A/N: Have a random Italy x Fem!Prussia drabble while you wait :D
Disclaimer: I will never own Hetalia. :(
As she watches the love of her life sleep, she sometimes wonders how she made it through life without him for so long.
His steady breathing, the rhythmic beating of his heart, the warmth emitting off his body all serve to offer a sense of comfort, even a bit of companionship to the girl, who had known loneliness as it skulked about in the dark shadows of her life.
Right now his eyes are closed, his face peaceful, he continues to smile innocently, his lips curved in a soft smile. The room glows a little around him, despite the darkness of the night, almost as if graced by the very presence of an angel.
She knows just how beautiful his eyes are, the colors reflecting the sweetness of honey and amber, but doesn't quite understand why he chose her. Out of so many people who had fallen for his charming nature, why the imperfect girl with the scar across her face and unique appearance? Why the egotistical, untamable elder sister of his best friend?
Feli's slender fingers rest tangled in her silvery waves, his delicate hands a testament to his many gifts, from painting to playing the violin, though at the moment they are clearly at home in her soft locks of hair.
She buries her face in his silky auburn hair, breathing in the slight scent of the ocean, as well as his favorite pasta, making sure not to touch his curl and cause him discomfort and change the calm expression on his face that she loves more than anything.
She turns to look at him, marveling at how such an appreciator of the arts is a masterpiece in himself. As Maria runs her own fingers down his exposed cheek, feeling the soft and smooth texture of his skin, she muses silently that the God that they both believe in had indeed made a perfect being.
As night turns to morning, Feliciano's eyelids slowly flutter open, revealing those golden irises Maria loves, shining so radiantly even the rays of the sun slipping in the window seem diminished.
His sweet, slightly melodic voice rings softly in the quiet of the morning. "Buongiorno, la mia amata."
She leans forward and kisses his lips softly, reveling in the gentle touch.
He retracts his hands from her hair and brings them to wrap around her back and waist instead, holding her close.
They don't need words to express their emotions.
His smile emanates such warmth and tenderness that Maria finally understands the true reason why Italians make the best lovers.
A whisper escapes her lips, barely audible. "I love you."
But he hears. And he returns those feelings.
