Sinful Nostalgia | Hetalia

15 || Careless Memorabilia

I'm really am falling apart.

Ironically, in spite of my thoughts, a smile found its way across my face as I close my eyes. Because inside, I knew that I didn't have to be strong all the time.

It was Feliciano who taught me that.

It was also Feliciano who made me feel truly beautiful, which is priceless. I don't know how he could ever had succeeded in that, but he did. Funny how the memory brought back a smile on my face. Funny how memories practically broke me at one time, then put me back together at another.

Funny how memories are really such a precious thing.

***

The first time I held his hand was before I had thought. We were in second grade, and I actually thought he was a little girl. Why was it that he dressed like a maid when he was a boy? That was one thing he doesn't talk to me about to this day. I guess we were always the best of friends, from what more returning memories tell me.

When he had to move, my heart was broken. I wasn't sure if my feelings for my little friend were a bit stronger than I had thought, or if I was just going through another random anxiety attack. All I was aware of was the shards left of my heart that I was to pick up... alone.

I saw him again, about fourteen years later. In New York City, I had lost all of my memories due to an incident in which I had a terrible concussion. But the moment he handed me his number, he wouldn't leave my mind. And, here we are. Crying with each other, talking to each other, laughing with each other. It's all too wonderous for me to explain.

In the end, I guess I learned something from these painful memories. And that, to me, is Wunderbar.

***

"Sis, sis, sissy!" Julchen shouts, grabbing my foot and trying to pull me back in the house. "Please don't leave meh, no no no! I cannot be home alone, remember?! That's really dangerous! I even have like a federal thingy saying that I can't stay home alone!"

"Julchen, calm," I breathe, trying not to throw my insane older sister off of my foot. "All I'm doing is submitting my college application. I'll be back in about ten minutes, alright?"

"I don't want you to leave!" Julchen whines loudly. I finally have to resort to peeling her off, setting her on the ground. She pouts, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip.

"Play with Gilbird," I tell her, rushing out the door. "I won't be long, alright?!" I finally manage to shut the door on the clingy Julchen, and walk briskly from my apartment to the little town.

Finally, after several months of working, I had finally managed to gather enough money to apply for college. I'd been working on my story for the longest time. All I could do was hope that it was acceptable enough for the head chairmen to allow my enrollment.

This was a moment I'd been waiting for forever.

The university grounds were just a few paces from my apartment, which was part of the reason why I'd moved where I'd moved. They seemed so large, maybe too large, as I walked on them. I made my way to the entrance, which had the school's crest imprinted on the ground. That did nothing ease my nerves, but anxiety is something I can deal with now.

The head office was just ahead, straight ahead. I opened the door with shaking hands, and entered in the office that smelled of wood. The head sat there with cold eyes, not seeming to really care much for anything except education. Good. That was what I needed. She gazed up at me with stoic grace. I sat down before her awkwardly upon being invited to do so, clutching my composition notebook close to my chest.

"Monica Beilschmidt. Am I not correct?"

"Y-you are correct, ma'am," I answer curtly, drawing myself up to show my confidence. She pats a surface of her desk, wanting me to set my notebook there, so I do. She picks it up silently, and begins to read it.

My story begins here.

***

I, like all people, have a story I want to tell. I have words that wrap my life together, just like us all, and that is why I chose writing as something I wished to do for the rest of my life. So, this is where my story begins.

January 18, twenty-one years ago, a young girl was born. A German child that resembled the race of which her parents were. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall. She grew up to be just that. All her life, she was put with many stereotypes, but that was okay.

Even then, she had a friend.

The first time I held his hand was before I had thought. We were in second grade, and I actually thought he was a little girl. Why was it that he dressed like a maid when he was a boy? That was one thing he doesn't talk to me about to this day. I guess we were always the best of friends, from what more returning memories tell me.

When he had to move, my heart was broken. I wasn't sure if my feelings for my little friend were a bit stronger than I had thought, or if I was just going through another random anxiety attack. All I was aware of was the shards left of my heart that I was to pick up... alone.

I saw him again, about fourteen years later. In New York City, I had lost all of my memories due to an incident in which I had a terrible concussion. But the moment he handed me his number, he wouldn't leave my mind. And, here we are. Crying with each other, talking to each other, laughing with each other. It's all too wonderous for me to explain.

In the end, I guess I learned something from these painful memories. And that, to me, is Wunderbar.

***

Even if I didn't know what the head thought of my story, and even if I was to wait for weeks and weeks to know if I was accepted, I was okay. I had someone waiting for me just outside of the door. His brown eyes hopeful, his smile bright as ever.

We walked about the park after we met up with each other. I forgot almost everything as we chatted about the most senseless of things. Basically a recap of what we chatted about when we had first met, but this time, I'd managed to crack a laugh for once. Feliciano told me I had a wonderful laugh. As always, all I could do was blush.

It was only when his lips met mine that I blushed harder. I wanted to run away, but the urge to kiss him back overpowered it all. We did not make out. We did not start undressing each other in the middle of public. We didn't do anything of the sort. The kiss was innocent as could be.

And that alone, was perfect.