Pretend

Summer's hot touch was in the breeze as it pushed against auburn locks, but the man did not relent. He could feel the world trying to keep him away and throwing every obstacle it could. The hill that at one time had only taken him a handful of minutes to climb was going on the half-hour mark. Focused determination that had not been with him the first time, kept Feliciano going. Sweat pooled along his jaw before dripping into his black shirt from his chin.

Finally, the trees began to break and the top of the mansion came into view. There was no solid reason for why he was visiting the place that had cost him so much. It would have made more sense that once he had escaped, he would have burned the place to the ground or at least avoided it the rest of his long life. Feliciano combed his fingers through his messy hair as he took the last steps forward, stopping just outside the black fence.

The building looked just as cold, forbidding as it had that day so long ago that had never actually happened. His hands clenched in memory of scars from wounds he never received; of lost loved ones that were still alive. There was something about this place that made him into something he could no longer be. For all the hell it had put him through; the mansion had given him what he never had: the ability to get by on his own. Here he had learned how to tie his own boots when everyone was dead and gone. It was in this place that he had taught himself how to never give in. The mansion had given him the chance to prove that he did not need to be protected.

A smile more somber than any he was known for spread unevenly across his lips as he ducked his head. Whenever he was up here, he was not Northern Italy; he was not a nation. Up here, on this hill, he was just Feliciano Vargas. He was the brother of Lovino Vargas and best friend of Ludwig and Kiku. There, in the depths of that house, he had been allied with people that no one remembered.

Feliciano had been given a second chance to get out alive with everyone else by a blind man named, Arthur Kirkland. Alfred Jones had once pointed out that he should have smiled a little more naturally. Gilbert had shielded him from death, promising him everything would be okay as long as Feliciano lived. Francis and Mathieu had stood tall at his sides when there was no one left to save, blood staining their hands.

A strange man named Ivan had fiercely fought their common enemy with an energy that Feliciano had not seen before or since. Yao had cheerfully, skillfully saved them all from Arthur's cooking and temper. Then Antonio had inadvertently stopped Feliciano from ending his life and the cycle again. He was not entirely if he should hate or love that man.

Sometimes, it was hard for Feliciano not to call out their human names if only to see if they remembered anything. At times, all he wanted was to hold onto someone that could recall all that had happened and finally be who he now was. It hurt to act like an imbecile and understand the pitying looks he often received. He wanted so desperately to scream at the top of his lungs that he knew what was going on and that he was quite capable of taking care of himself. They would never listen though.

Tanned hands tightened on the black fence, and Feliciano leaned over it to shout at the only other person who knew what had happened.

"How does it feel, you bastard? Does it piss you off that I got us all out? I bet is fucking does!" His voice held a strong note of hysteria in it, but he did not care; it was too good to get these words off his chest. He continued with pinking cheeks and eyes open wide, "Have you managed to capture any new prisoners, you son of a bitch? I bet you haven't and that probably makes you want to kill yourself. I say you go for it, because I'll just keep coming back until you do, asshole!"

Feliciano collapsed to his knees, panting harshly as he awaited the cold chill of the demon's presence, but nothing came. His forehead pressed into the fence, "N-no, not you too... I don't want to be the last...to remember."

Tears fell fast from his closed eyes, and his shoulders shook violently. Images of red stained walls and broken bodies flooded his cracked mind as if they sensed his moment of weakness. Feliciano was not sure how long he remained like that, but when he finally pulled himself together enough to stand, night had been born. The auburn haired male turned away from the mansion that would always be on his mind, heading back the way he had come. With painstaking care, he tucked every piece of Feliciano Vargas underneath the persona of Northern Italy.

For all his want to escape with his loved ones, sometimes he really wished Arthur had left him dead after the second round in the house. At times, he truly wanted Romano to carry the name Italy on his own. Everyday, he was tempted to run off alone to be Feliciano Vargas, because he was tired of pretending to be Northern Italy.

Author's Note: This is just something that came to me when i was filling out a meme. Its short, but I'm quite satisfied with it. I hope you enjoy it.