Red String

A red string on your finger means more than memories

Hey, hey Papa, give me wine!
Hey, hey Mama, hey, hey!
I can’t forget that taste
of the Bolognese I ate before!

                Grabbing one of his many pencils, teenage maid/cross-dresser, Feliciano, began to sing in his high pitched voice as he sketched down a beautiful picture onto his notebook.

Draw a circle, there’s the Earth!
Draw a circle, there’s the Earth!
Draw a circle, there’s the Earth!
I am Hetalia!

                As the petite Italian sang and drew, hiding behind a tree, was teenage Holy Roman Empire. He gulped nervously as he took in deep short breaths. Gripping the roses in his hands with an iron grip, he tiptoed towards the maid.

Ah, a fabulous world,
that can be seen with a paintbrush.
Let’s have a toast with our boots!
HETALIA!

                Remembering Elizaveta’s advice, he cleared his throat as he whispered, “Feli?”

                “Holy Rome,” Feliciano squeaked, whipping his head back before wincing.

                “You’re finger’s bleeding, um�"we need to wrap the wound immediately,” stuttered the blonde, bending down to inspect the injury.

                “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. As I long as I keep it in my mouth, the bleeding will stop. Lizzie�"I mean�"Ms. Hungary told me that once.” Licking the blood off his finger, Feli gazed back at his drawing before adding more shade onto the corners of the page.

Sweating a bit, Holy Roman Empire looked over the maid’s shoulder and saw a beautiful, well-drawn bouquet. “It’s nothing,” Feli told him, noticing the teen looking over his shoulder. “This is just a warm-up for my real project.”

                Wait, this was just a warm-up?! She’s good at everything she touches!

                “What’s behind your back?” Feli asked.

                “Oh, um, I saw you interested with some flowers from the town, and, um, Ibroughyouthem,” he said hastily, blushing furiously as he handed the Italian roses. Seeing his love’s face lit up with a smile almost made him cry.

                “They’re so pretty, Holy Roman Empire,” Feli squeaked, taking a deep whiff of the flowers’ scent.

                “You know, after all these years, you can at least call me by my human name, Feli. I stopped calling you Italy long ago.” Feli titled his head cutely before giving the blonde a closed-mouth-smile.

                “Ve~But I don’t want to call you by your other name. Besides�"” The smile faded from the Italian’s face as his eyes faded with their usual shine. “�"Mr. Austria says it’s improper to call a nation that’s higher up than you by their other name. I learned that the hard way.”

                Holy Roman Empire didn’t know if it was instinct or not, but the little Italian pulled up his right sleeve, showing nasty red whip marks. Though it wasn’t recent, the harsh color still stained the Italian’s fair skin. Seeing the look of horror on the blonde’s face, Feliciano covered up the marks quickly, looking away from Holy Roman Empire. Bringing the roses close to his chest, he blurted,

                “Mr. Austria isn’t all bad, though. Sometimes when he’s in a good mood, he’ll let me listen to him play on the piano,” he added, closing his eyes, curving a sweet smile over his lips.

                If he could draw like Feli, Holy Roman Empire would draw, no, paint the adorable scene he was witnessing. If he’d sold the work, he was sure that he’d have enough to conquer a nation’s land. Heart beating fast, Holy Roman Empire sat next to the Italian maid before whispering something into his ear.

                “Ve~Can you repeat that?” Before he could, the loud voice of Elizaveta rang into their ears.

                “Italy! It’s time for your chores,” she sang, waving at the two teens from Austria’s house, which was a good distance away. Italy bit his lip as he closed his notebook and packed his art supplies away. Tucking them under his arm and biting on one of rose buds, cutely, Feli gave Holy Roman Empire a playful wink�"which said nation mistook as a sexy sign�"before hurrying to Hungary, calling back.

                “I’m coming!”

                Watching the Italian leave, the blonde muttered, in his native tongue, “Why couldn’t you tell her clearly?”

                “Why won’t you become one with me?” he asked Italy as the maid prepared Mr. Austria’s dinner that evening, trying not to burn it like last time.

                “Because I don’t want to, and I’m happy the way I am now,” Feli pouted, stirring the hot pot carefully.

                “You’ll be twice as happy if we join forces, and I’ll be able to protect you.” The Italian teen paused at his mixing and turned to look at the blonde, eyes darkened with annoyance, but only for a second.

                “Ms. Hungary said that I’ll have to defend for myself one day, and I don’t want to be a bother for you.” Turning the heat low, Feliciano covered the pot with its lid before peeling some potatoes from the food crate. Holy Roman Empire frowned before an idea shot into his brilliant mind.

                “We’ll make a promise. I’ll fight in the war and if I win, you’ll have to become one with me.”

                The potato in Feliciano’s hand fell with a thud as he spun the knife around like a spinner between his fingers.

                “What if you die?” The question was told as if it was a question about the weather, but Holy Rome could see the Italian’s hands quiver.

                “I won’t die, Feli. I’m too strong for that happen to me, you know that.”

                The Italian maid looked at him with uncertainly before pulling a red sash from his apron pocket, the one Ms. Hungary helped him make. Gently wrapping it around his and Holy Rome’s hand like a ribbon, he asked,

                “Do you promise?”

                Now, Holy Roman Empire felt the pressure was on. He couldn’t just give a “so-so” promise, especially when the Italian asked him in such a serious manner. Cracking his fingers, he thought of the possibility of him dying on the front lines. Immediately when the image hit him, he flushed it out his mind. He wasn’t�"repeat, wasn’t�"going to die. There were so many things he and Feli hadn’t done yet. Get married, have kids, live ‘til they die old…you know, the things everyone wants to do before they rest in peace, or in pieces.

                “I promise, Feli,” were the words that crept from his lips. “I’m going to come back after the war is over.”

                “Oh, well, then I won’t stop you.” Flashing his usual cheery grin, Feliciano continued peeling the potatoes, humming a little tune as he did.

                Later that night, Holy Rome met Mr. Austria in his office. It was weird seeing the Austrian in a sleeping gown, but that was far from his mind when he asked,

                “How far are the troops?”

                “Holy Roman Empire, it isn’t wise to charge into the front lines, especially at these times. You may know a sword in and out, but the sight of death’s too much for a boy like you,” Mr. Austria protested, trying to make sure that the sleeping Ms. Hungary and Feli wouldn’t hear.

                “But Roderich, I made a promise to stop the enemy. Please, tell me where they are.”

                Sighing, Mr. Austria leaned back in his chair, cleaning his glasses.

                “It’s Italy, isn’t it?” Holy Rome’s face burned. Was it that obvious? “Teens…Save your strength for now. The enemy won’t be close until three days have passed. When it comes…you may do whatever you promised to my maid.”

                “Th-Thank you, Sir,” stuttered Holy Rome, bowing before leaving.

                “Oh, did you promise Italy anything you won’t be able to keep, like coming back alive or winning?”

                “No, Sir.”

                “Very well, have a good night’s rest.”

                “You too, Mr. Austria,” Holy Rome replied. Walking up the winding stairs of the Austrian’s house, he wondered if it was right to lie to Roderich. If I said yes, he would surely make sure I won’t leave this place. Feli needs me.

                Two days passed since Holy Rome’s visit with Mr. Austria. Training in the courtyard, he polished up his sword skills with a hay dummy.

                “Take that, you swine!” he yelled, ramming his sword into the dummy’s belly, digging deep. Wiping the sweat off his face as he pulled his weapon out, he grabbed his black cloak and proceeded to the kitchens, going to accept Elizaveta’s snack offer. That’s when he heard it.

A gun shot.

                A gun shot aimed for the top floor, the sleeping quarters. Holy Rome dashed into the house, cloak swaying and sword gripped tightly. He ran up the spiraling stairs, wishing with all his might that no one was up there, that no one was hit. Flashes of his dear Feli, Ms. Hungary, and Mr. Austria swam into his mind. Each image, one of them was hit. Each image, one of them was killed. Each image, he couldn’t do anything to help them. Each image, it was his fault…

                Reaching the top floor, Holy Rome elbowed all the doors open, checking for a shattered window or worse. It wasn’t until he checked the last room that his heart split in two.

                Lying on the bed, unconscious�"or worse�"and bleeding, was Feli! It all happened slow-mo. Holy Rome rushed to Feli, covering the bleeding bullet wound on his love’s head with his hands. Bringing the Italian close to his chest, Holy Rome got his sword and cut up his black cloak, using the shreds to bandage the wound. Sobbing into the Italian’s hair, Holy Rome glanced up and saw a canvas painting in front of them, a painting that nearly made him squeeze the poor Italian to death, no pun intended. But, the painting gave him enough strength to lift the Italian into his arms and rush out the room, where he bumped into a distressed Mr. Austria and Ms. Hungary.

                Holding back the tears, Ms. Hungary scooped the little Italian into her arms, rushing to lower ground. Stone face, Mr. Austria carefully made his way to the shattered window to look outside.

                “They’re still out there, the enemy,” he muttered.

                “Then we’ll fight!” And that’s what the two did. Though they were surrounded, the fury the two had boiling inside them kept them alive. Though there was bloodshed, it was repayment for what happened to little Feli. Going back into the house that evening, both went to the kitchen, where Ms. Hungary was treating Feliciano.

                “Feli’s stable at the moment,” she told them. “But, I don’t know when he’s going to wake up. He received a serious blow.” Holy Rome ignored the last few words from Ms. Hungary as he made his way to his love. The wound was wrapped neatly with real bandages, better than his shredded cloak, but his poor Italian was now ghostly pale. It really looked like Feli was by Death’s door.

                Leaving, Holy Roman Empire grabbed a new cloak before taking his trusty sword with him into the outside world. Ms. Hungary and Mr. Austria didn’t stop him, knowing that he’d want to repay the enemy himself.

                Stroking the Italian’s hair, Ms. Hungary wondered out loud, “Will they come back?”

                “They both have a chance, Elizaveta. It depends if they can catch that safety line in time.”

                It’d been a week since Holy Rome left, and things were slowly getting back to normal in Mr. Austria’s house. As Ms. Hungary went into the kitchen to check on little Feliciano, he wasn’t there, bed empty and no note. Bothered, she checked the house top to bottom before finding the maid in his bedroom, painting.

                “F-Feli, what are you doing up here?” she sighed, coming to take a good look at his painting. It was quite magnificent, but why was the Italian splashing white over one of the figures?

                “Taking a figure out,” he replied, simply, then in a much darker tone, “I really hate seeing it.” With that, the Italian gathered a glob of paint onto his brush before splatting it down, erasing all traces of the figure.

                “Italy, don’t do that!” Ms. Hungary said sharply, pulling the Italian away from his work, whipping him around to get a good look of his eyes. They were still the same shape and color, but the emotions inside changed… “What’s the last thing you remember?”

                Startled, the little maid fumbled on his words as he counted with his fingers.

                “I remember w-waking up on the f-food box.”

                “Is that all?” Ms. Hungary urged. “Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up?” Feliciano nodded.

                “Loads of stuff, Ms. Hungary,” he chirped, recounting everything he could to her. He hadn’t lost his mind or memories�"thank goodness, Ms. Hungary thought�"but he had forgotten a special someone in his life, Holy Roman Empire.

                When she asked him about that, Feliciano merely shrugged, stating, “I never knew anyone called that.” Going back to his painting, Ms. Hungary watched Feli smash more white over where Holy Roman Empire used to be.

Out of sight; out of mind.

Present Time

                “It’s nice that you came to help me with my spring cleaning, Germany!” chirped the lively Italian.

                “Feliciano, we’ve known each other for years. The least you can do is call me ‘Ludwig’,” the German sighed, opening the door to the attic for the short Italian. Bringing the dusty ladder down, he was about to go up, but Feliciano stopped him.

                “I think it’s best if I got up there alone. You know…memories.”

                “Oh…I’ll just go and make some lunch. You’re okay with wurst, right?”

                “Sì,” he replied, scampering up the stairs, brushing dust snowflakes on top of the German. When Ludwig left, Feli sighed before making a face, “Wurst, yuck!” Pulling on protective goggles, the Italian began to wade through centuries of stored items.

                A bin full of white flags�"from the first he’d ever made to the one from WW2�"sat by the corner, covered by his national flag. Boxes of letters from Lovino and Ms. Hungary�"though it was okay to call her “Lizzie” now, it still brought up bad memories of the whip marks�"were stacked in the middle, writing faded from lack of touch. Clothes the Italian wore or received through the years was also there, tucked nicely into plastic wraps.

                Smiling slightly, the Italian began to sort through all the items, savoring the memories he had left. It wasn’t until an hour later that his eyes caught something unusual. Sitting in the shadows and under a tarp was a painting. Judging by the painting style, Feliciano knew that it was painted while he was still at Mr. Austria’s house. Pulling the painting closer for him to see, he traced his long fingers over it before noticing something behind it, a red sash and a letter.

                Holding the old sash to his chest, he unfolded the letter before reading the aged sentences.

 

My dearest Feli,

                Just know that you’ll always be close to my heart. The centuries we’ve spent together were priceless, and I wouldn’t exchange them for anything in this world. If you ever read this one day, just know that I’ll uphold our promise and come back one day. Please…Wait and see.

Sincerely,
Holy Roman Empire

 

                Feliciano reread the letter, trying to figure out what the writer was telling him. Had he really spent centuries with this nation? Was he close to their heart? What was the promise he made with them? Was this all some joke that someone planted? Ms. Hungary was one for them, but her writing wasn’t this�"how would you say it?�"boyish. At the same time, Feliciano didn’t believe Mr. Austria did it either. As far as he knew, the nation wasn’t one for doing jokes like this.

                Feliciano shook his head before putting the letter and painting away, slipping over some art books as he did. Rubbing his sore bottom, Feli found his old art book from when he was Mr. Austria’s maid. There he found the answers he was looking for: pages of him and someone else, Holy Roman Empire? Did he share the same feelings with the said nation? Probably not, judging by the friendly drawing style he used back then. But…the nation was quite close to him…

                Looking back at the painting from centuries before, he placed the canvas on one of his old stands before grabbing his brushes and paints. It was a beautiful painting already, but it was lacking something. Feliciano remembered that there were used to be two figures. Scratching his head, he began to repaint the figure from before, changing them a bit so the painting would make sense.

As he painted, his fingers and hands grew numb with each stroke and his eyes began to water as he sang the little tune he would always sing. This time, it was slower and sadder.

Hey, hey Papa, give me wine…
Hey, hey Mama, hey, hey…
I can’t forget that taste
of the Bolognese I ate before…

Draw a circle, there’s the Earth…
Draw a circle, there’s the Earth…
Draw a circle, there’s the Earth…
I am Hetalia…

Ah…a fabulous world,
that can be seen with a paintbrush.
Let’s have a toast with our boots…
Hetalia…

                “Italy; is everything okay up there?” asked Ludwig, climbing up the unstable ladder. The smell of pasta and wurst was strong as the German came towards the crying Italian. “Feli; is everything okay?” he asked gently, getting the Italian back onto his feet.

                Ve~I’m alright,” he chirped, wiping his tears. “Um…Let’s go and eat. I’m starving from all the cleaning.” With that, Feliciano climbed down the ladder, mumbling random words as he did.

                The liar, Ludwig thought, looking around the room. It was as messy as ever. Sighing, he gathered up the fallen brushes and paints before stowing them away, his eyes captured on the painting the Italian was making/fixing.

                An Italian maid was sleeping a few inches away from a blonde figure. The two’s hands were close to each other, bonded with a bright red sash or string. Both wore white nightgowns and the calmness on their faces was noticeable. All the colors were soft, hints of darker shades to make the figures more pronounced. The painting gave up a warm, fluffy feeling, but Ludwig could feel hints of sadness.

                At the very corner of the painting was the word Ludwig.

                “Germany; are you going to eat?” asked Feliciano. “The food’s getting cold.”

                “Ja,” he replied, going down the ladder. Seeing the Italian’s face light up with a smile when he saw him made Ludwig’s heart beat faster. The same feeling when he met the maid all those years ago.

                “Feli…” Ludwig struggled with the words he wanted to say. Would the Italian believe him? Gulping, he spilled it. “Feli, I came back.”

                “I know you did.”

                “Not in that way. I kept my promise.”

Out of sight isn’t always out of mind.
Sometimes, it comes back…

Author's Note

:D

What you guys think?