SOY: Life's fun when you watch new stuff. Like DP. :D Also, please check profile for a poll regarding updates!

this is the last chapter of this fic. Thank you to everybody who followed through and tried it out, and thank you to all the people who reviewed. It has been fun. Thank you :) Please check ending notes for a surprise. ^^

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Rating: K+.

Warnings: Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Fluttering Chaos

"Ve~"

Romano grunted and looked up from his book, hissing in displeasure when he met Italy's sad glance.

"S–shut up, damn you! Stop sighing when you cook! It's pasta! Pasta! Shouldn't it make you happy? Shit," he growled, looking back down at his book.

He'd wanted to ignore Italy's bad mood, but it was quite impossible to do so –after all, this was still his little brother, and no matter what, South Italy cared for him.

Knowing exactly what was wrong did not help either, since Romano couldn't just get up and go kick the aristocratic bastard's ass… but seeing Veneziano this depressing really was… well, depressing.

"Feli…" with an exasperated huff, Romano stood up, after having placed a bookmark between the pages of his book, and reached for his brother, rapping his knuckles on the other Nation's head. "You don't deserve to be unhappy because of that idiot. Ignore him!"

Italy shifted around to look at his brother, pouting, and slowly shook his head.

"Ve~ it's my fault, though… he's been ignoring my calls since I ruined our dinner the other day, and it's obvious he doesn't want me around anymore~it makes me sad!"

Romano scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to do.

"I get that you're sad, damn it! B–but this is too much! It's not your fault! Even if he doesn't like you, he shouldn't try to change you either! Y–you're… you're fine the way you are, that's it!"

Eyes burning with anger, Romano turned his back to his brother, tensing up when he felt Veneziano's forehead on the spot between his shoulder blades; he hissed again, but didn't move, looking down at the floor.

"Thank you, Lovi…" the whisper was so low that hadn't South Italy been so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

His cheeks coloured slightly and he huffed. "You're my little brother," he stated, almost defensively. "But I mean it. I don't get why you're so sad because a sucky aristocratic shit is ignoring you again. He did it for centuries, this parenthesis was just weird, and now everything is back to how it was before… what he thinks of you shouldn't be this important! Shit!"

"V–ve… brother wouldn't know, because brother Antonio always loved you tons…"

Italy felt Romano stiffen so much he wondered if maybe he had exaggerated a bit, then he felt him relax once again. "What does that stupid tomato idiot have to do with that?"

"Because Roderich has been my caretaker, but he never did like me… and no matter what you say, what he thinks is important for me…"

"More important than what I think?"

"Ve~ but brother is always mean to me…"

"T–that is not true, you bastard!" Romano really wanted to push his brother away, but he just couldn't, so he simply clenched his hands into fists.

"I know brother loves me, though," Italy continued, lips twitching upwards in a smile. "Even if he's mean, I know he cares for me".

"Y–you'd better know it, stronzo".

"But… I do want Roderich to like me…"

The two fell into an uneasy silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until South Italy shook himself out of it, and sighed.

"Is it… what he thinks, I mean… is it more important to you than what the Main Potato Bastard thinks?"

"Ve~? Ludwig is a friend, what he thinks matters to me!"

"…" refusing to twitch in anger, Romano took a big breath. He didn't like what he was trying to imply, but hell, wouldn't it make sense? "Still. Does what the Aristocratic Bastard thinks matter more to you than what the Potato Bastard thinks?"

Italy fidgeted, twirling his fingers together as he thought it out.

He really loved Germany, he was his best friend and they had spent so much time together, and Germany always took the outmost care of him, but… but Austria was Austria, and Italy always took in great consideration every single word coming from the Austrian Nation's mouth.

Did it mean he liked Austria better?

He'd never thought of it like that before, since Austria was not a friend.

His heart clenched painfully at that, and Italy was reminded that Austria was now ignoring him, not answering to his calls and hadn't invited him at his house in over a week.

"M–maybe," he conceded loudly.

Romano stiffened once again. He really didn't like where this was going. Yet…

"Call that stupid Feliks, Feli," he grunted, finally moving away from Italy, not turning around to stare at him. "He'll be more helpful than I am, ok?"

"Ve?"

Without saying anything more, Romano stormed out of the room, not even thinking about the book he'd left on the table. Italy watched him disappear with a small frown, then he yelped when he remembered the pasta he was cooking, and ran back to the stove.

…–…–…–…

Of all the things he had been expecting to see, a vaguely gloomy Italy standing in front of his door was definitely not it, and Poland blinked in surprise, allowing his friend to enter the house, wondering what had happened.

"Feli, is there something wrong?"

Italy pouted and stared at him, nodding slightly with a confused expression.

Poland inwardly cooed at it, then pushed Italy up to his room and had him sit on his bed.

Glancing around at the outrageous bedroom, Italy felt a bit better; at least, Poland never changed –the walls were still pinkish, the wooden furniture was still of a delicate beige colour, and the paintings Italy had gifted him were still on the walls.

"So, like, tell me what happened? Do I have, like, to kick someone's ass?"

Italy took a deep breath and started to explain, including his brother's strange words and the fact that Austria was still ignoring his calls; when he finished talking, Poland had a weird expression and looked like he wanted to storm out of the door in anger.

"So? What should I do?"

Poland twirled a bracelet in his fingers and snorted. "I see why your uncool brother sent you here…"

"Eh? You know what's happening?"

The Polish nation smiled indulgently at him, "Feli, you, like, like Roddie a lot".

"Ve… of course I like Roderich!"

"No, Feli, not like that! I totally mean, like, like!"

Italy blinked once, then twice, then flushed crimson as Poland's words finally made sense. "Oh… oh".

With a satisfied smirk, Poland gently patted a confused Italy on the shoulder, allowing him some space to think about things.

He liked Austria? Was that the same thing Romano thought? Was that why he badmouthed the Austrian Nation so much in the last few weeks? Italy had thought it was because lately his brother had been hanging out with Prussia, but now, with this new possibility, he guessed it could be a bit of both.

Whatever the reasoning could be, they were both wrong in their assumption.

"I can't like Roderich~" he whined, shaking his head. "How is that even possible?"

He knew that if he really liked Austria, then he would have known it, at least. It had been so for his previous loves. This was just stupid.

Poland swatted him on the head. "You care for him and what he says, you love spending time with him, you got this depressed when he ignored you… and you think about him more than you ever did for Ludwig, like, that'd totally make it clear for anyone!"

"…" Italy reluctantly thought about it.

He'd once liked Germany in the way Poland was implying he now liked Austria, but the feelings hadn't been reciprocated, so they were simply friends now. But Germany's opinion still mattered a lot to Italy.

But only because Austria's thoughts now mattered more, didn't mean that–

Did it?

"Ve…" his shoulders dropped a bit, and Italy slumped down on the bed.

Having Austria cook for him had filled him with happiness, and being allowed to hug him… that had caused Italy's heart to flutter erratically for hours afterwards, rolling in his bed and trying to get to sleep but failing because he could still feel Austria's warm frame against his own…

And the way Austria looked at him when they had spent time together –as if he mattered, as if he wasn't just looking at his once–charge, but at a fellow Nation. Finally.

Italy felt like the stupidest person on Earth.

"V–ve… I like Roderich…" admitting it aloud made his cheeks turn even redder.

Poland intertwined their fingers together, smiling at his friend with a knowing look. "It's ok… it's cute!"

"But it's once again one–sided!" Italy couldn't believe it –he'd only fallen in love twice, and twice the other party was not interested. This was just the third time in a row. "I think I just like to get into helpless situations…"

Poland's smile simply widened.

"Are you, like, going to tell Roddie how you feel?"

"But I know already how he feels! He is ignoring me… I lost my chance even before realising what that chance was for! Ve~"

"Feli, like, man up!" standing up from the bed, the Polish nation looked down at his friend and placed his hands on his hips. "If he's not answering your calls, maybe you should go at his house and talk to him in person, no? I think it's better to be honest with him either way!"

Italy blinked and stared at his friend with an uncertain look, but Poland grabbed his hand and pushed him back downstairs, not even listening to his protests, then shoved him out of his house, smiling all the while.

"Call me when you've told him, silly Feli!"

With that, Poland shut the door close and scuttled to the window, smirking in satisfaction as Italy, after having waited in front of the entrance for a bit, finally turned around and left.

"I, like, have to run and call Eli! This development was unexpectedly fabulous!"

…–…–…–…

If there was a word to describe Italy with, it would be 'positive', or 'optimistic'.

It had always been like that, ever since he was a young child–colony, mere territories held together by determination and fear; if he hadn't been positive, he was sure he would have been defeated, annexed or destroyed easily, but with his cheerful outlook on things, Italy had managed to pass through wars and battles mostly unscathed, and in the end, he'd finally made it into a Nation.

Being positive had made it possible for him to not fall prey of despair after his grandfather had died, and during the years under control of Austria first, then France, then Austria again, he'd always hoped things would change soon.

Even when the Holy Roman Empire had left for war, making Italy realise how painful a goodbye could be, he'd still endured, telling himself that things would surely get better.

During every war he'd prayed to be able to come out of them safely; then, Germany had appeared, becoming his best friend and protector, a person Italy trusted almost blindly.

He had known that Germany was what was left of his first love who should have died decades before, but with Germany not remembering anything, Italy had slowly learned to let the memories of that young, sweet Nation go.

Then, he'd fallen in love with Germany, but had soon realised that the other Nation was not romantically interested in Italy, and since he valued their friendship too much to ruin it, Italy had accepted that they were not destined to be together.

Slowly, even that pain had been soothed away, and his feelings for Germany had long since turned into a close friendship.

Italy had always been positive, and he knew that one day, he would find someone who could walk at his own pace, and with whom he could share something…

Despite that, his reserves of optimism were growing thin. He was afraid that if he followed Poland's advice and confessed to Austria, this rejection would be more painful than what he could stand.

At the same time he knew Poland was right; it would haunt him forever if he were to let go, and Austria was, in the end, a proper gentleman –even if he despised Italy's presence, he would be courteous when rejecting him.

Italy might be a coward with things related to war, but he was not a coward with everything.

Which was why he was standing in front of Austria's house, fidgeting as he waited for the other Nation to come and open the door.

So far, nobody had answered.

'Ve… did he see me standing from a window and decided not to open?' he wondered, feeling disturbed and sad, then he shook his head. No, Austria wasn't like that –even if he disliked the person, he'd never let them standing in front of the door… he'd let them in anyway.

He always did that for Prussia, too, even though they granted to each other's nerves.

Italy knocked again, then rang the doorbell. Since no one opened, he wondered if Austria was even at home.

He tried the handle, and the door clicked open.

"… Roderich?"

Hesitantly, Italy peered through the door, but there was no one in the entrance corridor, and nobody answered, either.

Should he just go away and return later on?

"Feliciano?"

Italy gasped loudly and turned around, shocked to see the person he had been thinking about standing right behind him. "Uh… Roderich?"

Austria was clearly surprised to see him there, and was holding a bag of groceries in his arms, eyes fixed on Italy, who felt his cheeks redden and quickly looked away, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Looking at Austria now that he was aware of his feelings for him was… awkward.

For a long moment, they didn't move, then Austria shook himself out of his trance and cleared his throat. "What are you doing here, Feliciano?"

Italy swallowed and straightened up. "Ve~ I…"

"Wait…" Austria placed one of the bags down and passed his fingers through his hair, looking to the side. "It is good to see you. I have something I'd like to… discuss with you, if you don't mind".

Not knowing what to say, Italy simply nodded, and followed Austria inside his house. The Austrian man dropped his bags in the kitchen and led the other to the music room.

Italy wasn't sure what to expect –Austria acted like nothing had happened, like he hadn't ignored Italy's calls for over a week– but was too worried on what he had to say, so he didn't comment on it.

As he waited for Austria to talk again, Italy sat down on a chair conveniently left at the side of the door, glancing around with his insides twisting painfully.

"Feliciano," Austria didn't turn to look at him. "I spent the last few days composing a song".

Tilting his head to the side, Italy looked at the piano Austria loved so much, and frowned when he realised there was a thin layer of dust covering it.

It didn't really look like Austria had been composing at all, and it was almost an outrageous behaviour for the musician to let his piano cover with dust.

Something was wrong, but Italy couldn't understand what.

"Rod–"

"Please, let me finish," Austria stopped him, lifting one hand to brush against the showcase of the violin.

Surprised, Italy stared as the other Nation gently picked up the violin (the same Stradivari that he had given him), bringing it up to his neck.

He wanted to ask why was he using a violin when he was better suited with a piano, and he wanted to ask if composing had taken so much of his attention that he forgot to clean his instruments, but he couldn't –Austria had asked him to stay silent, so he complied.

With a deep breath, Austria steadied his hands. He knew the song by memory now, and yet he kept the music sheets in front of him, spread all over the table.

"I would like you to listen, just as you did with my faulty poetry, and offer me your honest thoughts once I've finished performing".

Italy felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. Was he being offered another chance? What if he blotched this one as well?

"Rod–"

"I have only one request of you, and it is to be completely honest, Feliciano. I do not wish you to lie, as what you think is important for me".

Throat suddenly dry, Italy nodded. Important? Really?

"I… I will listen with my outmost attention, Roderich, I promise," he murmured. "Please start when you are ready".

Austria nodded curtly, and finally turned towards him, hand holding the bow gracefully brushing it against the chords of the violin.

Italy's heart resonated together with the instrument, the familiar, rich sound echoing through him as Austria started playing in a sweet, soft tone that quickly pulled Italy in, enveloping his mind and washing through his body.

He didn't even know when his eyes fluttered close, fingers twitching in his lap as they clutched at the hem of his shirt whilst inside him emotions roared and grew stronger, threatening to turn him insane.

The music was… overwhelming. The shift in tones, the accelerations quickly slowed down to a languid, slow pace, every note melting within the melody, beautiful and enticing and devastating…

Italy felt his eyes fill with tears, moved by the utter beauty of the music.

When the last few notes dispersed in the air, and Austria's movements came to a halt, Italy's chest was hurting with the many emotions fluttering inside him.

It had been a composition like no other had ever been written –all of Austria's skills applied to an instrument he wasn't that comfortable with, and yet brought out such a gorgeous melody, and Italy knew that above any reasoning, what he'd just listened was as close to divine as only music could be.

"Feliciano…?"

Italy looked up, not knowing what to say, and watched as Austria gently knelt in front of him, looking a bit ruffled and hesitant, and gently pressed one hand on Italy's own.

The contact made Italy aware of the closeness between them, and the fact that Austria was touching him on his own accord, as if stepping over his own boundaries.

He didn't understand anymore –once again, Austria's actions were confusing, sending him mixed signals he couldn't decipher.

"I…" his tone felt so weak that Italy visibly winced, swallowing before restarting. "I don't… don't know what to say".

"Did you enjoy my composition, Feliciano?"

A nod.

Austria took a deep breath again, his mouth suddenly dry. "Do you know what this song is about?"

Hesitantly, Italy nodded again. The sweet music, the inflection of the notes, Austria's concentrated, gentle expression when playing, the small smile on his face that clearly indicated more than just satisfaction, almost a hidden tenderness…

"It is a love song".

The corners of Austria's lips twitched upwards, and his heart suddenly felt lighter.

So he'd been right –he could truly express himself with music, and have Italy understand.

"That composition…" Austria looked to the side. "It has been created while thinking about a person".

Italy nodded. He'd expected this –whoever it was that held Austria's heart this way, was probably someone worth of such a beautiful, heart-wrenching song. The devotion was so clear that even Italy could feel it.

Yet, aside from the devotion and the love, the central part had been so slow and sad, the notes drawn out, almost in a lament, that made him uncertain as to why a love song would need to beg for forgiveness.

"Feliciano, I needed you to listen to this song without knowing the recipient, because you wouldn't have understood before. What my feelings are, what my heart wanted to say… words cannot express this as music can. My poem has failed me before, unable to bring forth the truth, only masking it further, and this vehicle I chose was the only one that could help me".

Having a hard time understanding what Austria meant, Italy wondered if the other nation was simply asking his permission. Surely a violin had different properties than a piano had, but this was Austria's violin, after all.

He barely registered Austria's hands gently holding his own in a steady grip, too lost in his own thoughts to notice.

Then, Austria's words penetrated the fog within his mind, making him focus sharply on the other man.

"Feliciano, that song was composed for you".

"Eh?"

Lightheaded, Italy tried to make sense in what Austria was saying.

"Wha… what? But that was a love sonata, was it?"

Austria nodded.

"I have developed feelings for you, Feliciano. They have been growing in the last few weeks we've spent together, and I've come to realise that… I have fallen for you, Feliciano".

For a long moment, Austria remained silent, still holding the other man's hands in his own, wondering what was going through Italy's brain, if there was a chance for them to be together.

Then, Italy yelped loudly and lunged forwards, arms wrapping tightly around Austria's shoulders and holding him close, and he gasped when he felt a pair of lips press against his cheek, a fleeting contact that was repeated more than once all over his face.

Austria spluttered in an undignified way and flailed around for a split moment before realising what was going on; when his brain finally got it, he grabbed Italy by his shoulders and stopped him, moving him away until he could stare at the Italian Nation's face, cheeks crimson.

"F–Feliciano! Stop this instant!"

Italy froze, cheeks equally flushed and a bright, wide smile on his lips, and stared expectantly at Austria, who cleared his throat once more and shook his head.

"P–please, Feliciano, do it… uh, properly" he requested, heart racing in his chest. "I said I have fallen for you, and I'd like a reply".

If possible, the smile on Italy's lips widened even more, threatening to split his face in two. "I love Roderich too… I think I might have loved you for a while now… I really, really love you~"

Italy grabbed Austria's hands into his own and kissed them, making the musician splutter once again, embarrassed yet touched by the show of affection.

This was it –what he'd wished for ever since realising his feelings for Italy had grown too deep to be ignored…

This closeness, this feeling in his chest, like his heart could burst anytime now…

Trying to find a way to exercise at least a small amount of control over the situation, Austria gently held Italy's hand up and pulled the other nation into an embrace. It felt right, and having Italy against his chest, giggling in sheer delight, filled him with warmth as he gently held his chin still and leaned down to kiss him.

Their noses bumped uncomfortably against each other, and Italy grunted when Austria's glasses got in the way, but then Austria was cradling him closer, and all he could breath was the other Nation's scent, and Austria's lips were on his own, delicate and warm and–

The fluttering chaos in his mind was placated, and it occurred to them at that moment, that this was just the right happy ending they had both wished to have.

And it was just about perfect.

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SOY: I hope the ending was satisfying! There will be a short omake coming up for you all, just consider it a short epilogue to this story, and once again

Thank you for reading!

Stronzo (Italian) – shithead.