I REGRET NOTHING! But this fanfiction. I don't know, guys. I really don't know what was up with me when I started writing it, so.... "dunno" is my answer to all of your questions.

I own nothing, but the 'idea'. And I'm not quite sure of owning it, too. God, what do you think? *starts an Interview with God* Ok. He said he won't mind.

Gore/violence, a dead body, I'm going to add Yaoi, yes definetely there will be sex, because all you need is love and love is all you need, references to bad government. Yes, I'm a girl who loves Politics and Economy because she wants to do something in her life that will make things go better. Call me bitch, slut, jerk or dreamer, I don't fucking care. At least I want to do something because I hate the way things are going on.

Quick translator:

... Italian:
Ricordati di me - remember me
... Deutsch:
Ich kann nichts mehr spüren Ich kann nicht mehr atmen - I can't feel nothing anymore I can't breathe anymore

Quick summary: Dunno. How about reading it? And please, would you tell me if you think this thing is a failure? God said my chances of burning in Hell after this increased. Not that I mind burning in Hell, but... By the way, you can even insult me if you want, but if your house happens to be set on fire during the night it won't be my fault.

And now *drums* *England playing electric guitar* *America all WTF are you doing* The... story!

Ricordati di me

"America was sleeping right by my side. Oh, how much I loved his messy sun-blond hair, his red-rose lips, the charming picture that sleep had drawn on him. And his still breathing, his comfortable warmth, the feeling of safeness given by his strong protective arms wrapped around me, never letting go. And the smile on his face after we had loved each other all night long, the smell of his toned body, the salty taste of his skin. And his everything, everything, everything.

Yes. I was madly in love with America."

Knock knock

"Ich kann nichts mehr spüren, Ich kann nicht mehr atmen -"

Knock knock. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The sad song stopped. Someone was knocking. And he wanted to listen.

Silence.

But he wasn't ready to.

Silence.

"Weird. I'd bet there was someone at the door just a moment ago..."

Silence.

I've witnessed silence many times, and it isn't silent at all. It is a constant whispering, that keeps telling you're alone.

He wrapped his soft towel around his waist. And then, as a noble knight from the ancient times, he came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, water pearls running down his trim body, glistening and quivering on his light skin as soon as the cold air hit him.

His eyes shifted from side to side, but there was no-one in the room. Not losing his posture, he walked regally down the stairs, leaving wet stians behind him. He directed to the door, wishing to know who dared importuning him this late at night.

The doorhandle squeaked gently under his delicate touch and opened to let him see the world outside. It was dark and foggy that night. The smoggy air entered his breath. Wishes, fears, pain, guilt, sorrow, love. Anything. It penetrated him and flowed into his veins, running wildly into his body. The voices of his people. The only music that made him feel alive.

"No-one..."

A bluish corpse fell suddenly in front of him.

"But our boss said..."

"I don't give a fuck about what our boss said!! He can burn in Hell!! He's just a corrupted bastard who doesn't give a fuck about us, why should we care about him? TELL ME, BROTHER, WHY SHOULD I CARE?"

"Romano.... "

"I'm sick of these people who treat us like fools!! You were the one saying: UNIFICATION! You wanted to write Freedom on our flag! And Equality, Humanity, Unity, Independence! Where are your moral values now that your people are dying? Where's your spirit, the reason why you fought?" Romano shouted angrily in his face. He couldn't believe that his own brother wasn't sure whether choosing dictatorship or not. He was young, but he could tell what Freedom was. France had taught him.

France... He wasn't feeling too well, he had heard. He kept on swearing at his boss, he didn't want him to destroy his beautiful country. If they only had wished to, he would've been down in the streets, protesting with his people, revolting and shouting, fighting with them against the police. Because he didn't care a damn about the political system any more. He just wanted his people to be happy. And so did South Italy.

"Feliciano..." He spoke softly. He felt guilty, but it wasn't exactly forgiveness what he was after. No. It was more like approval. Support. Help. Yes, help. Help is all you need.

Help is a precious thing. People seldom give you some. And when they give some, sooner or later they expect something in return. So you grow up and you become aware of it and use help wisely and attentively, only on important occasions. Love is nothing like that. People have grown accustomed not to recognize true love any more. Anything is love, nowadays. Well, it's just not.

"If we all followed the rules, the world would be a great place. But we have feelings, emotions, aspirations, wishes. We compete, fight, kill, destroy, suffer, endure till we get what we want. And the sad thing is that as soon as we get what we want, we aren't satisfied. We keep on wishing for something different, something new. We don't care if it's better than what we have, it isn't simply what we already have, that's the only important thing. But yet, this constant unhappiness is what makes us alive, doesn't it?"

Switzerland and Italy had been sharing a nice relationship for ages. Still, they were very different. In particular, Switzerland wasn't exactly the kinda guy who loved sharing his thoughts with the others. He was a great observer, though. Just like Austria. They could see through the soul of the people, get what they meant, help them with their feelings. It was not like solving the other's people problem, even though Austria tried once or twice. It was more like helping them live with their problems.

Yeah, live. It's hard to tell who's living, nowadays. Most people are merely existing.

"Romano, what is it?" Feliciano asked worriedly. He had never seen his beloved brother so lost in his thoughts. It was like he was caged into them, trapped and incapable of coming out, screaming for help. And he just didn't know what to do.

No. It was not like that. He knew exactly what to do. He just couldn't find enough strength to revolt. Not this time. And this was what Romano was complaining about. Where was the Giovine Italia, the guys demonstrating down the streets, the girls shouting at the corners, the angry people refusing to work? Where were the students protesting, the grandmas chatting to each other, where was the spirit of this young Nation, who got united thanks to heroes, thieves and bastards?

"You know what your name means, don't you?" Romano's eyes watered. He wanted to cry. He wanted the pain inside to flew away. He wanted these disgraceful days to come to an end. But he feared that once the hurt was gone, then there would be nothing to replace it.

"I do, fratello." North Italy took his hands in his own in a caring gesture. "Feliciano is the same as Felice... Happy. My name means Happiness, Felicità."

tears started pouring down from South Italy's eyes. "Yes. Happiness."

And he smiled, opening his arms to beg for a hug, to beg for some comfort. He smiled, but in his smile there was only bitterness.