Hello again! This is me, The Thief King. I've recently become very obsessed with Hetalia as well as Yu-Gi-Oh, so I decided to write a story.

The idea for this came into my head when I was listening to the song When You're Gone by Avril Lavigne. And so I decided to write a fanfic for Germany and Italy about it!

Bastet: Good Ra, can you write ANYTHING happy?

Um… apparently not, no.

Bastet: That's what I thought.

So, ANYWAYS, I wrote this story. It's my first songfic, so please, don't be too harsh. Care to do the disclaimer, Bastet?

Bastet: With pleasure. The Thief King does not own Hetalia or any of its characters. If she did, GerIta would be canon. Oh, wait….

Which brings me to my next point! Warnings. SLIGHT yaoi, if you tilt your head and squint. But it could be seen as brotherly love too. Slight GerIta, VERY slightly SpaMano. So, without further ado… enjoy the story!

I always needed time on my own

I never thought I'd

Need you there when I cry

And the days feel like years when I'm alone

How long had it been, Germany wondered. How long had it been since Italy's death. To Germany, it felt like years.

Decades.

Centuries.

In actuality, it had only been three months. To Germany, however, the days seemed to drag by like a crippled rabbit, the seconds ticking by like hours, the minutes crawling past like weeks.

Germany had never cried in front of anyone, not even Italy. He'd always swallow his pride and bottle his feelings deep inside, refusing the let them out. Now, however, he couldn't help himself. He let the tears fall freely, but only when he was alone. He only wished Italy could be there to comfort him. He regretted never allowing himself to cry in front of Feliciano; he wished he could go back in time. He'd pushed Italy away too often, when he needed someone to cry on. Now, he had no one left.

And the bed where you lie

Is made up on your side

Now, when Germany slid under the covers at night, his bed felt cold and desolate. He was so used to the small warm body accompanying him at night. He had always complained about this, but now, he'd give anything to have that boy snuggling up in his bed, just one more time.

When you walk away

I count the steps that you take

Do you see how much I need you right now?

When Italy lay in Germany's arms, moments before he died, it seemed that Germany could remember every single breath he took, each flutter of his eyelashes, the way he clutched weakly to Germany's hand, begged God not to be taken away.

If Italy could see Germany from heaven, could he see how much Germany needed him? Could he see how broken Germany was? It would have seemed impossible before Italy's death. No one could break Germany. Nothing got through his tough armor. But Italy's death changed Germany, in ways no one could have foreseen.

When you're gone

The pieces of my heart are missing you

When you're gone

The face I came to know is missing too

Now that Italy was gone, Germany spent all of his days missing him, wishing he had done things different. Wishing he'd made more effort to get closer to Italy.

Wishing he'd told Italy he loved him.

But now that Italy was gone, Germany would never get to say those things, would never get to change the things he'd done.

Because when the ones you love are dead, you don't get a second chance.

When you're gone

The words I need to hear

To always get me through the day

And make it okay

I miss you

Germany had never truly realized how much the little comments from Italy made his day better. Simple comments that seemed trivial and silly, or even just hearing Italy's gentle voice. Italy was like a child in that way; he always spoke the truth, so when he said nice things, Germany knew he meant them.

And now he'd never hear that again. Thinking that made Germany simply want to die himself, to tear his beating heart from his chest, just to end the pain. He missed Italy so much. What would he not give for just one day, ONE DAY, with that little Italian again? He'd sell his soul to the devil for that chance.

Unfortunately, things like that just don't happen in real life. When he's dead, he's dead.

There's no bringing him back.

I've never felt this way before

Everything that I do

Reminds me of you

It seemed Germany could do nothing without it reminding him of Italy. Whenever he saw an artist painting, he would remember the stories Italy told him of painting with his Grandpa Rome.

When he saw Japan, his heart clenched to remember the trio they had once been, and now would never be again.

Even when he went grocery shopping. He never went down the pasta aisle without hearing Italy's cheerful voice crying out "PASTAAAAAAAAAA!"

And the clothes you left

They lie on the floor

And they smell just like you

I love the things that you do

One day, not long after Italy had died, Germany had been cleaning up the room they had previously shared, and had come across one of Italy's old military uniforms. As he had picked it up, he had noticed the unique scent that still clung to the fabric, the scent that belonged only to Italy. He had buried his face in it and cried, and slept with it every night after that, clutching it close to his chest and closing his eyes, imagining that Italy was there with him still.

When you walk away

I count the steps that you take

Do you see how much I need you right now?

When you're gone

The pieces of my heart are missing you

And when you're gone

The face I came to know is missing too

Every detail of Italy was so firmly etched into Germany's mind. His tan skin, his red hair, that little curl, his half-lidded eyes, that innocent little smile, his small stature, his thin body. The way he hugged Germany, the smoothness of his skin as Germany kissed his cheek, the smell that wreathed around him always.

Why couldn't Germany just forget? If he couldn't have Italy back, he'd rather he never met Italy in the first place.

Never gotten close to him.

Never loved him.

And when you're gone

The words I need to hear

To always get me through the day

And make it okay

I miss you

We were made for each other

Out here forever

I know we were

Yeah, yeah

It had seemed so perfect, when Italy was alive. The two of them fit together so perfectly. Italy, the gentle and easy-going country, and Germany, the strict and rigid country. Meant for each other.

And not only the personality traits. Physically, too, total opposites, and yet they seemed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Germany: tall, muscular, pale, blond haired and blue eyed. Italy: small, weak, tanned, red haired and brown eyed. Yet somehow they melded together as one, seamlessly, perfectly.

And all I ever wanted was for you to know

Everything I do I give my heart and soul

I can hardly breathe

I need to feel you here with me

Yeah

Sometimes Germany felt like he was suffocating, drowning in his own grief and guilt. It's my fault he's dead. If I had saved him, he'd still be here now.

All Germany wished for now was one chance to tell Italy that everything he did, he did for him. He loved Italy with all his heart. Why was he such a coward that he couldn't say this? Why? Why hadn't he told Italy before it was too late?

When you're gone

The pieces of my heart are missing you

And when you're gone

The face I came to know is missing too

And when you're gone

The words I need to hear

Will always get me through the day

And make it okay

I miss you

The day of the funeral was the hardest day of Germany's life. It had been very private; only Germany, Prussia, Romano and Spain came. Germany had request open casket, and as soon as he arrived, immediately regretted it. He hated seeing Italy like this. This wasn't how he wanted to remember Italy. He wanted to remember him vibrant and happy and alive, not a corpse lying in a casket. When he had arrived at the funeral and seen the coffin and looked inside, he had immediately turned away, choking down sobs. Prussia had put an arm around him, his red eyes hard. To anyone else, he might have looked angry, but Germany knew that Prussia, too, was doing his best to hold back tears. He'd always liked Italy.

Romano seemed in a state of shock at first, clutching tight to Spain's hand and staring at Italy's body. He said nothing during the whole funeral, simply staring at Italy's coffin the entire time, his jaw slightly open, his eyes wide and staring.

Once Germany had composed himself slightly, he approached the coffin and looked down at Italy's face again. Tears gathered in the corner of his blue eyes, shining in the morning light. "Ich liebe dich, Feliciano,¹" he whispered, leaning down to kiss Italy's forehead gently for the last time. "Ich vermisse dich.²"

A single tear fell from Germany's eye onto Italy's chest, directly over the heart that would never beat again. "Auf Wiedersehen, mein leibe.³"

Translations:

¹ I love you, Feliciano.

² I miss you.

³ Goodbye, my love.

Well, so, there's my first songfic. Review? Pwease? Gun Gun will give you big hugs if you do! (for those who don't know, Gun Gun is China's panda) And so will Kuma… Kumi… Kumichiki… Ku—oh, whatever the hell Canada's polar bear is named.