Our final farewell teen!HRE x teen!Reader

A/N: This is a story that takes place before Italy hits puberty! So everyone still thinks Italy is a female! And Reader and Holy Rome are teens.
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You sat in your boyfriend Holy Rome’s lap as he painted the field of Calla Lilies you two sat in. He rested his head on your shoulder as he dipped the tip of the brush in paint from the pallet you held for him.

“____,”he whispered his voice soft as milk and honey.

You turned your head your Magnolia scented (h/c) locks tickling his cheeks “Hm?”

“I love you. I will never stop. Ever.” He vowed his warm breath tickling your earlobe.

“I promise the same.” You smiled looking into his tender, ocean blue eyes.

He looked past you at the setting sun, as if the power to say what he was going to say was beyond the flowery infinity you were in “T-That’s the thing…____. W-We all have a time to leave the ones we care about, we hope that they love someone else. Someone worthy of their love _____, my time, i-it’s here. Love someone else.”  

Your heart sunk to your ankles, misery caught in your chest straining your words “W-What?”

“My time has come. I wish I didn’t have to leave you…but my empire it’s falling.” He explained setting the brush and pallet down to hold you.

“Y-y-you c-can’t go.” You cried into your hands.

Holy Rome sighed and wiped your cheeks from the drops of sadness “My love, if you can’t be strong for yourself be strong for Italy. She’s much more fragile than you.”

You felt a wave of grief stricken rage erupt inside you “You-You’re dying and all you can think of is Italy?! A-And how she feels! Maybe you should be having this talk with her!”

“__-”he began as you pried yourself from his grasp.

“S-Save it!Go be with Italy!” you shrieked as you stomped your way back to Austria’s.

The Blonde watched as the love of his life ran from him “B-But I wanted to spend my last day with you…” he whispered into the calla lily scented silence.

Time skip brought to you by your feels…

You woke up as Hungary shook you awake, her cheeks flushed and eyes puffy and red.

“M-Muti, what happened?” you asked, Hungary wasn’t really your mother, nor Austria your father but you’d known them  for so long that they became your parents.

“_____, édesem…Holy Rome he’s g-gone.” She wept, as your chest tightened.

“W-What?” you asked tears blurring your vision.

“Holy Rome is dead.” She repeated as a melancholy symphony began in your heart, you took one last look at the Hungarian before collapsing back into your bed.

“That was it.” You whispered “I wasted my final farewell, on jealousy.”

You cried until you fell into a dreamless sleep, the emptiness in your dream mirroring the feeling your heart held. You woke up to music, the kind your father played when he was truly distraught or remorseful; you got out of bed to the slow rhythm of Pathétique in A flat.

“Goodbye Holy Rome, I love you.” you whispered as you stood at your window staring at the last place you'd seen him.

"I love you too ____"