Here I Am

Chapter 3

Italy didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but he knew he wasn't outside once he started waking up. 

Whatever room he was in, it was stuffy. He inhaled and picked up the scent of strawberries and whatever an old house smelled like. Italy's swallowed and pried his eyes open. His head was still hanging limp, so he had a view of his jeans, and the surprise that he was shirtless. He squealed at the realization, and tried to get up from his sitting position, only to find out that he was tied to the chair he was sitting in. His breathing became heavy, taking a few glances around the room. There was no wallpaper, only a tanish color. There was a single door at the opposite side of the room, but no kind of window or way to look what was on the other side. There was a single fan on the ceiling, spinning on low, with a few light bulbs attached that were on. 

The cold edge of a blade was pressed against his neck, and Italy's eyes widened, stiffening himself to be still. The same voice was before whispered against his ear, the warm breath and touch of the male's lips against his ear making a tremor pass through his body. "I see you're awake. Have a good nap?" 

Italy couldn't move his head even if he wanted to, and he was afraid if he spoke, the blade would prick his skin. A laugh boomed from behind him, before the blade was removed. The male who had taken him made himself visible for the first time to Italy. It wasn't his odd-colored eyes that caught his attention first. It was the striking resemblance to Germany he held. The only differences being his eyes, the scar, the way he carried himself, and his voice slightly different than Germany's. Italy wondered if this was some sort of sick joke being played on him. Maybe it was one of the Allies dressed up as Germany -- probably Britain -- to get information out of him. He knew it wasn't Germany, though. Germany could be cruel in yelling at him, but he'd never go to this extreme. 

"Before you say it, because I know you were about to, do not call me Germany." The male said, twirling his knife in his hand. "The name's Luther. I know who you are. Feliciano." He leaned forward onto the chair, grasping Italy's wrists were tied down to the arms of the chair. Italy tried to lean back, but couldn't. Luther's face stopped inches from Italy's, his eyes surveying his small form, lingering on his bare chest. 

"W-What do you want?" Italy whispered. That snapped Luther's attention back up to Italy's face. He touched his forehead to Italy's. "You," he said, grabbing Italy's chin and bringing it back to it's previous position when Italy tried to move away from his face. "Isn't it obvious? If I didn't want you, you wouldn't be here." He let go of his chin and poked his chest. "I get what I want, and what I want is you." 

Needless to say, Italy was terrified. He wasn't so dumb that he hadn't realized this person -- Luther -- was not an Ally in disguise. To top that, he knew his human name. Italy had never seen this person before, so how had he gotten his name? Much less his human name? Luther must have realized what he was thinking, just by the look on his face, but he didn't seem eager to spill his secrets. 

"It's a shame, really." Luther said, running his hands through the side of Italy's hair. "Ludwig didn't even come after you. He looked right at me and saw you... Limp... And he just looked away, like he'd seen nothing." 

Italy's wet eyes widened. "N-No... He wouldn't. He'd--" "He'd do what?" Luther arched a brow, grabbing a handful of Italy's hair and yanking it forward. Italy yelped, but Luther continued, "Do you really think that soldier is your friend? Like he'd even know the meaning of the word. That's all he is, a boring soldier. You know what he's done to people. He was and is a monster, Feli. He never truly cared for you. He just ordered you around like the puppet you've always been to him!" 

"No! That's not Germany!" Italy shouted, a tear rolling down his cheeks. "W-We're friends. W--" Italy's sentence was cut off as Luther pulled up his head and kneed his chin. He yelled out and the chair would've fallen over if Luther hadn't of caught it. Italy's jaw was sore, and he could still feel the stinging pain of the blow. 

"Think about it. He pushes you over your limit in training, disregarding your wants and needs. He yells at you all the time, and he didn't even remember the spot where you became allies. Allies and nothing more, because it wasn't important to him. You've been used, and that's all you'll ever be, Feliciano. A tool for others. You're too weak and pathetic to be anything else." 

Italy barely stopped and wondered how Luther could possibly know all of this. He just let his head hang, and he cried. He wanted to call for Germany, to confirm everything that Luther said was wrong, and curl up in bed beside Germany. For him to comfort him, to make his doubts and fears vanish with a single embrace. But Germany wasn't there. Would he ever be there again?

Luther smirked, seeing his words were now embedded in Italy's mind. Rather he believed them yet or not didn't matter. He got closer again, his fingers creeping up his chest before he grabbed his chin again. He kissed the tears on the Italian's cheeks, before kissing the edge of his lips. Italy's eyes had squinted shut, still trying to move away, but he couldn't.

"Germany will never care for you." Luther whispered against Italy's ear. "He'll eventually forget about you. Everyone will. No one will ever remember the day Feliciano disappeared. But I will. I'll remember every second, and you'll wish I had a lousier memory by the time I'm done."

Not moving his head, Luther grasped his knife back up, and let the tip trail up his bare chest just lightly enough to make a thin line of blood appear. Italy whimpered, and Luther kissed him to muffle the sound. He then let the knife hover right over where his heart was. He pulled back just enough to say, "I could kill you at any moment."

Italy swallowed and moved his head a little to the side, trying to escape the feeling of Luther's breath. "C-Countries can't.. die..."

Luther's smirk widened. So the Italian wasn't as idiotic as he had first assumed, but he was as fun as he'd thought he'd be. "Maybe not... But you're not immune to pain, now are you?"

He stabbed his shoulder, and Italy began to scream. Once again, Luther ceased his lips in his own to muffle the sound, but still treasured every note made from his Feliciano.