A/N: Here it is, Germany's POV! I thank all my lovely reviewers, who were my self-esteem boosters and confidence builders. Thank you to my reviewers: chibiharu-chan, RedHatMeg, Verocat, Holly Lawliet, Silver Mist, and PuRE'Curse. EDIT: Props also to my late seventh reviewer, Lucky-Angel135.

Other thanks go to I Brake For Bishounen Boys, RedHatMeg, Holly Lawliet, NEKO NO GIN., Night of Silver Mist, and Appuru-Sausu for favoriting my story.

Super Special Thank You Award goes to Holly Lawliet, who favorited my story, favorited me as an author, put my story on alert, put me on author alert, and reviewed. Wow.

I told myself that if I got five reviews I would upload this before a week passed. And I got exactly five reviews. So I decided, one more and I'll start it straight away. And I got that one more. All six were positive and I squealed with joy at the feedback I was getting. I was totally afraid that I was walking on thin ice with this one. Anyways, I started to write. First I listened to Einsamkeit, Germany's character song. It worked for the mood of this song. But it made me sad because of a bad experience that reminded me of that song... so I went into my iTunes and put Evanescence on repeat. Songs I listened to are Lithium, Call Me When You're Sober, Good Enough, Heart Shaped Box, My Immortal, My Torniquet, Bring Me To Life (with and without Linkin Park), and a song that Amy Lee did with Seether called Broken. Seriously, put those songs on a playlist and read this while listening to them. They totally fit the mood. Btw, same disclaimers and warnings and OOCness apply as in the first chapter. Any mistakes are the fault of my extreme tiredness. I've tried my best to fix them. Just know that I wrote this whole thing using Notepad, because I lack Microsoft Word.

I hope you're happy with this - I stayed up past three in the morning to write this. Reviews are highly appreciated. I was even thinking of doing a third chapter, which would be funny and randomly fluffy... but I'm going to make it another fic entirely. I'm working on about six fics at once right now, so you should see something soon-ish.

Once again, thank you. Reviews make good things happen and the more reviews I get the more fics I crank out, many of which are GerIta, all others US/UK, and most really funny.

When I went to visit Italy in his room, I thought I'd see the usual: A grinning, happy-go-lucky Italy, either singing or painting or cooking or sleeping.

What I definitely did not expect to see was the scene I walked in on.

Italy, sweet, happy, beautiful little Italy... was crying.

He was sitting at his desk, hunched over with his head in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

At the sight, I felt my heart crumble.

What could possibly make adorable, goofy, grinning, hyper Italy feel so terrible?

I don't know how long I stood there, just watching him fall apart. A long time ago I promised I'd help him and protect him no matter what. But... I just couldn't. I couldn't move, glued to the spot by my confusion and sympathy for my best friend.

He started to wipe the tears from his eyes, and I was released from my Hellish trance.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him delicately before he could turn to see who the intruder was.

"Italy, what's wrong?" I asked as softly as I could.

He looked at me with that grin he always wore and said, "Oh, nothing, Germany." But the smile was too shallow. It didn't reach his eyes.

I stepped back and crossed my arms sternly. A look of sheer pain crossed his delicate features, making me want to do something... anything, to comfort him. But I held fast to my firm stare.

"Italy, I know there's something wrong," I stated with my usual commanding tone. "You can't fool me. You look like you're about to start crying again!"

Italy was silent for a moment, but soon fresh tears sprung to his eyes.

No other thoughts possessed my head other than that I absolutely had to know what was wrong with Italy. I just had to.

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

"I just got cut, that's all!" he said quickly, frantically. "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~!"

I blinked. This couldn't be it, could it? He was crying his dear heart out, it couldn't be over nothing. Still, I decided I'd play along, he'd tell me, right? "Don't do that!" I said after a minute. "You had me scared sick!" I held out my hand to his and said in a soothing tone, "Here, let me see it."

More tears dribbled from his deep chocolate eyes, and he tried to keep his hand away from me, repeatedly saying things like "Ve~ Germany~! I'm fine, really!"

My patience wore thin at this point and I yelled, "Italy, let me see your hand!"

"Why the hell do you even pretend you care?!" he shouted.

I was genuinely shocked. Didn't he know how much I cared about him?

"Feliciano, why would you say that? I do care! You know I care!"

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

I took a step closer to him, but he just backed away.

"Just stay away from me, you... you bastard! he stammered. But I wouldn't stay away, not when he was hurting so badly. I stepped closer to him, and reached out to grab him. But he wriggled out of my grasp and hit me. I felt something wet on my cheek, and realized with an unpleasant twist in my stomach that it was Feliciano's blood. He hit me repeatedly.

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

I backed away slowly, feeling so much hurt and dejection. I was standing in the doorframe soon, and I whispered, "Feliciano..."

As a response he picked up a piece of paper from his desk and crumpled it, throwing it at me. It hit me square in the chest. It may have only been a piece of balled up paper, but the malice directed towards me by Feliciano made it feel like an extremely hard punch in the gut.

"J-just... Just... Just G-GO!" he yelled, crumbling my heart into a million pieces.

I stood in the doorway for a few minutes, deliberating whether or not I should go. If I stayed, he'd be angry at me, but if I went, that may give him the feeling that I really didn't care.

In the end, I decided it was best to leave him alone for a bit.

I slowly left, shutting the door quietly behind me.

It was then, when I looked down, that I saw the paper he had thrown.

Maybe it's important? I thought. Feliciano definitely wouldn't want me to just throw it out. I should check.

Sure, it may have been nosy. Under other circumstances, that is. Under these circumstances, however, and with how he'd been acting, I needed to see what it was. Maybe it could give me a clue to the cause of my best friend's strange behavior?

I opened it slowly, and the first line jumped out at me, urging me to read further.

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 naivety. 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 blinked at the letter. I was shocked, to say the least. Feliciano had all this bitterness and resentment towards the rest of the world all this time, and I didn't even know. But... He never really acted upset around me, except for small things.

Next, it crossed my mind that he was having thoughts of suicide. That couldn't happen! He couldn't do that to me! To his people! To his brother! To everyone!

Then I realized that this was partly my fault, for making him feel as if I thought he wasn't smart. And for not defending him when someone else said he wasn't. And for not knowing that he was hurting.

Finally, it hit me that... he said he loved me. He said I was perfect and amazing... he said he was completely and utterly in love with me, and not aftaid to admit it to himself.

"Mein Gott..." I whispered leaning against the wall, "Was... Was kann ich tun?"

I slowly slid down the wall and into a sitting position. What was I supposed to do?

First I had to sort out my rushing thoughts. All I could think about was Feliciano. How cowardly he was when I first met him, how much of a pain he was, how annoying he could be... and yet I stuck by him even to this very day.

I remembered the good times too.

I remembered each and every time I heard him laugh, saw his eyes light up. I remembered the time he tried to make pasta out of sand. I remembered how loyal he always was to me. I remembered the fun we always had together. I remembered how my face would flush when he got too close or crawled into my bed naked, which was a lot...

Oh God. I was flushing at the thought. I remembered every awkward Italy-related moment, every awkward Italy-related dream, how much happiness those awkward Italy-related things brought me...

And that's when I realized something.

I-Ich liebe ihn auch.

My eyes widened and my heart hammered at the realization.

But what was I supposed to do?

Feliciano was upset with me, and what if he didn't really mean it when he wrote that he loved me, or maybe he meant love in a completely different context.

What was I supposed to do?

I sat there for God knows how long, deliberating.

Finally, I realized something. It didn't matter whether Feliciano truly loved me or not, because I made him a promise nonetheless. I promised I'd be there for him no matter what, and I was not about to go back on that.

I stood up determinedly and started towards Feliciano's room. Slowly, quietly, I opened the door.

Where was he?

I searched the room and, finally, found him. He was huddled under the bed. It looked as if he had cried himself to sleep.

Gingerly, I reached under and pulled him out. With Feliciano tucked delicately in one arm, I pulled back the duvet with the other and laid him down, pulling it on top of him.

I watched him sleep for a few minutes. His chest rose and fell in the dee[ breaths of sleep, occasionally picking up speed.

The sight of him sleeping, so peaceful, made my heart swell. I fell even farther in love with him then I already was, if possible.

Softly, I laid my hand on his cheek and sighed. I wanted him so much, wanted him to be mine, to never cry again. "Feliciano..." I sighed, not bothering to hide the longing in my voice.

He sighed contentedly and leaned into my touch, smiling slightly. "Ludwig..."

But his smile was replaced soon with a frown, and his eyes flew open. I pulled my hand back quickly and willed away my prominent blush.

"Ve~ G-G-Germany, hi," he 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!" I said. He was starting to worry me again. "You're speaking in run-on sentences again. Don't be sorry, okay?"

"What about the note?" he whispered.

"You mean the paper you threw?" was my offhanded reply. "I have it right here. I figured it might be important, so I came to bring it back." I handed over the note, unable to look him in the eye.

"You didn't read it, did you?" he quietly inquired.

"No, of course not," I answered. I couldn't bear to look at him, lie to his face.

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

I looked into his eyes reluctantly. I sighed, knowing I would not be able to lie to him now. "Feliciano," I said, "I read it."

He started crying again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to!" I said frantically, desperate to calm him 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!" he sobbed "Just leave. You probably don't want to be around me ever again."

"Feliciano," I said, choosing to ignore that last statement. I had to know... "Did you... mean what you wrote?"

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

I fell silent. I was feeling such a mix of emotions. Happiness, sadness, love, glee, apprehension, fear...

I sighed, knowing I was unable to stop what was about to happen next. "Feliciano, you know what this means, don't you?"

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

I pushed my lips onto his, effectively stopping his frantic apology.

His eyes, those deep, beautiful, chocolate eyes, widened in disbelief.

After a beat, he kissed back. I marveled in the feel of his sweet lips on my own. He tasted like pasta. I could feel him shaking, feel his heartbeat race against my own chest, and I wondered if he could feel my own heart hammering against my ribcage, as if begging to be set free.

I pulled him closer and held him gently, as if holding him too tight would cause him to shatter in my grip. Tentatively, he reached up and wrapped his shaky arms around my neck.

My tongue acted of its own accord, going out to meet his lips. He parted them slowly, allowing our tongues to explore each other's mouths. It was pure bliss.

Vaguely, I wondered how it came to this. First we were enemies, then allies, then friends, then best friends... and now we were making out on his bed.

I couldn't believe that I was kissing Feliciano; it was just too good to be true!

Slowly, we pulled away from each other. Softly, our lips separated. It was too soon, way too soon.

I thought for a second, and then looked into his wide, teary, beautiful eyes and whispered, "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."

He grinned wider than I'd ever seen him grin in all the time I knew him.

Soon, our lips came together yet again. This kiss was just as sweet, loving, and desperate.

It was a declaration.

It was a seal.

It was a pact.

It was a promise of love.


Mein Gott - My God

Was... Was kann ich tun? - What... What can I do?

I-Ich liebe ihn auch - I-I love him [too]

Yeah... I know no German... I used Google...