Lovino gasped, his eyes frantic, a loud crack from outside waking him up from a nap turned nightmare. He wiped the few beads of sweat from his forehead and forced his heart to calm down by taking deep breaths.

The thunderstorm brewing outside was gradually becoming worse. No wonder he had a bad dream.

Normally, the young Italian man would be too exhausted to do anything during this weather, but he refused to succumb to these negative feelings. Not this time, he decided. He rose from the raggedy, used couch and slowly made his way to his room.

He turned on the shadeless lamp located on his desk, the unadulterated light illuminating the small, messy bedroom. Lovino's hazel eyes scanned the area, hoping something would remind him of where the damn thing ended up. Making a bigger mess, he searched everywhere until he found what he was looking for: a journal given to him by his lively younger brother, Feliciano.

Feli was the one that told him to see a therapist (since the man refused to talk to him, or anyone, in fact). Of course, Lovino was pissed when he mentioned it one night over their weekly homemade dinner date. He was not crazy, thank you very much. But, after much coaxing and promises of more free food including delicious tomatoes every week, the elder Vargas brother reluctantly went to his old college's Counseling and Psychological Services office.

The doctor, whose name he didn't bother to memorize, recommended he write in a notebook. It could be about anything he wanted, even drawings were permitted, so long as he engaged with it frequently. The Italian found it difficult, though. There was no point, he believed. And, he didn't want his brother to find it whenever he came over to check on him. He knew Feli wouldn't read it, but still, in his head, just knowing his inner thoughts existed on paper terrified him.

This time, however, Lovino needed to let it out. That dreaded notebook was the only thing coming to his mind that would remotely help. Damn that recurring nightmare. He has grown tired of reliving that awful night every day, regret and guilt consuming him little by little. It's been almost a year since . . .

He really needed to write this time, or else he might give in to old habits, and he promised his brother, too.

Lovino sat down on the cold wooden chair in front of the desk and opened up the book at random. The first pen he laid eyes on, he grabbed it and began to jostle down whatever came to mind.

I can hear the raindrops pounding outside the window. It is three in the morning and I'm wide awake. I'm here in our (He scratches that word out.) my room wondering where you are. You should be home by now. You always make sure you are home before midnight, and you send me a text every night saying you are on your way back to me. I hate that your job takes up most of your time but I understand. I crave for that little ding sound now . . . yet I will never hear it again.

Unfortunately, I remembered that you are no longer here. Why did you have to leave? Why couldn't you stay with me? I'm sorry for all the terrible things I said. I didn't mean any of it. I'm sorry I took out my frustrations on you. I thought you would smile and call me silly Lovi like you always did. Even when I called you bad names and cursed at everyone and everything, you would tell me you loved me. I know I took things too far that time I hurt you. For God's sake, I accused you of cheating. I was just angry that you were always busy, jealous that your coworkers, especially your friend Emma, spent more time with you, and sad that you were always tired when you came home. I should have realized sooner that even you had a limit.

How I desperately wish that fight never happened. If I had just sucked up my stubborn pride, you wouldn't have driven off into the cold, midnight rain and . . . Dammit, I know it's all my fault, but why did you have to go and leave me behind? You abandoned me, and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I fucking hate the rain – it is a callous thief. It took my only love away.

He threw the pen across the room, covered his face with his long sleeves, and began to cry. The sound of his muffled sobbing joined the pitter patter of the rain outside. Lovino didn't realize the storm was letting up.

The dam had finally been broken. Tears continued to flow without permission and ruin his messy black handwriting.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that huddled position. After what felt like an eternity, Lovino lifted his head and looked out the window. It was morning now, the rising sun peeking through the dewy leaves from the tree right outside his bedroom.

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel better after that episode. He couldn't tell what he was feeling at all. Everything was still so hazy.

As he looked down at the ruined pages, the only thing Lovino knew was that Antonio was never coming back, no matter how many times it rained.

A/N: I don't normally write stuff like this. Where did that come from? Don't ask me. It was raining hard, harder than anyone was prepared for, so I guess I'll blame the weather.

Thank you for reading. It's my first time writing something this dark, so please review and let me know how I did, what I can improve on, etc. (The event with Antonio is meant to be illusive so you can interpret that however you like. Did he simply walk out? Was he involved in an accident? You tell me.)

And before I forget, thank you for all of the follows/favorites/reviews on my past stories.

I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, nor any of its characters. All rights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.