Hetalia One-Shots

Muse (GerIta)

Large picture windows let in a warm glow that bathed the small studio in copper hues. The studio was old with barely visible brick walls and a cracked cement floor stained with paint and charcoal. Stacks of unfinished masterpieces rested against the wall while long vibrant canvas' stretched across the brick. Tucked away in a corner Feliciano sat in front of a stark white canvas brush in hand. Determined to start though the first strokes had always been the hardest for him. Especially now, when his mind was bleak and void of any inspirations. The colors had lost their usual vivid luster. And his world was becoming as empty as his canvas. This would be the first picture he painted without the guidance of his grandfather. Still, with unwavering determination, he sat there long after the copper light had been replaced with the cold and harsh white glow of the stars above and long into the morning when the room was stained a fiery red.

"Paint with your heart" His grandfather had said, "you will always create a masterpiece"

With burning eyes Feliciano surrendered and left the studio. He stumbled up the stairs and into the apartment he, his brother, and grandfather had resided in. Ignoring the clutter and the growing piles of bills he collapsed onto the soft leather couch and fell into a bleak and dreamless sleep.

He awoke to the loud and fluid sound of Italian cursing, "Dannazione Feliciano," The voice grumbled, "idiota,"

Not wanting to wake up just yet he rolled over and sunk back into the worn brown leather. Unfortunately, Lovino didn't seem to care whether or not if Feliciano wanted to sleep. Not wasting any time he shook the younger Italian violently while shouting a plethora of creative and unrepeatable curses that would have had grandpa Roma turning in his grave. "Feliciano! Wake the hell up you-" The older Italian groaned remembering what the arrogant Spaniard had said. He had told Lovino several times before he had left their apartment that he needed to be gentle and compassionate with Feli. And then he had insisted on coming along with him. Lovino had managed to ditch the Spaniard at home but his annoying voice had still rang strongly in his mind. "C'mon wake up," He said in a strained but gentler voice.

Slowly Feliciano pried opened his eyes. Still bleary and sleep-worn he blinked and in a few moments the world came into focus. Lovino's green eyes clouded with concern stared back into his for a moment before anger crept up onto his expression. "G'morning Lovino," Feliciano yawned, his brother narrowed his eyes.

"Morning," Lovino grumbled releasing his grip brother's shoulders. "Jeez, this place is a dump. Don't you ever clean?" He gestured to the cluttered apartment. A collection of dirty dishes was piling up in the sink and the ground was barely visible anymore. The dark wood was covered in crumbled sketches, broken pencils, and dirty clothes. He definitely did need to straighten up. Although the apartment was never really straight to begin with even when Roma was alive he was never a neat and organized person. For as long as he could remember the entire apartment had a lingering smell of paint, clay, and pencil shavings. It was calming and familiar. He could see why Feliciano had wanted to stay after grandpa Roma had passed away instead of coming to live with him and Antonio. Besides, Feliciano was sentimental; for every piece of junk lying around this apartment he had a thousand reasons to keep it.

Feliciano laughed the soprano sound carried throughout the silent space. "Well, I haven't been spending much time up here," He responded, "But I'm fine, so you and Antonio don't have to worry about me."

"Idiot," Lovino muttered, "of course we still have to worry about you." The brothers fell into an abated silence.

"... Hey Lovino,"

"Yes, Feliciano," Feliciano hesitated,

"Why..." He trailed off, "Can we eat?" Not wanting to push him too hard he agreed reluctantly and dismissed his nagging conscience, which happened to sound disconcertingly like Antonio and went off into the kitchen.