Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

Once upon a time, there lived a boy drawn to water, and another boy drawn to land. They were meant to cross paths, but what they didn't know was that their paths were intertwined and that their meeting was fated by the gods.

It is said that taking heed to their song would only lead to a terrible conclusion.

Whoever said that, lied.

The boy was met with the cool salty mist as he stood on the rocks by the sea, waiting for sun to grace the horizon with its warm presence. The cool spring air did not dampen his spirits, nor did it extinguish the enthusiastic fire in his eyes; he simply continued waiting patiently with an expectant smile stretched across his face.

Oh, how he loved the sea. He adored it and spent most of his time there, for it was in the sea that he found peace and tranquil beauty. On days when it stormed; the clouds were stained a grey colour and the waters dark and murky, he would be mesmerized, rather than feel terrified of it.

As a child, he often played on the docks, reaching down and into the waters where he saw another child's face smiling back at him, waving, and inviting him into the sea. He met with the child every day, and once, he finally plunged himself in curiosity, letting the other child lead him on. It did not bother him that the child wasn't human, nor did it bother him that the child barely spoke. What bothered him, was that one day, the child stopped meeting him, and vanished as though the child were merely something his imagination fabricated.

He always passed it off as his young artist's mind at work, but he couldn't help but dream of those encounters at night, so he knew he had to return. It was spring, and yet the cool air did not bother him, for it was during the spring when he found time to return to the sea.

It took a few more minutes until the sun kissed the horizon, greeting the skies a good morning, and announcing that night had come to an end. Fidgeting with his ancient Polaroid, he lifted it up and snapped a picture of the sunrise, pulling out the picture it ejected, and waited until it displayed what he captured.

It was then that another spell had hit him, telling him that he'd pushed his body's limits once again, causing it to shut down on its own. The last thing Antonio Carriedo saw was the darkness engulfing the sunlit scenery, before he stopped functioning and fell, hitting the rocks, and sinking to the waters.

The boy awoke moments later, feeling as though his head had been hammered repeatedly, and the pounding didn't cease as he winced and sat up, shivering a little at the chill of the wind. It was then that he realized that he was back on land, and that his clothes stuck to him like a second layer of skin, stained by the earth and his own blood. He felt the soft earth cushioning his aching body as though it cradled him in hopes that he would recuperate faster.

He brought a hand up to his forehead, only to feel a piece of cloth covering where the pain had originated from and was concentrated the most. A hand slapped his away, making him blink as he continued staring up at the canopy of trees.

"Don't be so stubborn. Thanks to you, I lost my shirt," the owner of the hand grumbled with a scowl over his face, then trailed off, feeling apologetic, though he couldn't find the words to utter an apology. "C-Can you talk? Do you speak English? Italiano? Español?" his voice softened into a silent apology for his harshness.

"Español, but…I understand…you're saying," Antonio managed to slur out, blinking now, as he forced his eyes to focus.

"Alright, well, can you tell me why you were out in the damn sea at too-fucking-early o'clock or will that be too difficult?" the boy asked.

He swears a lot, but he seems so pained whenever he does. It's like he's only doing it to rebel. "Camera…" Antonio breathed as he leaned his head on both sides to search for his prized possession.

"You mean that magic box? It's broken; you crushed it when you fell."

"Oh." Magic box? He speaks funny.

"Do you live close by? If I haul your ass to town, will people recognize you?"

"Swear a lot…"

"I can swear as much as I damn want," it sounded less aggressive in Antonio's ears, as though it were a pout, rather than a rude remark.

"Head hurts," Antonio groaned as he snapped his eyes shut, trying to imagine the pain ebbing away.

"No shit, that was some fall," the boy chuckled wearily. His chuckles vanished in a whisper, as though it never really existed, when he spoke, "Look, as much as I can help you, any more and I'd be in shit. You're lucky I even saved you."

"Hurts…"

"No, no…" his denies sounded hesitant.

"Please…"

"Fine! But you're hauling your own ass back to town and not me. You have to leave me alone and pretend I don't exist. Make up whatever shit is believable, just…whatever, that's your problem, o-okay?" the boy's voice was tense and shaky, as though he would really get in trouble in helping Antonio. Antonio almost wanted to tell him to stop and that it was fine, but the immense pain he felt overwhelmed him.

"Right."

"Lie back down and keep your eyes shut," the boy ordered.

Antonio did as he was told, keeping his eyes shut as he heard cork popping out of a glass vial. His lips were forced open by calloused, gentle fingers. A tasted liquid was poured into his mouth, followed by something which reminded him of the salty taste of iron. Blood? He thought, tempted to open his eyes and speak up, wondering what the boy was doing to him.

"Drink," the boy commanded shakily.

Antonio merely shook his head as his brain attempted to process several questions which soon died down as it was washed over by thoughts of the pain he felt.

"Drink!"

He continued to resist. If there is blood in my mouth, then whose blood is it? What is he doing?

"Don't be stubborn, bastard. You begged for my help," the boy grumbled impatiently, huffing. "Don't make me use force." Antonio could feel his presence getting closer and closer to him. The boy's presence radiated of something indescribable, but pleasant.

When Antonio remained still, he heard an exasperated sigh escape from the boy's list, accompanied by some shuffling, as though the boy was wondering as to what to do. Suddenly, the he felt the boy's presence continue to get closer, until they were at a distance where most people considered it to be intimate.

He felt a flick on his nose, making him flinch and take in an instinctive gasp, surprised as he choked on the liquid, forcing him to swallow it. Despite the warmth which spread through his body, dulling the pain, he coughed at the unintentional swallowing of the liquid. The warmth managed to keep his eyes closed, as though it made him comfortable without sight, until the numbing continued and suddenly, he was without his senses, drifting back to unconsciousness.

The last things he heard was a muted chuckling and perhaps a mutter of the word, "Idiot," before he lost his hearing.

Antonio awoke to the sound of the sea, and the cool breeze through the slightly ajar windows. Each year ever since that incident, he would be plagued by dreams of the boy and his voice. His memory of the incident was vague, and recollecting them was similar to that of staring through a plastic bottle; the vision was warped and blurred. It was as though a veil had been placed on his memories, allowing him enough vision to get a somewhat clear grasp of what had occurred, yet obstructive enough to not give him the details he had been begging for.

Three years had passed, and despite his vague memories, the boy's voice rang clear in his mind, as though the boy had spoken to him merely seconds ago. It was musical and enchanting, and it took great effort not to be drawn to the boy's voice.

That day, he woke up at the hospital with his family hovering over him. The boy had carried him there, but before anyone could question his identity, he vanished from the area, never to be seen again. Some suggested he was a boy from the city not far from their town, and the doctors insisted whatever the boy had done to him was a hallucination caused by the fatigue from his lack of sleep. Apparently, he arrived at the hospital with his skin so pale he resembled someone who had just died. The colour from his lips was drained, but he maintained a strong, steady pulse. His clothes had not been bloodstained and covered in mud, and he did not have a head injury of some sort. It was merely a hallucination.

Gazing out on his windows, he could see that the sun had only just started to rise from its slumber. Another day began with Antonio's enigmatic childhood unsolved. I have a whole week, Antonio mused as the faint sunlight kissed his skin. I have the whole spring break to search for him. The reason as to why he yearned to search for the boy for so long was a mystery to him as well. Perhaps he wanted to thank him, or ask him what he had done to him. Perhaps both.

So many questions remained unanswered and he merely craved for the answers. What was the boy doing there at such an early time? Why did he save him? Where did he learn how to treat such wounds? How was he doing? Had he changed in the span of three years?

With a decisive nod, he swung his legs off the bed and prepared to head out to the sea where he usually sat on the rocks where he fell. In the bathroom mirror, his reflection stared at him brightly as the tiny scar on his forehead appeared brighter than usual. How could he believe what the doctors told him when he was left with a mark to prove the incident was real? It was merely a hallucination was what they told him, but to him, it felt very real.

He brought a hand to brush his mess of curly hair down on his forehead to cover the mark and continued on with his preparations.

Romano was sixteen—not old enough to even be considered an adult member of merfolk society, yet already weighed down by so many responsibilities of an adult's. It wasn't as though he was royalty; no, the merfolk were lesser creatures of the waters. It was his bloodline which drew sirens to him. Born from a human mother, and the best soldier of the merfolk, the sirens craved to have his children for power.

"A mixture of those bloodlines is dangerous, Romano," his uncle always told him. "You can't let those savages get their hands on you."

'Savages,' Zio called them, as it was the sirens that were more superior and more hostile to humans. For centuries, they forced the merfolk to work under them, attracting humans to the sea, where they would procreate and dispatch of them, soon after. It was the sirens that ignored the rules of fate, going about their lives without a mate. Romano could only wonder how painful that must be for them. It is said that living a life without a mate would freeze them in their current state, forcing them to live on until they find their mate. It is said that many have gone insane without their mate.

"That's why they're savages, Romano," his aunt told him. "Without anyone to keep them grounded, they go insane with lust. It's not required to procreate with one's mate, but without the deep spiritual connection, they're lost. That's what they are. That's what your father was."

Lost. His father was apparently lost. Tales of his father's death had been repeated to him ever since he was a child, that he remembered each word of every version the elders told him. He had gone insane, attacking a merfolk city when Romano was merely a few years old.

March was his birth month—the only time he was able to shed off the heavy burden of responsibilities and walk on land, among the humans, liberated from his other family. For thirty-one days every year, he was able to become average, away from the focused attention of the water creatures. Humans are interestingly stupid, he thought to himself as he swam swiftly to the surface. They have such strong blood, yet they chose to remain ignorant. As he swam, with a strong, narrow tail moving with agility, he began humming, and as he reached the surface, he thought out loud, "The funny thing is, it actually fucking works. They know nothing about it, always finding a way to explain shit scientifically."

He looked around in search for his half-brother who usually met with him by the rocks, carrying a change of clothes he could slip into. Clothes, he mused, his expression turning into sheer disgust at the thought. Clothes were obstructive and they were tight around his limbs, making him feel enclosed. As much as he hated them, they were merely a small matter to suffer with in exchange for his limited freedom.

Floating on his back, he shut his eyes peacefully, as the sun finally rose up. Romano tried to soak in the mild heat he rarely got to enjoy, ignoring the annoying light which passed through his eyelids. From afar, he could hear the song of the merfolk bidding him farewell.

"Farewell, our Prince," Zia would always call him. He denied make-believe royalty and whatever expectations he received from the merfolk of him leading the rebellion against sirens. It had apparently been a failed dream of his father's, and it was now his responsibility to carry on with his legacy, living under someone's shadow. Even on land, his half-brother outshone him, though he never cared. He never craved the care and affection of others. How could he possibly crave something he was unfamiliar with? He simply wished to be free from the chains which bound him to the bottom of the sea. Freedom was all he could ask for, but sadly, it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

His fists clenched as thoughts and responsibilities passed through his head. The resistance to the tiny smile he had on, overwhelmed by musings filled with pessimism and hostility, won. He told himself that he should be contented with his month-long freedom and not be so selfish as to ask for more.

There was a slight tug in his chest, as though something was pulling him to shore with strong bonds. Within the matter of seconds, the negativity that plagued his mind vanished and genuine thoughts of hope lurked within him. The melancholy tune he was humming had shifted to a hopeful, melodic one, as words found their way out of his lips.

In my fantasy

Antonio happily walked with swiftness, toying with his SLR with the strap around his neck. It had been a shame to have broken his Polaroid, but he did find it rather limiting as it was practically used for fun and not for professional photography. His late father had been extremely unsupportive of his interests in the arts, ever since he was a child, and his mother often reminded him of that. Many expected him to be something so much greater, when he simply wanted to remain the simple man he was. He never dreamed of pursuing something greater than what he was passionate for, for in his mind, nothing was greater than what he truly loved.

He sighed wearily, keeping hope in his heart that he would free himself from such high expectations. He had to keep hope, and he had to remain strong, regardless of others' opinions. He would push himself and work hard in order to achieve whatever he did, and he would ignore the fact that people would call him a fool for pursuing such dreams. He had to struggle in order to attain the happiness he so wanted, and so he didn't care if people thought he was a fool who was a little too happy; he simply enjoyed what little drop of joy he could get.

Upon convincing himself to keep his head held high and carry himself with pride in the things he enjoyed doing, the boy's voice rang resonant in his ears. The boy's voice now rang a high tenor; capable of belting notes and for some unknown reason, Antonio felt a pull in his chest to follow the disembodied voice.

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto.

The melody flowed smoothly with the voice, not sounding round, nor nasal, unlike some of the vocal students in Antonio's school. If anything, it sounded free from all the restrictions and stern vocal trainings; it was naturally beautiful. It was relaxed, as though music was something the boy took refuge in, and his voice, capable of drawing people with its silky tones, was something Antonio could listen to, even if he were to simply read a phone directory.

Lì tutti vivono in pace e in onestà.

It was then that Antonio noticed he had stopped dead on his feet, frozen in awe by the boy's singing. The tugging in his chest was much stronger now, and Antonio couldn't help but succumb to the urge to let the tugging lead him. It was a sensation he couldn't explain, but right then, waves of relief washed over him, mixed with impatience as he stepped forward. His steps grew faster and faster, and the tugging grew more intense; soon, he was running to the voice.

Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,

Come le nuvole che volano,

Antonio's lips stretched to a big smile as he pushed his stride farther and farther until he reached the cliff by the rocks. Overwhelming emotions of joy filled him, as though he had long been lost and has finally found his way. The relief and joy one would feel after drinking ice cold drinks on a hot summer day paled in comparison to what he felt. It was as though the song made him capable of hearing, and the wondrous sense stunned him. He caught himself before plunging down to the waters below, leaning on a tree as he was a panting mess, his hair mussed and his clothing disheveled from running and swatting away vines, twigs, and anything which obstructed his way to the boy with the golden voice.

Hanging his camera on a sturdy branch, he sat by the edge, mesmerized by the boy. How could he not be cold, swimming at such a time when winter had just ended? A familiar feeling of lethargy enveloped him, making his eyelids drop as he found peace in the voice. He had forgotten his purpose for heading out to the sea, stuck there like a statue, eyes closed and lips playing a genuine smile. In his moments of enjoying the music, he had swung back and forth, subconsciously aware that he had leaned forward. Upon the sensation of falling, he opened his eyes and realized that it was merely a matter of seconds before he was to be plunged to the waters. He only had a second to assume a position which wouldn't harm him in his fall.

His song was interrupted by the sound of an enormous splash, signalling him that he had an audience in his moment of peace. His shoulders hunched, tensing as his eyes narrowed to slits, bracing for a possible enemy. He waited, his lips bared back into a snarl, as he struck his sharp nails against each other, but the figure did not resurface. Alarm replaced hostility as he dove down to watch a human sinking down, making no attempts to reach the surface. The human's lips formed a serene smile, his hair flowing in the direction of the water current.

He hesitated, before groaning and swimming swiftly in the human's direction. What are you doing? His thoughts rang clear in his mind. Remember what happened the last time you helped a human? You almost killed him!

Shut up! With a growl, he swam faster, as his peripheral sight blurred underwater, his focus set straight on the sinking figure. He hooked his arms underneath the human's, wrapping his arms around the male's shoulders as his tail shifted and began swimming up to the surface. The male had opened his eyes upon feeling Romano's touch, shocking Romano with the intensity and depth of his forest green eyes.

Upon reaching the surface, Romano scowled at the human with captivating eyes, giving him a look of disbelief. His Zio forbade him from aiding humans ever since the incident six equinoxes ago. It was in that incident that he saved a human life, but risked it as well in giving him a small amount of his blood. I'm partially human too. It's required to save one's kind, even if it's as fucked up as mine.

As they reached the surface, the human inhaled a giant gasp, panting as he stared at Romano with wide, eyes containing exhilaration and fascination. The human's clothes stuck to him like a second layer of skin as the human calmly clung onto Romano. Out of frustration, he flicked the human's nose, "What the fuck were you doing? Are you planning to die? Who are you and why were you watching me?" He bombarded the human with so many questions, but the human seemed lost in his eyes, paying attention to every little detail.

Antonio was extremely fascinated. The boy's face was a pale ivory in the sunlight; from his temples to the outside of his eyes glimmered scales which blended onto human skin in shades of sea green, to lime, to olive, depending on how the light showered on it. Antonio fought the urge to press his fingers on the boy's cheekbones where the scales morphed to human skin, caught by the boy's hazel eyes. Hazel didn't give justice to the boy's heavy-lidded eyes, as they glistened in the shade of light passing through cognac, ringed with pale greens.

The boy had been speaking at a fast pace, asking Antonio questions he had trouble catching on to, so when the boy stopped to wait for his response, Antonio merely blinked. "I don't…"

The boy sighed, rolling his eyes at him, muttering something about how humans were frustrating, yet interesting at the same time. "A name, at least give me a name," he ordered.

But Antonio was already once again lost, identifying what features were visible of the boy's. The boy's features were that of a soldier's, with narrowed hostile eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp jaw. The temptation to put the image onto canvas was too great to resist. Before he knew it, Antonio was speaking, "You're real."

And at that moment, captivated by the boy's beauty, only the moment of relief remained present within him, as if all his memories were vanishing. It was as if his sole existence were being overwritten upon finally seeing the boy through clear eyes; his name, his family, his friends, forgotten.

"You just had your ass saved by me, Lovino Vargas, son of the merfolk and of you humans, and yet you ask," the boy deadpanned at him. "I gave mine, now give me yours."

What was his name? The nameless human frowned, staring down at the dark waters below to break away from the boy's distracting beauty. "Antonio, right," he beamed at him with a smile as soon as he remembered. But the overwriting process continued, as though it decided to spare Antonio's identity and only made room for the boy.

The boy's eyes, narrowed and deadly, widened in shock. "Not you again."

How is it, Jordan? I hope you like it. I've decided to post it early, since I doubt I'd have enough time to post it on the holidays. Advanced happy Christmas.

To the others, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There'll be more to come, but I'm done for the Hetalia after this one and my other USUK fic. Sorry. I've lost the fire.

~Reilley