood against his pale night Italy cut until he couldn't find a place to cut any more on his arms.