Author's Note: This one is long! Sorry not sorry! Also, it's in Germany's perspective. . . Enjoy!
Thursday, November 21st, 1991 : 34 days until Christmas
This house isn't the same. Everything is so quiet. Erie.
I've been existing off of memories lately, replaying my favorites over and over again as a replacement for what I'm going through now. My focus has been destroyed, what little happiness I garnered in the last few decades melted away in just an instant, and the solitude. . . I can not stand being alone, being by myself with my thoughts. Thinking about the half alive body I carried into this house almost brings me to the verge of tears. What was worse? Seeing Prussia die on that cold table in 1947 or seeing what he is now? Is it even fair of me to ask that? Well, of course I should be happy that he's alive, and I am, but. . .
I stand up from the couch in the living room and head toward the basement, down the stairs and into his room. It's still the same as it was in the 1930s, I didn't have the heart to clean it out or change it in any way. After he died I used it as a place of comfort. I felt that being surrounded by the things he liked was the best substitute for him, even if it hardly came close to the ease he could put me in.
The Prussian flag hangs over the headboard, a relic that joined the Holy Roman flag on the opposite wall in retirement many decades ago. It reminds me of cold, windy mornings on the coast of the Baltic sea, looking off in the direction of Sweden. With a heavy sigh I sit on the bed, running my hand across the black sheets as I turn my attention to the Holy Roman flag. That one reminds me of the valley in the Alps, Hungary tying an apron around her waist before turning on the stove and preparing whatever meal she was to make for us. Obviously I never met the Holy Roman Empire, but as a child I was constantly being compared to him. Austria has his flag hanging still as well, I guess that's why I'm reminded of Austria and Hungary when I look at it.
The best thing in this room is all the books. And not just all the classic literature on the shelves, but the beautifully bound books behind those on the shelves. I stand up from the bed and carefully remove a random book so I can reach the book behind it. 1765 is embroidered on the spine of the book with gold lettering that has faded considerably now. Prussia has a journal for almost every year between 1600 and 1915. About a quarter of them are on these bookshelves, while the rest are packed away in boxes. I liked to read them after he died. . . He never wanted anyone reading them when he was alive, and at first I felt bad about it, but it was the only way I could be close to him after he passed so. . .
I open the book in my hands to a random page and begin reading.
. . . and only now have I finally returned from my expedition to Vienna. I was meant to stay for a month, but could hardly stand even a week. I only stayed for twelve days. I couldn't take how they looked at me. How they would treat me. As if I was some bloodthirsty warmonger, as if they had not known me all my life. I will admit that I have changed a bit from who I once was. I experienced things in the war previous that prevent me from being my normal self. But this is absolutely no reason to be afraid of me.
Austria has been telling them that I am dangerous. That I want to conquer everything in sight. That I truly am evil. And like the Habsburg-pleasers they are, they believe his word. Even the Holy Roman Empire, the very man who raised me, taught me everything I know, loved me, looked into my eyes and was fearful, even if just for a moment. It broke my heart. To see the man I love cower, even if just slightly, from me.
It all came to a head on my last night there, which is why I came home so early. Austria, the one who solves all his problems with marriage, solved the problem he had regarding me by marrying the Holy Roman Empire. And I could not bear to stay one night longer seeing him flaunt that. He knows how it hurts me.
I am changed. Alone. Feared. The one man I would always find solace in, has been swept away and taught to be wary of me.
Maybe they are right. Maybe Austria has a point. But it still hurts nonetheless. . .
I close the book and sigh. I learned so much about him by reading these pages. . . But, honestly, I think it made the pain of losing him worse. It's made the pain of seeing the husk he is now worse as well, since I still feel so intimately acquainted with Prussia. Or, who used to be Prussia.
November 22nd, 1991
"He speaks German with an accent."
"Hm?" America asks at my random statement.
"Gilbert. He speaks German with an accent."
America reaches over me to grab the remote and turns off the TV. He has been checking up on me recently because of everything that has happened. We have yet to really talk about it, but I think I'm ready now.
"Does that bother you?"
". . . Kind of. I don't know, I just, he used to speak it so beautifully so to hear him speak it now is just jarring."
"He was a very eloquent speaker, that is true."
I look down at my hands for a bit as I think about all the things I could bring up at the moment. There is so much but, as usual, I have a hard time putting my thoughts into words.
"That, I think, is what I'm having trouble with. He's an entirely different person."
"Well, it has been almost sixty years. Did you think he was going to be the same after all that time?"
". . .No, I guess. . . But I didn't expect the husk he is now."
"If it makes you feel any better," he begins softly, "he seemed to be doing well in Canada. He has a little more weight on him and he's considerably more coherent than he was just a few weeks ago."
"I'm glad he is doing better, but I hate that he can't get better here. I should have been able to take care of him, but all I could do was make things worse. . . It's scary seeing someone you've looked up to your entire life, someone who seemed stronger than anything, be so shaken and unhinged. He hardly even recognized me."
I'm not even sure if America could say anything that would make me feel better about this, and I think he knows that. I wouldn't know what to say to me either.
"How would you feel if Gilbert had to live outside of Germany?" I furrow my eyebrows a bit at his question.
"Why do you ask?"
"Some of the other nations feel it may be best for the continent if-"
"Some other nations? Or France and England specifically?" I interrupt. He looks surprised for only a second, and I feel bad for even less.
"Yes, they approached me about this. Honestly, I don't give damn about where the man lives, but I'm sure you can understand their concern."
I sigh and lean back onto the couch I'm sitting on, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. I'm sure others see me do this and think I'm irritated, which is partly true, but really it helps me from getting overwhelmed. I feel like I could cry, honestly. My eyes are warming up and I'm really trying not to, because I shouldn't, but here it goes. I suppose I've had all of this on my mind for too long without addressing it, so now it's hitting me all at once.
"I'm sorry I just. . . Feel like I'm in the 1950s again." I manage, losing the battle against my emotions. I draw in a shaky breath as America moves closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
"I'm sorry we are making you feel this way, it was never my intention to make you so upset."
I allow myself to lean into his embrace and accept his apology and warmth. Ironically this only makes me feel even more like I'm in the 1950s, with him being so affectionate toward me.
I could acknowledge my ever constant overbearing need for this sort of figure in my life, but I'm not going to go down that rabbit hole, I've had enough self-reflection the past couple of weeks.
"I feel a little out of character. I do not mean to be so emotional." I say while sitting up.
"Don't feel bad for feeling emotion, it's only natural-" A loud pounding on my front door interrupts him. "Are you expecting someone?" He asks.
"No?" I answer while standing up and walking toward the door to unlock and open it.
"You bastard!" A very angry Romano shouts at me before punching me in the face. I stumble back a bit, shocked, as he walks into my house. "I will end you!" He punches me again before America can rush over and pull him away from me.
"Get your greasy hands off of me or I swear to God I will end you too!" Romano shouts as he struggles in America's grip. He catches my eyes and becomes enraged again.
"I will end you for what you've done to my sister! What? You can hit women but not men? Come at me like a real man! Oh, that's right, you're not a man at all! Just a little fucking weasel hidding behind a name!"
I'm frozen in place as I contemplate what my reaction to this should be. Of course I'm wildly furious at the moment, and I'm afraid if I react physically I will seriously injure if not kill this man for his audacity. But that's not who I want to be. . . What would others do if they were in my position?
Austria would probably reprimand him severely, pointing out all of the etiquette he had broken by barging in, unannounced no less, and hitting someone. This probably wouldn't have happened if Italy were here, and really, it seems to me that this is because of her. Prussia would have. . . Well, I saw France punch Prussia once out of anger many decades ago and he just smirked at her. But I don't think any of these scenarios will help me in this one. Romano doesn't feel ashamed by having absolutely no manners, nor would a cocky attitude really help me here.
In my hesitation Romano is able to break from America's grip by elbowing him pretty hard in the stomach and rush over to me, causing us both to fall to the ground. He straddles me and punches me in the face again.
"You're such a little fucking bitch! If you ever speak to my sister again I will hurt you in ways unimaginable!"
There is a lot running through my mind at the moment, it's almost unbearable. First, I feel like I deserve this. I should let him do this to me until I'm unrecognizable, because honestly I hardly recognize myself as it is. Second, I feel like I should say something, anything to defend myself and my actions and to de-escalate this entirely random and wild event. Third, and most importantly, unyielding rage. Unfortunately for him the third one always wins out in the end. As I make up my mind to react quite negatively, however, America regains his composure and pulls the screaming Italian off of me.
"What the hell are you doing?" He asks.
"Giving that Nazi bastard what he deserves! I will never forgive him for laying his filthy hands on her! Ever!" Romano screams before giving me one last angry look and stomping away. America closes the door and walks over to me, offering me his hand. I take it and he helps me up.
"I should have been expecting that." I say dejectedly, feeling all my anger wash away from me as shame and sadness fill its place.
"Geez Ludwig, he got you pretty good. Come here, I'll clean it up for you." He leads me into the kitchen and I lean on one of the counters.
"If this were any other time he wouldn't have been able to walk out of this house." I grumble while Alfred softly cleans the blood off my face with a washcloth.
"Trust me, I know. I'm amazed you didn't fight back."
"Reunification means everything to me right now, I wouldn't want to jeopardize it by putting Lovino in his place." I admit.
"I'm proud of you. I know how hard it can get sometimes." He says while lifting my chin up and dabbing around my right eye with the cloth. He rinses the blood off of the cloth before dabbing around my nose.
"I didn't hit her, I've never hit her." I feel the need to say. He doesn't answer me, just continues to clean up my face. "Alfred."
"I-I don't man, I saw the bruises. Hit or not, it was definitely rough."
I look down and bite my lower lip. I have nothing to say to that. I did bruise her. . . But I highly doubt explaining how they came about would help my situation. Hurting her was the last thing I ever wanted to do. . .
November 23rd, 1991
I spend most of my nights in the basement, like I did when I first thought I lost Prussia. There is something comforting about sleeping in this bed, surrounded by things that make him, well, him. I sit on the bed and run my hand across the neat sheets, remembering how he would sit cross legged at the edge, all sorts of papers and books spread out before him. His brow would be slightly creased as he looked over them, deep in thought. When he finally noticed my presence he'd glance up at me, red eyes stealing all the breath from my body.
"What do you want?" He asked.
There were a lot of answers that ran through my mind as he asked me this one night in particular. I approached the bed he was sitting on and began to move the papers and books.
"Germany. . ." He sighed out. Once the bed was cleared, I crawled onto it and he lifted an eyebrow. I was so nervous, heart beating wildly against my ribcage. But that time was different, different than the time in the forest in Austria. I was older, I had experience, we were no longer living with Austria. I couldn't stand it any longer, I needed release, I needed him.
"What are you up to?" He asked. I'd never been really good with words, and with all the anxiety coursing through me there was no way I could ever admit to him what I wanted. I placed my hand on his knee and slowly started feeling up his thigh. He stopped my hand before I could reach the top. I looked up at him and his eyes were filled with questions, hesitation. I remember not wanting to give him a chance to protest, so I moved up the bed to straddle him. His hands came up to my chest, maybe to push me off, so I grabbed his wrists and pinned them on either side of him above his head. It was then or never, I thought, and kissed him.
At first he didn't respond much to me, trying to free his wrists from my grip, but eventually he parted his lips and I melted. Never in my life had I felt so euphoric, his lips moving against mine, tongues exploring. His skin was so soft, body small and lithe compared to mine. I felt like everything fit together perfectly, all the sensations, us together like that. It had only happened in my dreams before, it was surreal.
It's hard for me to explain the connection between us, no words come to mind when I try to put it in a sentence. Sometimes I feel like I've known him before I was even alive, these faint memories of some distant past will come to me and I feel this nostalgic passion come over me. The first time I ever felt this way was many, many decades ago in Northern Prussia when he was teaching me properties of the plants around us. It was almost like a switch, I looked up at him and all of a sudden this feeling hit me like a wave. I remember thinking about how handsome he was and how his voice made me feel. From that day forward it just kept getting worse.
As we broke a part I looked over his face, beautiful pale skin contrasting against red swollen lips. I shifted my hips against him and we locked eyes as he gasped. Again, I pushed up against him and he bit his lower lip. His face, that moan, I could hardly process.
"Ludwig, we've talked about this." He said in a voice so soft and airy, so uncharacteristic I still remember it vividly.
"I know. . . But I'm older now and. . ." I had so much to say but nothing came out. I still wonder what would have happened if I was more eloquent with my words.
"This isn't about age, Germany. I don't think we should be doing this."
"You can't tell me that you don't want this, even if just a little."
"That doesn't matter-"
"You do, so why are you resisting it?" I remember tightening my hands around his wrists enough to make him yelp. He looked startled, and it threw me off. I immediately regretted it and I still do.
In my hesitance he pushed me off of him and flipped our positions. I'll never forget the way he looked at me, eyes intense and face serious. Nerves chilled me to the bone, my heart throbbed against my chest as his eyes searched mine like he was reading into my soul. His body over mine, those eyes, his thigh pressed tightly in between my legs.
"You've been very disobedient recently," he began in a low voice, "and it's worrying me. Not because I think you will win in this power struggle, but because you will lose. I would hate to have to put you in your place but I will, do you understand me?"
"Yes." I answered, expectant waves of pleasure running up my thighs and heating up my groin. His thigh pressed against me like that, I could hardly stand it. His hands around my wrists, his proximity, his eyes, I couldn't. Even thinking about it now makes me blush.
I remember his intense look softening considerably as he got off me and laid down beside me.
"I know you hate it, but sometimes you're too similar to Holy Rome for your own good."
". . . I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You know, him and I were good friends. Seeing him in you makes me reminisce, but you sure are ambitious like he was."
I lean back on the bed and groan. Sometimes I want things a little too much and it ends up ruining everything. . . My greatest fault.
The phone begins to ring upstairs in the kitchen and I sigh. It's probably important.
Making myself stand up, I head over to the kitchen and answer the phone.
"Hey, sorry I'm calling so late, but I wanted to let you know that I won't be at tomorrow's meeting." America's voice comes through.
"What? Why?" I ask, trying not to sound panicked.
"Some things came up and I have to be in France for a little while before going to Canada. I know you feel better with me there, but you'll do just fine. I wouldn't be letting you do this alone if you couldn't do it."
"A-alright, sure. Is everything fine in Canada?"
"Yes, Prussia is fine if that is what you are trying to ask. Maybe a little too fine" He laughs.
"Too fine?"
"I think something is going on between him and Canada. I already made a bet with England about it, I'm hardly wrong when it comes to things like this."
"Oh, well, that's interesting." I say softly, trying not to sound upset or jealous.
"It is, but I think it'll be good for both of them. Lord knows how isolated Canada has been all these years. . . Anyway, thanks for understanding. I'll make it up to you later."
"Of course."
I hang up the phone and sigh deeply. I'm happy for them, truly. I've just never been good at sharing.
November 24th, 1991
Of course everyone is staring.
The meeting goes smoothly for all intents and purposes, but their staring at me made me wildly uncomfortable. During the break I overheard England and Slovakia speaking about me in the restroom. Wondering where I got the black eye from, am I showing signs of violence again, can I truly be trusted, should they take more serious steps toward keeping me weak. . . How I'm known to break promises.
I just stood there, listening to their doubts until they left.
I remember America telling me everything was going to be okay. Maybe it will be. Maybe everything will be alright.
I walk up to the mirror and look at my black eye. Maybe if they ask what happened I can say that I fell or tripped or something. It shouldn't be that hard to believe. . . right?
I wash my hands and give my face one last look over before walking toward the bathroom door. The door opens before I can pull it open and my eyes meet Russia's.
"Hm, so this is where you ran off to." He says while closing the door behind him and standing in my way.
"Yes, as one does when they need to use the restroom." I answer cooly.
"True. Or, you are hiding from what the others are whispering about you. Get into another fight?" His voice makes my blood boil, it's so patronizing, like he's talking to a child.
"I fell."
The right side of his mouth tugs up into a smirk.
"Oh yes, of course you did."
I roll my eyes and try to move past him but he blocks me again.
"Russia, I'm just trying to go back to the meeting."
"You know I love this. Their doubts about whether or not to trust you, their fear in letting you become whole again. It makes me giddy." I bite my lower lip to stop myself from talking back. "I noticed your little North American hero isn't here. Has he finally seen you for what you are?" He taunts further.
"He had business elsewhere, he is a busy man."
"Eh, he makes time for those he cares about, which I can see is no longer you. Just like the small Italian girl, I've seen the bruises Germany you are rather ferocious."
"How?. . ." I ask mostly to myself.
"Really? Have you yet to understand that I know everything there is to know about Europe and the petty little dramas between you? I paid Felicia a little visit not too long ago and expressed my worry for her and how violent you were to her. You know we used to be rather close when the Roman Empire was still around."
"Don't you go near her." I warn.
"Oh? But I've never laid a violent hand on her. I've always been gentle."
I'm trying to stay calm but he's making it rather difficult. My heart beat is racing in my chest as I can feel anger well up inside of me. I need to get away from this.
"Look, I'm sure the meeting has started again, we should get back." I say in a tense voice. He just chuckles.
"I don't think so, this is too much fun. And anyway, I wanted to let you know personally that Prussia is officially a part of my territory, not this little eastern half you've been desperately trying to rejoin with."
My eyes widen and the world stops.
"What? Y-you're lying."
"I'm afraid not. He's still just as much mine as he was thirty years ago." He says with a smirk. I need to leave, I can't stand this, I can't be here. I try pushing past him but he just pushes me back.
"Running away again, Germany? Going to go surrender to the west and cry for America?"
"Fuck you." I say before doing something I know will get him out of the way albeit rather violent. I knee him as hard as I can in between the legs and watch him fall down like a ton of bricks. He groans and curls up, a pained expression marking his face.
"I tried asking you nicely." I say, a little shocked with myself.
"I'm going to make you wish you hadn't done that." He says in a tense voice.
"Maybe don't be so annoying, then you won't win painful prizes."
"Ahh." He whimpers, writhing in agony. I bite my lip to stop myself from smirking, and chastise myself mentally for enjoying this. I shouldn't have done what I did.
I kneel down beside him and sigh.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." I say, awkwardly placing my hand on his shoulder.
"Fuck off." He growls at me. I take my hand away and sit back on my heels. He puts a hand on his stomach and grimaces.
"If you're going to get sick you should get up." I suggest. He winces as he slowly tries to stand up. I help him get back on his feet and over to one of the stalls. I lean against the door as he throws up. I wince at the sound and run a hand through my hair. So much for trying to convince people of my changed attitude.
"Are you alright?" I venture asking.
"No, obviously," he bites back, "I see you still get off on causing me immense pain."
"I don't. . . And anyway, you blocked my way and verbally assaulted me, you are not innocent here." He groans before answering me.
"Whatever, I guess." He manages in a tense voice.
"I'll be right back." I say as I exit the bathroom. There is a small ice machine in the middle of the hallway and a few plastic bags. I take one and fill it with ice before heading back into the bathroom. He's standing before the counter now, bent forward slightly with his hands on the marble.
"Here, this will help." I say while handing him the bag of ice. He gives me a wary look before taking it and placing it in between his legs.
"Fuck you for doing that to me and then being nice." He says in a soft, exhausted voice.
"I truly am sorry. . . I'm honestly working on my reaction to things. I shouldn't have done that, even if you were being difficult."
"Well. . . I probably could have not said the things I said."
We stand in silence for a while as he ices himself. Eventually he throws the bag of ice into the trash and I look up at him.
"Now that I can't feel anything below the waist, we can return to the meeting." I nod at his suggestion and make a move to leave, but he stands in front of me and places either hand on the counter beside me. Our proximity causes me to look up at him. "Just because you helped me doesn't mean you are out of the woods. I still don't like you, not even a little." His intense glare and serious voice cause shivers to go down my spine. He looks into my eyes for a few more seconds before moving away and exiting the bathroom.
I take a deep breath and sigh it out.
November 25th, 1991
Another dinner alone, sitting at the dining table with only a single bulb lighting up this pathetic scene. It's hard for me not to feel sorry for myself, which just makes me feel even more pathetic. Why should I be having a hard time right now? Prussia was the one who had to go through literal hell for the last sixty years. . . Not that my time was easy but compared to his it was a walk in the park. . . Well, actually, I have no idea what really happened to him. Something horrible for sure, but what exactly I have no clue.
The phone begins to ring on the other side of the kitchen and I sigh. I wonder if it's America calling to apologize for lying to me. That meeting was considerably worse without him there.
"Hello?" I answer the phone.
"Germany, hi, this is Canada."
"Oh, hey." Don't sound so hostile, he's just trying to help.
"I wanted to let you know that Gilbert has improved tremendously. He should be able to return home by the end of next week."
"That's great news. Thank you so much for all your help."
"No problem."
The line is silent for a few moments before I speak up again.
"Will you be coming to Europe again as well?"
". . . Well yes, but only because France is making me, otherwise I would love to remain in North America."
"Ah, alright. I suppose I will see you then."
I let out a sigh of relief as I hang up the phone. Maybe America was wrong, perhaps nothing is going on between those two. . . Not that I should care, I really shouldn't.
Feeling down, I head back into the basement to lie down on the bed. I really shouldn't care, but I can't help but feel Prussia is being taken away from me again. What if America is right and they do have feelings for one another? Does that mean he'll go live in North America? Will most of his thoughts be about that weird, quiet nation no one talks to?
What does he see in Canada of all people? Is it because he is a doctor? It's not like that's very impressive, millions of humans study medicine, it's not some innate gift. I can't think of any other reason why he would like Canada so much, he is such a bland person, no depth, no character, just a pretty face. I know for a fact Prussia is not that shallow, there is no way he would be attracted to him only because he's beautiful. So what is it? Is it something I don't have? I mean, I can speak French, better than I can English honestly. Not that that should matter, but if that's why he likes him so much then he can find that in me. . . I shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be so jealous. . . But I can't help it.
In a few moments I'm back in the kitchen, dialing a familiar number. The phone rings a few times before one of Austria's servants answers the phone. I'm put on hold for a minute or two before Austria answers.
"As wonderful as it is to hear from you Ludwig, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Yes, sorry, I- this is urgent."
"Is everything alright?"
"Perhaps. . . I just wanted to know what you knew about Canada."
"What I know about Canada? This is your urgent question?"
"Yes."
". . . Alright, well, I don't know an awful lot about him. We were well acquainted when I was married to France, but that was in the 1700s and he was just a boy."
"What was he like then?" I ask.
"Precocious to say the least. He was a very smart boy who knew how to act at court, very talented. He would have done amazing things had he not been ripped away from his mother. He's a lot more reserved now."
"Hmm, I wonder why." I muse outloud.
"Rumor has it that England beat anything and everything French out of that boy when he went to live with him in America. He looked and acted too much like France for his liking I suppose."
"That's actually quite horrible. . ." I admit.
"France and England's rivalry was something to behold, that is for sure. You know this, they still fight like a feral cat and a house dog. Anyway, why are you so curious about the North American nation?"
"I guess I realized how much I don't know him. I just wanted to know your opinion, you're a good judge of character." I compliment, just to get his mind off my strange reason for calling.
"I only say how I see it," He says in that self-congratulating tone, "I hope you are doing alright all alone in Munich. You are welcome over anytime you wish, I'm allowed to have guests now without running it by Russia first." I can practically hear his eyes roll as he says Russia. It causes me to smile.
"He is quite insufferable." If my last encounter with him can attest to anything.
"He wasn't always like that, but I'm afraid this is just who he is now. Speaking of, did you hear that he collapsed during a meeting with America?"
"No? When did he meet with America? I didn't think Alfred was in Europe."
"He left for North America today according to France. She said something about him taking Sealand to Canada or something like this, I guess that is why he was absent at our last meeting. Something happened and he had to take care of him for a bit."
"Huh. . . I should talk to you more often." He laughs a bit.
"You should, you know it gets very lonely when I'm the only one on this large estate. My only interaction with others is from my human servants. I think Russia liked keeping me idle, it drives me insane."
"He probably did, he knows exactly what bothers people. . . You said he collapsed?"
"Oh, yes, fell right out apparently. Spooked America to the bone."
"Interesting."
"Indeed. . . Anyway, as much as I love filling you in on gossip, it is so late and I am just about dying standing here."
"Oh, of course, sorry. Thanks again."
"Certainly, darling."
I sigh as I hang up the phone. Maybe I should speak with Austria more often.
November 26th, 1991
The night air has finally cooled down to a refreshing temperature, making the night immensely pleasurable. I see most of the creatures in the garden feel the same. Crickets happily sing their bliss as the birds cozy up in their nests for the night. Summer flowers are slowly starting to retire, giving way to hardier plants that will survive the coming snow. The lanterns hung along the trail attract little bugs that fly about lazily. The scene before me is beautiful, but one thing in particular sells me on the aesthetic nature of this picture - Prussia.
The moonlight does him wonders, highlighting the youth and smoothness of his face. He is unique to say the least, exotic. I know others find him strange, or even unsettling to look at, but I can't peel my eyes away. I don't fear the fire in his eyes, quite the opposite actually. My heart skips a beat, fills up with so much emotion I can hardly stand the pressure. I don't know if I should reprimand Hungary or thank her for the way she tells him to dress. Everything suits him so well, brings out the best parts of his figure, calls my attention away from his eyes. He's just so. . . so-
"Idyllic, isn't it?" Felicia asks while holding my arm tighter.
"Uh, what?" I ask, snapping out of my trance.
"The night. It's perfect." She says with a smile. I smile back and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"It is."
"What do you think Prussia and Austria are talking about?"
"I think I heard one of them say Serbia."
"Oh, don't speak like that. I hate the prospect of war." I chuckle a bit and hold her closer.
"It'll be alright, I wouldn't let any harm come to you."
She sighs softly and allows herself to rest into me. A few peaceful moments pass like this until Austria and Hungary approach us.
"Time already?" Felicia asks with a cute yawn.
"Yes, it is almost midnight. Come now." Hungary says. Felicia kisses my cheek before getting up and following Hungary back toward the manor. I feel Austria's eyes on me as I watch her walk away.
"I hope that you've kept everything appropriate." He states.
"Of course." I say while looking up at him, resisting to smirk at how much of a lie that is.
"Good. Felicia is much too innocent."
Before I can say anything to this Prussia walks up to us and sits next to me on the bench.
"I'm sure your wife would love your company." Gilbert says nonchalantly.
"Good night, Prussia." He answers before turning and walking the direction Italy and Hungary went in.
"Look at the way he walks, so fucking prissy." Prussia laughs causing me to smile. "So, I see you and Italy are getting pretty serious."
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Do you love her?"
"Wh-what? I-I don't know." I stutter out. He just smirks at me, putting his arm on the back of the bench and leaning back. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Why are you getting all flustered? I just asked a simple question."
"You know why." I say, failing to stop my eyes from trailing down his chest and stomach.
We sit in silence for a while, watching the perfect scene before us. The longer we sit alone together the more that weird feeling inside bothers me. I'm reminded of the time I tried kissing him in the forest not too far from here, of all the times I found myself flustered around him, that time I accidentally walked in on him hardly dressed. I take a deep breath to try and whisk the thoughts away.
"How would you know?" I ask out of the blue.
"Hm?"
"How would I know if I loved her?"
The way his smile lights up his eyes makes my heart flutter and I fear I've gotten my answer from that alone.
"You'd know. Being in love is horrible, it's like having all of your faculties taken away and replaced with obsession and desperation. I don't recommend it, kid."
"You've been in love before?"
"Yeah, a long time ago. I never will again."
His answer hurts me a bit, but I don't show it. If I could have one thing in this life it would be for him to love me the way I do him. But I'm convinced of that possibility less and less as time goes on.
And anyway, I have Italy. She's sweet, smart, incredibly beautiful, what is there not to love about her? I'm sure in time I'll fall for her the way I did with Prussia. I pray that I do.
The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up and I groan. I'm not going to answer that.
November 27th, 1991
Austria crosses his legs and looks me over.
"You look horrible, how have you been sleeping?"
"Here and there. . . It's not the greatest time for me right now, as I'm sure you know." I answer. He adjusts the teacup before him on the coffee table but never actually picks it up.
"You know I always thought you and Felicia were mismatched." I roll my eyes.
"Because she could do better?" I quip, feeling unusually sassy.
"Yes, actually, I did think that. But now, I honestly think you are both wonderful people who deserve to be with someone who will make you happy. You two could work amazingly as friends but as a couple I'm sorry I just never saw it." He answers matter of factly. I sigh and lean back in my chair.
"Honestly, you're probably right."
"Well of course I am."
I laugh a bit and he smiles lightly.
"I got a call from Canada not long ago, he said that Prussia was well enough to come back."
Austria finally picks up the teacup and takes a small sip from it. He appears to be deep in thought as the cup remains in his hand for a few moments before he actually sets it down.
"You do know that he may not come back here, yes? Russia has full autonomy over whatever Prussia happens to be these days."
"I-I know that, I just. . ." I'm not really sure of the words I want to say so I don't. Austria sighs deeply before uncrossing his legs and resting his forearms on his knees.
"This isn't about Felicia, is it?"
"I-I of course it is, she's the world to me I-"
"I don't doubt that you love her in your own way," He interrupts, "but your heart doesn't and never did belong to her. You think those little bruises on her arm is why she really left you? Do you honestly think it was a coincidence that right when Prussia came back to this house your relationship with her fell apart?" I open my mouth to say something but I have nothing. "I know you, Ludwig. I practically raised you. . . So, I know how you feel about Prussia."
"Prussia is like a father to me."
"I'm like a father to you, Prussia is something more."
Silence hangs in the living room as his words sink in. He takes my silence as a chance to keep hounding in on the subject.
"And maybe I should have confronted you sooner about this but. . . This attachment, obsession you have with him, isn't healthy. Especially when he will never return the kind of feelings you have."
"How dare you say something like that to me, or even suggest that I. . . I'm not obsessed with him, I care about him as I should."
"Sixty years, Ludwig, he had been gone for sixty years and you never healed. Now, I understand what it's like to love someone then lose them, and I understand how long it takes for the heart to heal but sixty years and no progress? Year one to year sixty, yearning for him the same with the same amount of hurt in your heart. That kind of pain changes people, Germany. Do you want to be someone like Russia?"
"What do you want me to say? Of course not, but it's not like I choose to feel this way." I cringe at the emotion in my voice.
"I want you to tell me that you'll let him go. You need to move on."
"I don't know what you think has gone on between Prussia and I, but honestly, whatever it is is none of your business."
Austria pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs out.
"You remind me so much of Holy Rome sometimes."
"I'm nothing like him."
"How would you know?" He asks while looking up to me, "I was married to him, I know full and well what he was like. And sometimes I can barely tell the difference between you two. And now, it would seem, you have that same sick desire for Prussia."
I start to feel the beginnings of anger well up in my chest as I furrow my eyebrows.
"Sick? What is that supposed to mean?"
"Ludwig," he sighs out, "look at you. Do you think I like seeing you like this? Do you have any idea how much I care for you? I may seem like an aloof wall at times, but I care for you dearly, like my own son. I want to see you happy, thriving, being your best self. But that can not happen if you continue feeling this way for Prussia." I feel my anger wash away at his tender voice. I would be lying to myself if I said I didn't love Prussia. . . I would also be lying to myself if I said that love wasn't eating me up inside. "He will never love you the way you love him."
His final statement was the last straw for me. Hot tears well up in my eyes as I realize he's absolutely right. I've known this for a while, but really admitting it to myself hurts so much I wish I could just stop. Austria's expression turns sympathetic as he sits next to me and wraps his arms around me. He softly rubs my back while I cry into him. I hate this, I hate this weakness I'm showing, but I can't help it.
"I love him so much," I manage, "I just wish I could stop."
"I know." He says softly.