I usually only write Hetalia Fanfics, but this has been playing on me since I read the last book and Adrian and Rose's relationship was murdered compleatly.

I HATE how she ended up with Dimitri. I don't believe it. Adrian is obviously the better choice. :)

So here's a little story. I might keep going, it might end here, all depends on how you guys like it. :]

So please feel free to comment how ever you would like! And enjoy!

BTW, I do not own the characters, and any sentences which may sound like song lyrics, comlpeatly is owned by whoever wrote them first, not me. :) There's only one, but still I must give everyone credit.

There was a swipe of a paintbrush in the night, something loud in comparison of the cool silence which rang out through the empty room, a world in itself. He held his hand steady and waiting, cautiously biting his lip as he mused, thoughts stumbling over each other as they all clashed inside his mind, the colors pulsing in his memory of what he was painting, fading into pastels or different shades as he tried to sort out what he wanted.

"Blue...maybe green?" the words echoed now as his paintbrush went silent, complete composure ruining as he threw the utensil's fine tip diving into the black paint and with jagged strokes he blackened his picture, the colors mixing vilely and running as he then ripped the entire paper in half, tearing the night open as well as morning just started to spill into his windows.

With a defeated sigh and a choking sob he fell to his knees and vainly wiped back tears as he fought the inevitable thought that he wasted another night. And like the ones before, he had started with an idea, sanity, a love for his model, and for his profession, only to end with twisted deliberation, a broken heart, and hating every single part of his artistry life and the madness which engulfed him with the sun.

-The next morning-

The rain drops were dancing little feet of pitter patter outside his door, the old grandfather clock slow and monotonous as he heard another announcement of a passing hour. "One, two, three..." he had a habit of counting the tolling as if to make sure he was in the right time, that maybe he had only been thinking too much, and no hour had gone by. "...five, six, seven." and silence pooled in as he released a sigh, no promise held, no lies told as the worn and weathered face showed it to be seven o'clock. Monday? Was this a Monday? His eyes dragged up to the calendar without moving his pretty face from the shelter of his drawn up knees, and licking his lips, the truth was honestly stated in small script. Tuesday, had he really stayed up that long? Days sometimes had a habit of melting together into hurtful moments, all his actions wrapped up in tight, drawstring breaths. As if each blink was a new hour, and even the old grandfather clock was becoming a nescience. Once or twice he thought the little black hands were moving too fast, or the pendulum needed tuning, that the whole thing was broken.

But he knew better than to think that.

Everything in his house was perfect and impeccable, from the golden tassels on the Turkish rugs to the heavily carved frames, each was drenched with a luxurious price tag, though he never thought to look. It got to the point that money just was, there was no end, it just came and came, and if he saw a portrait or chair, center piece or new cell phone, he obtained it with no problem, no questions asked.

Either way, life had turned to a point that passing minutes scathed by without glorification and money had glutted itself in the artists pockets until he was weighed down from society.

The only thing his money had not won was the model, that beautiful woman who had given her body to him for reference. And looking up now to another blank canvas he imagined her here again, curves and sways of thick brush strokes. Her hair was threaded oak and cherry, eyes like two hard flowers, thorns on her lips as she gave a signature smirk. With a deep breath he pressed brush to paint and he remembered her every movement suddenly.

-The Day Before-

"So what do I do? Just pose?" Her voice was a little wary of what was going on, and how the whole situation had unfolded so fast.

"Umhm, just take your pick. I don't care if you sit or stand. I just like you. I'll take whatever you have to offer." Rose's ears throbbed as he spoke, wondering if this job was worth the money he was willing to pay. Adrian had caught her in the middle of her training, his eyes swiftly following her every movement, and never leaving her as he scribbled something down. He had later told her she had something that most models didn't have, though not even he knew what it was.

'You just have something...' he told her, taking her hand and leading her to his studio. 'Just one picture, that's all I want. All of you, still and caught in the moment, mine.'

She rolled her shoulders back, the smooth muscle tensing as she did so, skin like sun kissed gold, warm and almost lightly freckled. She took stance, feet spread a little apart, face upturned toward the hanging chandelier, the lights playing nicely on her fox like eyes and suddenly melting gaze.

His sketching pen went to work as he arched each line and took her main features down, though his eye was so hooked on her littlest details. The caramel etching in her hair at the roots, the simple rounded fingernails, lips glossed as she smiled in a grin sort of way, dropping her pose.

"I can't do this." her voice was breathy and tired already.

"Then rest, sit, I don't care, I just know that I need you in a picture. Just once, please." Adrian was almost desperate for her to stay, to want to stay here.

With a small smile she found a nice couch and laid down, enjoying the feel of soft cushions and marveling at the colors in the rectangles and geometric pattern. Again he set to immediate work, getting the basic posture, leg raised up and foot tucked beneath her, her whole body leaning over the arm rest to touch a simple lamp beside the coffee table. He looked up to get her features, and again she had switched, now her legs draped over the back of the sofa, hair unbound and flowing to the ground as she supported herself on strong arms. With the rushed flip of a page he started again, pencil quick to get down the twist and curl to her body, her effortless strength, but just as he had gotten down the basic pattern, he heard the leather shifting beneath her weight and with a glance up he saw her moving again, trying to get comfortable.

"Rose," he smiled through his mental scorn, reminding himself that this was a once in a life time chance, and if he tried to rope her in with too many rules she might leave. 'Let her be,' he baded to himself, lounging against the brick fireplace as he watched her reposition herself again, his pen held over the paper in a hovering motion, eager to capture her but just when his inspiration was sparked she would roll over restlessly, hair brushed back over her forehead, shirt sleeve barely ruffled as it fell from her shoulder. But this took patience and time, if he started sketching now, he's miss something, she'd move, he had to wait. But as he did, time never seemed to move so slowly. It was always like that when she was around, time just stood still for her as if she was the controller of the sands. "Rose!" Adrian rose his voice a little this time, bringing her out of whatever thought process she was in, her legs falling forward as she rolled off the couch.

"Sorry, I just can't get comfortable. This is boring," her tone was saddening, and he instantly regretted calling out of her fun.

"It's ok, I'm just not used to fidgety models. Please, do what you wish," Rose gave a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes over to the reclining chair and instantly jumped into its midst, legs swung gracefully over the armrest, back curved deliciously against the fine Italian leather, the dark brown bringing out the olive tint in her sun basked skin. She looked warm and inviting, her breathes easy and soothing, eyes closed suddenly against the world. Even the was her eyelashes swept against her lightly blushed cheeks was interesting and enthralling to Adrian.

He let a few minutes pass, a few more crawled by, and as soon as he saw the coast was clear, he put pen to paper and started his work.

Surprisingly she didn't move, not one shift in character, barely any movement in her body as he got the basic outline and form, now ready for the details. He glanced up and for a second caught himself completely in love with the girl in front of him.

With his keen eyes, he could almost see the blood work twisting beneath her skin, the little pulse that was weakening into slumber, the way her bangs shadowed her brown eyes, how her lips were slightly parted. Everything was beautiful and enticing, she was gorgeous and lovely, so full of blossoming power and so fragile with her womanly curves and hardened guardian heart.

"Hey Adrian?" he swept his gaze back to his papers as if he hadn't been staring, but answered a little guiltily, with a vague curiosity.

"Ya Rose?"

"What's it like to be free?"

The question stopped Adrian's thoughts, his eyes wandering back up to her, Rose's face now turned toward him, as if to see his reaction and gauge his answer. But the subject was so broad, free of what exactly? Of destiny, fate? Those are easy to free yourself from, just don't believe in them. Or maybe it was from life and it's struggles. Then death was the only answer, not that that was an answer he would give Rose. But the true feeling of freedom itself? What was that like?

"Well," his brush slowly stroked against the paper a small dash of a smile on her lips, curving up the way he knew it always would. "It depends on what you mean. One couldn't describe how free is unless they are free themselves. Why ask me?" his mood was darkening at the thoughts of freedom, how he always seemed to hide behind his money, or his title, and behind a bottle of Vodka.

Rose, clueless to the sudden shift in spirit, kept going, her mind simply talking out its thoughts as they came in a long string.

"Well, you have a nice house, a great future ahead of you. Everything is at your disposal, you'll never have to work a day of your life. And your paintings. All of your emotions just flow right into those colors and brush strokes. That's freedom. Waking up and knowing you could sleep all day and still be happy. That's freedom. Looking at something and getting it just cause it makes you joyful to look at it, without worrying over money, that's freedom." her breath caught in her throat and she drew in a sigh. "I would give anything to have that."

Adrian scoffed, flipping his bangs from his eye sight and drew his knee up to his chest as he spoke. "You want to be petty and lonely? That's all I have. Pictures are just color on paper, they're no friends of mine. And these things? My furniture, this entire house? I despise it! Every single piece, I despise it all!" he threw the portrait down, and it slid easily and ruffled on the tile floor, Rose sadly looking to him now.

The spirit churned like some nightmarish disease inside him, his mind was fogging and restless suddenly as he drew a breath in through clenched teeth, tiny tearlets lining his pretty eye lashes.

"Hey now, don't you dare," her scolding tone held a tender sort of effect as she got up, and came instantly to his side. "No free bird cries, they sing, remember? They sing beautiful sonnets and with you, you paint beautiful pictures, while the rest of us lay up in our cages." her hands were like hot pricks of love and lust, her blood being pulled by a strong heart, her pulse in his ears instantly as he refrained from thinking too deeply about it. But just as the heat came, it melted away, and as Adrian looked to Rose, he saw she had picked up his drawing pad. Never had one let anyone see his unfinished works. hey were terrible, they needed correcting, they needed color.

"Don't look, it's not done! Their ugly," he gave up on his pleading as she kept flipping through the pages, the crisp crinkle soft and almost melodious to his ears.

"No their not. These are beautiful. All your missing..." she gave deep contemplation, the bemused look on her face s perplexed and lovely, he wished he could remember that face to paint it later. Her footsteps came close to him as she bent down to hand him the pages, that smirk of thorns rimming her face again, some lost emotion locked up behind liquid chocolate eyes. "...is the freedom."

-VV-

Adrian awoke from his day dreams at that remembrance, those words picking and prying at him now as it all flooded back.

"That's it. That's what was missing," He quickly got to his feet and found the torn painting, the black lines covering most of the water colors, washing out the brown of her hair and the gold of her skin. But with a fine tipped paintbrush, he dipped the bristles into the red and gave the model crimson wings, and a yellowing halo to match. Over and over he traced the grand feathers and gave great detail to the etched folds and ripples of the wings, until he had run out of paint, and out of ideas.

"There," Adrian sighed as the passion drained out of him, the Spirit ebbing as he sat back and looked at the portrait. "I was just missing her freedom."

-VV-

He visited the training grounds again, hoping to catch sight of her again, but to his amazement, she wasn't running laps or doing pushups or playing fighting with her partner. Instead, she was lounged back in the soft grass, hands resting behind her head as she looked up to the sky and it's cotton stratosphere. She looked so at peace, so naturally in balance as he strode over and sat cross legged next to her.

"Adrian,"

"Rose."

She graced him a smile as she looked his way and then back up to the clouds.

"Are you thinking of freedom?" he asked, feeling a little childish at his own statement, but hoping she'd ease into another conversation.

"Nope, not really." there was another breathy sigh, a lazy one, one Adrian thought she deserved after all her years of selfless hard work.

"Then what are you thinking about?"

"Heaven."

"Heaven?" he repeated with a questionable tone, as if that was possibly one of the stupidest things to muse about. "Well, what about it?"

"Lissa once read a religious book that said that when people die, they become angels. They get their own wings, and everything." the wind took her words as if ashes in an urn and spread them about the entire field, Adrian feeling utterly empty suddenly, as if her words had opened up his soul.

"And that's what you want?" The sincerity of his voice smoothed over Rose's ruffled persona as she continued with a slight nod.

"When I get where I'm going, on the far side of the sky, the first thing that I'm gonna do is spread my wings and fly."

The words set upon Adrian as he leaned his head back and looked at the clouds too, picturing them both in some other place, under some other sky, where Rose had her wings and her halo, and her freedom all in one.

"That's some dream, Rose," He took a cigarette from his pocket and struck the match for a good spark, blowing out a string of grey, filigreed smoke as he thought deeply too. "That's some dream."

Yep, these two are so DREAMY together! lol

Hope you guys enjoyed it, please comment with ur honest thoughts and opinions if I should continue...

BTW, if you've written any AdrianxRose Fics, you absolutly MUST tell me! I will read them like druggies take Chrystal Meth and Cocain! :]