It's not fair.

I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of being called stupid and useless and worthless and a coward and whatever else. I always take this crap from everyone else, and I take it with a smile. Why? Because I don't like to fight.

That's why they say these things about me.

I remember Grandpa Rome - he was so big and fought all the time. But he always had a smile to spare for his little Chibitalia.

But Grandpa Rome soon got too big, and was in so much pain. And then he died. All because of War.

I remember Holy Roman Empire. We had so many good times together.

And then what happened? He went off to War. And he never returned.

I've got my reasons for not liking to fight, you see. I'd much rather act the fool, that way no one will bother to waste their time on me.

But people really do think I'm stupid because of it.

It's not right! I think I'm pretty damn smart. I can paint, sing, cook... Who did the Renaissance start with? Where was most of the world's greatest art from? What about so many great philosophers and scientists? Hell, who invented banking?! Me, my people. Italy.

France always claims to be the best cook and the height of fashion. The only hand he had in the fashion movement was the word Renaissance. It all started with me. The fashion and cooking and wine? Me. The Enlightenment? Me. Music, art, science, math, philosophy? Me, me, me, me, ME.

And yet, everyone overlooks this, overlooks me. All they see is my naivet . And yes, I know 'big words' too. How many 'big words' in English are derived from Italian words? I know a lot.

It really hurts. And yet, I always have a smile ready for everyone. Had a bad day? Blame Feliciano, he won't mind. Bored? Knock Feliciano around a bit, he won't do anything about it. I'm sick of it!

If only I were more like my brother - at least he pretends that he isn't a total wimp. He may be all talk, but that's better than nothing.

But what really hurts, more than anything? Germany. He thinks I'm dumb, too. You can tell that when he talks to me, he uses this exasperated tone, like he's talking to an extremely thick child.

To everyone else I'm perpetually happy. But inside? Inside, and alone, I'm bawling my eyes out. Oh, I'm also good at acting. Whenever someone comes along, and they see my eyes all red, I just laugh say I got garlic powder in my eyes while making pasta.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like Germany. He's so perfect and amazing. In fact, I'm completely and utterly in love with him. I'm not afraid to admit it... well, out loud I am. But at least I know. There are so many other countries that are just so clueless. America and England, or my brother and Spain.

But being in love with Ludwig makes it worse. It makes me feel worse when he doesn't take me seriously. When I know that he finds me 'annoying' or just wishes that I wasn't there. When his paperwork's more important than me.

I've contemplated suicide - just ending it all is so appealing sometimes. Sometimes I like to think of a world without me - it would be much better for everyone else. Ludwig would be without his pain in the neck, the other countries wouldn't have to spend so much money on POW camps, everyone could be happy. My people would just go to my brother, who'd be the only Italy. He'd do a better job with them than me. No one would miss me. After all, I'm just Hetalia, useless Italy. What purpose do I serve?

The sad thing is, if I actually did it, no one would care. No one would feel bad. Even if I wrote them a note explicitly saying 'it's your fault!' they wouldn't care. If they found this and read it, they wouldn't feel the slightest bit of remorse. Not even Ludwig. Especially not Ludwig.

I don't know. I really do wish I could die - what would anyone care? But I stay on. Why? I don't even know. For everyone else, I guess. Because I don't want them to feel bad, even though there's only about a 2% chance that anyone would notice my absence past the point of 'it's quiet! Feliciano must be hiding. Lucky us!'

Whatever. I don't care anymore. I really don't.


I read over what I wrote and sighed. I heard somewhere that if you get everything off your chest you're supposed to feel better. But it didn't work. I faced my problems, and somehow there were more. The classic nobody-gives-a-damn-if-I-live-or-die problems.

The worst, though, was coming to terms with my worst and, in my eyes, truest fear: Ludwig doesn't give a crap if I live or die.

The thought brought fresh tears to my eyes. I sat at my desk with my head in my arms, silently crying out my despair, for God knows how long.

I cried for longer than I ever had, just fueling the flame. When I felt as if I were going to stoop crying, I thought of Grandpa Rome, or Holy Roman Empire. And then I cried for them. When I reminded myself that Ludwig was, in fact, the reincarnation of Holy Roman Empire, I reminded myself of the fact that he didn't love me and he didn't care about me, which made me cry harder. I thought of how the other countries treated me, how everyone thought I was stupid when I so clearly wasn't...

All in all, I cried longer than I ever had. Hours on end. My sleeves and arms and desk and papers were soaked, and I kept crying and adding to the puddle.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, crying my soul out.

Just as I had finally run out of tears, when I was wiping the pitiful tears off of my pitiful face, I heard something behind me. And just as I was about to turn around to go check who it was, I felt strong arms wrap around me. The arms I've wanted around me for longer than I can remember.

"Italy, what's wrong?" he asked softly. Or, as softly as is possible with his beautiful gruff voice. Softly for him.

"Oh, nothing, Germany," I replied in a shaky voice, plastering on that smile I always had when other people were around. That lazy goofy grin.

Germany stepped back and crossed his arms, and I almost started crying again from the lack of his touch. It reminded me that he wouldn't always be there for me.

"Italy, I know there's something wrong. You can't fool me. You look like you're about to start crying again!" he said in a commanding tone that would have made me swoon if I wasn't in this position.

I had to think fast so I could. I was sure that if Germany knew why I was crying, he would never talk to me again. The thought nearly killed me.

With my hands behind my back, I took a small knife from the back of my pocket and slashed open my palm. I squeezed it shut and dabbed the blood on my handkerchief, so it would look like I hadn't just done it.

The action brought fresh tears to my eyes. Ludwig got a certain wild determination in his beautiful blue eyes, nearly fooling me into thinking he cared.

"Italy, tell me what's wrong NOW!" he barked.

"I just got cut, that's all!" I said quickly. "I was playing around with my knife and it slipped and I didn't want you to think I was stupid so I didn't tell you but now you're all mad at me and I'm sorry Germanyyy~!"

Germany blinked. "Don't do that!" he said after a minute. "You had me scared sick!" Then he held out his hand and said more softly, "Here, let me see it."

Fresh tears fell from my eyes when I realized that he had bought it. Did he really think I would cry like I had for a little cut? And I was sure he wasn't really worried, and was in fact just saying that.

I kept up the 'I just got hurt, it's no big deal' act and tried my damnedest to keep my hand away from him. "Ve~! Germany~! I'm fine! Really!" I would say over and over again.

"Italy, let me see your hand!" Germany shouted.

I don't know exactly why, but at that point I snapped. "Why the hell do you even pretend you care?!" I screamed back.

Ludwig seemed shocked. Then he softened and said, "Feliciano, why would you say that? I do care! You know I care!"

"Oh, sure," I said with a maniacal laugh. "You're sick of me and you know it. So I repeat: Why the hell do you even pretend you care?"

He took a step toward me, but I wouldn't let him come any closer.

"Just stay away from me, you... you bastard!" I stammered. And yet, he came closer and closer. When he was close enough to reach me, I yanked myself out of his grip and hit him. I just hit him over and over again, smearing the blood from my hand all over his shirt and face.

"Just... Go... AWAY!" I sobbed, each word punctuated with a hit.

Germany backed away, a pained look in his eyes. But I barely noticed through my own despair.

"Feliciano..." he whispered. He was standing in the doorframe.

I picked up a piece of paper from my desk, balled it up, and threw it at him. "J-just... Just... Just G-GO!" I cried, turning away.

I heard no footsteps, which led me to believe that he was standing in the doorway, deliberating on what he should do. Should he try to comfort me, or respect my wishes and leave?

Personally, I had no idea which I wanted him to choose. The former would enrage me, the latter would send me plunging deeper into my depression. Finally, I heard him walk away from my door and shut it quietly. As I predicted, my heart plunged into my stomach.

"Fucking stop it, Feliciano," I told myself. I knew I was being stupid. But what was that saying? Love makes people do crazy things? Something like that.

I looked absently at my desk, reminiscing. I remembered when I first met Germany. From then, I remembered all the things we've done together. I remembered all the times he's saved me, all the times he's entertained me when I was bored, all the times he's let me stay with him, all the times I crawled into his bed at odd hours and he put up with it even though I was naked and he felt awkward, the times he pulled on my curl...

Okay, I thought to myself, Don't think about that last one.

But he truly was always there for me, even when most others would have killed me. He always put up with me, and though he wore an exasperated expression it never met his eyes. In his eyes I could always see the laughter and fun he wouldn't let show through. And, his eyes showed - dare I say it? - caring, compassion.

At that point I pulled myself out of my reverie and actually /looked at my desk.

I started to wonder what I threw at Ludwig. Was it important paperwork? Government documents? One of my drawings? A blank sheet?

It was driving me crazy, so I looked through everything to find what was missing. It probably wasn't that important, right?

I gasped. I knew exactly what was missing. Not important paperwork, government documents, one of my drawings, or a blank sheet. No, it was something I couldn't risk Ludwig seeing. It was the paper right on top.

It was the note I wrote.

Now I started to panic. What if Ludwig read that note? He would never be my friend anymore, I was sure of it! Once he found out that I loved him, he would never want to talk to me again! He would avoid me. He would hate me! There's no way in hell I could ever live without Germany, even as just a friend. Now I wouldn't have even that.

"Calm down, calm down!" I told myself. I needed advice, that would work! But who could I call? America would assume I needed a 'hero' and meddle, my brother would say I was just better off without 'that potato bastard', France would tell me to jump him (or try to jump me), Russia would just say 'becoming one with Russia will solve all your problems!', and I sure as hell couldn't ask Germany.

At this point I had it narrowed down to two people: Japan and England. Japan because he's smart and my friend, England because he's smart and rational. I could pass it off as one of my stupid mistakes?

But Japan would just say I should try to work it out with Ludwig, and England would call him or something if I was freaking out enough (which I was).

I didn't really know the other countries well enough for them to help me. I was screwed.

But that's when I remembered something. Didn't America have a brother? Yeah, there were three countries in North America! There was America, Mexico, and... the one everyone forgot, the one with the bear and hockey and syrup...

Canada! He was nice enough, rational enough, and helpful enough. And he wouldn't meddle or just tell me to 'work it out'. Plus, he would be so happy about being remembered that he wouldn't mind talking to me.

I picked up the phone and dialed Canada's number. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Hello?" he asked confusedly.

"Canada!" I said. "Thank goodness!"

"So it isn't a wrong number?" he questioned hopefully.

"No," I replied. "This is Feliciano."

"Well, what do you need?" he inquired.

"I need to talk to you," I responded. "I need your advice really bad!"

"What happened?" he asked, concerned.

I hesitated. "Umm... I got really mad and took it out on Germany and threw something at him and I need it back before he reads it," I replied.

"What were you mad about?"

I hesitated again. Finally, I decided to tell him most of the story. "I heard somewhere that if you feel upset, and you write a note but don't send it, you'll feel better. And I was upset that no one realizes that I am smart, I just don't act it. And I wrote something on the note I really don't want Ludwig to read." I paused.

"Go on," Matthew urged.

"Well, Germany came over and saw me crying. I had just stopped really. I had been crying for hours. He asked me what was wrong and I wouldn't tell him. So he kept asking and I decided to lie, so I cut my hand and said 'it's nothing, I just got hurt playing around with my knife.' And he asked to see it, so I acted like I normally would so he wouldn't suspect anything."

"What happened next?"

Now I was into the story and kept telling Matthew. "He yelled at me and all the anger I have towards the world just... exploded at him. And I told him to go away and called him a bastard and hit him. I asked him why he even pretends he cares. And he got this hurt look on his face and I threw it at him and turned away. He stood there for a few minutes and then left. Then I realized what I threw."

"If you don't mind me asking," Matthew said tentatively, "What's on there that you don't want him to see?"

I paused. Should I really tell Canada, the guy I barely knew? But I knew I could trust him, I really could, unlike most other countries...

Oh well, I thought. The cat's already out of the bag, there's no use in trying to keep it in now...

"I... I wrote a little bit... about... about how I... I... I l-love him," I stammered nervously. "And... it hurts, knowing he doesn't love me back, and he thinks I'm stupid just like everyone else."

"No offense, but maybe you are stupid," Canada said. "You'd have to be not to realize how much Germany cares about you. Why else would he stick up for you all the time and do all those things for you he does? I think it goes a little beyond friendship."

"But what if it doesn't? What if he doesn't want to be my friend anymore because it would be too weird? Or he starts subconsciously avoiding me? I could never handle life without Ludwig. How do I get it back? What do I do?" I said desperately.

"Well, you could do a few things," Canada reasoned, "You could check to see if the note is actually there, maybe he didn't take it. You could also run away, or hide. Or you could go up to him, ask him where the paper is and if he read it, and demand it back. Really, though, and this may be from being raised by France, but I think if you can't go up to him and say you love him, you should show him."

"What, like just walk up to him, 'oh, hey Ludwig!' and then kiss him?" I scoffed. "I don't think that would go over well if he doesn't like me."

"Then look to see if he took the note. If he did, you can either demand it back or hide. Your choice," Mattew replied, and I could just see him shrugging.

I sighed. "Well, thanks," I said. "Hey, maybe we could hang out sometime?"

"Sure," Canada responded brightly. "Just call."

"Okay, bye," I agreed.

"Bye," he answered. And we both hung up.

First thing's first, I looked out the peephole in my door to see if the note was there. I checked through the whole hallway, but no note.

I was feeling really depressed at that moment. It was hopeless. Ludwig was going to hate me now. So I hid under the bed.

And again, I was crying. This time, though, I cried because I would never be Ludwig's friend again. And I ended up crying myself to sleep.

Even in my dreams, I couldn't escape my fears. I dreamed that Ludwig was yelling at me, that he never wanted anything to do with me again. I dreamed up every worst case scenario.

When I woke up, something was off. I remembered falling asleep crying under the bed. Now I seemed to be on my bed. I didn't open my eyes yet. Instead I pondered how I got here. Sleepwalking?

Then I felt someone's hand on my cheek. I snuggled into the comforting touch. I was still half asleep.

I heard someone sigh. "Feliciano..." he whispered longingly.

I knew that voice! I smiled sleepily. "Ludwig..."

Wait a minute, Ludwig?! The guy I was trying to avoid?! Shit!

My eyes snapped open and I sat up quickly.

Yes, there was Germany, sitting by me on my bed, blushing like crazy.

"Ve~ G-G-Germany, hi," I stuttered nervously. "I'm really sorry about earlier, I was just upset about something and exploded at you and I'm sorry and I threw something but I didn't mean to and it was important so I'd kind of like it back if you don't mind?"

"Feliciano, calm down!" Germany said. "You're speaking in run-on sentences again. Don't be sorry, okay?"

"What about the note?" I whispered.

"You mean the paper you threw?" he asked offhandedly. "I have it right here. I figured it might be important, so I came to bring it back." He handed me the note without looking at me.

"You didn't read it, did you?" I questioned warily.

"No, of course not," he responded, still not looking at me.

"Ludwig, look in my eyes and tell me that you didn't read it!" I demanded shrilly.

He hesitantly looked into my eyes and sighed. "Feliciano," he said, "I read it."

I let out a strangled noise and started crying. Again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to!" he said, trying to calm me down. "I opened it up to see if it were an important document that I should return, and I saw the first line and thought I might be able to find out what's been wrong with you!"

"Well, now you know!" I choked out. "Just leave. You probably don't want to be around me ever again."

"Feliciano," he said, obviously ignoring me, "Did you... mean what you wrote?"

I laughed coldly. "I meant everything I wrote," I answered. "Especially the part where I confess that I am painfully in love with you."

He fell silent. I couldn't decipher the look in his eyes. I just knew that he would never want to be near me again.

Ludwig sighed. "Feliciano, you know what this means, don't you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Germany!" I sobbed. "I'm really truly sor-"

My frantic apology was cut off by the feel of his lips on mine.

My heart stopped and soared. It was everything I had ever imagined, but so much more. His lips were so soft and sweet, they reminded me of cotton candy. My heart raced and I was shaking.

He held me to him gently. I slowly shut my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck tentatively.

I felt his tongue poke at my lips, and my breath hitched in my throat. Please, don't let this be a joke, I thought. Please, let this be real.

I opened my mouth slightly to allow him access.

His tongue probed my mouth, and vice versa. My head was swimming. All I could see was my eyelids. And I wanted to see him, make sure he really wanted me, was really mine.

I slowly opened my eyes and saw through half-lidded eyes Ludwig sitting in front of me kissing me with all his heart and soul.

Once again, tears fell from my eyes. But these were tears of joy. Germany was kissing me! And from the look on his face, he was almost as happy as I was.

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just the lack of oxygen getting to my brain. Maybe all this was a dream.

No, it felt too real for this to be a dream. He was too captivating. There's no way even I could be creative enough to dream up this.

And all too soon, we pulled away. Slowly, softly, our lips parted. He looked into my tear-filled eyes and whispered to me something I've wanted to hear for the longest time.

"I love you, Feliciano. For the longest time, I've loved you. And I masked it with annoyance at your childish antics, the very antics I so love. I love the way that no matter what anyone else says, you aren't afraid to be yourself. In that regard, you are the smartest, bravest person I've ever met. You're creative and intelligent and courageous. My dear Feliciano, will you be mine, if I will be yours? Because I would do anything for you. I love you."

I smiled the widest smile in history at that declaration, completely speechless. I simply nodded, and as our lips met once more, we knew:

We were going to be together forever.

It was a promise of love.

A/N: Decided to put it at the end this time. General disclaimer applies, I don't own APH, or the countries themselves. But it would be so cool if I did! And even if I did own it, I would still be writing random things on here. I think soon I might try my hand at smut. But it really all depends on the cool little button below, doesn't it?

Anyways, I had this idea in my head for a few months and decided writing it last week. See, I know a lot of smart Italians. I'm one of them(though not from Italy, and not just Italian [also German, Hungarian, Native American, etc.] the same principles apply). And a lot of things started in Italy such as the Renaissance and banking, not to mention so many great works of art! And they have good food.

So I reasoned that Italy can't possibly be as dumb as he acts. I mean, just because someone acts dumb, doesn't mean they are. He just doesn't like fighting. And I also thought about how I feel when someone calls me stupid when I'm not, I just act very Italy-like. And it hurts. So Italy would have to feel really trampled, right? Throw in a little seemingly unrequited love and mindless fluff at the end with your angsty!Italy, and you've got this.

Seriously, I bet Italy feels really sad every time he reads a fic that accents his so-called stupidity.

Tell me what you think, and PLEASE, review, because I was thinking of doing a chapter from Germany's POV. But I need you to tell me whether or not it would be appreciated.

I've also got two more plot bunnies for this pairing, and a few for US/UK. Tell me if you want me to post those!