Memories of him

What do you do, when someone so precious to you is taken away, by someone considered just as "hetare" or "useless" as yourself? What do you do, when you find so much of what you know a lie? What do you do when something was ripped away from you?
As many people state, nothing can replace the first love, nothing can make those feeling die out.
And yet, it was the very country that embodied the ideal of love, that took my love away from me, the one who was close to the brother of my love.
Holy roman empire, each day without you is full of regret. Why wasn't I strong enough? Why couldn't we due together? Can you hear me? Can you see me from that place grandpa Rome told me nations go when they are no longer?
Each day I put on a false cheerfulness, a very convincing lie to both myself and others, and at times I really do fall for that illusion, and could go days like this.
But not today.
Today, the anniversary of when I found out you had died. My world just comes crashing down around me, filling me with hopelessness and despair.
I want to be with you Holy Rome. I just want to be with you.
Each minute feels like an eternity. My own body resistant to any thoughts of getting up. I clutch my blanket to my my naked form, trying to reduce the chill that ravaged through my body, stabbing each muscle, as a wave of despair hit me, again and again.
Tears well up in my once warm brown eyes, and linger along with my despair.
I just want to die. I just want to die, so I can see you again.
Holy Roman empire. My first love.

Germany frowned as he stared at t he phone. Normally his Italian ally would've gotten into a hot mess, and needed saving, but the phone remained eerily silent.
Maybe he was terrorizing poor Kiku, with his fast, driving?
No. He shook his head. Japan had recently caught a cold, and was still under bed rest. Italy wouldn't bother Japan, especially after the last tine.
Sighing, Germany ran a hand through his slicked back blonde hair, staring out the window in thought.
Italy...where was he?
Then a feeling of dread momentarily swept over him, far worse that any torture he had even been subjected to, and far worse than any mess Italy got into.
He didn't know where this thought came from, but suddenly, and without warning, he got this thought.
Italy needed him.
Grabbing his coat, he threw it over his shoulder, running to Italy's house.
Please let it not be too late. Please let it not be too late.
He ran, trying to keep his breath. Trying to keep his composure, but his mind went to the worse case scenario: Italy lying facedown on the floor, dead.
No. He couldn't think of Italy like that. He can't be dead. He can't.
He tried to remember Italy as the carefree, happy-go-lucky pasta-loving nation that over the years, he found he was fond of.
That cheerful spaced-out smile, the way he got exited over something as simple as spaghetti, the way he glomped him and Japan. It had gotten under his skin during the days they spent together as the axis powers.
He ran past romano, who scowled at him, calling the usual insults, but Romano didn't matter at the moment. He just had to get to Italy. He just had to. He couldn't forgive himself if he lost Italy.
He finally made it to the Italian's house, throwing open the usually unlocked door, and racing to his room only to be met by his greatest fear.
There lie Italy, his comforter sprawled over his (most likely naked) form. His face pressed against his pillow, obvious signs he had been crying.
"Italy." he ran to his comrade, lifting him up, and hugging him close to his chest, and tried to feel for a heartbeat, letting out a sigh of relief when he found it.
"Italy." he whispered trying to keep his breath, but each word felt choked. "What's wrong?"
He continued to hold his companion, stroking his spiky brown hair, wary of the ahoge.
"Italia..." his hug became more loving. "I hate to see you like this..." he tried to say more, but was at a loss for words. He had never felt like this before.
What was wrong with him? Why did Italy affect him so? Why did he feel that he had a connection far deeper than that of the formal one he had maintained all these years? Why did it hurt him to see Italy like this?
The more he thought about it, the more painful and confusing.
Just what was this bond? What was this overwhelming bond he felt?
"Italia...please...wake up." he started to feel the darkening despair.
Feeling the Italian stir, he gently loosened the hug, so that they were face to face.
"Ve? Doitsu?" Italy blinked staring into those blue eyes that seemed so familiar. He started to stare into those eyes, before suddenly bursting into tears. "I miss him so much" he said in-between sobs. "I miss him so much."
Germany allowed his sobbing friend to cry on his shoulder, trying his best to be as comforting ad possible, but there was only so much combat training could prepare you for.
Italy looked at and Germany, his expression starting to look more confused.
"Doitsu? You're crying?" he reached up and felt a small warm clear blob, that was consistent with the appearance of tears. "Doitsu?" he repeated looking into his sad blue eyes. "Doit-mhmph"
The German pressed his lips against the Italian's in a hasty, but somewhat loving way.
The kiss lasted for a brief moment, but in that moment, that beautiful moment that came out of something so tragic, had warmed the Italian's heart.
He pulled back, smiling, before cuddling into Germany's chest.
"Please don't leave me." he felt a tear sting his eyes, remembering the countless timed Holy Roman had left him. "I don't want to be alone..."
Germany lightly smiled, while patting his head.

They say that one isn't gone forever; that their life lives on, manifesting in the form of a beautiful memory.
England once told me that sometimes they live on within someone else, almost as if reborn.
As I cuddled into Ludwig's chest, I thought of all the similarities he shared with my first love.
Maybe England wasn't too far off...
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-