Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. It is, however, an amazing series.

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Mistaken Memory

Chapter 2

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Holy Roman Empire peeked around the corner, blue eyes seeking the sweet face of Chibitalia. He had heard her going by his room, so he had snuck out to follow her. She had wandered outside, tiny hands clasped to her growling stomach.

"I'm so hungry…" She sniffled, thoroughly unhappy. "I wish I had some pasta…"

Remembering the result of the last time he had tried to give her the food he liked – she had thought it was disgusting, much to his chagrin – Holy Roman Empire crept away from the corner, soon running off to find one of the older Nations in their house.

Asking Austria was a bad idea. He had already dismissed Chibitalia's cries for pasta countless times before, so Holy Roman Empire hardly thought that he would suddenly give in now. Hungary, however, had a kind heart. He often saw her playing with Chibitalia, or dressing her up in cute clothes. She might help him get some pasta, right?

He found her in her room, searching for something in her closet. Holy Roman Empire stood defiantly, waiting for her to notice him. She straightened, automatically smoothing down the waist of her dress as she glanced toward him, blinking in surprise.

"Holy Roman Empire?" Hungary asked, curious. "Is something wrong?"

"I need pasta." He stood awkwardly, crossing his arms as he glared up at her.

"Pasta?" She laughed, not having expected that answer. "Why do you need pasta?"

Holy Roman Empire just stared at her, refusing to answer.

A knowing smile curved Hungary's lips. "All right then. I'll see what I can do. I'll drop it off at your room, okay?"

Holy Roman Empire gave her a jerky nod, throat tightening with gratitude as he ran off. He was soon outside again, poking his head around the corner. Chibitalia remained where he had left her, sniffling at the random animals that had joined her in his absence. Animals always seemed to pop up whenever Chibitalia ventured outside, probably drawn by her innocent purity.

At least, that was what Holy Roman Empire liked to think.

He quietly snuck backward, rushing back to his room. Bursting inside, he quickly climbed onto his bed and latched onto his big pillow. He was so excited! Hungary would find some pasta, and then he could give it to Chibitalia and she would be so happy! Eager to see her delighted face, Holy Roman Empire buried his face into his pillow, smiling until his cheeks hurt.

Not too long after, there was a knock on his door. Holy Roman Empire sprang off of his bed, standing as if he had never cuddled with his pillow. "Come in!" he called, still excited.

Hungary entered his bedroom, a steaming plate of pasta in her hands. "Here you go, Holy Roman Empire!" She offered him the plate, winking gamely. "Tell me if it's good, huh?"

Holy Roman Empire took the plate, actually smiling at her before he caught himself. "Thank you, Hungary." He held the plate carefully, not wanting to spill any of the precious pasta.

"It's fine, really. You just run along now." She smiled kindly back at him.

He nodded again, walking off at a cautious pace as he supported the hot plate between his hands. He returned outside, where Chibitalia was luckily still waiting.

"Ve… ve…" she sniffled. "Paaasta…" Suddenly, her tears stopped and she sat up. "P-Pasta?" She sniffed the air hopefully.

Holy Roman Empire moved toward her, boldly offering the dish. His gaze was intense, as it typically was when he regarded her, but there was a flutter of nervousness in his chest. What if she rejected it or had found food while he was away?

"Holy Roman Empire!" Her mouth formed a perfect little 'o' in shock. Then she began to drool, leaping to her feet and stumbling toward him as her stomach growled loudly. "P-Pasta!?"

"For you. Because, uh… you have to stay strong!" The young blond babbled, momentarily flustered as she drew up close.

Chibitalia began to sniffle again, taking the plate with surprisingly sturdy hands. "I-I'm so happy… pasta… pasta…" She plopped down right where she was, a gleeful little glutton.

Holy Roman Empire sat down as well, watching as she gobbled the pasta. He stared at her intently, blushing slightly as she made happy noises and smiled brightly at him while she ate.

Once she had finished, she giggled and tackled him. Hugging him happily, she babbled grateful nonsense about how pasta was delicious and he was amazing and she had thought she was going to die of hunger.

Holy Roman Empire's face went bright red and, for a moment, he held her back, pressing his face against the soft hair that poked out from under her hat. Then his courage failed him, embarrassment flaring as he pulled away and fled. She was left sitting with the empty plate, calling after him in confusion.

He returned to his room, locking the door behind him before jumping onto his bed again. He clutched his pillow happily, rolling back and forth as he expressed the joy he was too prideful to show to anyone else.

"I did it. I did it." He breathed, cheeks burning. "She even hugged me!"

Holy Roman Empire had never been happier.

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Germany had never been more miserable.

Ever since he had had that first dream involving the Holy Roman Empire and Chibitalia, he had been having more and more of them. The second dream came a few days or so after the first, and the third dream came the day after that. Ever since then, the dreams had shown up every time he dared to close his eyes. They were always different, but always familiar; every night, he relived a little more of the life he had forgotten.

The strain of his double-life left him with a near-constant migraine. If that wasn't bad enough, he almost always felt dizzy and light-headed. His emotions – which he had never had trouble controlling before – seemed twice as volatile, running unchecked. He was frightening some of his officials, he knew, and even his boss had paused in shock as Germany finally snapped at him.

This was even worse than puberty.

On top of everything else, he found himself following Italy around. Germany would resolve to stop, to ignore the pasta-loving idiot, but without fail he would end up poking his head around the nearest corner, staring at Italy intensely.

That was what he was doing even now, cursing himself under his breath as he watched Italy amble about. The other Nation had a canvas and paintbrush in hand; he seemed to be looking for something to paint. He was humming to himself, singing idly in Italian as he wandered.

"Ve, ve~" Italy knelt, happily, as a cat approached him. "Such a cute kitty~ Are you Germany's cat~?"

Germany really wished that Italy wouldn't make stalking him easier by hanging around his house so much.

"Maybe I can paint you, ve~?" Italy set aside his canvas and palette, picking up the cat to cuddle it. Germany felt his face burn at the cute sight, and he continued cursing himself for being an idiot. Italy was a man!

But he couldn't tear himself away.

'I am hopeless. Completely hopeless.' Germany wanted to bang his head against the brick wall beside him. His head throbbed at the very thought, as if his migraine was warning him against doing so.

Perhaps sensing the intense aura Germany was putting off, Italy finally looked up in his direction. "Ve~? Germany~?" He blinked in surprise at seeing the blond Nation standing there. He smiled warmly, making a motion to move toward him.

Germany just glowered fiercely in response, and the brunet stopped, quivering nervously. He placed the kitten back on the ground, snatching up his canvas and palette as he ran off into the woods, squealing apologies as he fled.

Now would be the perfect time for Germany to simply turn around and go back inside.

He could find some paper work to do, or maybe give Japan a call and catch up on how the other Nation was doing politically and economically. There was no rule that said that he had to spend his day following around a pasta-loving idiot.

Unfortunately for him, love followed no rules.

Germany ground his teeth, swearing under his breath as he went after Italy. This time, as he watched the wandering brunet, his refuge was a tree. He poked his head out around the thick trunk, watching Italy – who had already seemed to have forgotten his encounter with Germany only a few moments before – laugh happily at a little bird perched on one of the lower branches of a tree.

Despite his irritation and shame, Germany's chest grew warm. He found himself almost smiling as Italy raised his hand, coaxing the bird to perch on his finger.

Of course, the bird eschewed his finger in favor of fluttering to his head. Italy froze, surprised, obviously not sure how to react to this new development. The little bird eyed the bobbing curl at the side of his head for a few moments, regarding it shrewdly. The bird snatched the curl in its beak, giving it a tug like it would a worm.

Italy shrieked, dropping his painting supplies as he flailed and cried. He fell to the forest floor and writhed uselessly, wailing as the bird pulled at his hair.

Germany strode forward without a thought, shooing the bird away with a snarled command and a firm scowl. The ferocity of his appearance was such that Italy was not comforted by his sudden arrival. He only cried louder, now clinging to Germany's leg and begging for the stronger Nation not to hurt him.

The blond flushed, struggling to push Italy off of his leg. "G-Get off!" he snapped, heart pounding.

"Waaaaaaa, Germaaaaany!" Italy sniffled pitifully and refused to let go. "Th-That bird was so scaaaary~!"

Giving up on removing the sniveling Italian, Germany just sighed, flushing angrily as he patted the top of the brunet's head. "It… It will be okay." He mumbled awkwardly. "It's gone now."

This was more the type of situation his young Holy Roman Empire self had expected when he saw that mouse running around. Germany had relived that day a few nights before, and he suddenly recalled quite clearly the end of that little escapade.

His face burned at the memory of the young Italy's lacy undergarments, and he struck out in protest, smacking Italy on the top of his head, making him wail anew.

"T-Toughen up!" Germany snapped, his cheeks reddening. "How can you ever expect to stand against other countries if a tiny bird makes you cower in fear!?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't hit me again! Waaaaaaa, Germaaaaaany!" Italy cried, releasing Germany's leg in order to cower in fear. Germany slapped his palm against his face in frustration, thoroughly fed up with the whole situation.

He was tired of these unpredictable emotions. He was tired of his sleep being ruined by dreams that portrayed themselves as memories. Most of all, he was tired of Italy being an idiot.

He wished that he had never found that painting.