He was hidden. He was broken. He was dead.

He could not cry, having used up all his tears long ago.

His happiness had long since fallen away, and he no longer knew how to laugh.

Pain was only a word to him.

His name was Feliciano.

Otherwise known as Italy, the brunette was called 'bouncy', 'loud', and, despite everything inside of him, 'happy'. The other countries didn't have the slightest clue as to what he went through, or what he thought about when he was alone. None of them knew a thing, and that's the way he liked it best. The seldom times he saw them at world meetings, he pasted on an oblivious smile and fluffed up his obnoxious curl, pretending as if everything in his world was absolutely perfect and that he was content with the little that he knew.

Oh, how the others envied him.

Oh, how he envied the others.

This particular meeting was extremely boring, in Italy's opinion. His brother Romano was cursing at his crush Spain, and in the background England and France were beating eachother up again. America and Prussia were looking for Canada, and Greece was asleep on Japan's stiff shoulder. Switzerland was yelling something about warfare, while Russia smiled and rested his broad hands on Latvia's shaking shoulders behind him. Italy sighed and rested his chin in his cupped hand, looking down his long blue sleeve to the fading scars decorating his wrist. Pulling at the rim so nobody could see, he heard someone clearing his throat behind him. Readying his signature smile, he turned around and closed his honey-brown eyes in what so many mistook as a sign of pleasure.


"Hullo, Italy. Is somezing wrong?" The tall blonde asked, his back straight and his blue eyes curious. Italy knew that Germany saw him as a friend, and didn't want to disappoint the all-muscle-and-no-brains axis, so he tilted his head to the side and beamed even wider.

"No, of course not, Doitsu~" he answered, his curl bobbing. Germany nodded quickly and returned to the front of the room, once again trying to calm the rowdy countries down. Italy frowned, after checking to see if anyone was looking, and exhaled in annoyance.

Why couldn't this torture just end already?


Italy lay, face down, on his bed, his eyes shut tightly as memories that refused to leave clamored in his heavy head. Memories of his first love, of the hallucinations that had haunted him ever since the death of said love, of everything that had happened ever since then. Basically, his mind was filled with hated images better left alone.

Before, when he was still living at Austria's house, his smiles had been real. His laughs had meant something, and his heart knew how to beat. But after that…

No. He didn't want to think about it. But soon afterwards, his brother had started to grow more and more distant, spending more time with that Spaniard of his, and it destroyed the last bit of hope that had ever resided in young Feli.

He heard a knock at the front door, shattering his lonely thoughts. Who would be knocking at his door? Grumbling under his breath, he rolled off his bed and stretched, then slipped his uniform top back on, buttoning it as he treaded down the stairs. Pulling the door open, he was met by two pairs of prying eyes, which chose only to see the wide, fake smile pasted on Italy's face. He flung himself first at the almost black pair, catching Japan by surprise, then hugged the bright blue pair belonging to Germany himself, causing him to grunt slightly and a hint of pink to grace his cheeks. Italy didn't notice this reaction, however, as he was too busy screaming internally about how seriously aggravating these two were.

"Ve~ Germany! Japan! Ciao~!" Italy said as energetically as he could muster. Germany grinned and Japan bowed in greeting, then gestured toward the doorway.

"Can we come in prease?" he asked, his accent slurring his English speech.

"Of course!" he replied, stepping aside for his uninvited guests and running into the kitchen, calling out behind him, "I'll make pasta, sí?"

Japan smiled softly. "Hai, that would be nice. Thank you, Itaria-kun"

Germany just nodded curtly, looking around the Italian's living room. Something seemed a little off about it, it seemed dimmer than usual. Lingering in the air was a feeling of darkness and depression, and the bewildered German couldn't shake off the gloom. How could a house holding such a cheerful resident be so… sad?

Italy entered the room, holding three plates of fresh pasta in his arms, setting them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Here you go~!"

As his two companions ate, politely accepting any embellishments or spices the Italian offered, Feliciano sighed inwardly. Although he supposed it was nice for someone to take the time to come and see him, he had to admit to himself that it was probably just because they were all allies, members of the Axis Powers. Otherwise, why would they want to even look at someone like him?

They sat in silence for a while, eating the heaping plates of food Italy had supplied, before Japan's phone rang in his pocket. He jumped in surprise, then fumbled to take the device out. Flipping it open, his dark eyes scanned a text, and a pink complexion spread across his cheeks.

"Um, prease excuse me… Greece just carred… Um, I'rr see you rater!" he said, hurriedly standing up and bowing himself out of the room. Italy smirked at the man's obvious infatuation with the younger country. After a few seconds, he realized it was just him and Germany, and he beamed.

"Hey, Doitsu~ Wassup?" he asked, after clearing the blonde's plate and stashing it away back in the kitchen.

"Oh, um, not much. Training, zhe usual. How have you been, Italy? Zhe house seems depressing."

With his back turned, Italy frowned, annoyed at the perceptive senses of the German. "It's-a nothing!" he said, turning around with another hoax grin on his pale face. It seemed to fool Germany, at least for the time being, so he let it stand there. He wouldn't be going into any detail unless someone asked.

"Oh, and vhat exactly is 'nozing'?"

This startled Italy, although he wouldn't let it show. People didn't usually ask him to elaborate. They just let him be, naturally assuming that all was well in his life.

"Well, um, I went-a to see fratello Romano yesterday. He was-a with Spain…" He couldn't come up with anything. What was wrong with him? Usually he could just spout off whatever nonsense that was on the top of his head, and they would be perfectly fine with it, but in front of this German's scrutinizing stare, he couldn't think of anything that could pass as okay.

"Italy… Vhat is wrong?"

A/N: Hey guys~! A Hetalia fanfic this time, haha! Yes, completely OOC Italy, I know... But it makes for a good twist, right? Anyway, if you want me to stop writing with the accents, I can, I just thought that it would give it a more Hetalia-esque feel. And I haven't finished watching up to Beautiful World yet, so don't get mad at me if I get something wrong... Anyway, review, favorite, whatever...Ciao~!