SOY: hello. This is one of those Italy–centric projects I said I wanted to write. It has taken me months to complete it, because at one point I got stuck on a scene and couldn't work myself around it… anyway, now it's finished, and I hope you enjoy!

There is a Russia/Italy fic in the making from me, so please do wait for that one, too!

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Rating: R

Warnings: angst, a few suggestive scenes.

Pairings: Germany/Italy, HRE/Chibitalia, HRE/Italy, mentioned Hungary/Prussia/Austria

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Living Wish

Chapter 01: A day for mourning

Germany opened his eyes tiredly, resurfacing from sleep and feeling as if something was deeply wrong; the light hitting him in the eyes made him wince and he closed them again, breathing deeply.

As his consciousness slowly kicked in and his brain started working again –his body would soon follow, but for now, it was just his mind whirring– Germany remained motionless in his bed for a moment more, eyes close.

There it was again, the feeling that something wasn't as it should be –as if he was missing one big piece of the puzzle…

Maybe the reason why a part of him missed warmth that was not…

Italy.

Opening his eyes again, Germany looked to the side, where he'd grown accustomed to seeing the lither frame of the Italian still deeply asleep, expecting to see the mop of brown hair and feel the even breathing against his skin, and found nothing.

His bed was empty, and Germany frowned, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Ever since the start of the war –back in 1940– Italy had taken upon himself to sneak in Germany's house every night, despite the blond Nation closing all the windows and doors, and then get into the German's bed to sleep with him; after many unsuccessful attempts at making him stop, from teaching his dogs to chase him away to barricade his bedroom door, Germany had allowed it to happen, giving up.

Italy would come night after night, and the occasions when he would not be there were quite rare –even during all the years after the end of WWII, when the relationships between the nations and their bosses had been strained, Italy had still shown up, uncaring of the world, to spend some time with him.

In a way, Germany also expected his presence, and had long since stopped being put off by it –instead, one could say he welcomed…

Shaking his head, Germany sat up on the bed, stretching and popping his shoulders, then stood up.

So what if Italy wasn't there? It was not the end of the world –maybe his brother had visited his house in Venice, and he'd decided not to come?

'But usually he warns me about that' part of his brain interjected, shifting from the remote depths of his conscious to come to the surface, nagging.

Which was true, but still it didn't mean anything.

Ignoring how cold (and utterly silent) the room was, Germany stood up and made his way to the bathroom to cleanse up.

Minutes later, dressed up and ready for another day of work, Germany sat down at the table to eat his usual coffee with wurst, once again feeling the lack of the warm presence of Italy; usually, he'd be humming softly whilst preparing himself cappuccino and jam–covered bread slices, smiling as the German busied himself with his newspaper, but today…

It was always far too empty when Italy was away –Germany was bothered by it, since he hadn't meant to grow accustomed to all the small noises his… friend? made.

Shaking his head again, and shoving away the small blush on his cheeks, Germany stood up and walked towards his office, where a huge pile of documents awaited him. He definitely didn't want to think about Italy now, and he could easily grasp at a good chance when it happened –with a silent house, he could easily get his work done faster, and then…

Well, and then do more work.

It wasn't like he'd have anything else to do, if Italy wasn't around to mess with his house and his things, forcing him to take breaks and play or rest or clean or…

Holding a pen in his hand, he took the first paper in his hands and looked down at it. Something about rebuilding some old structure or something… he looked up, feeling at loss and unable to define why.

He didn't really miss Italy, because by this point, he would be hanging on his neck, demanding attention and hugs. Another flush made its way to Germany's cheeks and he pushed it down with sheer conviction.

The silence was getting to him. He could even hear the old clock in the corridor ticking seconds away, and the twitch on his brow was getting harder to ignore, as well.

Turning around and closing the door, Germany tried to focus again on his work.

After a hour and thirty–three minutes (and twenty seconds, but he wasn't counting them) and still no document signed, with eyes that had to re–read every single sentence to make any sense of it, Germany gave up and went to the telephone.

Maybe Italy was ill. If he was, he could prepare some soup for him –because the Italian couldn't take care of himself at all, Germany had to add, frowning and already thinking about how to properly chastise him later– and with his worries (it was a deeply ingrained mechanism that dated back from WWII, it wasn't that Germany really worried about Italy. Merely worried for the troubles he could be the cause of) soothed, he was sure he could finally work in peace.

Ten long seconds later, spent with the receiver pressed against his ear, in a mix of apprehension and embarrassment, someone picked up on the other end of the phone.

Germany felt his cheeks flush again without reason.

"Pronto?"

"Italy? I'm–"

"Potato bastard!" A low hiss, filled with malice, and Germany felt like hitting his head on the wall. Oh, sure, it was just his luck that the older brother was the one answering the phone and not Italy…

But at least now he knew that nothing was wrong, and that it was just Romano coming up to see his brother…

"Lovino, I–" he tried, in a half–attempt to calm the Italian down, even though he knew it wouldn't work at all.

"Don't call my brother, fottuto bastardo!" Romano ranted, still in a low, hissy tone.

Which was strange, Germany was used to the yells that could burst his ears, not to this low voice. Which was still filled with hatred, but it was Romano. That was a given.

"I just wanted to know if Feliciano–"

"Stay away from him today, I warn you!" Romano was growling now, and on the background, Germany could hear the noise of pots and pans being slammed down on the stove. "He has no time to come and see you so keep the fuck away from him, o–"

"Brother? Who's on the phone?"

Germany frowned. It was Italy's voice, and yet it wasn't. Small and almost subdued, Italy didn't seem happy. Against his better judgement, Germany felt his worries suddenly increase.

"A stupid telemarketer" Romano replied in Italian, his voice completely losing all his animosity. Germany frowned. "Go back to bed, I'll have the breakfast ready in a couple of minutes".

"Ok… grazie, fratello".

There was a long silence, then Germany could picture Romano's face twisting into that of a very pissed off Italian once again. "Don't come over. Stay home, you bastard! He…" a sharp intake of breath, then a scuffle, then Italy's voice "Ve, Ludwig… why did you call?"

On the background, South Italy was throwing a fit, and it was easier to hear him than his younger brother. Germany fidgeted, unsure now that he could talk to Italy.

"Feliciano… is… is everything ok? You don't' sound… too well".

"No, Ludwig, don't worry!" a pathetic attempt at sounding cheerful, that failed. Both Germany and Italy knew, of course. "I'm just… not feeling well today, ve? I'll rest at home and come see you tomorrow, ok? Brother will take care of me~"

"I will! Stay away from Feliciano, you potato bastard!"

"I… of course, Feliciano. Please take care of yourself, ok? I'll… call again this evening" with that, Germany ended the call, still feeling off and unsure.

He wanted to go to Italy, of course –who wouldn't, with that kind of call? Italy had sounded so… hurt– but he reasoned that he could not just go run to the Italian every time it felt like something was wrong. They were not in war anymore. Italy could take care of himself, for sure. And there was his brother… they wouldn't cause many problems if they remained home all day, right?

With that set in mind, Germany turned around to get back to his documents, and stopped when he noticed his own brother staring at him from the doorframe.

He was dressed soberly, with dark blue clothes and even his face wasn't as cheerful as it could have been, either. The moment Germany turned to him, however, a smirk reappeared on his lips.

"Yo, West!" lifting one hand in a salute, Prussia moved into the room and ruffled his hair, much to Germany's irritation. "The awesome me will be out all day, so you will have to do without my special presence today! Think you can do it?"

Germany stared at him with a stern expression "Where are you going, bruder?"

"Ah, to bother Austria, of course!" even the laugh felt strained, but Germany had no time to care about that, his mind still concentrating on Italy's voice on the phone. "In the meanwhile, will you take care of this guy here? He won't be much of a bother, I promise!"

Before he could protest, Germany had a small, yellow and chirping bird thrust into his hands, and as he fumbled around with it, flushing and looking up, Prussia had already vanished from the room, the front door slamming shut.

"… what do I have to do with him?" Germany stared down at the chirping bird, only to realise he was talking to a bird, of all things, and flushed crimson again.

The little thing let out a small sound and flapped its wings, taking refuge in the blond man's hair.

"Don't move from there" he admonished the bird, feeling once again silly, and hoping that Prussia had at least trained him not to…

Well, anyway.

"Back to work" he sighed.

…–…–…–…

"Oi, stupid Austrian!"

Austria felt his eyebrow twitch as he turned around, a smooth motion that had his long coat flutter in the cold air, one hand gently grabbing Hungary's wrist, preventing her from extracting her frying pan of d00m and unleashing her anger on Prussia.

"Stupid Gilbert, good morning" he replied courteously, nodding at the other man and shifting the huge bunch of flowers he was holding from one arm to the other.

Prussia's smirk was absent from his face, replaced with a much sober look, and Austria felt Hungary's muscles relax, so he let her wrist go.

"Where's Feli?" she asked, looking around. "I thought he'd be at your house…"

The albino shrugged, walking at her side and fidgeting, not used to the less comfortable clothes he was wearing. "I overheard Germany call his house, he's with his brother… he'll probably be already waiting for us when we get there…"

"I see" Austria looked to the side, wondering if not warning the German Nation had been a good idea, but knowing that he would only have complicated matters more. They had been unable to approach the subject with him for the last decades, so they couldn't just start now, could they? Besides, despite feeling guilty, the three of them had long since felt the need to keep that moment to them, as a reminder of the old days.

Every year, they had managed never to be questioned, and Germany had never noticed, even though they never did lie to him, either.

The trio reached a nearby café, stopping enough to get a good coffee; they barely spoke, a strangely comfortable silence enveloping them for a while as they sat down, only broken by Hungary's voice making the order for them all.

Prussia drank his coffee down in one long gulp, attacking the slice of Sacher torte with a ravenous hunger, under the vaguely disgusted look of Austria and the more exasperated one of Hungary.

The Prussian paid for all their orders, receiving a slight nod in thanks from the other two, then they left the café and moved outside of the city; the road they had chosen was the same as last year, and of the years before that, a small, unrefined path through the forest that slithered upwards to the mountain, to a secluded, small cemetery, the tombs in there so old that the names written on the graves had long since been forgotten by human minds.

As they proceeded upwards, Hungary trudged behind, panting slightly as she tried to walk with her huge skirt on.

"I knew I should have put on pants" she grunted, cheeks flushed in anger and fatigue. "Damn it…"

Prussia chuckled, but offered her some laces he'd brought with him. Smirking a bit at Austria, who had turned his head away in shame, cheeks aflame, he watched as Hungary tied her skirt's hems up a bit, make–shift pants loose but still more usable to walk up the road.

"Thank you" she muttered, stomping ahead and distancing both Nations.

Austria and Prussia glanced at each other, smirking, then hurried to catch up with her.

The walk wasn't that long –not more than a hour, with their fast pace– and as soon as they left the path behind, moving towards the top of the hill, the small graveyard appeared in front of them. It didn't look depressing, the sun shining brightly above it, the crumbled stones and walls giving it a decadent look, abandoned by everyone, its presence well hidden for centuries.

Prussia's eyes lit up when he noticed a lone figure standing close to one of the tombs, crouched down next to it.

"Feli!" he called out, making the figure turn around, startled.

The three moved towards the grave, passing through the small, deserted graveyard; Austria slowed down his pace, stopping by each of the uncared stones to drop a single flower on top of them, as he'd done for the past centuries, every year.

Maybe humans didn't remember who they were, maybe the names had been lost to all, but the Nation still knew all of them, soldiers that had fought valiantly so many years before.

"Gilbert, Elizaveta, Roderich" Italy stood up, rubbing at his red eyes and waiting for them to get close, before enveloping each of them in a tight hug, despite Austria's grunt of annoyance.

"Have you been there for long, Feli?" Hungary kissed him on the forehead, before kneeling next to the small, anonymous tomb that was now covered with fresh flowers. A sad smile graced her lips at the sight, especially since the wooden cross had been made anew again, a name carved on its surface.

"No, no" Italy shook his head, letting Austria's hand go. "Brother gave me a lift with his vespa, I just got here myself".

He pointed to the small field outside of the graveyard, where a picnic had already been prepared for them all. Austria nodded, also kneeling in front of the grave, uncaring for his pants now dirty with soil.

Falling silent, the four turned to look at the grave.

There was no body inside, of course –they all knew it– but the spirit hovering upon it was of enough importance to them all, and a place where to come together to remember was almost needed.

The tombs around were of soldiers who died for their ideals, and that ideal was the tomb the four of them had been visiting almost every year since 1806 –Holy Roman Empire's grave.

Hungary remained motionless, feeling silly for wanting to do something, but Italy had done everything that could be done already, cleaning the spot from grass and placing a new cross, not to mention carving his name on it again.

"Brother Francis won't be coming this year" Italy stated suddenly, humming. "He said he'll drop by tomorrow, though".

Prussia snorted but said nothing; France was still feeling guilty over being the one who had attacked HRE last, and whenever that time was mentioned, he'd try to get out of the subject, eyes darkening and flickering to Italy. No words could make him stop, and Prussia, Spain and Italy himself had long since stopped trying… he'd come by on his own, when he felt he had paid enough compensation.

Rapping on Italy's head to attract his attention, Prussia pointed towards the picnic spread on the grass, asking for permission; at the light nod, he stood up, knowing that they had the whole day to pay personal respects to the tomb, and made his way to the food.

Austria also stood up, wandering away from the tomb to watch the panorama, still as wild and calm as ever, whilst Hungary sat at Italy's side, eyes following the two Nations for a moment.

It felt comfortable to stay put, silent, a cool breeze gracing her face, and Hungary let out a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing.

"Are you ever tired of coming here, Elizaveta?"

The soft question startled the woman, who turned around to look at Italy, who had yet to look away from the tomb, eyes almost caressing the name on the cross.

She was about to hastily reply that no, she wasn't –but she hesitated, and thought about it. The silence hung in the air for a couple of minutes again, as Hungary thought seriously whether she could ever consider not coming.

"I guess" she stated in the end, biting her lower lip in wonder. "There are years that… I just don't want to remember anymore, when I just want to stay home, keep doing the everyday things I usually do, and there are times I have to force myself to come here".

Italy let out a soft hum, but she wasn't finished yet.

"But then… when I come here, and I look at this place…" Hungary's eyes were once again staring at the remains of the church, hidden behind a group of trees "I remember why I come here. It feels good to remember. It feels good to just… sit back and think…"

With a nod, the Italian curled more upon himself, eyes still not leaving the cross.

"I never tire of coming here" he admitted, hands trembling slightly as he hugged himself tighter. "I don't know why I cannot let go. I tried. I always think I did it, then this day comes by, and I find myself dreaming of him –dreaming of the past, and feel…" one hand clenched over his chest "longing".

Hungary nodded, allowing Italy to collect his thoughts at the pace he preferred. She didn't have to say that Italy was the one with the strongest connection to the dead Nation, as they all knew it.

"It's been… centuries. So many centuries. It feels like a lifetime away, and yet I can't forget, and no matter how much I try, his memory still comes back, and haunts me until I can barely breathe, the fact that he's dead still plagues me at night" shaking his head slightly, eyes filling with tears, Italy looked at the older woman, almost as if asking for an explanation. "Why does it still hurt? I should… I should be able to… move on, shouldn't I?"

Shifting forwards, Hungary pulled the Italian into a tight hug, hiding his face in her chest and holding him there. Muffled, she could hear his sobs, could feel the shaking frame against her own, and there were no words to offer for that kind of pain at all. Just hold him close and hope it'd pass.

"Why cannot I move on, Big sister Eliza? Why?" hands clenched around her back, Italy softly sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks to wet her clothes. "How long does this last?"

'Too long' she thought. 'It has lasted enough already, Feli… but it's not as simple as it was for me and Roderich… you were not just a friend for him, he wasn't just a pupil or a charge for you… he was your first love, and you were not even allowed to say goodbye…'

But she couldn't say this aloud, and tears welled up in her eyes as well.

Holding him close, she ignored the understanding looks Austria and Prussia exchanged between them, and the way Prussia turned around, hands turned into fists, shoulders trembling as he concentrated on the bottle of beer Italy had prepared him.

Maybe it would never pass.

…–…–…–…

"Ve~ it's cold" shuddering, the Italian huddled closer between Prussia and Hungary, holding the glass of vine in his hands and flopping down on the blanket, looking up at the sky.

They had been resting and talking for the whole day, as they had done for the past years, some sort of ritual repeated for every visit –soothing, calming and acceptable; Italy's tears had dried up completely, his crying helping him calm down and collect himself again, and there was nothing left of the day anymore.

In a few moments, they would finally pack everything up and return to their houses, and the next day would start just like usual. Nothing amiss.

But for a moment more, they didn't move, eyes staring at the star–filled sky above.

"It's huge" Prussia replied, pointing at one of his favourite constellations. His finger traced its contours gently, flashes of almost forgotten memories coming back to him with a light taste of melancholy. "Look, there's the Leo".

Closing his eyes for a moment, Italy allowed the heat coming from the bodies at his right and left to lull him into a semi–unconscious state. His body ached for the strain of the last few nights spent wide awake, listening to the rhythmic breathing of Germany at his side, running from nightmares, and his eyes felt heavy, hurt by the many tears shed.

Snuggling closer to Hungary's shoulder, Italy let out a soft moan.

Hungary shuffled closer to Austria, pressing her forehead against the other Nation's shoulder, her hand reaching sideways until she was holding Italy to her chest again. The Italian nation let out a soft sound but didn't move, and Prussia also shifted more towards them, fingers intertwining with Hungary's.

Eyes unmoving from the sky above, the three nations still awake allowed their thoughts to scatter away, chasing them with indolence.

"We should head back now" Austria stated, in his usual matter–of–fact tone. "My Boss is coming over tomorrow, and I heard you avoided most of your paperwork to come there today, Elizaveta".

Throwing him a dirty look, Hungary nodded, pushing Italy away from her. His head lolled to the side, clearly too deeply asleep to notice he'd been moved, and she sighed, nodding at Prussia as he kneeled next to her.

With the help of Austria, she moved the sleeping Italian to the Prussian's back, worry clouding her eyes when she noticed the darkened bangs under his eyes, sign he needed this sleep.

"Yes, let's go" she agreed, standing up.

Her makeshift pants could surely last for a bit more.

"Are you taking him home with you, Gilbert?" Austria asked in a murmur, moving the tree branches away from the path so that Prussia could follow him without worrying about the sleeping Italian on his back.

Other than their voices and the leaves and twigs and pebbles under their feet, the silence was almost complete.

"He won't wake up tonight, but tomorrow he might be happy to wake up in West's bed," Prussia would have scratched his chin, hadn't he been holding Italy's unresponsive body on his back. As it was, he looked to the side, flushed.

Austria shook his head, but a quick glance at the sleeping Italian made his shoulders relax.

"I wish Ludwig could take that stick up his ass and just… realise it!" Hungary growled, kicking a pebble out of the way.

It rolled down the path, hitting a tree.

"It isn't that easy, Eliza," Prussia sighed, looking at her "we can't just force things upon West. Not even if the wait keeps hurting Feli, he wouldn't want West to feel forced at all. We made a decision almost two centuries ago, and it's better if we keep to it".

Hands closing into fists, Austria kept looking at the path in front of him, the perfect excuse not to intervene.

Yes, they were all aware of what Germany was –or better then, of what Germany's territories had once been– but the past was the past, and even with the remote chance that Holy Roman Empire's memories were buried somewhere deep inside his mind, they had come to the painful conclusion that Germany was not HRE.

Germany was his own Nation, and Italy's second love, and they couldn't ask him to move at a faster pace than he could.

Even if Germany actually was HRE, things would not be that simple. There was no way for him to recover his memories prior to his dissolution, and that meant no looking back.

Besides, even if the many coincidences piled up until one could barely ignore them –HRE's disappearance coincided with the period Prussia had met with little Ludwig, who had no memory prior to that, the physical resemblance, the similar attitude, those territories, that had been HRE's heart– maybe it was just that… a coincidence.

Convincing themselves that they were two different people, believing that, too… it was the only way.

It was true that Italy had unresolved matters with his own past, but he'd been the one to ask them not to tell Germany about it, once they had realised that the little boy Prussia had found was what remained of HRE –stripped of his powers, of his memories, of his territories…

"I don't want this person to feel obliged to keep a promise that was made by someone else" Italy's eyes had been filled with tears then, hands trembling despite his courageous words. "He cannot remember, it would only hurt him to know there is a past he can't have access to…"

Staring at the small kid in Prussia's arms, fast asleep, Italy's hand had extended to his cheek, barely brushing it before flinching away as if scalded. As if unable to bring himself to show love to this lost Nation.

"If fate wants to, we'll meet again in the future" he'd murmured before turning around. "He has his life to live through, and I need to fight my own battles. Holy Roman… Holy Roman Empire is the past now, and this boy is not him".

Things had worked out since then, and Austria had not been surprised when Germany, grown up and venturing through his very first war, had met up with useless Italy again.

If Fate wants to…

Still, it looked like things would take more time to be resolved still.

Reaching Germany's house first, Prussia waved at Austria and Hungary after they opened the door for him; one of the dogs wagged its tail at them, returning to its position next to the door, and Prussia smirked down at it.

"I'll call you tomorrow" he mouthed towards Austria, who rolled his eyes but nodded.

Watching the two walk away, Prussia let his smirk fade away and entered the house, shutting the door close behind his back and making his way towards Germany's bedroom.

It wasn't too late, yet his brother was already fast asleep, with the yellow bird perched on the pillow next to the German's head; he seemed almost restless, but thankfully he didn't wake up when Prussia entered the room and gently lowered Italy's body down on the mattress, taking away his shoes and covering him with the blanket.

Italy curled up on himself with a small sound of distress but didn't' wake up, and under the surprised gaze of Prussia, Germany rolled over, answering to some sort of instinct, and shuffled closer to Italy, the wrinkles on his forehead relaxing at once.

With a deep sigh, Germany seemed to fall into a deeper sleep. Italy huddled closer to the bigger frame of the German, breath evening out as well.

Prussia scratched his chin, feeling suddenly one too much in the room.

Gathering the sleeping bird in his hands, he turned around and left.

Not willing to go to sleep yet, the Prussian made his way to the sitting room and then back out, to the veranda, sitting on the porch to look up at the stars again.

He felt a bit sentimental still, which wasn't as awesome as it should be, but it was ok on this day, and he didn't comment on it –besides, he was alone and no one would know either.

The cool air brushing against his face, his small bird safely protected from the wind in his hands, Prussia relaxed his muscles and let his thoughts wander, eyes trailing around to look at the garden.

It was a beautiful night, and he felt almost at peace, despite the lingering threads of sadness.

'I just wish that…' interrupting his thoughts, Prussia glanced upwards, and was surprised to see a shooting star suddenly arch its way through the darkened sky. Grinning sadly, Prussia completed his thought, for how stupid it could sound. 'I just wish Italy could meet him again, and finally find closure'.

At Hungary's house, she had just changed into her night gown, noting to herself to call Poland in the morning, and was walking towards the kitchen to grab something to drink when she glanced outside of the window, and saw a shooting star.

Pressing her hands against the glass panel, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

She was happy. She had everything she could wish, but in such a day, there was only one thing she could wish, and she did wish that, with all her heart, mind still ringing with Italy's sobs of pain.

'I wish Feli could be happy'.

Holding a bottle of water close to her chest, Hungary made her way back to the bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

On his own, Austria had no intentions of going to sleep.

His feet brought him quickly through his house, to the door of his main hall, not even opening the lights; he knew the room like the back of his hands, and he didn't even need to see where his piano was to know where to go.

From the huge windows, the moon was shining through, enough light for him to play.

Glancing up at the sky, he was surprised to see a shooting star.

'It would be nice to see Feliciano finally let go of his pain' he thought spontaneously, regretting his embarrassing action as soon as the thought was out of his mind.

Wishing upon a star would never solve anything, yet Austria remembered a time that he'd spent staring up at the sky, hoping for a similar occasion to happen.

His thoughts twirling around in a mix of confusion, melancholy and annoyance at his own feelings, he sat down at his piano, eyes close, and started playing, the notes soft yet haunted, fingers dancing on the keyboard and searching for relief and calm.

It would be long before he left his piano.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

SOY: first chapter done. What do you think of it? Everything will start happening in chapter two, so please stay tuned :3

Pronto (Italian) – 'hello' on the phone

fottuto bastardo (Italian) – fucking bastard

grazie, fratello (Italian) – thanks, brother

bruder (German) – brother