FIC: Canvas by Candlelight

Canvas by Candlelight
11.7.2009

      Germany faintly became aware of a cold body slipping into his bed, shifting closer to him, snuggling into his long side. He groaned and turned around, toward the intruder. He knew who it was. Cracking one blue eye open, bleary with sleep, he caught the red light of his alarm clock blinking "1:03." Bringing a hand up to his face, he made an unintelligible sound of irritation and closed his eye again. He lowered his hand into the warm hair of his little partner, his fingers working unconsciously through the red strands. His friend, yes, he supposed, friend, started from the contact, and Ludwig unwillingly opened his eyes to the blue-dark of his room. Honey-brown eyes met his, wide.
     "Did I wake you up?" Italy whispered, worriedly. He was curled tight in the line of Germany's chest and waist. Germany flushed in the dark, glad that his curtains were drawn. At least he was wearing pajamas tonight.
     "No," he said, gruffly. Those eyes closed in a bright smile, and Germany felt his cheeks redden further. Feliciano always knew how to get to him. "Just go to sleep."
     Italy's body cuddled closer, quickly warming up.  Two thin arms wrapped around Germany's middle, and the larger man jumped.
     "Wh- Hey!" He tried to pry Italy's hands from around his waist, but the older nation was already fast asleep. Germany sighed, willed the blush from his cheeks, and relaxed into the mattress. Looking down his body at his sleeping ally, he felt oddly content. This emotion was so sudden and different that Ludwig almost couldn't stand it. He turned his head away and closed his eyes, tuning his hearing to Feliciano's breathing, and soon drifted off to sleep once more.

~~~
     Italy stretched, and sat up. He opened his eyes, and cried out. It was bright! How late had he slept in? Surely Germany hadn't forgotten to wake him up for morning exercises! Bringing a hand to shield his eyes, Italy peered carefully out, and gasped. Hand halfway to his face, he stopped and stared at it. His hand was small, and soft, clad in a light green sleeve with creamy lace protruding from the wrist. Italy looked down at himself, and gasped again. He was so young.
     He was sitting in a beautiful field of flowers, flowers of all shapes and colors, extending as far as he could see. A gentle, warm breeze floated by and ruffled Feliciano's dress. He immediately recognized it as the kind Hungary had clothed him in when he had worked in Austria's house so long ago, when…
     When he had lived with…  
     Italy's heart gave a pang, so sharp that his hand was pressed to his chest without thought. His eyes closed tight, tears squeezed from the corners. This… This was a dream.
     Italy hadn't thought of… him for such a long, long time. His face had blurred over time, and Italy couldn't remember how the thick black cloak had felt in his hand as he reached out for the retreating back. But… those sky blue eyes, that embarrassed blush… How could he ever forget those? Tears slipped from his eyes as Feliciano curled in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, feeling his heart crack all over again.
     "Italia…?"
     Feliciano froze, tears still streaming down his cheeks. He felt a small presence approach from behind. That voice…  so gentle and light, full of care.
     He turned his head, so slowly, afraid to look, yet wanting so badly to see. A figure stood over him, blocking the sunlight out, casting the silhouette into shadow. That massive hat, towering over his body, that flowing cloak drifting around his heels, that white frill around his neck, that bright blond hair poking out from under the hat. The figure moved to the side, so Italy was blinded by the sun once more.
     "Italia?"
     "Yes," he gasped out, crying with delight and heartbreak, "yes!"
     And then a small hand was wiping away his tears, smoothing back his red hair and tucking the strands behind his ear under the white kerchief tied over his head; he was crying harder and clutching that dear hand to his face and sobbing harder into the palm.
     Italy looked up through his tears and willed the sunspots blinding his sight from his vision, trying to catch a glimpse of his most beloved person.
     "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" he cried, blinking hard. His voice was so high… "I've tried to remember, but… I met someone, and I've forgotten! Please don't leave me again! Don't go away!"
     Suddenly the light was gone from his eyes, and Italy saw blue, light blue, sky blue, wonderful blue! And he was right there, just there, smiling gently, and gazing straight into Italy's eyes, lifting his hand to run short fingers through Italy's hair. Feliciano's heart throbbed.
     "Holy Roman Empire…!"
     His face came into clear focus, so sharp and real, and there that Italy's mind became jumbled trying to remember, and then didn't need to remember because he was right in from of him, and so just stopped and looked at him.
      Blue eyes framed by light blond lashes, those eyebrows that could be drawn into an embarrassed line, lips that curled into the nicest smile Italy had ever seen. Italy noticed all these, and just gazed at the face of the person he had loved, and still loved absolutely.
     The Holy Roman Empire stooped and sat down next to him in the field of beautiful flowers, and Italy could barely stand it, swelled with so much happiness and faint despair. It was, after all, a dream.
     And, as if on cue, the field of flowers was gone, and the Holy Roman Empire began to fade, slowly, like smoke disappearing into a cold night. Feliciano cried out, throwing out a hand toward his love, whose black cloak and clothes were dissipating into the blue sky.
     "No! No!! You can't leave me! Please, please don't go; I've only just got you back!"
     The Holy Roman Empire was still smiling his beautiful child's smile, but he reached back to Italy. Italy's green dress began to disappear, colors swirling into the air like a watercolor. Italy jumped to his feet, in a panic, tears clouding his sight. His hand strained, trembling, for that hand just, just there. He grasped, and missed, his hand slipping through a hand that was no longer solid.
     "No, please!"
     "Italia."
     Italy gasped, and fell silent, his eyes desperately searching those eyes that he had never forgotten.  
     "It's alright," his childhood love whispered gently. "It's alright, you'll be fine."
Italy couldn't breathe for crying. He clenched his hand to his heart again. He was washing away, too much water in the paint.
     "I love you!" he gasped, and Italy faded away.
     The ethereal figure of the young Holy Roman Empire hovered for just a moment longer, staring at the place where Italy had been. A pearly tear slipped down a round cheek.
     "Italia… It looks like I've forgotten you, too."
     And the Holy Roman Empire closed his blue eyes in a last sad smile and vanished.

~~~
     Feliciano slammed awake, a gasp ripping itself from his throat. He blinked in the dark, and gave a sob into the room. His cheeks were wet, and Germany's black sleeveless shirt was blacker from the tearstain from where Italy's head had lain. Germany… Italy raised himself onto shaking forearms and looked down at his best friend. A strong arm was looped loosely about Italy's waist, but the nation's face was turned away, and all Italy could make out were his high cheekbones in the dark.
     Italy looked down at his hand clenched in the fabric of the sheets, and slowly brought the blankets up to his face, pressing his eyes into them. He got out of the warm bed, tucking the blankets tenderly around Germany's sleeping form. Germany moaned and turned over. Italy smiled, the motion not reaching his eyes.
     "I'm sorry, Ludwig," he said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "but I have to do something."
     Then Feliciano padded slowly down the hall to the basement, where an easel was waiting for him.

~~~
     Germany woke suddenly, blue eyes snapping open. He was convinced that he had fallen from a great height, and his hands thumped hard onto the bed on either side of him to catch his fall. Ludwig shook his head and tried to calm his racing heart and heavy breathing.
     "It's… just a dream," he muttered to himself, sitting up. It was still late at night; his clock flashed "3:52." But… where was Italy? The bed to his right was cold, blankets in order. Germany frowned. He remembered Feliciano coming over during the night and getting into bed with him. And his ally had never left his house before Germany woke him up, nevermind before sunrise.
     "Italy?" he said, louder. Nothing.
     Germany raised himself out of bed. Had something happened? Had something happened to Italy's country? Had the Allied Forces launched an attack during the night?
     Ludwig's eyes fell upon his open door. He kept the door closed at night, to prevent any surprise attacks. Italy must have opened it. He stepped across the threshold, hand on the door, and poked his head out. He squinted, and made out a light on in his kitchen down the hallway. The crease between his eyes deepened. Was Italy making a midnight snack of pasta?
     He walked into the kitchen, but it was clean and pristine as ever, no trace of the happy Italian in sight. Placing a hand on the cold countertop, Germany sighed. Casting his eyes down, he caught sight of a water spill on the tile floor. That hadn't been there last night. Ludwig picked up a towel from the sink and bent to wipe up the spill, but as he crouched down, he saw a path of spilled water in patches leading away from the kitchen, through the family room, and toward the basement stairs. Germany frowned. Standing up, he dropped the towel on the counter and moved towards the stairs.
     Perhaps Italy was in his den. Ludwig remembered yelling at Italy, after the artistic country had made a mess of his family room while painting, that he would section off part of his basement for Italy to paint in, just leave his carpet be!  
     The door leading downstairs was ajar, and as Germany approached it, he saw light streaming from the crack. He pulled it open and walked silently down the flight of steps.
     Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Germany walked past the part of the floor stocked with items needed for a bomb shelter, and came to the door that housed Italy's paint studio. Placing a hand on the door, Germany pressed the door open.
     Warm light flooded his vision. The candle mounted on the opposite wall was lit and flickering brightly in the relative dark. Italy was there, seated with his back to Germany on a stool in front of a large canvas on an easel. A paintbrush was held loosely in his hand, in the middle of stroking a graceful line of black onto the canvas. But Italy…
     Italy was crying.
     Italy's face was half turned towards him, and Germany felt his heart constrict painfully at the sight of Italy's tears glittering in the candlelight. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were red from crying. Italy made no sound, but sat there quietly and painted stroke after stroke. Ludwig lifted his gaze to the canvas, and his eyes widened.
     Italy was painting a boy. All of Italy's paintings were beautiful, but this one was breathtakingly stunning. The boy was wearing a large hat with a gold medal on the lip, and a black cloak sweeping back from his small shoulders, a white ruffle waving from his neck. But the boy's face...
     He seemed to look straight at Ludwig, his sky blue eyes certain and calm. They were striking eyes, piercing and determined. This child could take nations. His lips were curved in a small smile, as if he knew and kept a wonderful secret. Blond hair framed his face, covered mostly by the hat. The boy was only painted from mid-chest up, but his posture was straight and proper.
     Germany stood awestruck in the doorway, breath stolen from his lungs. The feeling flooding from the painting spoke gently of calmness, peace and warmth.
Italy loved this boy. Not boy, no, nation, Germany realized. This was the Holy Roman Empire, of whom Italy rarely spoke, and then in quick, swiftly abandoned sentences.
     Ludwig felt a strange emotion rolling in his abdomen. It was a terrible feeling of anger, quiet jealousy, and… hurt? He shook his head, casting those feelings from his mind.
     He turned back to Italy, who still was unaware of Germany's presence. Tears still rolled freely from his honey-brown eyes, falling onto his sleeping shirt and into the cup of water used for cleaning the brush. Germany was about to open his mouth to call his name, but was stopped by Italy.
     "Where… where did you go? You're… I know you're gone, but… even Prussia is still here. Why did you have to dis-disappear? I… I can't keep… I can't believe I forgot your face. I guess… I guess it was because I was spending so much time with Germany. And he made me… he makes me so happy."
     Germany gasped in shock, his face flushing unconsciously.
     "I hadn't thought of you in so long, with this war going on. War is so… terrible. Horrific. Is this what you went through? For me? You wanted to become strong for me. But if I had- if I had stopped you from going to war, you would still be… you'd still be alive! And… And I miss you so much, I can't…"
     Germany had heard enough. As Italy's voice rose in pain bordering on hysteria, Ludwig crossed the room and went to his friend. Italy heard him, and turned as Ludwig wrapped his arms tightly around his body.
     "G-Germany!"  
     "Feliciano, I'm here," Ludwig murmured, soothingly. "I'm here, I'll always be here for you, don't cry."
     Italy stiffened, then clutched desperately at Germany's shirt, and finally let go.
     "Oh, Ludwig, I miss him! God, I miss him so much!"
     Ludwig buried his face in Feliciano's red hair, holding his precious friend close. As Feliciano wrapped his arms tight around his neck, he let himself move his hands up and down Italy's back in calming motions.  He lowered them both to the floor and began to slowly rock Feliciano back and forth.
     "It's alright," he said, tears pricking at his own eyes. "It's alright, you'll be fine."
Feliciano's sobs gradually weakened and the smaller nation fell silent. Ludwig looked at his friend asleep in his arms, worn out from grief. He closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. Looking up at the half-finished painting of the Holy Roman Empire, he glared at the boy gazing calmly upon the scene.
     "See what you've done?" Germany whispered angrily. "Look what you've done to him! If you loved him, you should have stayed with him, stayed by his side! Stupid boy, going off to war without a prayer of victory! Now you're gone, and Italy will never… he'll never…"
     Germany's anger ran out, and he was left staring at the painting, lost in the emotion emanating from the canvas. The candle sputtered, and Ludwig closed his eyes. He stood, carrying Italy draped in his arms. He blew out the candle, and the basement was plunged into black.
     Germany walked through his house back to his bedroom, and laid Italy down on the right side of his bed. Tucking the blankets around his small body, he wiped Feliciano's tears away. Lying down on the other side, he looked over at his friend. Rolling on his side, he wrapped both arms firmly around Italy's thin frame and pulled him close. After a second's hesitation, Ludwig shifted and pulled Feliciano on top of his body and rolled face up. He folded his hands together in the small of Feliciano's back and ducked his mouth into his soft hair. He closed his eyes, pushing thoughts of the next day to the back of his mind. They'd deal with it in the morning. Ludwig fell gently back to sleep.

~~~
     Italy was dreaming again. But he was happy. This time his love was lying with him, surrounded in a grass field filled with glowing lights. He nuzzled his head closer to his beloved's chest, laughing when his nose was caught by the ruffle, and hearing the answering laugh above him.
     Germany was dreaming again. But he was happy. This time he wasn't falling from a great height to his death, this time he was falling deeper and harder in love with the one he'd loved ever since the 900s. He felt his love shift closer, and couldn't suppress the chuckle that bubbled from his throat.
     The dreaming couple pressed closer to each other in the warm bed, cradled by the night, and smiled.
     "Italia…" Ludwig murmured, his voice gentle and warm.
     "Holy Roman Empire…!" Feliciano answered, pure joy filling his voice and heart.
     They were together again, at least for a little while, in dreams.