Don't Go

Time To Let Go

"Austria," Italy cried out, tears falling down his face. "I'm sorry... I didn't think I would be so late!"

"From your tone of voice," Austria explained, "I'm guessing you said your goodbyes to Holy Rome?"

"Huh?" Italy could not understand - Holy Rome was coming back. It was not final - it was not like he was dead or anything.

Austria was not facing him and sighed. "Nothing, I was just talking to myself." He turned back with calm purple eyes. "You should really take a day off. If you go around like this, it's only going to depress you."

"I don't have my broom anyway," Italy said quietly, tears watering in his eyes again. "I gave it to Holy Rome..."

His eyes widened. "Italy! I - I guess I'll have to get you another one." He stood up, staring down at Italy. "But for today, you don't need it anyway." Then, he sauntered past, disappearing into the corridor. "See you later, Italy."

***

"Big brother France!" Italy greeted France, who pulled him into a tight hug.

France smiled at him, gesturing for him to come inside his house, before closing his door. France led him to his living room before they relaxed onto his white couch. "How have you been doing, little Italy?" He asked kindly, warmly welcoming him to settle down easily into his home.

"I - I was thinking... about Holy Rome..." Italy whispered quietly and France froze, the guilt overwhelming him. "Austria said I should rest... but I need to make sweets for when he comes back! I - I promised him!"

France sighed, not able to look him in the eye. "Ah, sorry..." he muttered quickly as Italy watched him blissfully. "The Holy Roman Empire is... no more..."

Italy frowned, tilting his head a little in confusion. "Eh?" He asked, not understand what France meant by that.

France rubbed his forehead, fidgeting constantly, unable to remain still. "You should forget about him," he advised. "I think it's best that you don't worry about him. He wouldn't want you to worry about him. You've already suffered enough, haven't you?"

Italy stared at him, on the verge of tears. "Wha-What do you mean?"

"Italy... he's been gone for a long time now... he won't come back."

The tears fell down. Holy Rome was who he loved, and to have that taken away in a sentence. Holy Rome was alive... but now, he was dead. If Italy had known, he could have made him stay a little longer, try harder to convince him that he shouldn't leave. But it didn't matter now, because he was gone, and he wasn't coming back. What could he do about that now?

The memories came back to him, but they weren't as cheerful as he remembered them. Where had all that time gone?

France swallowed, the guilt weighing him down as he got off the couch, Italy watching him as he reached for a painting that hung on the wall above his mantelpiece. "Here," he said, showing Italy the painting. It was an image of Italy asleep in his maid outfit, lying on a pink bed. "This belonged to Holy Rome. You can have it back if you want."

Italy took it, placing it on his lap. "Where... where is the broom?" Italy asked, the tears falling down again, over and over again, as if he was unable to run out of tears. He could have flooded the room if he wanted to, because the only thing he had left to feel was grief, hurt and sadness. "I gave him my broom..."

"I don't know where that is. "Maybe it's buried next to him. That way he has it forever."

Italy nodded his head, tears hitting the picture that was resting on his lap. "So he's really not coming back?" There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he could feel the pain preparing to wash over him.

"Oui..." France sighed, sinking back down onto the couch. "You should forget him..."

I don't want to... Italy cried, burying his face in his hands. Holy Rome! Please come back! Please!

France put a reassuring arm around Italy, pulling him into a half-embrace. "You've suffered enough," he consoled. "You don't deserve it, Italy. I am sorry that it happened to you."

He could feel the ghost of Holy Rome's goodbye kiss on his lips, but at that time, he never knew that that was the end. Holy Rome's touch was warm and sweet and edged with so much kindness and care. Italy found it impossibly hard to understand how anyone could be like him, as perfect as he was. He had tried to prove how strong he was, but he fell. Now, Italy knew that surrendering was the best option. In order to survive, one must surrender, give in to their defeat and wave their white flag.

Holy Rome had not surrendered, he had reluctantly refused to give up and admit defeat. That was his downfall. Italy could see him in front of him, now, his arms wrapped around his body and his face touching his...

However, his touch was becoming stale and cold, no longer as warm as it had been before. The image of Holy Rome was slipping out of his mind, but Italy tried to hold on, not wanting to leave Holy Rome behind so soon.

He was not ready to let go. He had to stay with Italy, he had to. How on earth was Italy going to live without him? Don't leave me... Italy begged. Please don't leave me, Holy Rome... Wait... Just don't leave... Don't leave me... Don't leave me without you... Please...

France's arm moved around Italy, and he flinched from the touch, so startled that all images that he saw of Holy Rome dissipated, melting away into nothing, turning to dust. This was it - he was gone.

Gone. Ceasing to exist.

Italy could no longer picture Holy Rome in front of him, so he told himself that it was time to let go. He did not want to, of course not, but he had no choice left.

This is it.

This is what letting go feels like. Don't go. My heart is still screaming for you, even though I am silent.

I'll never accept you're gone. I can't. No, no, no! But this is what I have to do. I have to let you go...

I'll pray I'll forget about you, so I won't need you to wipe away my tears every time I cry...

So this is the end of my first love.