Taken

Taken


A/N: This is a little piece I wrote for FF.net while listening to "My Life" by the Swedish group "jj". If any of you have seen the commercial for Battlefield 3 (it plays all of the time on Hulu), that's the song. Believe me, it's not half as cheerful as it sounds. And neither is this piece...Well, go on~ Read~


Dark splotches marred the pure white of the paper he held in his hands as he read, again and again and again, the words that had torn his entire world away from him. Why did they ask him not to blame himself when they knew he inevitably would? Why did they ask him not to grieve when, as his eyes scanned the page, he felt like seeking his own demise? Those cruel, cruel words.


"I'm sorry..." Are you? Then why did you do it? I tried so hard to reach you, but you never reached back. You did this instead. Was that your way of apologizing? To me, to the world? We never wanted this, me least of all.

"I'm just a burden. A stupid, stupid burden..." Not as stupid or burdensome as me. I didn't even realize what you were thinking, or what you were going through. If I had, I could've stopped you. I should have stopped you. I should have!

"I'll never be as good as him..." Certainly not; if you were only as good as he, you could never have been so much better than him in my eyes, at the very least. This will hurt him too, you know.

"I love you..." I hate you for this. I never realized, never...and now it's too late. You stole yourself away from me, and now the crimson of your life will never again flow.


His gaze strayed over to the sight that had greeted him when he first arrived at the house, nearly bursting with excitement (it had been quickly distinguished): pale skin, pale lips, and bright, garish red, still spreading in vicious tendrils across the tile. It was as if his life had suddenly spilled out of him, coating both him and the floor as it spread.

Why hadn't he used a gun? It would've been quicker, more painless. The wound would've made him feel less guilty; after all, there wasn't much he could do about a shot to the head. Bleeding out, however, must have taken hours, hours he wasn't there to stop the bleeding and call an ambulance.

Time. Cruel, cruel time, ripping everything he held dear away from him. Had he been there but an hour or two earlier, things would have been different. He would've saved him, confessed his feelings, begged him to be happy.

He'd never been happy, but maybe, if he'd only known, things could have been different. They could have spent their lives together, loving each other and the people around them, cherishing the earth they walked on. Perhaps that was too peaceful of an ideal; too perfect; too happy.

He theorized that tears were like liquid emotion, pouring down one's face in whatever manner the occasion called for. Happiness: rounded over the cheeks, or dripping into a wide smile. Confusion: collecting and dripping slowly past a frustrated frown or gape. Anger: trying desperately to stream down to the chin, but oftentimes interrupted by a hasty brush of the hand, or a sudden, violent movement. Sadness: shamelessly streaking down, shaken off course every once in a while by sobs or wild cries.

The paper had long since fluttered to the floor, blown towards the puddle of scarlet by an air vent overhead. More stained white, overcome by dark and bright impurities. Beside it lay a knife, glinting eerily in the dim moonlight and coated in dried plasma. It was no kitchen knife; he must've special-ordered it for the serrated edge, all the better for tearing through his soft flesh.

A planned deed, then. And still, he had never once noticed. He had never noticed changes in emotion or person; by yet another cruel twist of fate, he was simply unable to read people. Everything had seemed normal, as if the world weren't about to end; like the calm before the storm.

His fault, then. Perhaps he should take that same blade and end his own life with it... but the letter had made him promise not to. Those words would bind him to the world of the living until he passed of natural causes, he knew, for he couldn't obey the final wishes of the one he loved, no matter how angry he felt.

Instead, he chose to kneel at the fallen man's side, taking him into his arms and cradling his head in the crook of his elbow, gently stroking his smooth, brunet locks. They had managed to remain untouched by the tragedy around them; perfect, even in death.

His goodbye was delivered with one final kiss to the deceased's unblemished forehead.


"Remember, Lovi, there are many different types of kisses, but most of the time, you can put them into three main categories.

"First, there are kisses for lovers. When you love someone so much you want to marry them, and have babies with them, and live with them forever, you give them a passionate kiss on the lips.

"Then, there are kisses for family. You kiss your family because you love them, too, but it's a different kind of love. It's the kind of love that makes you want to cherish them and protect them, but not have a family with them...Does that make sense? Family kisses are chaste kisses, not passionate ones, okay, Lovi? Ow, okay, you understand...

"Last, there are kisses for greetings and partings. When you see someone close to you, you can kiss them in greeting, usually on the cheeks because cheeks are always soft and cute, perfect for little hello kisses! Of course, your cheeks are the best! Like little tomatoes, only better, because I can't kiss them as easily as I can kiss a tomato...Well, when something is rarer, you cherish it more...It makes sense, really, it does!

"Goodbye kisses are for people you love, too. Sometimes they have to go far away for a long time, and sometimes you just can't see them until the morning or another day, because you have to sleep or go home. They're a little sad, and a little happy. You have to leave, but you know you'll see them again. If they're your friend, you peck them on the cheek, like hello kisses, but if they're closer, you give them a soft kiss on their forehead. Like a blessing! Here, you can have one right now, even though we don't have to say goodbye for a long time...Wow, Lovi, your headbutts really kind of hurt...Awww, your pouty face is so cute!...Ow. Haha, te amo, Lovi~!...Hey, that's the first time you said it back! Yay! Now I have to say it again!..."


"Te amo."

~Tobi~
Translation:
Te amo - I love you (Spanish)
Basic summation (because that probably made little sense to you): Antonio came home to find Lovino has killed himself and left naught but a note. This is essentially his thoughts/reaction. If there's anything you have a question about, don't hesitate to ask. ;D I'd be more than happy to explain; this confuses me sometimes, and I wrote it.

I don't really understand this. It sounds like they're both guys, so I'm guessing they're gay. And one commited suicide. But this is kind of hard to follow, no offense or anything.

xD LOL, it's fanfiction, so I guess a lot of it wouldn't make sense to you unless you knew the series...? And I made it really confusing anyway. This explanation could take a while...

Their relationship started like so: Spain (the guy who's alive) raised South Italy/Romano (the fellow who killed himself), but history happened, and in some war or another, Romano became the territory of some other country. Once he unified with his brother, North Italy, they became the nation "Italy" (at this point both were older teenagers/adults). Romano and Spain met again once this happened, and I suppose they developed their relationship after that (particularly once World Meetings were established). In that manner it became romantic; however, Romano is known to have extreme self-esteem issues, and he has difficulties expressing himself to the world. Spain is sadly unable to read people very well, even Romano. When Romano says he's "okay", Spain is liable to believe him. Romano wasn't okay, though, and he spiraled downwards until he killed himself, leaving a body and a letter behind for Spain to find. This piece is essentially Spain's reaction to that in a rather vague manner; the bit at the end in particular is Spain remembering something he told Romano (Lovino is is human name) as a child. I was trying to explain why Spain didn't kiss Romano on the cheeks or lips...I don't know how that went over, though.

Does that make any sense? XD Ah, well. I tried.

~Tobi~

Kind of, thanks. But why are they named after countries?

It's based on the series Hetalia, in which the characters are basically personified countries. If this were an AU, they would be called Antonio and Lovino instead of Spain and Romano, but because I added the scene at the end, it's not AU (Spain's character would only be raising Romano in Hetalia-verse because that keeps to history; in real-life-verse, that would just be odd). The reason Spain calls Romano "Lovi" in the flashback scene is because they're very close, and nations who are very close tend to call one another by their human names. Spain shortens it to "Lovi" because it's a cute little nickname~

...If this really just makes no sense to you at all, I did put up a post regarding Hetalia in "General Chat", and you can google it or whatever. O'course, we fans love to serious-ify it and, er, interpret the relationships between the characters...XD

~Tobi~