A/N: OK! So I decided to challenge myself to see if I could write a somewhat short fic aside from the long ones I'm currently in the process of writing. I needed a break from those XP First fic I'm publishing because I actually managed to finish one. Enjoy~

Hetalia isn't mine, the characters in this aren't mine, the song isn't mine.

Their bodies sat sloppily in the rain; in the mud that was once covered by the soft texture of forever-green grass. They felt their bodies shiver from the cooling rain, from the loss of blood and the silent fear that wouldn't show. But they weren't scared, not in the slightest.

They were at peace. Purely content.

They didn't look at the situation surrounding them nor the threats pending for further actions, and they didn't look for any escape chances or distractions. They couldn't. So instead, they remained still minus the gentle stroking one engaged to the other's rusty auburn locks, and they remained silent despite the unspoken promises whispered in secrecy.

"Germany…" The voice was soft and weak as it whispered the other body's name. The body wasn't listening, though; he was watching the stilled and fidgeting feet of the surrounding soldiers.

The other decided to try again. He shifted his body slightly closer to the one that held him with such gentleness, yet so protectively. He strained his voice a little louder. "Germany…"

Now he heard him. The larger body cautiously looked away from the mud-covered boots of his enemies and peered down to the young man lying limply in his arms—seizing the caressing of the other's locks.

"Germany—"

"Don't strain your voice, Italy." Germany whispered. There was a pause as they both listened to the native tongues of the Americans. "Please, you need your str—"

"Sing to me."

The German looked at the Italian closely; looked at the face that was always so full of joy, looked at the face of his lover—his ally from the very start. There was no delusion shown in those dog-like hazel eyes; only weariness. This was still the mind of Italy, just tired and in need of a siesta.

"You remember that song," the soft voice spoke again. "You used to sing it to me…when we were free."

There was another pause before Germany held Italy closer. He shut his eyes. "You…" he put his lips closer to his lover's ear to whisper the soft tune. "You are my sunshine…"

He remembered meeting Italy for the first time—finding him in that warn tomato box begging for his life. His wiled rusty locks accompanied with that strange curl, the soft sun-kissed face full of worry and panic; hazel eyes the same. "My only sunshine…"

He remembered the day the pasta-loving fool became his friend and ally. Such joy shown in the Italian's heart, such joy hidden in the German's. "You make me happy…"

He remembered the first few tedious moments of an evening he wish would be forgotten. "When skies are gray…"

He remembered the first few tedious moments of the same evening that turned into night. An understanding of a miscommunication was cleared and a new kind of communication was born. "You'll never know, dear…"

He remembered his lips gracing Feliciano's for the first time; the softness of those rosy-pink lips connecting with his rough ones didn't have a word to describe the feeling. But then they forgot whose lips were whose, whose tongues, whose saliva—it all mixed perfectly like water and sugar. "How much…"

He remembered making love to him for the first time; each thrust, each moan of ecstasy. The way their body's rocked as one until the last desperate thrusts and pumps were made, the way they felt their climaxes pulse and erupt through their veins as they held onto one another to keep their souls on Earth.

Ludwig held Feliciano even closer as he felt tears grow nearer. He tried to hide the growing trembling of his voice the best he could. "I love you…"

He remembered holding the Italian close as they let their panting and shaking bodies fall back to the Earth they walk upon. He remembered the way the vibrant young man, who was then so tired and feeble, used the last bit of his strength to gaze up into the silvery-blue eyes of the stern German solider—giving him a soft smile and saving the last bit of energy to softly caress his cheek. The German could only do the same minus the smile. He remembered whispering those three words to him at that very moment; feeling his heart beat fast once again as he saw the Italian's smile fade. The smile then grew wider with happiness as the rusty-haired man found new energy to hug his lover closer. He remembered Feliciano returning those small three words in a sentence the German will never forget.

He looked up and into America's eyes. "Please don't take my sunshine away."