just like any other day.

Italy could feel the tension in the room rising as he stood, quietly, watching from the other side as Germany’s bloodied, tattered body kneeled before the Allies. His hastily wrapped wounds were bleeding through and the raggedy, terribly worn military uniform he wore just barley managed to cling to the German’s now weathered frame as the nation coughed weakly, angrily. As they discussed how to divide territories, Italy watched the once grand, strong nation now down on his knee, teeth gnashed together-- even a flinch evident in his features. He refused to look up and Feliciano doubted the German even knew who was in the room aside from those currently arguing, or if he was even able to lift his head at all. The thought almost made the smaller nation tremble as tears lined his chocolate eyes; the mere idea of his Germany, his beloved Germany, degraded and brought down to such a level was something Feliciano had never dreamed possible, not again, even after having seen all that he had.

A heart wrenching sadness echoed inside of the Italian like an empty drum, beating it’s last notes before the cover was torn, an instrument lost to war and evil. Darkness was all that could possibly lie ahead for the German now, for the Allies would surely not make the mistake again of letting Germany evolve-- recover as he had during the time after the second World War. What would become of the once so brilliant nation now? Divided into pieces and torn to shreds, fought over like a weakling and coveted by all as Feliciano himself once was? Technological advances were what seemed to hold the most importance to the Allies now but inside, though he ought to have been negotiating for his own fair share as his boss instructed, Italy could do nothing more than stare at the war torn nation.

It still did not fully register in the brunette’s mind how this had all happened. Through everything else that he’d seen, through all of his own miserable, chaotic history-- every battle, every wound, every puddle of blood-- there was nothing more devastating to the small nation than the current future ahead of him now. Germany was essentially gone from his map forever and there was little, if nothing he could do to change such a tragic reality. Even Lovino was up there fighting for the Italian share of the old Germanic lands. The only nation seeming to stand aside and share even a fraction of what Feliciano felt was Spain who was looking moderately upset about the future of a nation that was never close to him.

Feliciano felt the trembling begin and soon, his tears began to fall faster despite the effort he exerted in trying to keep silent. Crouching into a ball from across the room, he tried to hide, tried not to be noticed. Every tremor that his body shook awoke a new sorrow within the nation and Feliciano could feel the overwhelming sadness he’d felt, only once before, wash over him again. It was bound to happen. It happened once, it would happen again. Germany was leaving him, just like the other had left him. I will come back, he’d promised. I will return, he’d said. Don’t cry, Italia, I’ll come home soon, a wish whispered from a dream.

“Roma,” Italy whimpered, hiding his face in his arms and all around him, the room continued to buzz just like any other day.