Disclaimer : Hetalia is not mine!

Notes: Inspired by Lolita, which was written by Vladimir Nabokov. I wanted to experiment with prose a little bit, plus I can totally see Antonio as a Humbert Humbert type, what with his hidden yandere-ness, his closet pedophilia and stunningly good looks ;P

Warnings: If you know the story of Lolita, it's fairly similar in rating except with the added dash of BL :P watch out for the non-explicit non-con!

'Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if I may be allowed to call you as such. I stand before you to tell you my story, to defend my rights, to free you from those horrendous lies that the opposing side has offered you. I stand before you, a humble man, only to relay to you the story of my unwavering affection and love for a boy – and sin though it may be, I cannot help but believe that love should be revered in any form it's given. I loved him then and I love him now, forever and always. Is that such a crime? I don't ask for your pity; all I ask is that you listen and feel what I felt.

-.-.-.-.

There is but one child I call my own – only one love, I believe, and it was a love so terrible and beautiful that I could only claim it as mine. My violent, vapid affection for that cruel object of my obsessions, my vile vicious vagrant, my lone, my only, my Lovi, my my my Lovino Vargas.

Don't think ill of me when you hear his name – haven't all the best men fallen in love with the beauty of youthful masculinity? Take Shakespeare – one can hardly smear his name for loving a childish boy too fiercely, and I have always been particularly enchanted by tiny faunlets, dripping with beauty and smiles curled into lacquered curves, though society smears such displays of love. If I had been born a century or two ago, perhaps Lovino and I could have loved each other with less of the persecution of today's generation. If I had been given that liberty, I assure you, our's would've been the purest of all - purer than any of those pretensions of love I showered onto Bella or all of the other grown woman that I had ever pretended to adore.

You cannot begin to understand the madness that brews within the veins of such repressed pathetic men like me. To be outcasted for loving beautiful youthful children, to be outcasted for loving boys! Bottling those emotions was the only course of action I could take; I was certainly well aware of the laws in the country and I knew that the golden ages of years past weren't looked on with much respect for their interaction with faunlets.

But I was obsessed - with greater fervor than Shakespeare could ever have feigned - and this sort of obsession to you, my humble jury, may have been the mark of a madman, but to the unrestrained eye, it was simple adoration.

I will not, however, lead you to believe me to be a pure man. Far from it. No, I had originally directed my affections elsewhere, rejecting that bastard of a lover that I cannot let go of anymore. It is a peculiar and cruel sort of story, ours, perhaps only due to my own human desires.

But I digress. You asked me when this all started? When this disgusting – oh, please refrain from such ugly words to describe our love –ordeal began?

I was at the time a ripe age of 23, a handsome Spaniard, perhaps a bit scatter-brained with a girl on the side.

Her name was Bella, a pretty young Belgium thing with soft blonde hair, always with a rich crimson sash sliding against the crown of her head to hold back those lovely strands from whispering into her eyes.

We liked each other enough, or at least, I her. I can't pretend to know the extent of her adoration for me, but we were lovers (though not truly in love).

She attended a small liberal arts college close to my own university and we lived in a fairly sized apartment with two bedrooms, one which was left mostly unused except when I needed my space. Forgive me, mi Bella, if you hear this and I am lying through my foul Spanish teeth, but I could've sworn that for every morning we woke up together, there was always this sensational glimmer in her eyes that crooned 'marriage' against the soft fleshy lobe of my ear.

I liked her enough, really, truly, but to marry her – now that was something else. I did find her attention admirable in its own right; she was a beautiful woman with skin like a child's, something I always treasured in that smiling pile of flesh, and her eyes were like brilliant emerald fruits, dribbling and dripping its juicy pulp, but marriage was out of the question. After all, a man doesn't share his particular secrets with the woman he's bedding, especially not a secret passion as volatile as mine.

I was still stirring from a dream of peculiar proportions (tomatoes and fields, sunflowers and the like. You know the sort) when I heard her voice and a low thud. It shook the chairs, rumbling the furniture and she quickly went to her knees onto the ground, the sound of items being recovered clattering through the kitchen.

"Buenos días, Bella." I had surreptitiously made my way to the small kitchen where she knelt on the lacquered tiles, hastily throwing the dishes that she'd dropped back onto the counter. Her hair swung back as she gazed up from her prostate position, smiling and flashing those ivory teeth.

"Oh – oh, Antonio, good morning."

I am, for most parts, a fool – a bumbling idiot of sorts when it comes to emotions. No doubt a result of my tired Spanish blood pumping through my veins, I am generally quite ignorant, but that day had been a rather auspicious one for my mind, because I caught the slight wavering in her bell-like voice. My little Bella with her wind-chime voice shivering in the breeze.

"Oh? Are you alright?" I fell to my knees and helped her pick up the items that had made a mess onto the floor. She smiled gratefully, a flicker of blonde hair brushing against my chin as she leant in and swept a kiss against my cheek. A gentle moment. A sweet one, even.

"I-I… just some news came in the mail today." Her voice, her bell-sweet voice reached an octave higher as she flippantly waved a piece of paper around. The rustle of the wind catching onto the edges bothered me so I stopped it by taking the letter into my own hands. "Oh, it's nothing. Really."

Silly young woman. It certainly was not nothing.

An accident, some horrid occasion with a car and alcohol or something, had knocked her uncle or someone off from the ledge of a cliff - I don't much really recall the details but the gist was the same. Anyways, the man was pronounced dead along with his wife, leaving his two children without parents. One was a little boy aged 14 and the other only 13, and no other living relatives could be found to take care of them. My little Bella was the closest to be found, so naturally, propriety gave her the care over the children.

An Austrian neighbor of said man penned the note, a Roderich Edelstein (what a contrived name), and insisted on meeting my poor girl to talk over the arrangements. He'd said something along the lines of, 'a woman of your age cannot truly live her youth out with the presence of two children.' And so on and so forth in complicated jargon befitting an Austrian. But I stray from the topic.

If you only knew the images that flashed in my mind at the prospect of nurturing sweet young boys, 13 and 14 in the safety of my own home, you would call me disgusting. And yet, my bones were trilling with excitement; beauty was a trait inherent in Bella's genes and if these young children were anything like her, only in the nubile and fantastic form of little faunlets, I knew that this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. My teeth glistened.

"So, when should we go meet him?"

"I'm sorry, Antonio... I-I know how hard it is..."

But it was a sweet moment and I brushed her cheeks with my lips and she grew quiet again.

"No, mi amor. Está bien; no quiero que te preocupes con esta situación, "

Hah, how ludicrous. If I had known the things that would come out of this meeting, I'd have never gone at all.

-.-.-.-

"This is Feliciano Vargas, here. Yes, yes that one, sleeping on the couch. He's 13."

Feliciano was like a cherub. Sweet russet hair slipped from his head, splayed across a Roman nose, soft in its angles and gentle against the coarse rose printed fabric of the couch. He had a smile, dazed and pretty; his lashes were long against his fragile cheek and, Dios, he was beautiful. Mr. Edelstein seemed to think so too, as did his wife. She brushed her knuckles against Feliciano's shoulder and kneaded his skin, soft and chubby like a doll.

"Lovino, unfortunately, refuses to come downstairs right now. He's – ah"

"He's a bit more difficult than Feliciano, you see." The woman with chestnut hair interrupted, swinging her green skirt behind her as she sat next to Feliciano. "Don't take this the wrong way, I mean. Both of them are grieving in their own ways; it's just that Feliciano is very vocal about it, while Lovino just refuses any contact with us."

I would've consented to taking Feliciano with us immediately, hell to Lovino or whatever his name was, though Bella, to my left and holding my hand with her white knuckles, seemed unsure.

"Do you think I could talk to him? He used to like me when we were little…"

So up my Bella went, winding up a wooden staircase to knock politely at a door, and I heard her soft little voice disappear into the confines of some surly teen's bedroom.

"Well, Antonio, was it? You've been dating Bella for a year, was it?" I nodded, yes. The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling up into soft crow's feet upon her temple. "That's great! Though, I'd imagine it'd be hard to raise a kid at your age."

I laughed, as customary, and scratched the back of my head. I wasn't planning on raising a child with Bella at all. It would only mean that thick thick whisper in my ear screaming 'marriage' would only become louder, and I didn't want that unless it came with little sweet Feliciano.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to talk to Bella about what's going to happen next. We're just both so young …" the woman nodded sagely, sending soft ringlets splashing across her shoulders.

"It is quite a responsibility, which is why Elizabeta and I would like to help. Though, it would only be proper to wait for Bella to come down with Lovino." Roderich coolly started, pressing his glasses further up his face. He cast a short glance at Feliciano, then at the staircase, where we all heard the door creak open. From the top of the height, I could see Bella's thin white ankles and her pale hand clutching onto the lackluster form of a teenaged boy. They came downstairs with all the fanfare of a criminal walking the plank, and Bella led the boy to sit down next to her, arms clutching his shoulders with the finesse of womanly hands.

"Ah, and this is Lovino, Antonio."

"Hello Lovino, I heard what happened to your father and I'm very sorry." The boy, Lovino, grunted and looked away, hiding his face in the shadow of my Bella's wake. He had that same russet hair, only shaded darker with deeper tones lowlighting the strands. A sharp nose, an angular face, severe eyes, and soft such soft pink lips that protruded out not unlike the pulp of fruit from its flower were all I could make out.

"Now, Bella, Antonio. We know how hard this is going to be for you both, so we thought we'd make things easier." Roderich leaned forward, patting little Feliciano on the back with his aristocratic hands, glinting the sapphires on his finger in the light. He caught my eye and nodded as if we were sharing some secret. "You both are so young and focused on your studies at the moment. And while we'd love to take care of both of the Vargas brothers, we simply don't have the resources to take both of them in." Here he paused so his wife took over, clutching Bella's free hand in hers.

"And since Lovino is pretty independent and older than Feliciano, we thought it might be easier if you took Lovino and gave him a place to stay while Feliciano stayed with us."

And Dios, I near killed the woman. Because really, if we were supposed to have any child, it should've been Feliciano! But no, he, the spitting image of Apollo himself with the youthful beauty that was so sought after by the artists of eons past, would stay with a married man and his wife. And we would receive the surly brother, the dark sharp image of his likeness. It wasn't fair.

"Actually, that's a wonderful idea! Don't you think so Antonio? I can't think of a better arrangement." Bella immediately leaned in and smiled into my face, her own crinkling like paper against the air. I nodded, placing a well-constructed smile on my lips.

"Yes, yes that sounds perfect!"

And with that, cue the scene. With a soft breathy, barely audible little moan, Feliciano stirred awake. He lifted his head from the sofa, and Elizabeta helped him up. The chubby fingers rubbed at his caramel eyes, brushing away sleep and all tiredness as he blinked open his beautiful little childish boy eyes.

"Isabella?"

Even his voice was like a blessing, not like the haunted grunts of that savage thing we were taking back with us, who merely scowled at the lavish attention being served his younger brother. Isabella smiled and leaned over to brush some stray hairs from the boy's face. He beamed and leaned in to hug her, soft sweet and childish in his joy.

"Bella, Bella, Bella!" Pudgy fingers grasped onto the hand that had just before been holding onto Lovino or whoever's hands and he pulled it close to his face, rubbing gently. "Are you leaving?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Though, you can come visit whenever you want, ok? Auntie Bella and Antonio live in an apartment, and Lovino's going to stay with us for a while, is that ok Feli?"

Feli, Feli, Feliciano. Childish, feliz niño de mi corazón.

He frowned and tugged her hand closer, kissing her cheek when her face drew near.

Oh, is it pathetic that I wished for that moment that I was her?

Don't think of me as a foul man; I did enjoy Bella, I truly did. I can't think of any woman I loved more dearly than her, but as I said before. The youthful magnificence of a faunlet is so much more beautiful and so ignored; I can't stress it enough.

To think that I could've had that child living in my home!

But I digress, I ended up with Lovino, vile vicious lovely Lovino.

It would be a while before I realized I was captured in that web of poison that Lovino had built before me; I wouldn't have believed I had fallen for the child myself until it was too late and I couldn't leave.

We took him away once he packed his things. (Elizabeta told us to visit anytime, so as to foster a good 'brotherly relationship')

The surly Italian boy spoke little in the backseat of the car and answered only Bella's sweet-voiced words like soft honey in his ears with short polite words. When I asked him friendly questions to perhaps soften the blow of losing Feliciano, Lovino turned acidic, his throat taking on a guttural quality fit to scrape sandpaper across. He also, unsurprisingly, became quite the sailor towards me, spouting swears and vicious insults (I'm too shocked to record them, though, mind you, they were quite vile) towards me and my dead ancestors.

A troubled child, at the very least.

AN: So...I wanted to make Antonio pretty descriptive since he is the country of passion and since Himuraya said he was meant to be yandere, he'd have a lot of darker thoughts hidden up in that obliviously cute face of his ;P
Bella is Belgium in case anyone couldn't figure that little tidbit out. Faunlet is the male equivalent of a nymphet, like an almost magically attractive young boy around the age of 9 - 14 (coined by Nabokov). I just couldn't actually make Lovino any younger without feeling weirder, so I wimped out and made him the oldest he could be.

No, mi amor. Está bien; no quiero que te preocupes con esta situación - No, my love. It's ok; I don't want you to worry about this situation.

Anyways, reviews are lovely!