"I do."

He couldn't believe it. Those two words, and the brunette smiling up at him was his. Ludwig kissed Feliciano, grinning aganst the Italian's lips. He'd dreamed of this day since World War Two, had hoped and wished and then finally asked his ally. Next to today, the day that Feliciano had said "yes" was the happiest day of Ludwig's life.

He pulled away from his new husband, still holding him by the waist. "I'll always be yours," he whispered.

"Get out!"

He couldn't believe it. Those two words, the slam of that door, and his beautiful brunette was gone. He'd heard the sobs, seen the sparkle of tears, watched as Feliciano fled the kitchen. He'd watched the plates on the walls shake when the door crashed into its frame.

Ludwig knew the night was dark and cold. He also knew that his husband wasn't coming back, at least not before morning. Maybe not ever. No. He would come back. He had to.

He wiped the tears from his cheeks and carried a chair to the door.

When Feliciano opened the door the next morning, he was immediately enveloped in a desperate embrace. He felt silky blond hair against his cheek and warm tears soaking his shirt. Feeling tears well up in his own eyes, he wrapped his arms around his lover and whispered, "I love you."

He couldn't believe it. Two shots, two bullets filled with hot lead and burning with hatred, and his beautiful Feliciano was dead. Gone forever. All because somebody had felt enough hate and anger to shoot and kill the bright, happy Italian when he took Ludwig's hand and kissed him on the cheek.

A hate crime. Two shots, and Feliciano had become a statistic, another number in another column in another book somewhere. And Ludwig was left alone, kneeling by a body that was already growing cold.

Why did you have to leave? Why couldn't it have been me? Why is it you under that dirt, and me with my hand on the headstone? Why did it have to be you?

And now Ludwig was alone. He always would be. His light was gone, his love lay under six feet of dark, damp soil.

He closed his eyes and let the tears come quietly. The gray clouds overhead matched the loneliness in his heart. Flowers in hand, he leaned his head against the granite marker until the day turned to dusk. Then, he laid the white blooms solemnly on the soil in front of the stone.

As he walked away into the storm, the engraved epitaph remained, framed by glistening beaded raindrops:

Feliciano Beilschmidt

Husband and Friend

Italy's real last name is Vargas, but since here he's married to Germany, I changed his last name to Germany's.

Anyways, did you like it? Did you hate it? Tell me, and tell me why! I love getting reviews! (Also, if you review, you get cookies!) :D

Peace, Pies, and Mass Murders,

Valkerie