Sorry for the wait, everyone! School starts in a week, so expect my updates to become slower from now on. I'll do my best to continue, though. Have fun reading! Please R&R!
A BIG THANK YOU to my best friend Whaddapack because of his forever-amazing beta-ing skills (like seriously bro I'm so grateful for everything) and thank you for putting up with me despite my weirdness and for always tolerating my rabid fangirl spazzing. :) *bows* orz orz orz
And a shoutout to HandMTomatoes because I'm so glad to have made such an awesome friend/friends thanks to this humble little fic of mine. Hi there, Ha-chan & Mi-chan! :D
Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya-sama, and not to me.
There isn't a single detail neglected or forgotten from his memories on that day. And though these dreams of his have come from an experience in years far from their current time, he still remembers everything from that moment long, long ago.
He remembers the green grass and the rosy fields, the colour of her dress and the fragrance of her hair, the warmth of her hands and the kindness in her eyes, and the tears that fell endlessly as they stained her flushed cheeks. Their two lone figures standing in a meadow amidst the gusting breeze, the wind carrying her scent of basil spices and warm vanilla; small, delicate hands cradling a memento of clothed white before his eyes. Promises exchanged and a single farewell uttered, and then at long last, the waning figure of the beautiful girl evanescently stolen in the merciless grasps of sleepless, waking eyes.
"She would hand me a white fabric and whisper a goodbye. The girl stammered as she spoke, and I would reach my hand out to her, hoping to wipe away her tears and ask her not to cry. But she paid me no heed as she looked at me in the eye and take my hand in hers, and I could only watch as she opened her mouth and moved her lips slowly to speak to me again…"
"E poi…?" The artist asks innocently as his eyebrows arch upwards, the hem of his shirt marred from the paint of his crimping, oil-stained hands. Feliciano beams warmly and urges for him to continue, "And then what would happen?"
"And then…" the German pauses, deep in thought as he furrowed his eyebrows in an attempt to remember. "And then nothing. Nichts. I would wake up."
"Oh. Do you…at least, do you remember what it was that she said to you?"
"Nein," the model says with a remorseful shrug. "The dream ends there."
He crosses an arm over his chest, clinging onto his elbow for support as the other hand falls loosely to his side; crescent nails digging into the skin of his dirtied palm, the Italian's smile falling from his pale, thin face.
"That girl," the brunette says with a wistful sigh. "She loved you, you know."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Ve~ I just am," he says with a cheery laugh. "And how about you, Ludwig? You love her too, don't you?"
He clears his throat and lets out a cough before he responds, "Perhaps, I did."
The Italian nods as he tilts his head up in a brisk motion, returning his gaze to the German model. "I like you, Ludwig. I really do. You're my friend, and I wish that you and this girl would be able to find happiness together. Much more than what I had to go through."
There's a flicker in his eyes and a quiver in his lips, so he purses them shut and takes to biting his tongue; tearing his gaze away in haste so as not to let his actions become noticed by the troubled German. "I know how it feels to lose someone, Ludwig. That boy I told you I loved? I lost him in that war. Just like how that girl almost lost you."
"I'm sorry for your loss, I–"
"Dicami, Ludwig," Feliciano interrupts, resigning himself to lean onto the wall for support; his slender frame highlighted against the contrasting hues of ecru walls and russet stripes. "What do you think of happy endings?"
The model says nothing in response, and so the artist takes this as his cue to continue.
"You're a soldier before, weren't you?" the artist says with a wave of his brush as he began to continue his work. "Ve! Well, here are my assignments for you, mister soldier sir! You're going to go out there, and reunite with that girl. Then you'll take her out to go on a date with you, where you'll talk and laugh and dance together as you try to reminisce the good ol' times. Ah…but Ludwig, you don't seem like the type to dance, so maybe a dinner will do fine. A romantic dinner with the best wine and the most delicious pasta you'd both love, and you'll hand her some flowers that'll sweep her off her feet. And then – bam! – you'll kiss her. You'll kiss her underneath the stars and you'll tell her that you love her. And she'll kiss you back and say that she loves you too, and you'll live happily every after in the arms of one another once again. There you go, Ludwig. That's your happy ending. It's going to be meraviglioso! Perfetto! Absolutely perfect!"
He raises the brush and points it at the model, ending his statement with a playful wink. "So…do I make myself clear, soldier?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Ludwig says in between hearty laughs, consoled from his thoughts as he plays along to the Italian's little game, raising his hand in a false salute. The sight of his happy face is wonderful thing to behold, a brilliant picture that drew Feliciano into a daze, urging the artist within him to paint and recreate this treasured memory once more.
Only then does Feliciano step away from the canvas, rising from his seat and moving towards his model. Grabbing hold of the German's wrist, he cradles his chiselled jaw in his palms, smearing his skin with muddied streaks from oil-laden hands. Their cheeks flushing madly in a bright rosy red, brought about by the onset of the afternoon heat. Or so they say.
"Let this be a promise between the two of us, " he says as he rests his forehead onto the other's own, a sworn oath spoken amidst hushed tones and unwavering gazes. "Promise me that you'll find her. Promettami, Ludwig."
The German nods and clears his throat, wringing out the collar of his shirt in a slightly flustered manner. "J-ja," he stammers in response, clearly taken aback by the action; blue eyes wide with surprise. "Ich verspreche."
He loosens the hold of his grasp, planting a soft kiss on the furrows above the model's brow, lips brushing briefly past the other's skin. "For good luck," he says, with misted eyes, his features adorned with a warm yet weary smile.
Ludwig backs away slowly, heading to the door to collect his belongings as he prepared to depart. It was getting late, he reasoned, and he had to leave now before he missed the last train on his way home. He makes a promise to return at the same time on the next day to continue their painting session, and bids farewell to the artist with a polite bow and a firm shake of his hand.
"I'll wait." He says as he lets go and the door slams shut, breathing out a promise in an almost-silent whisper.
"I'll always wait."
Translations:
[Italian]
E poi…? – And then…?
Meraviglioso - marvellous
Perfetto- Perfect
Promettami – Promise me
Dicami - Tell me
[German]
Nein - No
Nichts - nothing
Ja - yes
Ich verspreche. – I promise.
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