Title: Not Ever

The second and last chapter.

Thanks to those that read, reviewed, favored this story!

Enjoy!

Italy sometimes liked to dream about the old days.

He liked to remember the warm sunny days spent painting with his grandfather and brother. He liked to remember the days he lived in Austria's house, afternoons spent listening to him play his piano. The endless days he spent talking with Hungry over anything and everything.

He remembered his time with Holy Rome with a mixture of love and anguish. He loved reliving the old days were they would play by the river, or teach Holy Rome how to draw and paint or Heinrich and Feliciano (Holy Rome had ever questioned why a 'girl' had a boy's name) would spend endless hours in a sea of colorful flowers and by the end of the day Italy would have a brightly colored flower shy tucked into his hair by the red-faced blond-haired boy.

Then there were the days he dreamed of long days eagerly waiting for his love to return victorious with new lands and a smile on his face as he ate the sweets that Italy had lovingly made for him. Only to later realize that all his years (centuries) of waiting were for nothing because the sweet blond Empire he had been waiting for was long gone and was never coming back to him.

The time that followed the day when France had uttered the words 'He is no more' where filled with an inconsolable despair and a heartache so sharp that Italy wished his heart could just stop beating because the pain was just too much. In denial Veneziano spent the days (months) and afternoons that were once meant to be spent with Holy Rome in front of the archway where they had parted, hoping that maybe France had lied and Heinrich was on his way back and all he had to do was wait a little-

But he never came and it had taken the combined forces of Austria, Hungary and (surprisingly) Romano to pull him away from the archway. Months' worth of denial finally burst and he cried and cried so much that he wanted to just end it and at least he would be able to join his love in the afterlife.

But he was too much of a coward for that and he could never abandon Romano either. It was at this point where he decided that no love was worth the anguish of heartbreak. He vowed that he would never love anyone again (only Heinrich because he could never make himself stop loving him, he'd tried and failed).

So he lived on, everyday a sharp reminder of 'what if's and 'if only's. Every day a struggle for him to do the basic functions and over two centuries became emotionally stunted to most things. Instead he'd learned to wear a veil of joyful smiles and idiocy and for the other Nations 'ignorance is bliss' became true.

Then came Germany.

Sweet, strong, disciplined blond hair and blue-eyed Germany.

Germany was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing Ludwig's uncanny similarity to Holy Rome was striking and he thought if maybe Heinrich had lived then he would probably look like Germany. The longing that Italy had worked so hard to bury for decades came rushing back and he latched on to the German because he found that he could at least pretend that Holy Rome was with still him.

What harm could it do? He was only lying to himself, so it wouldn't hurt anyone other than him. And besides, if only for a while, he felt what remotely would be called 'happiness'.

On the other hand, it was a curse. Ludwig's similarities to Heinrich didn't just end with appearances. The two also shared similar quirks, such as the way they scowled or the way they both carried themselves in a disciplined manner. Or the way their cerulean eyes were glazed in a sleepy haze when they first wake up. Or how when they had a goal in mind they never gave up on it until it was accomplished.

Sometimes the similarities made it hard trying to reminding himself that this was Germany and not Holy Rome. Those days he struggled between a blissful 'what-if' joy and trying not to run away from the painful reminder that Germany sometimes was, it wouldn't be fair to his friend if he ran out on him without explanation.

This state continued on for a few decades since WW 1.

And now a days it was nearly impossible to stay in Ludwig's presence for long periods of time, mainly because lately somewhere along the way Italy began to feel stronger emotions for the German. And no amount of attempted distance dispelled the feelings and it seemed to make them stronger to the point that Veneziano would cave and go see the other Nation just to settle the raging emotions. And the Italian wanted to cry because he should only feel these…feelings for Holy Rome and only for him.

Not someone that he was using as a sort of replacement.

But here he was; loving Germany despite his own warnings and precautions to not fall in love again because it only brought pain and misery to him in the end. His only comfort being that these feelings were one-sided and Germany could never possibly return them. Until Valentines' Day. After everything was said and done and Germany realized that he had misunderstood Italy's intentions with the flowers he thought that they would simply forget that this whole day happened and move on.

But that didn't happen. Ludwig had this blank, glazed look in his eyes in the days that followed and Italy was worried. The German seemed out of it most of the time and he sent the Italian weird, guilty looks with a slight blush on his pale face before looking away. It was during one of these times that Germany, seemingly out of nowhere, willingly embraced Italy and leaned in close;

"I have loved you since the 900's." the achingly familiar words were whispered in such a tender, loving tone that Feliciano nearly cried because an age old, self-crushed hope was startling suddenly reality. And he knew that Ludwig wasn't pulling his leg or was some kind of coincidence that he picked the very sentence that he held dear to his heart. Any previous promises of forgoing love and everything associated with it went out the window simply because the latter had kept his promise of returning even if it wasn't in the way he thought he would. He also knew that even if they were the same person, Italy had loved Holy Rome but now loved Germany even more than the latter and he couldn't find himself feeling the slightest bit guilty over it.

Italy didn't hesitate to press his lips over the Germans', and soon the two were lost in the sea of long repressed emotions and the utter relief of finally because they have waited hundreds and hundreds of years just for this one moment.

If centuries of pain lead to this one moment of a beginning of continued bliss, then Italy wouldn't mind doing it all over again.

Now that I read this, ending seems kinda rushed huh?

Thanks for reading!