A/N: Sorry for the serious delay. I've finished this story, so the last chapter and epilogue will be coming out very soon!

Chapter 6

When Ludwig arrived at Feliciano's house, he stood just beyond the door and, when Feliciano answered, he asked, "How would you greet me in this time?"

The Italian hadn't thought twice before throwing his slender arms around the other's neck and crashing their lips together. Surprising even himself, Ludwig responded almost reflexively by clasping his hands to the brunet's lower back and leaning down so as not to hinder their contact.

"I would not have thought myself to have become so… public with this sort of display," the German had panted the moment they separated, casting a quick glance around the street to ensure that no one had caught them in the act. His partner grinned sheepishly.

"Well, you would've probably waited until we were through the door, but y-you asked and I got all excited…" He blushed, looking extremely adorable.

Ludwig coughed, and his stomach twisted itself into pretzels. "I see."

"Well, come in then!" Pushing the door open further, Feliciano waved his arm in a welcoming arc. "I have dinner ready and… and even dessert, too!"

He stepped smartly through the doorway, turning to hang his jacket on the coat rack and to hide his disbelief. "So we really are… 'dating' in this era, ja?"

Toying restlessly with the ties on his apron, the Italian nodded. "It's… it's been a couple years now."

"Do I treat you well?" There was the hint of a waver in the taller nation's voice as he pointedly studied the wall in front of him. His gaze at that moment seemed so hard and brittle that it would take only a slight touch to shatter it completely. Feliciano quailed.

"Wh… what do you mean, Germany?"

"And I thought it was a simple question." Tired laughter colored the otherwise emotionally devoid words. Pale lips tightened before he forced himself to whirl and face his greatest fear, his greatest weakness. "Do I treat you well, Italy?"

"Yes. Always." His response came like a sigh of relief on his lips. "Germany is always kind and patient with me, and even if he's not good at, he tries to be romantic."

"And are you happy?" For some reason, Ludwig's voice sounded strained. It was then that Feliciano realized that he was shaking, fists clenched and shoulders squared.

"Germany…" Wide, amber pools bared themselves before him as the Italian struggled to comprehend the actions of his former ally. "What-?"

"I just want to know that you're happy… with me." The last words were tagged on like some undesirable detail withheld until just the last second. "Please, just answer the question."

Deciding to take a different course of action, the brunet hummed quietly to himself as he ventured back towards the kitchen. "Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Because of the… I mean, I don't…" He struggled to put his concerns into words. "The war and…"

Feliciano looked up at him earnestly. "Germany, the war's been over for a long time."

The meal was full of awkward pauses and murmured "please" and "thank yous" as the two nations struggled vainly against the onset of the smothering silence that was waiting for just the right moment to settle into place. Even Feliciano with his naturally chatty demeanor found there was little to say to his best friend and lover in this strange, painful situation into which they'd been placed.

"Germany?" he asked finally, watching wistfully as the blonde scraped his plate clean. "Do… do you still love me?"

Ludwig went rigid. Several minutes passed. Eyes lifting slowly to rest upon the Italian, he licked his lips, missing a small glob of sauce beyond the corner of his mouth, and said, "This isn't going to work."

"Che?" Feliciano felt his heart drop down through the floor, as though weighted by a thousand ton anvil. "W-what do you mean, Germany?"

"We cannot continue this… this charade of pretending that I am h-homosexually attracted to you and that you don't notice the difference." Folding his hands before him, the nation pulled himself into his usual, ramrod-straight posture. "I am not the Germany you know. I read my journal, and I can tell that there is some sort of… chemistry between you and the me of this time, and – as your ally – I want you to be happy, but…"

He trailed off, thinking that it would be easier. One look at his former ally's face told him differently.

"You're right." Getting to his feet, Feliciano plastered a cold, imitation grin on his face and met the other's equally glacial eyes. "You're not the Germany I know – my Germany is honest with himself."

"Italy…"

"Just go, Germany." The tears were already gathering on his lashes, preparing to pour out onto his smooth-shaven cheeks the moment he dropped his guard. "There's nothing you can say that can fix what you already have. Please, just go."

Ludwig's gaping mouth shut firmly, but he didn't move. He barely breathed until the Italian slammed his fist onto the wooden surface of the table with enough force to make the silverware rattle.

"Go!"

For the second time in two days, he left Feliciano's house with only stony silence ringing in his ears.

"I told you, you idiot," Lovino murmured in a tone far gentler than usual. Tilting the green, glass bottle in his hands, he refilled his brother's wine glass (for what must have been the tenth time that night).

"I can't love this Germany." Like the look in his honey-colored eyes, Feliciano's tone was flat, deflated, as he sipped away the turmoil his life had presented. "It's cruel, isn't it? They have the same face, but…" He hiccupped and lost his train of thought.

"Yeah, sure." It wasn't the time for him to berate the hateful German, to scream and yell and insist that the fucking potato-eater was probably just a passing fancy (and, perhaps, one that should have been renamed a passing "tacky" for lacking the prerequisites of the aforementioned title) and that his little brother was better off without him. Despite his burning hatred of the bastard, southernmost portion of Italy couldn't deny that something about Ludwig made Feliciano happy, and, as his older brother, Lovino wanted nothing quite so much as to see said sibling happy, but in these past few days, the only emotions he'd read on the little idiot's face had been worry, sorrow, and fear.

"Th-this is w-w-worse than b-before," Feliciano lamented suddenly, tears slipping down his alcohol-flushed face and off his chin as his shoulders jerked upwards to accommodate his sharp inhale. "They a-always have th-the same f-face, d-don't they?"

"Maybe you should stop falling for the blond-haired, blue-eyed Germans, stupid," his brother chided half-heartedly, patting him firmly on the back. Sighing, he murmured, "I'm sorry, Veneziano."

"I w-want Germany back…" With one last, quiet sob, the younger Italian buried his face in his arms and fell into a shallow, bitter slumber.

"You will," Lovino promised, feeling almost embarrassed of the tenderness with which he was regarding his brother at that moment. "I'll bring him back if I've gotta push the dumb bastard down ten flights of stairs myself."