Soooo...school's been totally annoying and super hassle with mountainloads of projects and tests and work so I'm sorry it took so long for me to update. The creativity has been sapped out of my soul and the writer in me has died and it was a struggle to be productive today but hey guys at least I tried.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, but I do own the plot (although I don't even know where the hell this story is going anymore hahaha)

To prisoner (guest reviewer): in response to your previous questions and reviews, 1) yes, italian is close to spanish because italy was once a colony of spain 2) yes i am aware that everyone is pretty much a homophobe here in the 1920's (i did my research don't worry :D) but i'm trying to keep it in-character with Feliciano trying to place his bets on his instincts and Ludwig being oh-so-very-polite to people regardless of the situation [except military situations of course; and this is drama, so I'm trying to keep Germany from shouting orders at Italy most of the time like in the anime/manga] If you have an account, please review with it so that I can your reply to your questions through PM instead. thanks though, I appreciate the questions, comments, and compliments! :D

Please leave a review! orz Love you all & happy reading :)

He wanted to forget.

Yes, he truly did. But then what did that leave them to? What did they wind up doing now? Spewing lies? Playing games? Trying – struggling – desperately for whatever minute semblance of normalcy? This was nothing more than a farce. A pointless charade built on whimsical fantasies and insurmountable dreams. A game of deceit that did no more than to put Feliciano's welfare and feelings all at stake.

He wanted to forget, to throw it all away – the pain, the hurt, the memories – to lose them and let it all go.

But, the truth of the matter is, at the end of it all, Feliciano could only assure himself of this one thing – that he never wanted to lose him.

-x-

"-iano? Mr. Feliciano?" a timid voice calls out his name, concern riding along its very tone; jolting the artist out of his thoughts. "Is something the matter? You've been awfully quiet for quite some time now… you haven't even touched your food, and I was worried that maybe you were not feeling well again. Has your fever returned?" Ludwig says, as he turns to the elder, brows furrowed and eyes heavy with the weight of worry.

"Ah – mi dispiace, it's not that," the Italian replies with a small shake of his head. His voice is tinny, soft, shy. "Ve, sorry for worrying you, I was just thinking…"

"What were you thinking about then?" Ludwig asks, motioning towards his cup as his gaze falls onto the artist.

'You,' he wants to say.

'I was thinking about you,' he wants to tell him.

But he can't. Now is not the time for these thoughts, Feliciano reasons, so he shrugs off his emotions and pushes them to the back of his mind. He'll let the thoughts haunt him in his dreams tonight, but, at the very least, he wants the day he'll spend with Ludwig to be as normal as possible.

Feliciano takes a cautious sip of his drink – a melon shake; sweet, succulent, refreshing – and nibbles on his sandwich, still warm on his tongue. He lets the sweet silence last between them for a little while, allows their quiet to drown out the noise and chatter from the crowded café. His gaze turns back to the man before him and he swallows, takes a deep breath before saying a single word more.

"Ve – ah… no…uhm, I…I-I don't know…I'm just a bit nervous about the show, I guess," the artist replies with a smile, lying through his teeth. Unconsciously, his hand reaches out to the silver pendant by his chest, heart clenching as he tries to bury his feelings deep within. "I mean, what if people don't like my work? What if nobody comes at all?"

"Well," the German clears his throat as he downs his cup of coffee – strong, black, and rich in flavour – before he continues to speak, the fine china rim hanging in the air, an inch from his lips. "If it would help, Mr. Feliciano, I'm quite certain that the people would love your work and receive you well. Now I don't mean to be presumptuous, but if my presence would help calm your nerves, I could attend it with you to show my support…"

"Ve, really?" Feliciano interrupts as he beams happily, the warmth spreading throughout his body rapidly, a glowing blush painting itself against the artist's cheeks, like a wave of emotion surging through him, his heart tugging desperately to maintain its course amidst the current. "Ludwig is so kind."

The gentle radiance of the fluorescent lighting falls on the gemstone and it scintillates, reflecting colours in beams of light that do not go unnoticed by a certain pair of blue eyes.

"Und was ist das?" the German asks, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Porcelain fingers wrap themselves almost protectively around the ebony stone - his pillar of strength, his source of hope – and Feliciano wonders, wants to ask if maybe Ludwig could remember this too, from a time so long ago, even though he himself already knows the answer.

Instead, he tucks the question at the back of his mind, zips his lips, and flashes the younger a weary smile.

"My good luck charm," Feliciano replies.

'You gave it to me,' he wants to add.

But he doesn't.

-x-

"…Ludwig?"

Ten minutes to eight and the two are walking back to the young artist's apartment. The halls are empty now, and the world is more hushed – more silent, more quiet – they both note, as Feliciano's voice echoes and resounds, from within the enclosed walls.

"Ludwig," he says, a little more clearly, a little more distinct, and he calls out to the German once more.

The model's attention does not waver as he lowers his gaze and turns to the side. "Ja?" he says questioningly. "What is it?"

"Lo sai…" the painter starts, albeit hesitantly, speaking up as his hand clutches tightly at the hem of his shirt. His frame shakes slightly, there's a falter in his step, and he pauses, purses his lips before he decides to continue. "You know, I'm sorry but…but I think…I think I changed my mind, Ludwig."

"Über was? Worum geht es hier? " the German asks, concern etched on his features, eyebrow cocking upwards in a questioning stance. "What is this about?"

"Well, you see, Ludwig," he says with every slow step, motioning closer towards his door; fumbling fingers trying desperately to find the key. "I'm really grateful for all that you've done for me. I appreciate your help but you don't…you don't have to keep coming here anymore-"

"Was– "

"I'll pay you for your time today as well, non ti preoccupare," Feliciano says with a hasty wave of his hand. "But please, Ludwig," he pleads, his face wan and his voice soft, "please just go home for today."

"Mr. Feliciano – "

"I'm sorry, Ludwig," he says as the door clicks to an abrupt close, his trembling hand resting on the wooden surface as he leans in closer to speak to the man across the door, "but this will be our last."

hi i haven't updated in forever but here you go guys have a cliffhanger. enjoy.

Translations:

[Italian]

Mi dispiace– I'm sorry

Ve – besides just being a common hetalia thing (Feli's verbal tic), I read somewhere that this was also somewhat related to the informal 'voi' and acts as a pronoun for "you"[I thought this could help explain why Feliciano said no in that "what were you thinking about?" "ve – ah…no…uhm…" part of the convo] Another source said that in dialects from the northern region, 've' could mean 'look' as in to grab another person's attention. [although 90% of the time I use this to signify the verbal tic/conversation filler, and not really for its true grammatical meaning]

non ti preoccupare – Please don't worry

[German]

Über was? Worum geht es hier? – About what? What is this all about?

Was? – What?

Ja – yes

(one more week until sembreak guys and I can probably work on the next chappie for this soon enough so don't hate me please.)