lost ~completed~

Hetalia: lost

There were some things that are as simple as black and white; the moon, trees, grass. They were always there and were unappreciated.

They were the things that you always had but took for granted. People see them everyday but never really appreciate them.

Italy was the same. Germany had never thought about what life without the carefree Italian would be like. He loved having his little Italy around but he could never tell the carefree man how he felt. What was the need when they had forever ? He was so used to having Feliciano around that he never considered what would happen if the Italian left. That's why the day Feliciano betrayed him, the life he had built after World War II crashed down.

A groan echoed in the small, dim room. Ludwig's eyes fluttered open. He blinked his eyes a few times, a vain attempt to chase away the drowsiness he felt. He felt a warm, sticky substance on the top of his head. He instantly identified it as blood since he was familiar with the feeling of blood on his body from all the years of war.

He looked around the dim room. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could make out a door at the other end of the room. For the first time he realized he was tied to a pole behind his back. He tried recalling the events prior in his head but much to his frustration, he couldn't. He couldn't remember any of the events leading up to his capture. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't remember where he had been or who he had been with. Who would want to capture him? It had been years since the end of World War II. Sure, some people still held some grudges against Germany and Hitler was still hated by many people all over the world but he couldn't think of any countries that would do this to him.

His next thoughts ways to escape. He couldn't reach the pocket knife he always had on him and he couldn't break his bonds that were rubbing his wrists raw.

The door groaned loudly as a man stepped in, his booted feet echoing into the room. Ludwig looked up, his heart quickened as he recognized the man.

"Feli!" he exclaimed joyfully. Feliciano Vargas, North Italy had been his close friend since World War I when Germany found him in a tomato box. Feliciano was kind hearted and would help anyone if he could, even if it was his enemy. He was an artist and trader, not a fighter though, but he was skilled at running and escaping. Feliciano would break him out of here and maybe he could tell him what happened.

Even in the dim light, Ludwig could see Feliciano's smirk. Ludwig's eyes furrowed together. The smirk looked so alien on Feliciano's face that usually harbored his trademark closed eyed grin.

"Feli, what are you doing?" Ludwig asked as Feliciano stepped calmly towards the vulnerable German. An icy laugh echoed in the dark room. Chills raced up Ludwig's spine. Germany's eyebrows knitted together further.

"You always were an oblivious fool, worse then Alfred sometimes. Do you not remember?" Feliciano asked coldly, his voice heavy in that cute Italian accent. Germany shook his head. Feliciano crouched down in front of Germany talking Ludwig's chin in his gloved hand. Ludwig blushed at their close proximity, "We met at the cafe." Feliciano stopped to let Ludwig think. That was all that Italy needed to say. The events suddenly rushed back into Ludwig's head.

Looking down at the laminated menu, Ludwig quickly translated the Italian as he waited for the personification of Italy. Italian was such a strange language sometimes. He heard rapid footsteps of boots on cobblestone and looked up.

Feliciano quickly ran towards him, his russet hair swaying in rhythm to his footsteps. Seeing Feliciano's hair being swept off of his face took Ludwig's breath away. The Italian truly was breathtaking. Feliciano had a thin build. He was a runner and a strong, prosperous country. He didn't have the muscles or strength that Germany or America had but he had muscles in all the right places and Germany could sense his inner strength.