title: thank you for the rain
summary: He's forgotten - and somehow, he knows they'd meet again.
pairing: Austria/Hungary

i.

The first time they meet, they're on a train. There's a dank smell of everything everywhere and he's wondering why in the heck he's doing here, sitting on filthy, padded seats and squashed against tens of hundreds of people. If he'd known, he'd have much preferred to walk. But rather obviously, there was nothing he could do about it now.

Five hours and three minutes later - finally, finally - the doors open. He's finally, finally done; he can breathe, thank goodness. And then somewhere beside him there is a girl that suddenly falls and Austria thinks, oh shoot, because falling while trying to get off something as crowded and full of people like a train simply cannot be a good thing. He's not sure what happens after that, but only mere seconds later he's walking towards her and talking to her and he's putting his arm out and well, she's taking it, and his heart (maybe) flutters a bit, like a bird's wings; they're trying to work, but can only manage a small, almost painful batting flutter.

'I'm sorry,' she says. He notices her hesitation. But she smiles afterwards anyway, and he dismisses his thoughts, because she speaks again; 'But thank you.'

'It's not a problem.'

He watches her step off and onto the platform, and before he knows it, the doors are closed (again) and the ground under his feet is moving but he's still staring, still thinking that he's seen her somewhere before - he knows he's seen her before - and he realizes that it might not have been the first time he's met her. And it's another heartbeat before he realizes -

'Oh. Oh shoot, I'm on a train. Again. Shoot.'

ii.

The second time, he thinks, is at a party. He honestly still can't be sure; memories are ripped pages of picture books in his head; fleeting, but lost. Lost, but fleeting. It's strange, but that's okay to him; he'll live in the now.

The party is magnificent, at first glance to Austria. It is almost glimmering before his eyes, with glittering everythings and lacy designs everywhere. Usually, Austria doesn't mind these celebratory moods, but tonight - and tonight in particular - his head is pounding and his temples are groaning against his skull, and when a very snooty-faced Prussia - what was his real name again? - slinks by, tells him that his head might be pregnant, his head only hurts more.

And it doesn't help at all that he's the host of this party. It doesn't help that he doesn't remember everyone - he remembers pictures, but not memories; never memories - and he goes around anyway, pretending that he knows exactly what's going on, pretending that he knows exactly who everyone is, even if he doesn't, because he, well, doesn't.

In a fleeting moment, there is a familiar face in the folds of the crowds and he stops pretending for a moment to be honest and think (and this time, it doesn't hurt as bad). He can't remember; has he seen her before? She's wearing a veil sort of thing and a flower in her hair and a white, frilly dress, and from behind, she looks awfully beautiful. Excusing himself from his conversation with Russia, who is drinking more vodka, he chases after.

And just as suddenly as she'd appeared, there is, once again, nothing. No one.

His head starts hurting again, and he doesn't know why. This time, the images in his head press together tightly and tilt, on a ninety degree angle, and start to move.

iii.

'What did we do wrong?'

'Nothing.' He presses his lips to her forehead. 'We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't.'

She bites her lip. 'Then why did they say we did?'

'Don't listen to what they say. Don't.'

'I - but, Roderich, I can't stand it. Being judged. What did we do wrong? What are we doing wrong? What are we doing now?'

'You speak too much.' He grabs her fingers and touches them to his lips. 'I'll have to go now. It's late, Elizavéta. I will see you tomorrow.'

'You'll come tomorrow?'

'I will.'

-x-

Austria wakes up in the middle of the night, eyes flaring open and fists clenching his thin, satin bedsheets. His breath comes in short, and his hands grope for his glasses on his bedside table; somehow, they've become a comfort.

And somehow, he breathes in the lingering scent of lemon, lets out a shuddering breath, and closes his eyes, tries to remember exactly what he's seen.

Green. Her eyes are green.

iv.

Switzerland visits the next day.

'How are you doing?' he grumbles, eyes flicking to one side and arms folded.

'Why do you ask?'

Switzerland stares at him, opens his mouth, but changes his mind. 'Nothing,' he mutters. 'Never mind. It's nothing important.'

'Are you sure?' Austria asks. There is something that tells him that he never visits when there is nothing of importance happening. Switzerland says nothing, only stares at him. 'Tell me,' Austria prompts. Even if I don't know you. Even if I feel like I should.

'It's nothing.'

'Don't lie to me.'

Switzerland is startled. Austria continues; somehow. 'I know when you're lying to me. Don't lie.'

There is silence. A thick, deepening silence that resembles none of the comforting quietness Austria was very regularly used to. Instead, Switzerland lets out a sigh, and for the first time, Austria realizes that Switzerland is tired - tired to the very, very core, so worn out, dark bags hidden under his eyes; he isn't the same person as the one in his faded images, the ones in his head. He's tired. And still, he's here.

'I'm sorry,' Austria says. Switzerland looks at him with hollow eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he repeats, and he smiles sadly. 'I'm - I don't know who you are, what you mean to me, just that you're - you're here - and if you're here, and you're supposed to mean something to me, maybe - ' He struggles to find the right words, but Switzerland stops him.

'It's okay,' he mumbles. There is sincerity in his tone. 'It's okay, it really is - and just,' Switzerland pauses, sits down next to Austria, turning his face away, but Austria can already see the embarrassment written, blooming across on his face. 'Can I...?'

He's not sure what he wants, but he supposes it's right, because when Austria opens his arms, Switzerland falls.

'You ass,' the boy grits out, hiding his face in his shoulder. 'You - you just had to, didn't you? Out of all the years I've known you, this has got to be the stupidest thing you've ever done, fucking Roderich. Maybe you should go .die Go and die, you jerk. Or maybe I'll kill you myself.'

There is a tug at Austria's heart, and a familiar name comes to mind.

'Vash,' he whispers, almost - the slightest tremor lacing his voice. 'Vash.'

Switzerland buries his face deeper in Austria's shoulder and cries.

v.

'I keep seeing her. everywhere. Why?'

'Don't ask questions I can't answer.'

'But - I can't remember,' Austria says. He rubs at his temples and winces in pain. 'It hurts to try.'

'Then don't,' Switzerland presses his palm against Austria's forehead and jerks it upwards so that their eyes meet, so that Austria sees Switzerland's, bright emerald and blazing. 'Don't remember. Don't try to remember. If it hurts, then just don't. Maybe you'll be better off this way.'

'But I can't forget about her.'

Switzerland holds his breath. Austria narrows his.

'What's wrong?' he asks.

'You've forgotten everything else,' Switzerland says softly, expression hard. 'You've forgotten everything else, everyone else. She's just one person. You could forget about one person any day, Roderich. Any day.'

'Stop it.' Austria is grasping at familiarity now. 'What are you saying? Stop it, stop talking about her like that.'

'Oh yeah?' Switzerland challenges, eyes boring into his. 'Make me. You - you don't know because you've forgotten, but - '

'But what?' Switzerland flinches, even if he doesn't mean to. Austria has never been the aggressive one, but he's standing up; his face is angry. 'Vash, tell me. What happened to me? Why did I - ' he chokes. 'Why did I forget? Why did this happen to me?'

Switzerland all but shouts it out; Austria hears frustration, despair, stubbornness - and everything almost returns. Almost.

'It's because you went after her. It's because of that, okay? She - I don't know what she did, but she ran - and you, being your stupid, emotional self - you went after her. And - I didn't hear all of it, all the details, but - oh fuck, fuck, Roderich, are you okay?'

Austria has his hands to his head. There's a head-splitting pain at the back of his mind, and all he can think is - no. No, he's not okay.

to be continued.

A/N: I have a perfectly good excuse for writing Hetalia!fic. I mean, I don't, but I'll pretend I do. I'd never intended to get into Hetalia in the first place, but she-who-shall-not-be-named pulled me into it. Yeah, pretty fanart is pretty. ;w; But anyway, yeah. I'm thinking this will only be three parts? I'm not sure myself, really. XD But y'know, thank you for reading and all that jazz~