Warning: there are mentions of Hitler and how citizens used to salute him. Keep in mind that this is pure history.
Normal text – normal time
Italicized text - flashback
Ludwig Beilschmidt stood stoically before the door of his boss's office. His face had been erased of all emotion and his spine stood erect as an arrow. Proud and impassive, that was the way of the German soldier. "Get in here!" A voice barked.
He steeled his expression further before pushing his way through the heavy door. Adolf Hitler sat behind a mahogany desk, his signature scowl imprinted on his features. Ludwig walked in time to his heartbeat, which grew increasingly faster every second. The man behind the desk intimidated him. It was not a test of brawn or bravery – Ludwig triumphed over him in both. No. Hitler had complete, utter control over Ludwig's life. Being the ruler of the lands of Germany gave him reign over the personification. Ludwig was at his mercy.
Ludwig gave the mandatory erect salute of his arm, and pressed his lips into a tight line. One did not speak to Hitler unless given permission.
"Tell me, what do you think of our ally, Italy?" Hitler asked, leaning into his chair. His dark eyes had taken on a cold, calculating glare.
The question had caught Ludwig off guard. For the tiniest of seconds, so brief it might have gone unnoticed, emotion worked its way onto his features. His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows threatened raise. But Hitler was never one to miss things; he analyzed the movements of everything and, more specifically, everyone. More so those he could manipulate. The break in his mask of steel had shown a connection to the other nation. Had Ludwig remained stoic, Hitler knew that their relationship would be no more than that of allies, light friends at most. But the usually composed Ludwig had wavered – he harbored feelings for the other nation, and that simply would not do.
Ludwig carefully structured his words before speaking. "Italy is a valuable ally."
Hitler folded his hands across his torso and sighed. "Italy has signed the Armistice with the Allies. He is no longer our partner."
"Germany! Germany!" The sound of the Italian's voice filled the corridor.
Ludwig sighed and lowered his pen. He knew that once the Italian broke through the door all hell could break loose – paperwork would not be ideal in that situation. "Yes, Italy, what is it?" If there was anything Ludwig had learned from Feliciano, it was patience.
"I couldn't find you and I was lonely!" Feliciano sobbed.
Ludwig sighed once more and pressed a finger to his right temple. "I was in here working."
"Ve~ you work too much! Let's play soccer, Germany!" Feliciano begged.
"I have to work," Ludwig replied.
"Please?" Feliciano begged.
Just as Ludwig was about to protest, he turned to look at the Italian. He saw the small man, auburn hair shining and a wide grin on his face, and found he couldn't say no.
He found he never could.
"What do you mean?" Ludwig tried his best to remain composed, but inside a whirlwind of emotions attacked him. Betrayal, hurt, fear, love. What was his Feliciano doing?
"The Allied forces were pushing their way up Italy. Italy's troops were failing and they had no choice but to make peace with the Allies. An Armistice was signed – we are no longer comrades with Italy," Hitler explained without sympathy.
Caring nothing of his duty to the country he embodied, Ludwig pivoted on the balls of his feet and ran unceremoniously through the door. Though no one saw, tears cascaded freely over his icy eyes.
A physical pain resided in his chest. So that was what heartbreak felt like…
It felt as though a fiery demon had taken residence in his core, eating every positive emotion he could have mustered. All thoughts had been drained, save for that of a beautiful smile and untamable curl.
Italy…
His little Feliciano, his love, had betrayed him.
Ludwig didn't stop running until he was panting and on the verge of fainting. He was miles away from his house, but he had neither the energy nor willpower to continue on. He dropped to his knees on the pavement of Berlin and released a heart wrenching wail, cursing fate with every fiber of his being.
Pedestrians stared at the man, but he paid them no attention. He was the only person in existence. Only he and Feliciano resided in the world. He balled his fists and brought them down on the pavement. His knuckles cracked against the concrete, staining the sidewalk with his blood. Ludwig made no move to bandage the wound; it only seemed fitting that his physical state represented his internal destruction.
Had the tender kisses and sweet caresses in the morning meant nothing? Had the heated strokes and hushed whispers in the bedroom been in vain?
Had the love he had, at first, been hesitant to give, but then willingly poured into Feliciano been a mistake?
Moonlight bathed the pristine white sheets swathing their bare bodies. Underneath, their limbs were hopelessly entangled, making it indistinguishable where one body began and the other intercepted.
Feliciano's head was nuzzled into Ludwig's chest above his heart. The soft thumping was enough of a lullaby to carry the Italian to sleep. "Germany, are you awake?"
Ludwig grunted in affirmation, though he didn't open his eyes.
Feliciano sighed in content. "Germany is so good to me. He eats my pasta and listens to me talk. I like when people listen to me talk," Italy happily rambled, his voice laden with sleep.
Ludwig began lazily tracing the contours of Feliciano's spine. Feliciano leaned into the touch, relishing in the feather light caresses.
"Don't ever leave me. I don't know what I would do without Germany." The shift in Feliciano's tone took Germany by surprise. Pillow talk with Feliciano was usually lighthearted, but the tone that resided in the Italian's voice was serious. Ludwig had never known Feliciano to be serious, but there, nestled in his arms, Feliciano only spoke with sincerity.
"I promise Italy, I will never leave you," Ludwig assured the Italian, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
"Ve~," Feliciano said, returning to his vibrant self.
The two enjoyed each other in comfortable silence until Italy spoke once more. "I love Germany."
Ludwig's breathing hitched in the back of his throat. Cerulean eyes shot open wide in surprise. Had Italy just confessed love for him? Acting solely on instinct Ludwig brought the smaller man's face up to his own and smashed their lips together in a heated kiss. Every ounce of passion and love was poured into the kiss. Feliciano smiled and returned the kiss with enthusiasm.
"I love you, Italy."
He was no longer Ludwig Beilschmidt, but Germany.
Ludwig was the name a mother bestowed upon her newborn son, not a country. A name would signify humanity – something Germany had lost every ounce of.
He was a nation, unfeeling. He existed only for other people to reside off of. That was his sole purpose – to appease his people. He was the embodiment of all that was Germany: food, culture, government, and army.
He would march his troops into Italy Veniziano, unfeeling and bloodthirsty, just as a nation should be.
Murder and blood stained the streets of the beautiful Italian cities.
Chaos rang all around as war cries and madness pierced the air. The troops had done exactly as Germany had instructed – no mercy was shown.
Every Italian, despite age or gender, emanated the aura of Feliciano. All citizens seemed to have the signature curl. He took no pity.
He slaughtered his way to where Feliciano stood. Germany stood for a moment, basking in the glow of his former lover.
He was shell shocked. The pain of losing his love had taken all ounce of emotion other than the desire to spill blood from him. He was ravenous to kill. But there, standing in the middle of watching his people being murdered, was Feliciano.
Tears streamed through his amber eyes. His uniform was torn to bits by Germany's troops and blood flowed freely through open gashes. Dirt and soot stained his face along with blue and black bruises. It was a miracle he was still standing.
Despite his pain, Germany couldn't fight the passion and desire coursing his veins. They were mortal enemies, but to Feliciano and Ludwig, they would always be each other's loves.
"Italy!" Germany barked. Feliciano turned his pained gaze away from his slaughtered people to the crazed man running toward him.
At the sight of Ludwig, Feliciano began to cry harder. Despite being slightly ditzy and scatterbrained, Feliciano could understand seriousness and pain. He wanted nothing more than to run forward and bury himself in Ludwig's arms, but it was not possible. "Germany!" He cried.
When Ludwig reached Feliciano he fisted his collar in his hands and pulled the man upward. "What were you thinking, leaving me?!" Ludwig demanded.
Feliciano's feet dangled over the ground. The blood pouring from his wounds began to trickle over his leather boots and form a small puddle on the ground. Resistance was futile against the German who was much stronger. Neither would admit it, but they were grateful for the proximity to one another, despite meeting on the battlefield as enemies.
All around them murder carried on, but neither nation noticed.
"Germany, I didn't have a choice! The boss demanded-" at the word boss, Germany dropped Italy.
Feliciano fell into a heap on the ground. He had no willpower to stand. The time was ticking for both he and Ludwig. Only one would emerge this battle victorious, and they both knew who the victor was bound to be. Feliciano wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible for both of them. Perhaps…when the wars were resolved…they would be able to see the light again.
Ludwig collapsed to his knees before Feliciano. The word 'boss' had struck a whole new pang in his chest.
Reaching into his back pocket, Ludwig withdrew a shiny pistol. It glistened in the afternoon sun, sleek and deadly.
Hitler had given him the special instructions to show no mercy once he saw Italy, and handed him the gun.
It felt like a deadweight in Germany's hands – with this, his world would come crashing down. But he had no choice, he couldn't defy Hitler.
He clutched the pistol in his left hand and pulled Italy to him with his right. In a swift moment they were lovers again. Lips locked in the middle of warfare. It was as passionate as their first kiss, but as violent as those they would share in the dead of night. Every ounce of love they could muster was poured into it, everything they couldn't say they tried to communicate to one another through that kiss. Their blood and tears intermingled in the middle of their lips creating a sharp, metallic taste. No matter what happened, they loved each other.
Feliciano looked weakly at Ludwig, who couldn't tear his gaze away from the amber eyes. They were like swimming in rich pools of honey, beautiful and bright. Those were the eyes that calmed him when he grew angry. Those were the eyes that swayed his decisions. Those were the eyes that he would love until the day he died. With their gazes, they made a silent promise to love each other again.
One day, when the world was rid of hatred and war, they would find peace with each other once more.
"I love you, Ludwig," Italy said through a sob-choked voice.
Germany brought a shakily brought the gun to Italy's chest – over his heart. He cocked it before saying, "I love you, forever, Italy."
And he pulled the trigger.
I'm going to go crawl in a corner and cry now.
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