<b>Germany:</b> This evening we are watching The Inglorious Bastards.<p/><b>Italy:</b> But Ludwig, I wanted to watch Titanic with you...<p/><b>Germany:</b> Nein.<p/><b>Italy:</b> Please, Germany! Pleeeease. <p/><b>Germany:</b> Okay...<p/><b></b> [ One hour later ]<p/><b>Italy, crying like he never did in his whole life:</b> HE'S SCARIFYING HIMSELF FOR HEEEER<p/><b>Italy:</b> Germany?<p/><b>Italy:</b> Germany are you crying?<p/><b>Germany:</b> Nein, Italie. I'm not crying my eyes are sweating<p/></p>
but a thousand thoughts and images suddenly ran through his mind… Feliciano: beautiful, strange, wonderful Feliciano. Ludwig’s only, his everything. Feliciano running laughing through warm green grass, placing a flower in his jacket, smiling cheerfully for a photograph, gasping beneath him in a hayloft, clutching at his arms and pleading for them to run away together. Ludwig’s sight grew dim and blurred from the smoke and he reached across the cockpit for the red flower...
the ground approached, the wide green field rising up too fast to meet him. Ludwig pulled the plane into landing position, braced himself, and clutched the battered little flower to his chest. at the last second he closed his eyes. “Feliciano…”