Guys, I'm thinking about giving up my ongoing Hetalia fanfict, due to the fact that I don't really like it any more!
So, have a CanadaXItaly request whilst I write another ongoing fanfict which I will hopefully continue~
Feliciano Vargas is a nice boy. He knows what it's like to be left behind, to miss out on things, to have a loud-mouth older brother, who stopped you from doing the things you want, and having the friends you want.
That's why you like him.
He's always been nice to you. You remember your first official 'encounter' with him. He'd walked into you. Or was it you into him? Either-which-way, one of you had walked into the other. You'd both apologised, then told the other that they had no need to apologise. You figured you were probably just improving Alfred's – your brother – appearance, which meant that someone else wouldn't have a reason to attack Alfred, and then accidently get you, instead, so you kept talking.
He had already speeded off in his car when you realised he'd been calling you by your name. Matthew.
He knew who you were.
He'd noticed you.
From there, the two of you only got closer. He'd told you that he'd always noticed you sat in the corner during the monthly work meetings, making notes by yourself. He'd figured you'd wanted to be left alone, and so he had left you alone.
You told him that you didn't want to be alone. At the start of the next meeting, he'd dragged his chair over to yours, and spent the meeting with his head on your shoulder. The big-chested German girl had looked at him oddly, and you suspected that he'd spent most of the meeting asleep, but you didn't mind.
You finally had a friend.
The years flew by. Meeting after meeting, then day after day flew by as the two of you spent time together. You'd compared everything; families, interests, hobbies. You two were, in your opinion, inseparable. You became old men, and you'd retired together. You spent every morning together, and you enjoyed every moment.
Then, one day, he didn't turn up to the usual bench in the park. You waited for an hour, before you rang his phone. Nothing. His house phone. Still nothing.
You waited for a few more hours, before going home.
You came back the next day. Still no Feliciano.
When you got home, however, there was an envelope on the mat just inside your front door. You picked it up.
A funeral invitation.
Feliciano's funeral invitation.
You couldn't think. You didn't want to believe it was true. It couldn't be true! Sure, the two of you were aging – you yourself were 67 – but Feliciano could never die! You loved him – you loved him, and you had only just realised it now. You realised it once it was too late.
You attended the funeral, of course. Your quiet sobs prevented you from catching most of what was said, but you did catch one thing.
"We shall now have a word from his widow, Ms Monika Vargas."
You understood, then.
It had always been too late.