I take a deep breath, shaking free the feelings and built up questions in my mind. A breeze picks up as I continued following Italy along the street, with it, it carried the smell of dew covered flowers mixed with fresh baking bread from the shops nearby. Oddly, it was calming. It reminded me of the nights when I'd return home from week long diplomatic business trips overseas or meeting with other countries on my boss' orders. I'd come home to find the nation baking one of my favorite desserts. His hair dusted white with flour, his chin smeared with a stray bit of batter, and his apron smudged with frosting. He'd turn to see me with that bright grin, running to throw his arms around my neck and welcome me home. Then I'd start cleaning by kissing the small remnants of ingredients from his face. And he'd smell just like this…..wildflowers and fresh bread….

I loved that smell….

My eyes scan the crowd ahead of me, eyes once again locking on Italy's bright attire, watching the man continue at a leisurely pace along the canal. I slip my hands inside the pockets of my jacket, fingers fidgeting with a loose string along the inner seam as my mind wanders back to the question of what Italy was doing, where he was going, why he was doing it; grasping at threads.

I look along the water and the surrounding buildings, noticing we were in a familiar area. Italy had a gondola docked nearby. He used it when running errands for the churches or at night when he'd take us thru the city singing softly at the sky and tell me stories of how in the spring the waters resembled smooth sea glass jeweled with stars and fogged with moonlight. I see the small boat up ahead, watching as the nation heads straight for it, using one of the side stairs to go to the small dock along the water, it wasn't far down just a few small steps. I stop walking as I near him, afraid of being spotted. I move near a narrow alley, out of the way of the passing people and out of the way of Italy's sight. He places the few items in his arms in the bottom of the gondola, reaching for the long oar in return. He skillfully mounts himself at the back of the boat, untying it from the dock, and pushing off into the water, rowing slowly and steadily along the canal. I wait a minute before following after, staying a bit closer to the water's edge as I know Italy was unlikely to look behind him when manning the gondola, especially if it was this early and he was the only one out on the water for as far down as the eye could see.

I turn my head towards the now rising sun peeking over the tops of the buildings on the opposite side of the waterway; its warmth reaching the tops of my cheeks, casting lines of light across the concrete. I watch as it paints the sky a soft pastel pink, with fiery shades of orange and red that mingled with the violet of the lingering night. The water reflects it, making it look like the sky bled into the canal and made it all one giant atmosphere. I can't help the sigh as the air rushes from my lungs at the sight of Italy gliding across the water colored surface, the stark white of his robes blowing in the morning breeze the perfect contrast. I feel a throb in my heart as a sense of familiarity at seeing Italy this way floods my chest, the stinging of involuntary tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I stop abruptly, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, closing my eyes to push the feeling away. I listen to the soft sounds of the people walking by, letting it keep me grounded. I got these feelings from time to time, strong feelings of longing and wanting to reach out and scream for the nation. Even before we were what we are now. The feelings grew stronger the longer we stayed together. And I didn't know why. There was so much I didn't know….

My eyes fly open as a melody reaches my ears. I look towards the water seeing Italy a ways up the canal, I run after him, weaving my way in and out of the few people in the way, not wanting to lose sight of the country. Once I had caught up I slowed to my earlier pace. The melody was louder now. Italy was singing. There was no doubt about it. There was no one I knew who could sing like that other than the country himself. The song was in Italian; soft and…sad. So sad.

I looked on, drawing a bit closer to the gondola, watching on in a mix of amazement and sorrow as Italy sang out louder, the emotion visibly setting heavy across his small shoulders. His voice gave a bittersweet ring to the melancholic tune, even some of the pedestrians had stopped to watch as he went by. He disappeared from view as he ducked under an approaching bridge, but only momentarily, appearing on the other side; free hand brushing off his robes. He turns towards the opposite bank and I see his face, my heart sinks to my stomach. Even from this distance I can see the wet glitter of tears on his cheeks.

" We will meet again someday….my dear one…"

Even in Italian I knew what Italy had sung, I was steadily trying to learn just as Italy was trying to learn German. I wasn't in the least bit fluent but I knew enough. The phrase struck something deep inside me, the feeling reverberated into my bones and across my skin, those feelings of longing returning full force; those tears stung fiercely once again in my eyes, blurring Italy from my sight, my vision in white.

This was a funeral hymn. Italy was mourning…..

A/N: Hi there! I was finally able to get the third chapter written and I hope you really like it...I actually had a lot of trouble getting this one down because I just wasn't sure how to do til one day i just got a sudden inspiration from tumblr lol Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! :) I love hearing from you! Thank you for reading and hopefully chapter 4 will be out soon :P