Darkness loomed over the room. The lights are dimmed, but the occupant doesn't really mind it that much. Dripping sounds can be heard in the silence. It's today.
He shouldn't be affected by this. It has been years. Years. He already lost count of the days he tried to smile. To forget something that he couldn't. To go through the days, breathing, moving, thinking, without a care in the world.
Drip, drip, drip
He can't tell what the source of the sound is, just that he's aware. His mind is scattered all over the room, and his heart-
Thud, thud, thud
…His heart is deafening. He can't focus. His eyes are blurry and numb. It's hard to think of anything. He even forgot why he's sitting on his couch with a toppled bottle of wine beside him. 'Oh,' He thought, as he reached for the bottle and sets it upright. 'Yes, that's what we're supposed to do, right? We place things back in order, even when the damage is done.' He laughed. Ah, his chest felt lighter somehow. That's his copping mechanism. Have a good laugh, smile, and pretend. Most of the time it works. He bowed his head. 'Not this time.' His mind mocked him.
"Italy?" The voice was soft and careful. "Italy?... Feliciano?" It tried again.
Italy shakes his head. "You shouldn't be here."
"You weren't answering my texts and calls." In Italy's not so reliable vision, he can make out a shape of a key, but not Germany. His brain refuses to agree that his friend is there to help him. "I used the spare key. For emergencies, remember?"
"I don't need you right now, Ludwig." He instantly regretted those words after they escaped his lips. It tasted awful. "This is something I should handle by myself."
The Italian heard his friend sigh. "The fact that you're telling me to let you handle this by yourself just increased my concern." Germany held his hands. They're warm. "Your hands are cold."
Italy closed his eyes. "Please stay."
"I would even if you told me not to."
Germany tightened his hold on his hands, then slowly, oh so slowly wrapped him around for an embrace. Italy couldn't lift his arms so his body sagged and his eyes watered. And he cried.
They stayed like that until his tears stopped and his wails turned into sniffles. "It's about Holy Rome." Italy whispered. Germany stayed silent, loosing up his hold on him. He continued to tell his story.
Hours passed with Italy sharing everything his heart contained, uninterrupted. In the end, all Germany said was, "I love you". It was simple, but it meant everything to Italy. Germany didn't tell him, "Oh, that's sad." Or, "Move on, it's the past." No, he said, "I'm here. I'll always be here, and I'll always love you, no matter what." With just those three words. And that's all Italy ever needed.