Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Romano always knew he'd be the one to fade away. It was painfully obvious to him, and he didn't understand how the others couldn't tell.
His brother had always been better than him, more productive and happier. Don't misunderstand Romano; he loved his brother very much. He just didn't know how to show his emotions; therefore he was angry most of the time. He didn't blame his brother, and he didn't blame anyone else.
Except for himself.
Even when they were younger, Feliciano was constantly called Italy. And from the first time he remembered being separated by just that name; Romano knew that he'd be the one to disappear. The only thing he didn't know was how terrifying it was to actually have it happen, especially since he'd fallen in love. With America.
"I'll be your hero, I'll save you," he would say with a dazzling smile. Romano would smile back at him, because America was one of the few people who could genuinely make him smile and be happy. Romano believed him, or at least he wanted to.
Neither of them knew when it would happen, and Romano would constantly tell America about his fear of fading away. America would hold him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear about how everything would be okay, and that Romano wouldn't fade away.
But one day things didn't happen that way.
Romano had woken up from a late night, stretching on his bed as he nuzzled against America. America had returned the nuzzle, mumbling tired words but remaining asleep. Romano slipped out of his grasp and made his way downstairs and into the kitchen to make some coffee. He always had a cup in the morning. He leaned up against the counter as he waited, smiling as a pair of arms slid around his waist from behind and a cold nose pressed into the side of his neck.
He made a noise of protest and swatted at America, laughing lightly. America had mumbled, "Good morning babe," and moved away to sift through the pantry for something to make for breakfast. Romano made his cup of coffee and lifted the cup to take a sip, only to have the drink slip through his hand and shatter on the floor.
America had turned to him in surprise, a frown on his face and his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay 'Mano-" he cut off short, his breath hitching. Romano stared through his slightly transparent hand, panic ripping through his body and tears welling up in his eyes.
America had stopped what he had been doing, rushing over to the Italian, stepping over the glass and enveloping him in a hug. Romano had clutched onto America's shirt, burying his face into his neck. "No, this can't be happening," he mumbled, tears making their way down his face, "I'm not ready, I don't want to fade away."
Running his hands through his hair, America mumbled words of encouragement, telling Romano that he'd be okay. They both knew it was a lie, but neither wanted to believe it.
America moved them to the couch. His back was pressed against the couch's arm and Romano was between his legs, resting his head on America's lap as he cried silently. With each passing minute Romano became more transparent and less solid.
They had both been crying and Romano trembled in America's hold. He was terrified. For once he was happy in his life and he was going to be taken away from it. As much as he hated being compared to his brother and being forgotten, he had never wanted to disappear. His heart wracked with pain and his stomach clenched in fear.
"I love you," America would say, over and over again. Romano would mutter a response, clinging onto the American.
Within minutes Romano was hardly visible and he was crying audibly, trying desperately to hold onto America's hand as he shook and panicked.
"Don't let me go! I don't want to go! America I love you, I love you so much! I'm so scared, I'm terrified! Please save me!" He would ramble, his sentences broken by sobs. America had tried his best to compose himself, but not long after Romano had become less visible he had broken.
"I'll never let you go," he would say, smiling sadly and returning words of love. "It's going to be okay Romano, it's going to be okay, I promise," he would say, attempting to give his hand a squeeze for good measure. "Don't be scared love, you're going to be alright."
America couldn't save him. Romano wasn't okay.
Minutes had passed by and before America knew it, Romano was gone. He had stayed sitting and staring at the spot his lover had been mere seconds ago and he broke down into a fit of hysterical sobs.
Suddenly the house had seemed much emptier than it had before. It was frighteningly quiet and cold. His phone had rung but he didn't have the energy or the will to answer the phone.
On the fifth call he had forced himself to get up and answer it, his heart aching as he read the name of the caller. Italy.
Romano's brother had called with frantic words, saying that he had felt like something had changed and he wanted to speak with Romano.
America had only teared up again, crying softly as he muttered two simple words that crashed not only his world, but Feliciano's as well.
"Romano's gone."