Bésame Mucho (Fan Continuation)

Chapter 8

A/N: My apologies that this took so long to be updated. I'll be upfront – the main reason for the delay was my starting a new job in a completely different field, which has sucked quite a bit of out of me these past few months. The result is we are two chapters in and already that deadline is looking more like a "maybe". We'll see how it goes, I guess!

I'm elated that Hetalia will be restarting in April, and that we may soon be welcoming new fans, as well as the return of some old ones. It's a series unlike any other and seeing it breathe back to life, even after all these years, was a great motivation to get this chapter out. It turned out much longer than planned, but I hope it makes up for the long wait.

Thank you for the wonderful comments, and I'm sorry I couldn't reply to all of them. Please know that each of them has been indispensable to the writing of this chapter, and I relied heavily on your words of encouragement to find the energy to keep chugging on. To find out that there are readers who are looking forward to this little continuation was so gratifying and humbling; I only hope it will continue to be an enjoyable experience for you.

Chapter 8

Lovino woke early the next morning as white sunlight grazed his face, slipping through a gap in the curtains. Yawning and rubbing at his unfocused eyes, he sat up and looked around sleepily before noticing his brother's jacket was gone from where it hung by the door. There was a second of confusion as his groggy mind grasped at the significance of the detail, before the memories from the evening before resurfaced and he gasped, snapping his head around to find Feliciano's bed empty. The blank, slightly wrinkled bedsheets greeted him silently, giving nothing away as to his brother's whereabouts.

He has probably gone for a morning walk, Lovino reasoned with himself, trying to quell the fast beating in his chest. But unease gnawed at him as he thought back to Feliciano's tearful face in the cellar and how quiet he had been during dinner, barely responding to their Grandpa's concerned prodding. And there was undeniable anger there as well, as his thoughts strayed to the cause of his brother's unusual behaviour – the picture of the German soldier he had held so dearly, and his agonised confession...

His knuckles turned white as he gripped his sheets. His little brother, in love with the enemy. Even now he could not believe it, but there had been no lie in Feliciano's words last night. He had spoken them as though he was stating an immovable fact, despite the impossible circumstances surrounding them. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, Lovino found himself resentful of how easily his brother had poured out his heart. For years Lovino had floundered as his emotions battled with his mind, regret and longing for Antonio's smile wearing at his resolve. Many a times he had wished for the right path to magically make itself known to him, or, failing that, for an excuse for him to finally give in. And in one week, Feliciano had met someone he would gladly give his heart to, with absolutely no care or regard for the consequences.

Distantly, Lovino wondered if Feliciano had told the German of his feelings, and if they had been returned. Something akin to envy stirred within him as he imagined the two of them together in the same spot in the photographs, sitting against the ruined wall and leaning into each other...

But somewhere along the way the image in his mind flickered and transformed, and it was him and Antonio in their place instead – Antonio taking his chin in long fingers and tilting it up gently, his face shadowed as he leaned closer, eyelids sliding shut... Lovino shook his head, snapping back to his senses and trying to rid himself of the heat that had risen to his cheeks. Just the night before, he had sworn to guard his desires more closely, but still his heart betrayed him. He groaned and passed an exhausted hand over his face, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His throat suddenly felt parched; he was in sore need of a glass of water.