Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Suicide Bridge
Lovino took a deep breath. This was it. He would finally end it.
He looked down at the rushing waters below, calling him.
He was tired of being compared to his younger brother. He was tired of constantly being mistaken for Feliciano. He was tired of not being good enough. Everyone always liked Feli more than him. People always called him the 'grumpy twin', and never bothered to get to know him.
He climbed over the railing, standing on the other end. Nothing could stop him. He just had to let go.
Suicide Bridge is what the people of town called it. Right after its construction, a boy jumped from the bridge, and ever since, many people had chosen this as a means to die. There were also a few accidents from time to time. So this is where he chose to end it.
As it was, it was foggy, and many preferred to take the long way, instead of crossing the dangerous bridge under these dangerous conditions. The few cars that did drive past didn't see him. No one to stop him. Not that anyone would.
"What are you doing?" a quiet voice interrupted, making him almost slip in his startled state.
He turned around to see a boy he had never seen before. He had blue eyes that almost looked purple, wavy blond hair with a curl sticking up from the rest and a pair of glasses.
"What's it to you, bastard?" Lovino huffed.
The boy looked to him with a sad look.
"It looks like you're about to jump," the boy said.
"And why do you care?"
The boy sighed, climbing over the railing to join Lovino.
"I've thought of this enough times," the boy said. "If you have a brother that everyone seemed to like more than you, you think of this."
Lovino's heart almost stopped. How could this boy know?
"Alfred was always the golden child," the boy said, and Lovino understood.
This boy was like him.
"No one even gives me a chance," Lovino said. "Just because I'm not as damn cheerful as Feli, just because I'm not so talented. My nonno likes him more, and everyone else does too."
The boy looked to him with a sad smile.
"People always ask me who I am," the boy said. "Even my own parents. That is, if they see me. Other times, they don't even acknowledge my existence. I'm smarter than Alfred, I'm quieter, I'm a better cook… Yet they never acknowledge that I exist."
Lovino felt bad for the boy. At least his existence was acknowledged, even if it was to tell him that he was nothing like his brother.
"But you know what really hurts?" the boy continued. "When they do see me, they always say 'Who are you?' or they mistake me for my brother. And they only mistake me for him when they're mad at him. He thought that everyone liked him. I was the one that always knew how many people hated him. He never saw the bruises. No one did."
Lovino looked at the boy, who looked really sad. He rolled up his sleeve, looking at the cuts on his arm. A rustle of clothes told him that the boy also lifted his sleeve.
His arms were just as decorated as Lovino's.
They were interrupted when they heard the squeal of tires, and the other boy sighed.
"An accident that has been avoided," he said, and Lovino could swear that he looked almost disappointed. "You won't believe how often it happens."
"I know," Lovino sighed. "That's one of the reasons I came here. Thirty people committed suicide here in the last twenty years, and there have been twenty five accidents, ten of them fatal."
He remembered the stories that some of the people said in the accidents. That they all saw someone just… disappear. It was always a boy with blond hair.
"I come here a lot," the other boy said. "Just to think. Sometimes I'm here when people want to jump, other times it's when there's an accident."
"So, you didn't come here to kill yourself?" Lovino asked.
"No, not this time. I can't stand the thought that there's someone that cares about me. Someone that I didn't know about, and I hurt them in this way."
Lovino frowned, thinking that he didn't have someone like that, when tires screeching caught his attention.
"What are you doing?" someone yelled as a car door was slammed shut.
He turned around, just as the fog was starting to lift somewhat, and the other person gasped when he saw him.
"Lovi?"
He frowned. It was the Spaniard that always compared him to a tomato. One that was always poking fun at him.
Turning back to the front, he prepared to let go, before a warm hand grabbed him.
"Lovi, what are you thinking?" Antonio asked, looking at his arms.
"Let go of me, you bastard," Lovino muttered.
"But if I do that, you'll die."
"And why would it matter?"
He yelped when the other started to pull him back from the other side of the railing. His eyes went to the blonde, who had seated himself on the railing and was looking at him with a small smile.
"See," the blonde said. "You have someone that cares about you."
He didn't respond when he felt arms wrap around him. And he couldn't help but wonder why Antonio didn't say anything about the blonde. Was he right? Did people really not see him?
"Please don't kill yourself," Antonio whispered, and Lovino could hear the other start to cry.
"Why do you care, bastard?" Lovino muttered. "You're the one that's always messing with me."
"That's not true!" Antonio insisted. "I'm always trying to get you to smile. You always look mad, and I want to change that. You used to smile a lot when we were in kindergarten, and I wanted to have mi amigo back."
That's right. He was friends with him when they were little kids.
He felt the other pull him towards the car.
"I hope I don't see you here again, Lovino," the blonde said. "By the way, my name is Matthew Williams."
Lovino looked back, but there was no one. Could the blonde have jumped after all?
…
He was in his cooking class, which his brother excelled in. The teacher was Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy, who was a little too flirtatious for Lovino's liking.
He had thought about it ever since he left the bridge. If a boy named Matthew Williams attended the school, one of the teachers should know, right? He didn't exactly know who to ask. Many of the teachers didn't like him because he was so rude, but the Frenchman was one of the few that didn't mind. Then he was also close to Antonio, who apparently was a family friend.
When the bell rang, Francis told him to stay behind.
"Antonio told me that he found you on Suicide Bridge two days ago," Francis said.
"Si," Lovino sighed, avoiding the Frenchman's eyes. "I went to jump, but someone stopped me. Not the Tomato Bastard, but someone else. Someone whose life seems worse than mine."
"There are always people like that, Lovino," Francis said. "Anyway, what was this person's name?"
"Matthew Williams."
The Frenchman gasped, his eyes growing wide and his face paling considerably. Lovino frowned at this.
"What is it?" Lovino asked. "Do you know him?"
"I did," Francis whispered. "Impossible."
"What is?" Lovino asked, becoming worried.
"After the bridge was built," Francis said, "Mathieu jumped. He was a quiet boy in my French class, in my culinary class… I wanted to talk to him so many times, but I never had the chance. He died, thinking no one cared about him."
Lovino was speechless. If that was true, then Matthew died twenty years ago.
"So, you didn't come here to kill yourself?"
"No, not this time. I can't stand the thought that there's someone that cares about me. Someone that I didn't know about, and I hurt them in this way."
Matthew lived his life thinking no one cared, and thought that if he killed himself no one would care. Only to find out after the deed was done that someone did, in fact.
If Matthew hadn't stopped him, then he would have jumped, and he wouldn't have been saved by Antonio, and found out that someone cared. He would have regretted it after death, and his soul would be like Matthew's, wandering the bridge.
How many others still stay on the bridge?
There was one thing that stuck out among all the other thoughts.
A ghost stopped him from killing himself.
…
That afternoon, around sunset, he returned to the spot where he met the blonde. He figured that this would be as good a place as any to meet the other again.
He would stand there for hours, waiting for the other to arrive. It never happened. He was beginning to think that he wouldn't see the other ever again, that he wouldn't be able to speak to him, that he wouldn't be able to thank him.
It was after a week when he spotted Matthew again. This time, he was waiting for him.
"I saw you here a few times," Matthew said once Lovino greeted him.
"Then why didn't you say something?" Lovino asked.
"I tried. Even now, sometimes people see me, sometimes they don't. It's just really bad when they're driving and they see me just when I disappear."
The accidents. The boy that just disappeared.
"Are there others here?" Lovino asked. "Other ghosts?"
"You've figured it out then," Matthew sighed. "Yes. They don't interact with others, and no one living ever sees them. I'm the only one that can sometimes be seen, and sometimes speak to the living. It's because no one ever saw or spoke to me when I was alive, so now I get my chance. Death has a cruel sense of humour."
The other didn't seem sad this time. He was nonchalant, and Lovino didn't like it.
"Francis says 'hi'," Lovino said, wondering if it would have an effect.
The other sighed, a sad look in his eyes.
"One of the only three people that were sad when I died," Matthew said. "The only time I left the bridge after I died was to attend my funeral. Mostly classmates that only went out of courtesy and because the school forced them. Then it was Alfred, his friend Arthur, and Francis. They were the only ones that were sad that I left. A year later, Alfred came here as well. And Arthur was one of the people that saw me."
"So only the Frenchie is alive," Lovino said, and Matthew nodded.
"Those who crashed are also here," Matthew said. "Most of the others ignore me, but a few like to speak to me. We all know each other's stories, and we like to compare them. The others leave a lot, checking over loved ones and seeing the stories of the people in town. I always learn their stories when they come here."
Lovino sighed. It was now or never.
"About that," Lovino said. "If it wasn't for you, I would have jumped, and I would never have known that there was someone that actually cared. I haven't told nonno or Feli yet, and the Tomato Bastard has been clinging to me lately, making sure I don't feel sad. So, what I want to say is: grazie."
Matthew looked at him and smiled.
"De rien."