Yay, new update! :D The rating goes up because of this chapter, but I didn't put any lemons here. Just a couple of not-so-subtle innuendos hehehe (...so I guess that's a lime? lol) So anyway, we're nearing the end to this story and this is the second to the last chapter (I'm halfway done with the next one too so it'll be uploaded soon enough within this week, don't worry) so I just wanna say thank you to the followers and reviewers who waited patiently for this. Please do leave a review! I love you all ff peeps. :D :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and its characters, but I do own this messed-up plot hahaha.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me," Feliciano says, his words alone burdened with the heavy weight of finality. Clear as crystal, clear as the day – a spoken message manifesting both gratitude and an unbidden farewell.

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Feliciano? Open up and answer me!" Ludwig demands, fists pounding heavily on the door.

"I simply meant what I said, Ludwig. You don't have to come here anymore," the artist replies, though his tone is lacking in resolve. "I don't need you anymore."

"Then tell me this, " the German speaks up, the hurt evident in his voice, "why put up the act? Why did you tell me to keep searching? If you don't need me anymore, then why do you insist on keeping up with the pretense?"

"Perdonimi, Ludwig," the Italian pleads. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I took up so much of your time. The thing is, Ludwig, I could've just painted you from memory. Just one look and I could have finished the entire piece on my own. But when I saw you…when I met you once more, I couldn't bring myself to let you go. You were kind, and you were still so sweet, and I thought… I thought that I could forget about you and move on, but I was wrong. I couldn't. I still wanted you. That's why I asked you to stay. "

His voice wavers, and though the door has separated the two, the younger is certain that the other is crying. He doesn't have to see it. Ludwig already knows; the pain transcending even the solid surface of the wood, breaking past the walls and wearing his heart down with the stigma of guilt.

"Then why are you telling me to leave now?"

"Because no matter how much I try, I know it's going to be futile. Nothing will come out of this. Like it or not, Ludwig, I'll have to let you go. "

"No matter how many times you try doing what, exactly?"

"I–" Feliciano hesitates. "…I don't know. I just don't want to hurt you again anymore. "

"Are you sure it's not yourself whom you don't want to get hurt again?" the model questions. "Because I'm quite sure you're hurting me now just by telling me to go away."

"Please, Ludwig," Feliciano implores. "Please, just try to understand—"

But he doesn't understand. This isn't just something he wants. It is something he craves for; something he desires – something he knows he cannot live without.

It is something he needs.

Feliciano is all he needs.

"I can't accept it if things will only end like this," Ludwig reasons as he heaves a sigh, his voice dropping in decibels and reducing in volume. "Mr. Feliciano, I have a final request to ask of you before we part ways."

There is a silence that hangs between them as the air remains still, and the young model takes this as his cue to continue.

"Bitte… paint me again for the last time tonight."

He wonders for a moment if the painter has abandoned the door and left the room, but before he can make a move to depart from the halls, a lock clicks, the knob turns, and the door opens to beckon him inside.

-x-

"Ti concedo la tua richiesta " the brunette says sternly as he guides Ludwig inside, resting the emptied hurricane on the kitchen counter before entering the studio. "Ma dovete accettare anche il mio."

The model manages a small nod as he takes his seat on the couch, patiently awaiting the artist's instructions for his idealized pose.

"You leave at midnight," Feliciano says as he ties the apron onto his waist, his hardened gaze falling on the model's frame. And though his expression is firm, he remains, still, in Ludwig's eyes, ever so beautiful. "That is my only condition."

"Einverstanden."

"Ve! Alright then," Feliciano claps, eyes scanning the figure before him as he returns to his usual position by the easel. "Tilt your head a little to the left, per favore."

-x-

The light is dim as they resume the painting session. Feliciano looks on as he holds the brush in his hands, transferring the scene onto the small space of the canvas. Ludwig glances hastily at his watch; the hours flying past them as time passes – tick-tock – every second a step closer to their foreordained deadline.

"Could you look upwards just a little bit?" the artist instructs. "No, not like that. Aspetta," he says as he rises from his seat, moving closer to the model to help him adjust his position.

He alters his pose as he cradles the chiselled jaw in his hands, fingers tracing his every outline. His touch lingers as his hand rests still, trying desperately to master and memorize and forever remember each and every detail of the blonde's features at this very moment.

Ludwig then turns from his position, his carefully crafted pose shattering and crumbling into no more than the dust of a lone memory. For a moment, he hesitates. He is only but a model, Ludwig realizes. A single number out of Feliciano's billion others. Where he stands now is no better than the rest of them. What should make this moment any more special than the rest? What should make this act any more different?

But reason fails him once again.

Because, really – it's just all too much.

He takes the Italian's hands into his own and brings them to his lips, kissing the older boy's every fingertip, calloused and rough with scars born from experience and masterpieces. It is a reminder of his position, an admonition of their differences. It is, as the model notes, the ultimate sacrifice of any such artist.

"Today, you're my canvas," Feliciano whispers, his skin ablaze with the warmth of the other's breath. There's the taste of wine on his lips, his words slurred and drunken with emotion. Whispered prayers fall on deaf ears, like silent wishes landing on dying stars.

And today I'll paint in hopes that you'll remember.

And then he leans in just a little bit closer, head arching forward, blue eyes never letting go of bright yellow. Then their lips are touching and meeting and pressing against each other's own - slowly at first, and then suddenly, all at once.

It isn't his first kiss, but it's his first kiss with him, and that fact alone means so much more to Feliciano than what a million relationships could have ever sufficed.

A hand rides up his pant leg, and there's a soft tug of the younger's tie. The silver lining of onyx gems twinkle in the dim light, heart rates rising as their eyes lock on to each other's gaze. And then it's hands on hips and kisses-turned-bites; the only sound in the room is that of stifled moans and their hot, panting breaths; coupled with the rising cadence of their unsteady heartbeats.

(lol c'mon guys we all knew where this was going don't lie)

Translations:

[Italian]

Perdonimi– Forgive me

Ti concedo la tua richiesta – I'll grant your request

Ma dovete accettare anche il mio – But you must also accept mine/my request (implied)

Per favore - please

Aspetta – Wait (imperative form; as in, giving an order for the person to wait for a moment)

[German]

Bitte – please

Einverstanden – Okay/Agreed/I accept

Note: A hurricane is a tall curved glass holding about 10 oz. Though it usually is used for tropical drinks (I figured Feli would have a sweet tooth of some sort, even for alcohol, so it comes as no surprise that he would have this at his apartment), many drinks that are served in highballs (e.g.: Collins cocktails, Long Island iced teas, mojitos and Bloody Marys) can also be served in a hurricane glass.
[It just copy paste and remove the spaces to see what it looks like: www. discountmugs. com ]