Disclaimer: I still don't own Hetalia. Sad day.
III.
A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.
- Edward de Bono
"And then he, said no more – "
"Oh, my heart, I'll buy you everything in the world if it makes you happy," he cuts through his lover's anguish wail silkily, wearing an indulgent smile that he knows renders his lover spluttering and blushing.
He can see him melt; the hand that is not holding his was brushing back his hair, but now it rests on his mouth and his breath stops.
He becomes aware that the sidewalk beneath them is blue and white with frost and it has them almost slipping and they really could just take a car, but his cheerful little love really does enjoy gliding on the ice.
Only God knows how long they stand there, staring at each other, cheeks red from cold (and something else); but then a smoky puff of breath comes forth from his dear's mouth like fairy dust, and they start walking again, and the easy silence is the only indication that the pause ever existed.
"And risk your life? No, my dear," he chastises softly with a cheeky grin curling his lips. "I do not think I could have as … talented a lover as you."
The blue eyes darken imperceptibly to a shade of cobalt too much like different eyes – but the memories are broken when the man retorts, "I shall do all in my power, then, to not deprive you of a bed warmer. But you do know I'd do anything for you."
Feliciano throws his head back and laughs his high laugh like bells in the spring, eyes closed. "Oh, the mafia could do… other things to you that would leave me lonely, ve."
The threat has his lover paling on cue. "… almost anything, then. But I would do anything… to you, if it is any consolation."
A blush smudges across Feliciano's winter pale (but still tan) cheeks, like a fire in his skin. Francis sighs imperceptibly and leans in to kiss him.
"… do you want to give me my paintings back?" Feliciano asks prettily.
Francis pauses. "No." And impishly: "If you marry me, they'll be yours anyway." And he tries to kiss him again.
"Stop trying to avoid the topic, ve…!" Feliciano squeaks again, ducking his head, and makes to run ahead.
Francis cages his wild nymph in his arms.
"Stop trying to avoid my kisses," he retorts.
"B-but... here?"
"Yes, here," he insists, and the little animal finally stills and lets Francis kiss him.
Francis is a masterful lover, he knows that, because he has simply had so many. He doesn't apologise for his past; he can't be sorry when he can do this.
Feliciano forgets his protests, mewling and purring and Francis has already slid his winter coat off of his heated skin, hands trailing up Feliciano's cold chest, nibbling his neck and –
The sun is shining bright, but a long shadow falls on them and someone is watching, Francis realises, pausing his ministrations.
Then Feli whisper-whines, his eyes closed and back turned to the mysterious someone, but Francis' own eyes are wide open, staring at the unwelcome voyeur.
"Why'd you stop?" Feli asks, pouting.
He starts again, still looking at the stranger. The way that the sun falls on his face and hair makes it impossible to determine colour or exact features – all he can see is a pair of eyes that are spitting fire. They are confused. Fascinated. Affronted.
Aroused.
Francis wipes the smirk threatening to bloom on his lips, presses his mouth back to Feliciano's neck.
He is a lover and a showman, after all.
His eyes are impossibly wide in his face and his jaw aches, but this… this…
"Mein Gott," he whispers, and prays that Francis does not see him.
Velvety lips burning against his. This mouth is filled with eternal laughter, and now his –
The memories won't go away. Why won't the memories go away? It's something that never should have been. But standing here, he remembers it is – was.
He hates them for that.
As if you don't remember it everyday. How could you forget his hands whispering against your skin, smoothing over your shoulders, his mouth laughing, his hair so lovely it must have drawn the moon from the sky to sit in the window –
No, no, he screams, and tries to crawl away from the monster in his mind – but his hands fist in his hair, mouth murmuring sweet nothings, and crescents of moonlight fall on his cheek and he looks like an angel (but they are as old as time and nothing that old can be innocent.)
"You're running away from me," he says, sadly, even though he is never sad – not when he's here, not when someone is watching him, but he knows that when his lover is alone he spends hours screaming in the dark.
"I'd never run away from you." He tries for offense – but he's lying, and both of them know that.
The angel sighs, cups his face in his hands (he flinches; when did they become so callused?) and whispers, "It's okay. Both of us knew this wouldn't last."
His brain is fuzzy and something rushes along the sides of his head and he finds that he is crying.
"Don't say that!"
The brows furrow. "Why? We know it's true."
"I... I..."
"Don't lie," he says firmly, and thumbs brush over his cheeks. "Give me this one night and we'll both be on our way. I won't make things tougher than they have to be."
"But why does it have to be like this?"
"Because," he says, looking at him strangely. "You've chosen your way and I've chosen mine."
"Do you think I wanted this? I wanted - "
"We'll forget about it tonight. Just tonight. And tomorrow, everything will be back to the way it needs to be."
"But it shouldn't be this way," he cries, feels tears in his eyes (when was the last time he cried?) "It shouldn't be this w - "
"Shut up," the other snaps, sighing, and he flinches - his angelic lover never snaps. "Just shut up. Because nothing is the way it should be." And before he can go off, he silences him with his mouth and he's right; he doesn't remember anything but the sad promise that it's just tonight.
When he comes back, he's swaying, staring, on the verge of crying. God damn him for reducing me to this. It's a bitter, angry thought - but a concession too, an acknowledgement that yes, everything is the way it needs to be now. Just as he said. Tears are coming down his cheeks but he wipes them away and flees, feeling Francis' Mona Lisa stare bore into his back.
Who in the world could it be~? /cough
This is what was happening for Francis and Feli while Elizaveta and Ludwig were at the café, ja.
If you can tell me what you thought, that'd be appreciated, but thank you very much for reading! As you can see, my chapters aren't very long (I'm planning to lengthen them, but I have no idea how that'll go), but I think that's for the best. I'll update soon~
loveliness decays