Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Italy! Italy where are you?- the call from a young boy echoed across the courtyard. Right now he should be somewhere else, he should be managing his army, giving orders right and left. Instead he was looking for a particular someone, whom he had an opinion of somebody rather cowardly but soft-edged. At that moment he felt like he should be the one running away and hiding somewhere secluded. That’s when a soft voice whispered to him around the corner
- I’m right here Holy Rome, here- and just like that, a petite silhouette disappeared behind a wall. Curiosity got the better of him, as he followed. Before his eyes appeared tiny walled green, humble and yet it felt like the whole world had stopped for a moment, like time decided it should be untouched. Mimosa was growing alongside a stone path, their flower buds blossoming over the garden. Ivy was winding around everything, hugging those walls like it was trying not to spill any dear memories and secrets. Feliciano walked gently through the flowers as if he tried not to scare them.
- Miss Hungary said that they’re called touch-me-nots by some people- he said almost to himself- if you touch them they’ll close up.
Holy Rome knelt alongside him.
-Why is that?
- Maybe they’re just shy or scared or or!... Maybe they just need some time…- he stopped.
The blonde boy reached out to him- not harshly, just without thinking and suddenly- placing his hand over Feliciano’s. Too fast, too inconsiderable and yet that was enough to startle someone so vulnerable. His smile faded, his shoulders repulsed, as he was folding inside. Just like these so-called touch-me-nots. Holy Rome drawed his hand back. The silence was heavy, leaving distressed feelings.
- Ekhm, you should come back and help clean the palace, Mr Austria is inconsolable with your disappearance. He blushed trying to stay composed, his confident side taking over.
- Hmmmm I don’t want to come back… Mr Austria is always displeased with me no matter what I do. There’s no winning here… I just wish he could appreciate me and what I do. He paused. Then, suddenly all his negative emotions fell out of him, giving into his tantrum- He’s annoying! And snobby! AND UGH! I just want to eat pasta, cuddle with kitties and paint! That’s not fair!
Holy Rome was awestruck. Did he hear it right? He can paint?
- You can paint?
-Of course I can! My gramps taught me everything he knew! That’s why sometimes I’m running away to be by myself and do what I love the most.
The blonde boy was in awe. He never knew someone so fascinating and chaotic. He was small, but not in a way that asked for pity. Feliciano was the kind of child you almost missed — quiet when it mattered, loud when it didn’t. His curls were always a mess, like he'd just woken from a nap in the sun, and his fingers were always stained with something: ink, grass, berries, paint. He would laugh with you one moment, then turn away like a shadow had passed behind his thoughts. There was a softness to him — like mimosa leaves: one touch too sudden, and he folded into silence. He was fast to trust him like a blind sheep, and even faster to back out. In all those thoughts, the confident general could think only about one thing.
-Could it be possible… Could you teach me how to paint?
And just like that his face turned into a tomato. “What am I even doing?” he thought. Italy looked at him disoriented, and then confusion got replaced by pure joy, purest someone could ever see and feel.
-Oh si! Oh how wonderful! There is one problem, I can’t regularly keep coming here, otherwise Mr Austria will be distraught with me.
-No need to worry, I’ll protect you, from this day forward, forever and ever! So we can paint together!
Holy Rome did what he said, every time Austria got furious with Italy he tried to make up things, so the punishments would be lighter. The ruler of the house didn’t know anything about raising children, he himself was young enough to be the one under someone’s wings, he only had himself and Hungary who tried to calm him down. His bossy, sophisticated nature was not a great match. With every offence Italy has done, he became more and more wrathful. That didn’t stop young children from their secret rendezvous’. Once in a while they would disappear behind the wall, full of climbing ivies, growing together with both of them. Despite all the anger and conflict around them, something tender took root—a love that grew steadily with every shared glance,every gentle brush on skin, every moment hidden from the world. They were living their best moments. But love, no matter how gently it grew, could not shield them from the world.
The day was beautiful as ever, early spring was the time when everything should wake up from winters’ slumber, and yet there was something heavy in the air, something not to be missed. The garden was quiet, save from the buzz of bees and the rustle of ivy leaves in the wind. The kind of day where nothing should go wrong. They met in the same usual spot. Yellow flowers were blooming, just like Italy’s face when he’s smiling. But Holy Rome wasn’t eager for this meeting. Feliciano was sitting among flowers, head on his knees, happy to see his beloved. But Holy Rome’s expression was cold, it wasn’t as tender as before.
-Did something happen?
- Come with me
-What?...
Italy blinked.
-Come with me - Holy Rome repeated. His voice was shaking. - “Let’s become one together.”
The wind picked up then, and for a moment, it carried all the sounds away.
– You don’t have to stay here anymore. I’ll protect you. You’ll never be alone again.
Feliciano stared at him. His hands tightened around the mimosa in his lap. His whole face turned upside down, visible frown and small tears in eyes. Italy clenched the bottom of his skirt in anticipation.
-I’m sorry, I… can’t
-I don’t understand, why? I thought you wanted us to be together forever
-Empires like that don’t hold for a long time. They grow, they conquer others, carry too much weight than they should, and then…they fall. I don’t want you to become what my grandpa had, just a memory.
The words slipped out like a dark secret, too quiet and too honest. Holy Rome stepped back. His chest ached in a way he didn’t have words for. He didn’t understand that love, so dear to him is not something he could conquer but to earn .
-You will come with me whether you like it or not!
Something cracked inside Feliciano — the way silence shatters just before a scream.
He turned sharply, voice shaking not from fear, but fury.
– Stop pretending you care about me!
Blonde boy froze.
–
If you cared, you would listen!
–
But all you do is talk about what you want. What you think is right. What you need.
His hands clenched at his sides. His eyes were wet and burning.
–
You're just like everyone else— just another empire who thinks love means taking.
–
You don't love me. You love the idea of me. Of owning me. Controlling me. I hate you!
Before Holy Rome could say anything, Italy ran away, crying hysterically,leaving him behind. It was too late to say anything. He felt as if someone had slapped him. His face pale, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he was trying to breathe the last air in this world.
“She said she hated me” he thought. The words kept echoing, louder than the sound of marching boots of his army. Right now, there was nothing he could do.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
Im sorry that I sometimes write Italys pronouns as he and she, I just think that epmhasizes that HRE didnt know that Italy wasnt a girl <3
Chapter Text
The armor didn' t fit. It looked like it belonged to somebody else. Holy Rome was slowly preparing himself for the upcoming struggle- war. But his thoughts were somewhere else- in the garden, full of luscious ivy and blooming flowers. In words he, perhaps, should’ve said differently. “ I hate you !” was still at the back of his head. It pierced him like an arrow, and yet, he didn't know what hurt more, this or the words he shouldn't have said. There was no time to ask for forgiveness. He had chosen to leave him without apologizing. He should've been proud to bring glory for his country. But it didn't feel like victory, It felt like losing before the war even began.
— He was asking for you, you know.
Hungary’s voice was quiet,
Holy Rome didn’t look up.
— He didn’t seem angry. Just... confused.
She stood in the doorway for a moment longer, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Her tone was somewhere between pity and warning.
— It’s not too late to speak to him.
Holy Rome said nothing.
His hands clenched at his sides. The words he wanted to say stuck like a lump in his throat.
He wasn’t afraid of the battlefield.
He was afraid of Feliciano looking at him the same way she did yesterday — not with fear, but with heartbreak.
He turned away, picked up his helmet, and slid it on without a word.
Hungary didn’t push further.
She just watched him go, her eyes lingering where a boy should have still been a boy, not a soldier.
-You missed the chance to say your goodbyes, you know
-I don’t understand Hungary, say goodbye to who?- Italy's head was still in the same place, doing tedious work of sweeping floor, confused what she meant by that
- Holy Rome I mean- she spoke with pitiful manner- he has just left the courtyard, shame you didn’t have time
After those words, Feliciano's heartbeat stopped for a moment. His chest ached, like something vital in his body gone missing. He briefly looked at Hungary and for a moment it seemed he's going to say something. But he didn't. He blinked. Once, then twice. After the third one he already was running, the fastest he ever did in his life, still clenching on the broom.Through the corridors, past startled servants, past ivy-covered walls. His shoes slapped against the ground leaving trail of dust , like maybe, if he was quick enough, he could still catch him—
There was no one. Not a single soul behind. “ Is it really how things will end between us? ” No. He started running, even faster, with even more passion,like his heartbeat alone could help him, they couldn't get that far.
His legs burned, lungs tight and screaming. The path blurred past him, green and gold and dust, until—
There.
Just past the trees, near the bend in the road. The faint outline of soldiers. Horses. A small figure, the one he knew better than any other, walking ahead with his head down.
-Holy Rome!
The boy turned. For a moment, nothing moved, not Holy Rome nor Italy. Even the trees next to the road seemed to hold their breath in anticipation. And then Feliciano reached him, stumbling to a halt, face flushed and eyes wide with something between anger and desperation and heartbreak.
-You weren't going to say goodbye?
Holy Rome opened his mouth, then closed it again. His voice failed him.
Feliciano’s hands turned into fists. His whole chest rose and fell like he couldn’t hold everything in.
-I didn’t mean what i said, I didn’t even-
The blonde boy only looked at him with a tender smile. He knew he didn't mean it. He also knew he was scared, lost. He had so much to say and yet he didn't.
-I know Schatzi, I was scared, that's all. I really wanted you to come with me.
- I know
-You still can
Italy once again clenched his hands on his clothes, soft sob coming out of him, he could only whisper now.
- You know I can’t… I’m not like you and ill never be
- Im sorry i tried to force you
-Im sorry i waited
The tension between them toned down — and before either could second-guess it, Italy stepped forward.
He reached for Ludwig’s collar with shaking hands, pulled him close, and kissed him.
It wasn’t practiced or perfect. It was clumsy and desperate — but it was real.
Holy Rome didn’t move at first. Then he held him gently, like he didn’t know if he was allowed.
-Take my broom- he whispered- thats all i can give you right know, please… remember me
He accepted the broom, how could he not? He knelt in front of him, his hand on his chest
-I promise you I will come back, no matter what happens,I will succeed in my mission, for you, for us… Goodbye.
-Arrivederci.
Austria was standing in the courtyard, his expression cold and stoic.
-What do you think you were doing
-I just wanted-
He wasn't allowed to finish his sentence as his face got slapped
-I do not care what you want. This is my house, and you listen to me
Before the tension could escalate further, Hungary stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm.
-That's just a child. Roderich, please
- Everytime you run, everytime you hide, you weaken us all. Stop being a burden .
Italy was left with Hungary, her hand held his hand firmly, as she was saying “it's over, you don't need to worry”. Little did he know that was the beginning.
Seasons changed and so did Feliciano. Everyday was the same.. Constant nagging, harsh slaps, bullying. Just for being a kind vulnerable soul.Of course, there were times when Italy liked Austria– especially when he played piano. That little boy could forget just for a brief moment his sorrows. Yet thoughts “Am I really a burden?” wouldn't leave him be. He never gave up on the vow Holy Rome promised. He held it close, tucked inside his heart,fragile, fading — but never dead.
Finally, he came back. His sweet beloved Holy Rome. He came, like he promised, from a long long war, overflowing with glory. They confessed their feelings, they could finally lead a happy life. But that blonde boy wasn't the same. He was using Feliciano for his own gain. Jut to toy with him, conquer him, be in power with him.
-No.. no…. NO!
…..
That was just a dream. So vivid, so heartbreaking. Italy was grasping for air, his whole body trembling. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be a burden. In span of two minutes he was already at the Hungary's and Austria's room, weeping and moaning, barely being able to breath
- I had a dream… and there… and there…
-Shhh, little one, I know.
Hungary gently moved Italy to her chest and hugged him. It wasn't the first time
-When will he come back? Why does no one know anything about him?! I don't understand anything…
Hungary could only hug him tighter and reassure him. Austria, sitting next to them, was distressed. He looked at the pile of papers and documents. At that moment, for the first time truly felt guilty, he knew , but didn't have the heart to tell Italy what happened. And most importantly, that it’ll be only worse.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Notes:
Im really suprised so many people viewed my work AHHHH IM SO HAPPY, thank you all so much! I have many ideas in my notebook for this fanfic, so rest assured ill be writing regularly! I hope youll enjoy this chapter aswell <3 (also my head hurts from learning about Holy Roman Empires history, bruh its so shit no wonder it didnt last that long)
Chapter Text
The hall in Münster was cold that day, just like any gloomy day in October. The silence of everyone who was gathered, loomed over the room. Flames from wax candles were casting long shadows over an oak table. The once strong and self-confident Holy Roman Empire sat motionless, waiting for his rival to sign the peace treaty. His uniform, once immaculate, was now dulled with dust and signs of wear- like his spirit. The war had lasted thirty years. This boy has seen bloodshed, whole villages burning, and now, like nothing happened he’s signing a treaty. At that moment he felt like he disappointed everyone, especially himself.
-C’est fini, mon ami- France said with a soft smirk on his face- The war is over, no more blood will be spilled. Although, I must say, I really am proud of myself hon hon hon, after all, this is but I who won! I am truly God's favourite!- he said gesticulating lively with a hint of dramaturgy.
Holy Rome said nothing at first. Slowly his gaze lifted to meet France’s. There was no hatred nor disgust. Only exhaustion.
-Cities burned. People starved. My cousins and brothers slaughtered each other for virtues no one will recognize. And to think that it ended here, with you…
-Oh! Mon ami! I simply took advantage of this opportunity! You should blame your cousins for this, not me. But now, we should settle one thing.- France’s face became serious, Holy Rome could feel a hint of something devilish.- As you know, I have full right to send my representative for the Imperial sessions. You could always go live with me, for things to be easier between us, it's not like you have any other choice… that is if any of your next of kin would take you.
France turned to gathered people, showing them. The room was silent. No one dared or simply didn't want to take the young boy. Holy Rome didn't want to go with anyone, especially with this type of a person. Now he knew how Italy felt when he tried to force her.
-Aww, no volunteers? No brave souls willing to claim him? No one? Well! that settles everything! Holy Rome you're coming with-
- Me.
The voice was low, certain, and cut through the air like a blade.
All heads turned. France froze mid-step.
In the crowd of other principalities, a man with rather odd red eyes emerged.
- He's coming with me.
It was none other than Prussia. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
France’s expression shifted slowly. Gone was the easy grin. In its place, a flicker of annoyance—then intrigue.
-Oh?- he said lightly. -And here I thought you’d disappear into irrelevance along with your precious Teutonic pride.
-Say that again and we'll see how irrelevant I am.
Prussia didn't even blink. He stood with his chin up, not bothered by anything. The atmosphere in the room shifted drastically. France now got visibly annoyed with his rather short speech.
-Whats your business in this?- he snapped- You didn't even have your role in this war.
Prussia only smiled- that cocky, defiant tilt of the mouth foreshadowed nothing great.
-Didn't need one. I am here now, that's what matters.
He took a slow step forward, boots clicking against the stone floor.
-You think your victory gives you the right to decide who he belongs to?- He gestured toward Holy Rome without looking away from France. -He’s not a piece of land to pass around. He’s not yours.
France’s jaw clenched. Before he could counter respond, Prussia already took his speech.
-I have the right to take him like any other of our cousins, I'm his next of kin. Like you said… am I not?
Prussia's crimson eyes sparkled with arrogance. He knew he won this “battle”. He didn't even have to prove anything- the silence said it all. France’s expression twisted, but he didn’t answer. He stepped backward, as if he was welcoming Prussia to take the boy. A silent permission, or perhaps surrender. He turned away from France without another glance, walking toward the boy who had been watching the exchange in silence. Holy Rome’s eyes were wide, lips parted slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just seen.
-Come on kid- he said, voice low, but soft.- You're with awesome Prussia now!
Prussia's home was a stone, old house, like it was enough just to survive war or worse. The land around it was stubborn and cold, but alive, like it refused to be forgotten. There were no golden statues, no polished marble, no towering gates. Just worn flagstones, the scent of steel, and banners that had seen better days. Inside, the place was a chaotic mix of military order and absolute personal disaster– maps pinned on the walls, weapons leaned against doorframes, books stacked in messy piles that looked like they hadn’t been moved in years, and also… a chicken. Holy Rome quickly assimilated to his new surroundings. The boy, little damaged and seen by others as a pushover– still tried to be the best version of himself. In theory, he still had power over his subordinate cousins… but only in theory. Most days, his role had been reduced to that of a quiet mediator — an arbitrator between squabbling principalities, a nominal military commander whose orders were politely ignored. Well, in the shadow of recent events his prestige and glory was forgotten, and reduced to a memory– spoken of in past tense, if spoken of at all.
Days passed by, and Holy Rome started to grow resentment towards himself. Despite trying to find his place in this world, he couldn't. He started to question whether he still is the country he's supposed to represent. “Am I still the Holy Roman Empire… or just what's left of it?” There was no answer. No recognition in others’ eyes. No title spoken with reverence — just silence and sidelong glances from the world that had already moved on.
At night, he stared at his own reflection in the darkened window. His face hadn’t changed — but everything else had. The more he searched for himself in the mirror, the less he saw.
Faint candlelight softly lit his surroundings. In all this ruckus he never forgot about what's really important for him. A soft smile in a garden full of flowers.
“Dear Italy,
"I hope this letter finds you in peace and in bloom, as you always were..."
Holy Rome was in the middle of writing a letter to his beloved, when Prussia came in. He stepped in without knocking, boots thudding softly against the stone floor. He looked half annoyed, half curious — a familiar expression by now.
-You're still writing to ghost friends?- he said, folding his arms.
-I'm writing to her- he said quietly.
-You really think she's still waiting for you?
Holy Rome looked down.
-Maybe not, but even so I still believe she is. I want her to know that what I said was true.
Prussia scratched the back of his neck and sighed.
-You know,- he muttered, -you’re allowed to live for something else now. Doesn’t mean you have to blame yourself for everything.
-I know. But she's the part of me that doesn't feel lost and that I still know.
Prussia didn't say anything. He just walked over, pulled a chair around, and dropped into it backwards with a dramatic grunt, arms draped over the backrest. The candle flickered as if annoyed by the sudden gust of his movement.
-Then keep writing. Just… don’t forget that your greatest, awesomest big brother Prussia is with you!
For the first time in days, a tiny breath of laughter escaped Holy Rome. “That’s right, I have my brother by my side, and sweet memories of our vow between me and her”
Those were the only reasons that kept his spirits up.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Notes:
Wassup gang, sorry for not posting but napoleonic wars is not an easy topic (I also playeg Kingdom Come Deliverence for past couple days so i got busay). Anyways I decided that Ill share w yall my tumblr page so you could stay w me in touch and be prepared for updates. As always, I, your humble servant wishes you a great enjoyment in this piece of art. https://www.tumblr.com/hugsapap
TW: THIS ONE IS ANGSTY >:3
Chapter Text
Wind was knocking at the windows. Prussia was sitting in his office reading a couple of letters and documents. His elbows rested on the oak table, his hands split together, as if he was praying for a miracle. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the silence swallowed the crackle of the storm outside. The look on his face was an unpleasant one, a mix of worriness and disgust. This feeling was widespread throughout his whole body.
-Ugh, that prick France and this Bonaparte guy…
Prussia leaned back in his chair and relieved a sigh when Holy Rome entered the room.
Holy Rome stood in the doorway, his small frame dwarfed by the height of the heavy door behind him. His cloak was still damp, droplets of rain trailing down onto the stone floor. But his expression was neutral — unreadable, as always.
Prussia forced a grin.
He always did.
-Ah! My little brother! How was your work today? I hope these bastards didn't make a lot of trouble for you- He stood quickly, brushing a hand down the front of his uniform before striding over to him, arms wide.
But Holy Rome didn’t return the gesture. He simply looked up at him, eyes dull with fatigue. Or maybe it was something worse.
-With every day it's getting worse. Some cousins says that empire has no sense, that we should ally with France, that the old imperial order is outdated and-
-LALALALALALALALA BOOOOOO I CAN'T HEAR YOU- Prussia shouted- Listen kid, i have NO IDEA what those arseholes keep to enforce upon you, and take advice from your brother, do NOT surrender to yourself. Show them some balls, be a man!
Holy Rome looked at him with an annoyed expression, one eyebrow twitching as he folded his arms across his chest.
-I am a man- he said stiffly, glaring- Or I was supposed to be… our meeting had various heated arguments. I tried to stop some of the cousins but…
Holy Rome rolled up his sleeve. Before Prussia's eyes appeared a huge bruise. He blinked in shock. That one hit a little too hard. The grin on his face faltered for a second, then came back- this time more forced.
-Listen kid, I know I’m not the soft type, and I don’t do hugs or emotional crap, but-
He stopped. His crimson eyes were locked on the bruise — deep, dark, unmistakably violent. That wasn’t from sparring. That was from rage . From betrayal. From someone who wanted to make a point.
-Which one of those shitheads did this to you?- his voice was low now. Dangerous. Cold.
-What does it matter? They don't see me as someone anymore.
They stood in silence. The truth was unbearable for both of them. Holy Rome finally spoke, his voice low, with grief and sorrow
-They're not wrong, I’m made of ancient laws, Latin prayers, and crowns no one respects anymore. You’re the only one who still talks to me like I’m real.
-You are real
-For how long? I feel it every day. My body trembles when standing up. Every morning after waking up, I wish I'd never opened those eyes. Im constantly coughing and-
-Stop it! For the love of God! you're not dying, stop acting like an old man.
That silence came back. The kind that weighed down the room heavier than cannon fire. Prussia clenched his jaw. Then he paced over to him — not laughing this time.
-Listen to me you oh-so-old-prick. No one will ever forget you. Your history will be remembered through centuries. Ohhh ill make sure of it, even if it means kicking an ass or two!- he giggled, then he crouched down in front of Holy Rome now, looking him dead in the eyes.
-Everything will be fine, it's always like that.
- Holy Rome stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable crossing his face- not annoyance now, but something closer to guilt. Or maybe… gratitude.
-You're not the best role model you know- he muttered. Prussia grinned, sharp and crooked again.
-Yeah maybe, but I'm the awesomest brother that's for sure!
Holy Rome's spirits lifted up a little bit, Prussia felt it. But this so-called big brother couldn't get rid of one certain feeling- anxiety. Not only he gaslit this little kid but also himself. He actually started to believe, he, from all people, could protect him.
Days were passing by with uncertainty- each one heavier than the last. The future of Europe trembled on a knife’s edge. France- or rather, Napoleon - pressed forward with relentless force. His armies were tireless, vast, and terrifyingly organized. There were no signs of slowing. No hints of mercy.The French army was a threat to everyone.
Victory under the Austerlitz proved everyone who would dictate conditions.What remained of Austria’s pride lay buried beneath Moravian snow, and Russia’s forces had retreated in silence. The so-called powers of Europe- the ancient titans- were left staggering.
Even Prussia, once so proud, now sat on a ticking clock, staring down at maps like they were death warrants. The old imperial order was rotting faster than anyone dared to say aloud.
And yet, no one knew how fast this day would come, especially Holy Rome.
It happened.
Thanks to France.
Not with a battlefield roar, not with fire and banners — but with paper, signatures, and silence.
Everyone was gathered at the imperial court, though not all in person. Some sent envoys. Some didn’t bother at all. But it happened. Sixteen principalities withdrew from the Holy Roman Empire, creating the Confederation of the Rhine. It felt like the world had ended.
The almighty Holy Rome collapsed on the floor. Maybe it was from the tension from everything, maybe he just weakened, or maybe- for some people- he finally was dead.
-NO!- Prussia pushed other principalities from his way, shoving past startled envoys, diplomats, and cold-faced nobles who stood frozen like statues in their ceremonial robes. No one moved. No one helped .
The silence in the imperial court was crushing- only the dull echo of boots slamming against marble as Prussia dropped to his knees beside him.
-Hey! Kid- hey, c’mon, get up. This isn’t funny.
Holy Rome lay crumpled on the floor, golden trim of his uniform wrinkled and dust-stained, the crest on his chest already beginning to dull in the candlelight. His face was pale- too pale. Not a scratch on him. No wound, no blood. Just… stillness.
-It's all your fault you glory-hungry fool- Prussia spat, his voice low and shaking, clenched beside Holy Rome’s body.
His eyes locked on someone across the room- someone who hadn’t even flinched.
France.
Standing at ease like this was just another day at court. Like he hadn’t just helped murder an empire.
He slammed a fist against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. Some envoys flinched. Some looked away. But not France.
-You couldn't just win, could you?- Prussia growled, voice rising- you had to take everything didn't you?
- I didn't kill him- France replied smoothly- The world outgrew him. I just… swept away the dust.
Prussia's blood boiled.
-Dust?! He was the heart of this continent, you smug bastard! You think just because you wear a crown now, you get to decide who matters?!
There was no answer.
France turned to leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing coldly behind him. He felt bad, this feeling gnawing at his insides- guilt. This anguished feeling rang in his mind. Because of him, his old friend lost someone dear.
He swayed those thoughts away, telling himself that this is war, people die on it. Nations fall. Empire rot. A natural coincidence of events.
He tightened his jaw, pushing open the tall gilded doors of the chamber as the heavy silence behind him closed like a tomb.
And yet, he didn't look back, not even once.
Prussia took his dearest brother back home. He did not prepare any funeral, or any event. He couldn’t stand the thought of others standing over him like it was a ceremony- like this was some political closure.
He grieved alone, in Holy Rome's room. That still body laid under a featherbed. A dim flame from a candle casted shadow over his delicate face- soft and pale, as if he might wake up from a long nap.
Prussia really hoped for a miracle. Why him, why not someone else?
Elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
-I was supposed to protect you- he whispered softly- You were always too good for this place.
The silence pressed in again. The room didn’t answer. Neither did the boy. He reached over to adjust the blanket, tugging it up gently — like it would make a difference. Like it would keep him warm.
He looked at him again.
-No one knew you like I did. They erase your name from theirs mind.
His voice crack, tears forming in his eyes.
-But I won't. You hear me? I won’t… forget you…
-You… said that… to me a while ago, no need to repeat…
Prussia looked with shock at Holy Rome. Was that a dream? Is he really alive?
He reached out slowly, fingers trembling, and placed his hand on the boy’s arm. It was cold. Still. But-
He'd spoken. He was sure of it.
-Holy Rome?...
Maybe it was just grief. Maybe his mind was playing with him.
But maybe- just maybe- something of Holy Rome had lingered long enough to say goodbye. Prussia let out a trembling laugh through his tears.
Holy Rome clenched, or rather tried to, his hand onto Prussia's.
-Where am I… what happened… Prussia? I’m scared…
Prussia froze.. He wasn’t imagining it this time.
The fingers beneath his own
moved
- weakly, shakily, but undeniably real. Prussia’s breath hitched in his throat. All the anger, the guilt, the crushing weight he’d carried for days cracked wide open. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping that frail hand like it was the only real thing in the world.
-Youre home…- he said quietly- Youre safe.. youre home…
Prussia couldn't believe in what just happened. His dearest brother has woken up. He didn't die, he was just in a coma, all praise the Lord. Holy Rome blinked, trying to focus through the candlelight, through the fog in his mind.His lips trembled. There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes, too.
-Did we lose…?- he whispered.
Prussia hesitated- he wanted to say “no”, so that the boy could linger on something sweet. But he knew there was no point of sugarcoating anything. So instead, he leaned in, rested his forehead against Holy Rome’s and whispered:
- You didn't lose.- Prussia giggled softly- Those arseholes weren't ready for someone like you. I promise you will take good care of you, you will recover.
Silence settled between them- heavy, but no longer cold. It took a moment for Holy Rome to make up his mind and speak up.
-I need to confess to you…- he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice so quiet it could’ve been mistaken for the wind.
-What is it kid?
Holy Rome hesitated. He looked away from Prussia's gaze, to the far right- as if he was scared of something. His fingers tightened around his older brother's hand.
-Back then… before everything fell apart… I was already slipping.
-Slipping?- Prussia frowned.
-I felt it. Inside. Like something was breaking, slowly. Like I wasn’t… enough. Not strong enough. Not real enough.- He coughed softly, his breath catching in his throat, but he pushed through.
-They didn’t just leave me because of war. They left because they stopped believing I mattered. Because I was young. Because I was tired.
His voice cracked at the last word.
-Truth to be told… I tried to find my place, but… there wasn't any for me. Sometimes, I thought about things that I should have and shouldn't say. Maybe if I wasn't so careless, so full of this all legacy… maybe I would be somewhere else… with someone else…
He stopped, unsure whether he should keep talking.
-Im… sorry, i was never good at expressing myself… maybe thats why all those things happened… I should've known better…
Prussia giggled under his nose, his chest was finally relieved from anguish.
-You really do act like an old man. It's fine, it wasn't your fault.
Holy Rome's lips trembled. For the first time, he allowed himself to cry- quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks, no longer holding it all in. And Prussia, the ever-proud, ever-loud, ever-broken brother, didn’t stop him.
He just stayed by his side.
Hand in hand.
Like he should’ve all along.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Notes:
Sorry for not posting for a while. I was at the time of making a driving licensce, I passed the second time and the got sick with tonsillitis, BUT IM BACK! This one is a long one so I hope youre happy w it. Please guys, do leave comments, it really makes my day and I can know your opinion on this fanfic, really keeps me going. As always, please enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
That day was calm. Too calm. Many would describe it as a calm before storm. Nonetheless Austria's house was radiant as ever. Servants were bustling everywhere fulfilling their duties and errands. Every hall, every corridor was cramped with people. What a time to be alive!
In one of those corridors, if you were lucky enough, you could hear the faint sound of bare feet hitting the marble floor in accompaniment of broom strokes. The curl on his hair seemed to dance to the tune of swept floors. His appearance was that of a young,charming and rather soft-faced lad that should be out flirting with other ladies his age, and yet he was stuck with work, a rather female one. It suited him at some point, that was his duty all his life, to take care and do errands for someone.
His movements were angelic and soft, as if he was an open book, showing a true story, his compassion and soul, humming a soft melody. One step, second step, third one- he was dancing with a rather peculiar lass. They were sweeping from side to side, alone, lost in time. The humming noise got stronger and more lively than before. The pair was reaching a climax at the dance, grand finale I must say. Full of passion and artistry was put into this.
-Are you dancing with the broom again?- a familiar female giggle was heard. Italy got startled, his heart pounding.
-Oh-h that's just you, Hungary… How many times did I tell you to not scare me like that…
-OH! But I felt your love for the broom!- Hungary gasped theatrically, placing a hand dramatically over her chest like a damsel in distress. -It would be a tragedy to interrupt such a romantic performance!
He only could laugh and sigh
-And you're dressed like some sort of a maid. I still don't understand why you act this way, you could be sitting with your ladies-in- waiting sipping tea or something like that
- Ha! Bold of you to assume that’s my idea of fun! I don't want to get rusty sitting all pampered day and night. Life’s about hard work- and only you can take control of it.- She smiled with confidence while rolling up her sleeves- Come on, let's get things done together.
Time passed by in laughter and light-hearted gossip.
They moved from corridor to corridor, sweeping, scrubbing, and occasionally stopping to chat or greet the other servants who passed by with curious glances. Lady Hungary, despite her noble status, was incredibly popular among the maids.
Hungary gave off the warmth of an older sister, the kind who laughed with you, helped carry your burdens, and made you feel safe just by being around.
Especially to Italy.
To him, she was something between a guardian and a friend. His fierce, dependable big sister.
But beware when she got angry. That same gentle warmth could ignite into a whole wildfire.When someone stirred up trouble, the soft smile vanished, replaced by the sharp eyes and stance of a lioness ready to strike.
In her younger days, she was the best hunter in the region. Swift, precise, and merciless when she needed to be. And she never hesitated to turn someone into a metaphorical deer- caught in her sights, no chance to run, no place to hide. Even now, the staff whispered stories about her legendary "clean-up" missions- both literal and… political. Some people laughed that she was the man of the house, not Austria.
As of now she was goofing around gossiping like any other lady her age would do. Every now and then, she’d give Italy a playful smack on the arm just to annoy him. It always stung. She hit harder than most soldiers he knew, but she never seemed to notice, or maybe she did and just found it funny.
-You know- she said suddenly, flicking some dust off her shoulder- I actually heard something about your older brother recently. Romano.
Italy blinked, his smile faltering just a little.
-Romano? Ve, what about him?
Hungary gave him a sideways glance, sharp but not unkind.
-Relax, it wasn’t bad. Just... interesting… I guess..
- What is that supposed to mean- Italy asked, blinking with a nervous tilt of his head.
-Relax, relax- Hungary waved her hand dismissively, though her smirk said she was enjoying his confusion
-I know you haven't seen your brother in like… AGES, but trust, you'll like the news- She leaned a little closer, voice dropping into that mock-conspiratorial tone again.
- So, apparently, he’s been participating in the Crimean War. As an ally to the Ottoman Empire, no less.
At that moment Italy's eyes widened.
-Romano?! In war? With Ottomans?! But he hates wearing uniforms!
-Shhhh! Not so loud, someone will hear us… Anyway, turns out, it was a big success for him. He even signed a treaty with France, they'll support him with defense if Austria tries anything funny.
She paused, then added with a sly grin:
-And judging by how furious Mr. Austria has been lately, I’d say someone’s definitely planning something.
Italy frowned in thought, chewing on his lower lip like a child trying to solve a puzzle far too big for him.
-So… Romano is getting involved in serious politics now? He was always yelling at me for being too soft and now he’s out there… signing treaties?
-Mhm- Hungary nodded.- Looks like your brother’s growing up, finally. Maybe he got tired of shouting and decided to start scheming instead.
Italy looked almost impressed, almost.
-But… that means if Austria does attack, we’d be caught in the middle, wouldn’t we?
Hungary gave him a measured look, her expression shifting just a little, from teasing to serious.
-Not if we’re smart. Or fast. Either way… times are changing, Italy. You can’t hide in the kitchen forever. Not even with that fancy broom dance of yours.
Italy looked down at the broom still in his hand. For a brief second, the playful glint in his eyes faded, replaced by something quieter. He still remembered how he gave out his old broom to Holy Rome, the same one who didn't even give a sign of life, the same who promised to return but never did. All this just for a war.
-…You think I’ll have to fight?
Hungary didn’t answer right away. She placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but not unkind.
-I think you’ll have to choose. And when that time comes, you better know what you’re standing for.
There was a long pause.
Then Italy straightened up, put the broom over his shoulder like a soldier would with a rifle, and forced a smile.
-Okay! But I’m still not giving up on pasta!
Hungary laughed, shaking her head.
-That's the spirit soldier!- They both laughed and the tension in the air was forgotten.
Even in laughter, Hungary's words rang in Italy's head. “I'll have to choose? to fight? I should know better? Oh God… I don't want any of this” he thought. His thoughts began to spiral, slowly at first, then faster, each word echoing louder in his mind. A tightness gripped his chest. But before the spiral could pull him any deeper, a strange, all-too-familiar laugh shattered the silence. Hungary was not pleased nor wanted to laugh at the sight of some strange white haired man.
- Laaady Héderváry~! What do I owe the pleasure of this glorious sight?- The man laughed at the sight of Hungary being in a maid's outfit.
Hungary, standing with a cleaning cloth still in hand, turned stiffly, very much not amused. Prussia stood there, arms spread wide, grinning like the trouble he was.
- A maid’s outfit?- he snorted, barely containing his amusement.- Oh, come on! You’re making scrubbing floors look like royal punishment!
Hungary narrowed her eyes.
-Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny, Gilbert. Look at everyone not laughing.
-I am!- he beamed proudly.- And I count as a lot of people!
Then, with exaggerated flair, he strode up, took Hungary’s hand, and kissed it like a courtly gentleman- though no one knew if this was just a mockery or was he serious.
-In my house, you wouldn’t have to do such chores. I’d have servants do everything. Even breathe for you, if you wanted.
Hungary rolled her eyes and yanked her hand away with a well-practiced flick.
- In your house, Gilbert, I’d be doing the real work while you pose shirtless in front of your mirror for hours.
Italy watched the exchange like someone watching two wolves circle each other, unsure whether to be impressed or terrified.
-Well I don't doubt that- Prussia smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. -But you know what would be even more impressive than scrubbing floors? Hunting. Surely a woman like you wouldn’t mind going on a little hunt?
Hungary raised an eyebrow, folding her arms.
Truth be told, sometimes she enjoyed this back-and-forth, the verbal fencing that always danced on the edge between bickering and flirting. But at the word “hunting”, something unmistakable sparked in her eyes.
Challenge. Excitement. Rivalry.
-Oh, I’d love to- she said, her tone now flirtatious.- But I’m a little worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.
She stepped a little closer, just enough to make him blink.
-You might even get scared the moment you hear a twig snap.
Prussia snorted, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.
-Me? Scared?- He leaned in, voice lower.
-Fraulein, I invented fear. And then I made it run.
Hungary gave a short laugh- real, amused, but definitely not surrendering.
-Big words from someone who once fainted when I threw a boar tusk at him.
-That boar tusk was the size of a sword! And you threw it like it was a bouquet!
-You were standing in my way
-I was standing behind a tree!
Italy raised his voice, unsure whether they were fighting or flirting or to even stop them
-Should I get a referee or…
-NO!- both shouted at him.
Italy yelped and stepped back, hands in the air.
-Well Sisi, who's this girl? Is she one of your helpers- Prussia snorted, thumbing in Italy’s direction with a grin.
-I am a man! And the name’s Italy!- He responded, puffing up his cheeks like an offended balloon
There was a beat of silence.
-Oh- Prussia blinked
- Oh
A pause. Then-
-Pfffft--AHAHAHAHAHA! OH GOD IM GONNA SHIT MYSELF- Unexpectedly, Hungary was the one who burst out laughing. She doubled over, clutching her sides, nearly wheezing
- Oh God, oh jeez- She cackled, wiping tears from her eyes- It reminds me when you thought I WAS a man! HAHAHAHA, ohh youre not really good at this are you Gilbert?
Prussia stood frozen, red as a ripe tomato, staring at her like she’d just shot his ego point-blank.
-I–Uh…
-So about the hunt…-he mumbled, trying desperately to gather his pride from the floor.
Hungary straightened up, still chuckling, but her expression cooled just for a moment.
-Yeah, haha no. I am a married woman. The charm sort of… vanished the moment you made that sound.- She twirled her fingers mockingly.
-Besides, I know what you're really here for- Her tone shifted to a serious one.- He's waiting.
Prussia blinked, as if slapped. His smirk faded, replaced by something... conflicted. Guilty, even.
-W-well, it was a pleasure, Lady Héderváry and um… Italy.
He gave a half-hearted salute and turned on his heel, trying to retreat with whatever scraps of dignity he had left. Italy, still confused but sensing the tension, waved politely. Hungary watched Gilbert disappear down the corridor, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Once his footsteps faded into silence, Italy turned to her.
-What was that about?
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned to the window and looked out at the courtyard beyond, the clouds drifting heavy over the rooftops.
-Nothing really, Its nothing.- She said quickly.- We should get back to work.
-Okay let us finish here then-
-No!- she interrupted, a bit too sharply. Italy blinked. Hungary caught herself, cleared her throat, and forced a small smile.
- I-I mean... I’ll finish here. You should go to, uh... Austria’s office. Yes. Go... work near his office.
Italy tilted his head, visibly confused.
-Why? Did he ask for me?
-No, but… but you know how he is. He likes order. Maybe he’ll give you something very important to do.
Italy didn’t ask her any more questions. He just nodded, accepted the order, and went where he was told to.
But as he walked down the long, quiet hallway, broom over his shoulder like a wooden rifle, something itched at the back of his mind. “Why did she get so nervous all of a sudden?” His footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor. He passed tall windows streaked with grey light and portraits of long-dead aristocrats staring blankly into nothing.
He stopped in front of Austria’s door. It was half-open. That in itself was strange. Austria never left doors open. Not even by an inch. Italy tilted his head, then slowly leaned forward, careful not to let the broom clack against the wall. There were voices coming out of the room.
-And what does this traitor do here?- Prussia's voice was sharp, biting.
-Mon ami- France said, his tone smooth but wary.
-We definitely are not friends, Bonnefoy.- Prussia snapped back.
Austria stepped into their conflict, his face calm but firm.
-Please, stop. We’re not here for… that.
He cleared his throat, imposing himself with authority.
-I am worried about your arrogance and pseudo-confidence, Mr. Bonnefoy.
-Arrogance is a luxury we cannot afford these days, Austria. Perhaps it’s you who underestimates the stakes.
Prussia scoffed, crossing his arms.
-Confidence is not the same as arrogance, France. You should know that better than anyone.
Austria’s gaze sharpened, voice low and controlled.
-Mr. Bonnefoy, your recklessness could cost us dearly. This isn’t a game of diplomacy, it’s survival.
France’s expression flickered, a trace of doubt breaking through.
-Oh I know what this is about… It's because of the Romano guy isn't it? Oh hon hon hon.- He gave a smug little laugh, resting one gloved hand on his hip.- Survival requires risks, Roderich. Otherwise, we’re already defeated.
Austria’s jaw clenched. France saw past through him. He saw the fear behind Austria's eyes- not for himself, but for what was coming.
-So that’s your excuse- Austria said quietly, not even looking directly at him.- You call it risk. I call it desperation.
France’s expression faltered just slightly, a twitch of the corner of his mouth.
- Desperation isn’t always the enemy, mon cher. Sometimes it's what drives change.
-Umm excuse me? I still don't understand why I am here? Roderich if this is for your own amusement this is not funny. Because I’d rather not be in the same room as… he…- Prussia groaned, pointing finger at France.
-You're supposed to have my back for God's sake- Austria shook his head- Mr Bonnefoy I wish you would cease your interest with Romano.
-Cease my interest? Roderich, please. You speak as if I’m courting the boy. It’s politics, not poetry.
-You call it politics, but your involvement is personal. You have no idea the damage you could cause if you continue to pull at unstable strings. First those letters from Holy Rome and now you…
-What letters?- Italy butted in suddenly, blinking with innocent confusion.
The room went silent.
Austria froze, visibly swallowing the words he was about to say. France arched a brow, almost impressed.
-Scheiße…
Italy looked around, wide-eyed.
-Wait… wait, what letters? Did you just say Holy Rome? Like, my Holy Rome?
Austria slowly turned to face him. His expression was unreadable. Cold, but not cruel. Caught, but not apologetic.
-What are you doing here?
Before Austria could say anything else, Italy was on a questioning spree.
-What do you mean by letters? Is he alive? Is he okay? Where is he?!
France gave Austria a side glance and murmured:
-Bravo. Truly. You’ve managed to keep this secret for how long, exactly? Does he even know WHAT happened?
-This is neither the time nor place.- Austria's eyes narrowed.
But Italy stepped forward, voice rising with something that hadn’t been there for a long time- hope.
-Tell me- He demanded.
At the same time, Prussia tried to sort out what was even happening. Why are those letters such a big deal? Why did Austria hide them from this boy? And most importantly why Italy cared so much for…
It clicked.
Prussia's grimace went from confusion to distress. The girl that Holy Rome cherished so dearly, wasn't a girl, it was… “Oh God”. Prussia felt out of place. What kind of twisted love drama was this? What's worse- That Holy Rome had fallen for someone he thought was a girl or that Italy doesn't even know what happened to said Holy Rome.
He raised both hands, stepping back like he wanted to distance himself from the emotional blast zone.
-Oh hell no! I will not participate in this masquerade- Prussia backed toward the door, like he was ready to ghost out of the room and pretend none of this ever happened. But no one was paying attention to him anymore- all eyes were on Italy.
Prussia really was shattered, why does his little brother have to endure such pain and wickedness? The hallway was colder than he remembered. Empty and long, echoing with the weight of too many secrets. And there, just a few steps down, rounding the corner with a bundle of laundry in her arms- was Hungary. She froze when she saw him. Her eyes narrowed.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Hungary’s look was filled with sorrow, pitiful, almost pleading, as if silently saying, “I’m sorry.”. She knew. She knew everything.Prussia said nothing. Instead, he returned her gaze with a quiet firmness, as if to tell her, “This is not your fault.”
Neither spoke. Words were useless here. In that shared silence, a heavy understanding passed between them- one born of grief, regret, and the burdens they both carried. Then, Prussia finally broke away, the weight of what had just been exchanged lingering in the air as he continued down the hall.
Hungary remained standing there, clutching the laundry a little tighter, the apology unspoken but felt deep within both their hearts.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-So? Austria, I'm begging you what letters!- Italy’s voice cracked with desperation.
Austria sighed, his stern expression softening just a little.
-Very well.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of worn, yellowed papers, carefully to not rip them.
-Those are the letters he sent you over the time he was… occupied.
Italy stood there, looking at those letters in disbelief. The handwriting. The tone. The way the words curled around phrases only he would have known.
Did that mean he was still out there?
Did that mean he was okay?
And if so… why hadn’t he come back?
His breath caught in his throat, and then-
Tears began to fall.
-W-Why?- His voice cracked. -Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide them from me for so long?! WHY?!
He stumbled a step forward, fists clenched, his whole body trembling — not from anger, but from the weight of everything. Austria didn’t speak right away. He stared at the letters in his hand as though they might disappear if he looked too long.
-Because they would distract you. There was no point in showing them to you. It would’ve only caused you more pain.
Italy shook his head furiously, the tears falling harder now.
-You don’t get to decide that! He-he was everything to me! He promised he’d come back!- His voice broke completely.
- And I waited. Every day, I waited! I-I looked at every face in every army, in every crowd, just to see if it was him! I never stopped!
He gripped the sides of his head as if he could shake the pain out of his skull.
-I thought… Maybe he changed. Maybe he forgot me. Or worse, maybe I was the only one who remembered…
Austria stood still, silent, a shadow of guilt pressing into his posture.Italy looked up at him, eyes glassy and wide.
-Give me them. Give me those letters… NOW!
-No. I won’t give you anything.
The air in the room shifted,heavy and cold. Italy stared at him in disbelief.
-What? After all this..after lying to me, hiding them, keeping him from me—you still won’t give them to me?!
-You’re not thinking clearly- Austria said stiffly.- You’re overwhelmed. If I hand these to you now, you’ll only spiral further-
-I AM ALREADY FALLING APART!- Italy screamed, his voice raw and ragged..- You think im some kind of joke to you?! Do you understand how much pain I’ve had to endure?!
His fists were clenched at his sides now, shaking violently.
- Could you once in your life get your snobby nose out of your ass, and see what you have done? I've been breaking apart the day he left.
The room was silent. No one dared to say anything. Still crying, still trembling, he looked directly at Austria.
-I still am a burden to you, aren't I?
Austria opened his mouth, quietly.
-That's not-
-Oh? BUT I THINK IT IS!- Italy shouted, cutting him off. He stepped forward again, tears staining his cheeks, but his back straight.- From now on I’ll stop running, I’ll stop hiding…I’m not your fragile little child anymore. I’m not your mistake. I’m not your problem.
That last word echoed like a gunshot. Austria looked at him, not in shock, but in something closer to awe. As if, for the first time, he wasn’t seeing Italy as the trembling mess of a boy he once was. But as someone else entirely. Someone standing. Someone choosing. Someone that Austria didn't want him to become in the beginning.
Roderich- France said, folding his arms with unexpected seriousness- I know it’s not the best time… but maybe you should give him those letters. He deserves them, non?
Austria stood like a statue for a moment. Motionless.
Then, finally:
-...Fine
Austria held letters in his hand a moment longer than necessary, like he couldn’t decide whether he was handing over the truth, or the last thread of a lie he’d carefully kept intact. Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward and placed them in Italy’s open hands.
Italy stared down at the bundle, his hands trembling just slightly, not from fear anymore, but anticipation. There was silence again.
But not in France's heart.He had never felt this guilty in his life. Not even when he shaved England’s eyebrows while he slept and painted mustaches on his face with coal dust. That was funny. This? Gut wrenching. Because this time… He had literally killed someone.
He hadn't expected this. Hadn’t expected to see the fallout in Italy’s trembling hands.Hadn’t expected the ghost to still haunt the room years later.
But he couldn’t say that.
He couldn’t just come out and say, “Oh, by the way, that boy you’ve mourned your whole life? The one who promised he’d come back? Yeah. I helped erase him.” That would make him look bad. And France, above all things, had always prided himself on appearances.
-Hey, um… Italy. About the current state of… Holy Rome…
-Yes?- Italy looked up from the parchment, his eyes still shining, soft and hopeful.
France hesitated.
God, why did it feel so hard to breathe?
-Well, it would be better if you forget about him. He… will never come back.
The words came out harsher than he meant them. Like slamming a door instead of closing it gently. Italy just stared. The silence stretched, long and painful. You could almost hear the sound of something cracking.
-Why?
France tried to smile.- Because it’s… it’s in the past, mon cher. He was part of something old. Something broken. The world is changing. And looking backward, well, it’s no way to live.
Italy looked at him without any trust.
-I don't believe you. You know something. And you will tell me.
There it was. The tone. The sharp edge in Italy’s words. France had always thought of him as soft. Emotional. Fragile. But this… this was something else.
France looked away.That was all the confirmation Italy needed.He stood up slowly, holding the letters to his chest like a shield.
-It was war… and…
-No.- Italy said, firmer now- War is what happened. Not what you did.
France did not answer. Couldn’t. Because what would he say? So instead, he stood still, wearing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and said nothing. And for the first time in his long, long life-
France wished he could cry.
After being lost in thought, Italy finally made up his mind. He looked up into France's eyes and then…
SLAP
Italy slapped frances face. Then, he coldly looked at Austria, as if he was next in queue. For a moment, Austria looked almost… afraid. But he didn't do anything. He just scoffed and vanished from the office before anyone could say anything.
France raised a hand to his cheek, which was still stinging
-I deserved it…- he muttered. -But merde, I didn’t know that boy was this strong.
-Boy?
-I meant Italy of course.
Austria turned toward him sharply. His brow furrowed.
-He was… a boy?
Both men looked at each other awkwardly. Something unspoken passed between them. He knew what Austria was thinking. What they were both now realizing. Austria was clueless his whole life.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The garden walls had many cracks, stone brick falling out of them. The ever radiant ivy? Withered. Beautiful mimosa flowers that sparked joy with their yellow colors? Gone. Even the grass looked tired.
It had been so long since he stood here. Long enough for the seasons to forget how to bloom. The bundle of letters remained clutched tightly to his chest, as if they were holding him together more than he was holding them.
The fountain in the center of the garden- once bubbling and playful- was dry now. A single bird sat on its edge, unmoving, watching him.
Italy sat down under an oak tree, the one they always used to sit. His hands were still shaking, but his face was calm. He was ready. Slowly, he unfolded the first letter.
“Dear Italy,
"I hope this letter finds you in peace and in bloom, as you always were..."
Oh God, it's his words. That was his handwriting.
“I’ve tried a dozen times to begin this letter properly, but nothing feels right. Every word I write falls short of how I remember you. Your voice. Your laugh. The way you used to hum while you painted, completely off-key, but always smiling.
Do you still wear that silly apron? The one with the pasta stains and the little tomato embroidered on the hem? I told you it was ridiculous, remember? But secretly… I loved it. I loved everything.
The war is getting worse. The nights are colder, and the fires burn lower.
People say I’m changing. That I won’t come back the same.
Sometimes, I look in the mirror and don’t know who’s looking back.
But even then, I remember you.
If I forget everything else… Please know that I never wanted to forget you.
You were the only soft thing in a world made of steel.
Sometimes I lay as I study a blank wall.
Would you spare me your voice if I called? I don't blame you if you want to bury me in your memory, I'm not the boy I ought to be, but maybe when you tell everyone, you can tell them what you saw in me and not how I turned out to be.
There's some kind of burning inside me. It kept me from falling apart and I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart. But it kept me from falling apart. Now, here I lay as I wonder about you. Would you just tell me what I'm meant to do? Because I've waited and watered my heart till it grew. You can see how it blossomed for you”
Italy felt how every word was like a dagger, that pierced his heart through. His breath caught in his throat, he nearly suffocated himself. He clutched the letter tighter, crumpling the edges with trembling fingers. His chest heaved, desperate for air, but nothing came. His mouth opened, but no sound followed.
Just the echo of words he had waited years to hear-
words that came far too late.
He leaned forward, forehead pressed against his knees, trying to hold himself together.
But the pain was too old. Too deep. Too known. He opened each of the letters, reading them thoroughly. But the last one, was the one letter that would stick in his mind.
“I hopelessly drift in the eyes of the ghost again. I'm down on my knees, and my hands in the air again, pushing my face in the memory of you again, but I never know if it's real. Never know how I wanted to feel.
Never quite said what I wanted to say to you. Never quite managed the words to explain to you, never quite knew how to make them believable. And now the time has gone, another time undone. Hopelessly fighting the devil, feeling futility.
I am feeling the monster, climbing deeper inside of me, feeling him gnawing my heart away, hungrily. I'll never lose this pain.
Meine Schatzi, ich liebe dich.”
“Oh my poor Holy Rome.” The words fell from his lips like a prayer.
Or maybe a goodbye.
Tears spilled freely now, soaking the parchment still warm from his hands. The ink smudged where his fingers touched it, as if even the letters themselves couldn’t bear the weight of his sorrow. His shoulders shook. There was no one around to hear him.
No one to stop him from falling apart.
The oak tree above offered no comfort, only creaking softly in the breeze,
like an old friend who no longer knew what to say. Italy brought the letter to his lips and kissed it, gently. Almost like he was afraid it would shatter. “I never forgot you. Neither did you” His voice cracked on the last word. He swallowed hard, breathing through clenched teeth, trying to stay grounded.
-Feliciano…
-Holy Rome?...
A pause. Then, gently:
-Its me, Hungary.
Hungary stood just a few paces away, her expression soft and unreadable. The air left his lungs again.Not in disappointment. Not quite.But in that quiet, collapsing way that happens
when you realize the thing you were chasing wasn’t real, but the pain still is.
-You knew about this too, didn’t you.- He stopped- That he sent me those letters.
-Yes.
-Why… you too didn’t tell me anything?...- His words were tired. So tired.
Hungary took a slow step forward.
Then another.
Then, without a word, she sat beside him beneath the oak. The same way she had done a thousand times in their childhoods, back when scraped knees and burnt pasta were the worst of their worries.
She rested her hands in her lap, gaze fixed on the wilting grass in front of them.
-Because you were still hoping- she said finally.- I know… nothing really excuses me from keeping this secret, but you must understand Feliciano, that some things are meant to come at the right time. And now the time has come.
Feliciano didn’t respond right away. He only stared ahead, to the cracked garden wall and the brittle ivy clinging to it like a memory too stubborn to die.
-It doesn’t feel like the right time- He whispered.
-It never does.
-Its just that…- He hesitated- I'm so so so scared of growing up.I liked the way I lived. Maybe it wasn’t the best, but… I had so much time for myself. Time to paint. Time to sing. Time to cook pasta and pretend the world wasn’t falling apart. I didn’t have to choose sides. I didn’t have to carry the weight of history or war or… or him.
He looked up at her, eyes glassy, lost.
-Is that selfish?
Hungary didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she reached out and gently took the letter from his shaking hand, folding it with care and setting it in his lap.
-No- She said firmly- No it's not. It's human.
She looked out across the garden.
-Everyone fears growing up, Feliciano. Even nations. Maybe especially nations. Because we don’t just grow up once, we do it again and again. Every time the world changes. Every time the people we love disappear. Every time we’re asked to be more than we were yesterday. You’ve grown already. You just didn’t notice.
-How?
She smiled faintly.
- Because you’re sitting here… heart broken, hands trembling… and still choosing to remember him. Still choosing not to run away. That's growing up, Feliciano. That’s what it looks like. Being an adult means taking responsibility. Especially for your actions, whether they were in the past or whether they're at the corner.
Feliciano looked down at his lap, at the folded letter. His fingers gently traced the crease down the middle of the parchment. His shoulders rose and fell slowly with a shaky breath.
-I don't feel like I'm ready.
-”Ready” is not a feeling. And you'll never feel ready for anything in your life, whether you like it or not. That's how life is.
Hungary cupped his face into her hands, making sure he's looking at her.
-The only thing you can do, is to walk through your life with your head held high, no matter what happens, no matter what challenges awaits you. You should always believe in yourself.
Italy let that sink in. His breath hitched again, but this time… he didn’t cry. He just nodded. Feliciano glanced down at the letter one more time. Then folded it with care and tucked it safely into his coat.
-...Thank you,” he said at last. Not like a child thanking a caretaker. But like a man thanking a friend.- I think I know what I have to do.
Hungary gave a small nod. Nothing more.
“I’ll never forget you Holy Rome, I’ll do it for you” he thought to himself. A silent vow. Not of vengeance. But of remembrance and action.
-It's time for a reunion with Romano. Maybe that’s a good place to start.
Notes:
So, those letters are based on 2 songs that i think are perfect for the characters ( there will be more in next chapters). First letter is based more or less on Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski. The second one is solely based on Untitled by The Cure AND OHHHHH THE TITLE AND WHOLE SONG IS SO HOLY ROME, yall should take a peek at them to feel those feelings in those songs cuz its chefs kiss MWAH. I hope that some of you feel seen and heard with the part when Italy is scared of growing up. Been there done that. Mwah <3