Remember.

"Please," Italy whispered, staring at the word. He could hardly read it through the tears streaming down his face.

Remember.

...

Remember.

Remember.

Italy stared at the word for a couple more moments, before he snatched up the paper with the word written on it from the ground that it had fallen to and crumpled it up in a fist. He stood there for a moment, completely still, frozen, before falling to the ground. The crumpled paper still held tightly in his fist. Tears were spilling from his eyes, and for the first time in many, many years, he cried not from (*cough*fake*cough*) fear, but from sadness.

From heartbreak.

Remember.

______________________________________

Sunday

America walked into the room fifteen minutes late. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered, before sitting in his seat.

Germany just waved him off and glanced at the clock, then back at the door. The nations talked quietly amongst themselves.

About five minutes later, the door opened again. As Italy walked in, silence was draped over them like a blanket, all quiet conversation falling away into silence.

"Italy? Dude, are you okay?" America asked.

"Yeah, I'm great!" Italy said.

"Why are you late?" Germany asked, more curious and worried than angry.

"I overslept," Italy said.

"Until four something in the afternoon?"

"Well until two in the afternoon, then I forgot about the meeting until three thirty, and then I needed to make pasta!"

Since this was something Italy would usually say anyway, and Italy's bright smile still seemed intact, everyone believed this, for the most part.

Italy was both glad and saddened by this.

Over the course of the meeting, the difference of it went missing to not one person. With the absence of that one nation, nothing was the same.

After the meeting, nations started to leave, obviously. Italy tried to slip away, but someone caught his arm before he could get through the doors.

He turned to see five faces. Germany, Prussia, Japan, Romano, Spain, and Hungary were looking at him.

"I thought you'd be more upset," Germany murmured, referring to the missing nation. "You are so against death and everything... I thought you'd be more upset about the suicide."

Italy kept his smile bright, though his mouth twitched slightly, and it was almost unnoticeable, but still as if it was made of glass that would shatter at any moment. This seemed obvious to Italy, but people can be so easily tricked at times.

"Well, I didn't know him very well, anyway," Italy responded. Suddenly, he felt a pain in his cheek, and looked at Romano in shock.

Well $h!t, Italy thought. I forgot he was here, or I would've come up with something else....

Romano was glaring at him. "Fratello, don't you dare lie straight to my face! If you're not okay you have to tell me!" Romano looked so angry that Spain and a couple of the others were already holding him back after that first slap.

"Don't you dare," Romano repeated.

"I have to g-go," Italy said, getting a bit choked up towards the end. Most would assume that the slap had hurt him, but it hadn't. Not really, anyway. That's not why he'd be upset.

Italy left, managing to get out before anyone could stop him. The last thing he saw on their faces was worry, sadness, and anger. Hungary and Japan seemed to be the ones with the most sadness.

When Italy was out of sight from any nations, he broke into a run, and ran to his car.

He got in his car, then drove home as fast as he (legally) could. He held back tears, his vision blurring slightly as he drove.

When he finally got home, after what had seemed like an eternity, he parked the car in the driveway and went inside the house.

Italy closed the door behind him and slid down it. He leaned his head back against the door, tears beginning to fall.

He took out and unfolded a picture, looking at the green eyes of the person in the picture.

"Why?" He murmured, presumably to the person in the picture, his voice sounding weak and broken. "Why did you do it? Did you seriously think that no one would care? I thought that you knew that I loved you. I'm sorry for not making that clear enough to you..."

Tears slid down his face silently. Italy stared at the picture with sadness, anger, and regret.

"I thought you had been getting better..."

Italy looked into the bright eyes in the picture. How often had those eyes been so bright and carefree?

He didn't know exactly, but it wasn't often enough.

"It's already been two days since you did it. Since you died. But I have already missed you for what seems like an eternity. Which says a lot, coming from a nation, as you know.

"I loved you. No-" Italy corrected, "-I love you. And I always will."

A/N:

AH! TOO SHORT!

Anyways, I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. I hope this wasn't too bad. Please point out mistakes, constructive criticism is great.

~England