Feliciano Vargas is sitting by the grave of a friend he had made one hundred years ago, and he is twenty.

He has always been twenty. He will be twenty until the day he is dead, and then he will be another age.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he sits by his own grave, holding six roses. He will hold six until the day he is dead, and then he will hold seven, because this is the sixth of his graves. This is not his doing, this is Italy's.

Italy has always been an agreeable man. Sweet tempered, if not particularly thoughtful or dignified. The man that was Italy was much the same, but a touch brighter and quieter. When Feliciano meets him for the first time, he thinks him striking, thinks about kissing him. Of course, he busies himself with the pretty maid and her pretty smile instead. He does this sort of thing for a good portion of the early twentieth century.

Italy has a loud laugh, and he is a magnificent cook. Dominic has dark brown eyes and a passion for the written word.

Feliciano has soft, auburn hair and a fear that he will learn how to cook and forget how to paint.

"The nation spirits are somewhat parasitic. They must have a physical host in order to interact with the people, and to survive." Italy says, and smiles with Dominic's mouth. Feliciano learns later that Italy is reciting what he had told Dominic one hundred years before.

"You will retain very little of yourself for the majority of this time," Dominic says for himself minutes later, "until you are about to die. He will let you die one day. He is a very kind man, and he loves you."

(Dominic dies alone that night, and Italy weeps from Feliciano's eyes, because he has never cared for writing. He never lets Feliciano forget how to paint, and Feliciano knows that Italy regrets never letting Dominic write the book that was swimming in their minds for one hundred years).

He is twenty, and he doesn't, not once, think of escape as Italy introduces himself to Feliciano's psyche. He can feel Italy taking him over: breathing with his lungs and blinking with his eyes, and he would cry in terror, but Italy is also speaking with his mouth.

"Feliciano, there's no need to panic." He says to himself, to them both, "I do not think I want to live like this either." His voice is Italy's voice, and it sounds bright, gentle and cheerful. He expects it is almost always like this.

Feliciano Vargas, sometimes, does not think he is ever himself, even when he tries.

Francis Bonnefoy was always, and will always be twenty-four, and this is a terrible tragedy.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he pleads for two men to commit murder, knocking on their door six times. He will knock six times until the day he is dead, and then he will knock seven times.

France claps a hand to Francis Bonnefoy's mouth the first time he lays eyes on Feliciano Vargas, and England whispers with Arthur Kirkland's voice, "You look like him. You look like the first one."

Feliciano Vargas has seen the "first one". The first boy, in Italy's memory, is sweet and bright, and he is, quite regrettably, in love with someone doomed to die. Feliciano's face is not quite as round, and his eyes are a slightly different colour. The first one, in Italy's memory, looks so sad.

Feliciano Vargas smiles anyway, because he understands their shock.

Francis Bonnefoy has always been entirely France. France is not as kind as Italy in this regard. Francis Bonnefoy was twenty-four, and will always, always be twenty-four. France prefers this, because then he has quashed Francis Bonnefoy's own mind. France prefers this, because then he cannot hear the other person in his head. He never has to mourn for himself.

Arthur Kirkland, on the other hand, had volunteered himself at about the same age and has never wished to be anything else. Arthur Kirkland had fallen in love with a nation at about this age, and has been breaking his own heart for centuries. England does not mind that Arthur Kirkland loves America. He does not mind that Arthur Kirkland lives most of his life, because then he cannot hear himself in his own head. England does not mind this, because then he can stop breaking his own heart over France. He cannot feel his own pain.

They both find it better this way but Italy, and Feliciano, beg to differ.

Feliciano Vargas has always begged them for mercy, to kill the men they are, but they are unabashed about their selfishness, and turn him away.

Feliciano Vargas goes from age thirty-five to age twenty, from age twenty to an ancient in the space of fifteen minutes. As does his brother.

His brother is always twenty. His brother had been twenty until the day he got married, and now he acts much older.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he smiles by his brother's side, holding six tomatoes. He will hold six until the day he is dead, and then he will hold seven.

The first year that Feliciano Vargas and his brother are twenty; a young woman from Rome with dark curly hair, a beautiful face and a perpetually furious demeanour approaches and demands that he and his brother accompany her immediately. A man with dark, curly hair, a beautiful face and a smile that is not his own stands by her side. It is her brother, Dominic.

Lovinio Vargas stomps and swears, and Romano uses the girl to stomp and swear right back. Lovinio is furious until he spots Antonio Carriedo, and then he is as red as any tomato. Spain laughs from Antonio's mouth. "You act like him." He says, "Like the first one."

Lovinio has always deeply hated himself, and he finds the opportunity to be someone else so very appealing that he jumps at this chance. He does not receive the treatment that he expects, however, and he is not once allowed by Romano, Spain, or Antonio to hide behind his new identity. Rather, they nurture him until he is comfortable in his own skin, and in Romano's. For this, Feliciano will always be grateful, and he thinks that perhaps this was the best thing for his brother.

It isn't long before the four of them fall deeply in love, and Feliciano has the sneaking suspicion that this sort of thing has happened countless times before.

Feliciano Vargas throws up when he first learns of Ivan Braginsky.

Ivan Braginsky had been nineteen when he died and twenty when he had become Russia. Feliciano cannot help but think that Russia, who has been a not-quite-madman for much longer than nineteen years, is desecrating the poor boy's body, and his memory.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he sits by an empty grave, holding six sunflowers. He will hold six until the day he is dead, and then he will hold seven.

Russia, like France or England, will only ever hold one. His sunflower has already wilted.

When Feliciano asks Russia why he chose a dead man as his host, Russia smiles that childish-yet-wan nothing-smile with Ivan's mouth, and waves Ivan's large, cold hand in Francis Bonnefoy's direction, "I could trap them forever," he waves at Arthur Kirkland and says, "I could let them trap themselves,", he points Ivan's finger to himself, "Or I can use what has always and will always belong to me. I believe this is kinder."

"But-" he splutters, before Russia cuts him off, pressing Ivan's icy fingertips to his mouth.

"Your Italy is loveable, and I am not. Your Italy is kind, and able to let people go from his life, and I am not. Your Italy is sane; I cannot say the same for myself. For me, and for Ivan, it is better this way."

"Did you ever know him?" Italy prompts Feliciano to ask.

"Oh, yes." Says Russia with Ivan's voice, and his face is so very sad and so very tired that Feliciano is tempted to reach out to him, if Italy would allow. "He was... he was very lovely. I love him. I will always love him, and I think I may have killed him myself. I did not want us to be apart." At this, his smile is less empty and more self-deprecating. Italy smiles nervously with Feliciano's mouth, and forces Feliciano's feet to carry them away.

Feliciano knows from that moment that Russia loves Ivan just the same as Italy loves him, but that the poor man is too out of his mind to understand that neither he, nor young Ivan are breathing.

Feliciano Vargas does not think he really blames Arthur Kirkland for volunteering himself to become England, because he remembers the number of times he has wanted so very much to kiss Germany.

He remembers Germany's disappointed expression when Italy had denied his marriage proposal, and he remembers his own heartbreak when he had done the same to Ludwig. Both nations regard the respective situations as a touch unfortunate, both humans swear never to love again.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he will kiss Germany six times. He will kiss Germany six times and then he will be dead. Italy will kiss Germany seven times.

Feliciano was twenty years old twenty years before Ludwig, but they are around the same age. Feliciano thinks Ludwig is the most breathtaking thing he has ever seen, and then he meets Germany. He cannot understand Italy's preference for the former.

"When you are a nation, you tend to avoid your own kind." Italy says from Feliciano's mouth, with a vapid smile playing upon Feliciano's lips. Feliciano thinks that sometimes this smile is as mad as Russia's smile, upon Ivan's face.

They are conversing in front of a mirror, because Feliciano feels like less of a madman this way. Feliciano enjoys the sort of relationship they have. It is not like France and Francis and it is not like England and Arthur. It is equal, and they love each other equally.

"You avoid your own kind, because they are damaged, just like yourself, and there will be too much pain. Ludwig is sweet and plain and calm and he will die. And that," Italy closes Feliciano's eyes, "is so beautiful."

Germany is too pragmatic and Ludwig too unromantic to think the same.

One night, Feliciano Vargas watches from behind his own eyes as Germany kisses Italy with Ludwig's mouth and Italy kisses back with Feliciano's mouth. Italy is in a terrible state when he realises that the man he has kissed is not Ludwig, and Feliciano just wishes Italy would cry his own tears.

That night, Feliciano hopes against hope that, for just a night, Italy will be so kind as to let Feliciano pretend to be him. They are one and the same, after all.

Several years later, he gets his wish, and finds that it is a terrible thing. He pretends to be a nation as he lets his beloved (who does not find Feliciano worth loving at all) love another within Feliciano's own skin. It is both disturbing and heartbreaking.

He does not cry, but he can no longer love.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old, and he tells Italy that he does not regret any of the things that he has done or seen, but he does not ever reflect upon them either.

Italy smiles with Feliciano Vargas' mouth, and tells him that perhaps it is time for him to do so. Italy makes his last plans with Feliciano's hands and voice, and Feliciano is grateful, because while he is ready, he cannot do this by himself. He has never been alone, after all.

Feliciano Vargas is one hundred years old as much as he is twenty years old, and he is tired.

Feliciano Vargas is twenty years old until the day he is dead. The day he is dead, he sees a young Italian man crying someone else's tears, and he is at last another age.

The young man is seventeen and sits by Feliciano Vargas' deathbed, holding seven roses. He will hold seven roses until the day he is dead, and then he will hold eight. This is not the young man's doing. This is Italy's.

Feliciano closes his own eyes.

IN CASE YOU DIDN'T GET IT BECAUSE I KNOW IT IS WEIRD: I was exploring the idea that the bodies of the nation-persons are not actually their own, that, if you will, they take "hosts" to carry the spirit of the nation itself. And then I was curious as to how the host would feel about this, and...what sort of methods each nation spirit would use and this sort of happened at me.

I'm aware it's a strange little experiment, and that it deviates from canon. Consider it semi-AU, because I'm a cool kid.

I'd really appreciate feedback, 'cause I'm not sure about this one. I might rewrite it later.