Hetalia One-Shots! [Pairing/Historical, etc..]

-nyo! gerita- old; alt; nuovo.

"I was gonna cut my hair, I was, Feliciana." And, Germany laid back on the bed where her girlfriend was lying down, sighing. "After WWI, y'know? I was angry after Versailles, just wanted it done, and over with.." She turned to her girlfriend's open face, questioning and curious, warm amber eyes pale in the dark of the room.

"And, I don't know.." Shifting, she looked away for a moment, "I didn't feel right, I was saying it was over. That that wasn't me anymore, but..." Germany turned back to Feliciana, searching her face for an answer. "I could feel it Feliciana, I could feel that something wasn't right, I could feel..." She felt the air in the room become stiff as the realization dawned of Feliciana. Looking away awkwardly, Germany felt shock and- warmth? Run through her as a hand was pressed onto her cheek.

Feliciana, with a wistful smile, tears were welling in her eyes, but her eyes were strong with unbreakable glass. Monika watched, complexed, as she watched tears pour over the woman's face. And then, Feliciana kissed her. Pulling back, she saw the pain and love that Feliciana held for her reach her eyes. Passion and strength that could almost break glass. "I know Monica," she breathed, not stopping to wipe the tears on her face. Leaning over Germany, she whispered, "I know."

As Feliciana listened to Germany's heartbeat, Monica looked at the Italian woman, her eyes closed and seemingly peaceful; tears still streaked on her face. Wiping away the tears, Feliciana's eyes opened. The sunset was leaking through the blinds; giving the woman a hazy, warm glow. Blurry and confused eyes opened to look- so trustingly- at Germany. Monica felt her heart shatter, but maybe that's just another heart beat when you're in love.

Kissing the Italian woman's head, she pulled back to look at Feliciana, "Do you miss my long hair, Feli?" Monica brushed her hand through Feli's hair, looking at the contrast between her pale skin and Feliciana's warm brown hair. Feli would know how to paint this moment; just the right shades of warm tones to encompass this feeling- this wholeness and rightness.

Feli looked at her, holding Monica's gaze solely, before smiling openly, burying her head in the German woman's neck. "No I do not, Germany, I do not."

And Monica left it at that, and she never looked back.

—
alt; german, for old.

nuovo; italian, for new.