Based on a prompt that hit me while I was sleeping. I don't own Hetalia.
You were sitting beside me on a park bench. The sky was bright and blue today. The grass was green and shiny with youth from the new spring, and the air was cool and fresh and young. Yet, you do not look around or let the wind flutter about your eyelashes. You were facing your lap, your dark hair falling in places they usually did not fall in, your hands flipped up on the seat of the bench loosely like a mannequin. I could not see your eyes. You were very quiet. You weren't complaining or swearing or randomly making little grunts. You worry me. I slide my hand gently to rest above yours. I curled my fingers around the grooves in between your slightly tanned fingers. I gave a small squeeze.
You didn't squeeze back.
~*Feliciano*~
I am standing outside the school we used to attend. I am gazing into the green wired fence at the little children running about playfully in the basketball court, screaming and shouting. My hands are lightly gripping the green plants that crawl about the stone wall beneath the fence. I am thinking of your loud voice at that time, sharp and loud, as you run across the hard and rough ground. Are you still able to remember this voice? Your age when you were so loud? When you would try not to cry in school?
That day, you've had a bad morning. You've had trouble waking up because you had to do homework late into the night, and now you have black bags under your eyes. Have you been staying up late all the time? I don't know. At school, your Chorea suddenly acted up and the whole class laughed at you. When the attack stopped, you were in tears.
During recess, our classmates wouldn't stop teasing you. You had prayed hard to God every night that the attacks wouldn't happen while in class, yet today it acted up during Math.
During recess, your eyes were red and puffy and your cheeks were a slight pink. Your shoulders were pushed up to your cheeks. I wanted so badly to come and comfort you, but my friends were pulling at my sleeves. There's always the time at home, I thought, and I turned away from you.
We were 7 then.
A child ran across the basketball court. He tripped over his shoelaces and he fell. He stayed on the ground for a while, before he wiped his eyes, silently sniffled, and stood up again to play.
*~XxXXxX~*
I do not know what caused you to be like this. You wouldn't respond to us, you wouldn't eat, unless you felt like it. You aren't noisy anymore. You wouldn't randomly crash into a room. It just seems so strange without your noise.
The house feels empty somehow without you. The house does not have the smell of tomatoes. The house does not have the sunshine that big brother Spain brings with him. It is only in the sky, but it is not in the house.
I remember you in an old brown tunic and beige pants, wearing a straw hat and holding a basket, picking the red tomatoes in the sunshine with a similarly dressed Spain. Both of you sweat so much. Big brother Spain was smiling while you were frowning. I was sitting under a tree with Nonno painting pictures of you and him together. At that time I thought you were genuinely angry.
But it might be those moments that lit up your life. It might just be that you don't show.
I remember you hating Germany and Prussia and Holy Roman Empire. You called them the potato bastards and you refused to let me go near them, despite the fact that they are harmless. You refused the food from them in times of famine. At that time I really didn't like it.
But now as I think about it, I don't hate it at all. It might just be your attempt to protect Italian culture.
I remember you asking me if I would ever praise you. And when I backed away, you grew really angry. I am really sorry for not saying 'yes'. You grew so angry that you busted the roof. I didn't know that it would hurt you so much.
As much as I don't want to admit it, I really did not think much about you at all. The most distinctive things I remember about you were your potty mouth, your frown, your curl, your loud voice and your smell of tomatoes. And then now...
I remember you were lonely. When our birthdays came, you stood in a corner, and watched me as the other Nations crowded around me. When the rain came, while I sought cover under Germany's umbrella, you waved at me to go first, while you stood in the rain alone and waited. When Austria and Hungary came over, you stood aside, and squeezed your shirt with your tiny little fists. I did not realize till now, while I stand outside the school, that you always walked alone, whether you are young or older. The way you glanced behind your shoulders as I chatted with my friends, particularly Holy Roman Empire. I might have imagined it, or it is the truth: when I think back on your eyes, I caught a glint of sadness.
There were times when you would tell me things. When I was younger, and does not understand why we have to pray, you would always grab my hand and lead me upstairs, and say, " We'll pray together."
When Nonno died, you put a hand on my head and said, " He is with God watching over us."
When I stood on the cliff and waited for Holy Romano Empire, despite you objecting to our closeness, you ran to Mister Austria's house and waited with me.
" I'm waiting with you," You would say loudly and indignantly.
You told me that tomatoes were tasty and Spain is very sunny. You taught me how to fight the British army (well, not exactly). You told me about your dreams. You told me how Turkey almost kidnapped you. You told me so many other things.
I loved this part of you; despite the distance between our houses, you still ran over and talked.
It pains me when I realize that I only realized these when your soul slipped away. I can see your spirit, but not your soul. Where has it gone? Has it flown away to a sunnier place, where the people there will acknowledge your presence?
*~XxXXxX~*
You were always there for as long as I could remember. You were always there, whether you like it or not.
It's only whether people appreciate it.
People never realized you were there, because they took you for granted. Romano who will always be there. I regret to say, but I once thought like that. I could lose myself talking to Germany and Japan, and then I would forget you altogether. When I think back now, I can imagine you solemnly staring at us, a look of longing in your dejected eyes.
I don't know how you felt or what your thoughts were. I think that is why you hate everyone so much. Because they don't spare a second thought for you. Maybe other than big brother Spain, everyone else, including me, can forget about you. I feel bad, my dear brother. I should have spent more time with you.
Maybe you don't know, or don't wish to know...
But I really want you with me.
I really need you with me.
You feel like no one will need you, but...
What about big brother Spain?
What about me?
...
We all need you, dear brother.
*~XxXXxX~*
Dear brother, when you recover...
We'll all go and pick tomatoes.
I'll teach you how to draw.
I won't leave you behind again.
I won't let you walk alone again.
So brother...
Can you,
for my sake,
for his sake,
for everyone's sake...
Can you recover soon?
*~XxXXxX~*
The rain has come. I take my umbrella out and open it. As I walk along the path to home, I see you squatted by the side of the road playing with loose gravel. Your hair was stuck to your face. Your olive skin was wet and shiny with the trails of rain, and your bright green shirt and beige pants are dark and dull from the water. I smile. I walk over to you, and hold out my umbrella to cover you. You look up with dull green eyes, yet innocent, like those of a caged baby animal who wanted to hope. I hold out my hand. You stare at it for a long time, before I bend down some more and grab your hand. I gently pull you to your feet, and I walk you home.