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Drip.
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Drip.
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Drip.
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Feliciano couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream or vomit. Maybe both.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He couldn’t breathe, and...was the room getting darker?
The Italian leaned heavily against the cool tiling of the bathroom walls, searching for any form of comfort he could receive. His breathing was quick and ragged, leaving his throat dry. Every breath felt as if it was trying to choke him.
He clutched a hand to his bare chest, hoping the panic attack would subside, however, luck was not on the Italian’s side. Normally when this would happen, Feliciano would run as fast as he could to Ludwig, the German always knowing just the right things to do to calm the smaller man.
This time, however, was different.
While most attacks were brought on due to things outside of his control, this, he felt, was completely his fault, and, therefore, under his control. If he did this to himself, he figured he didn’t deserve help.
The thought made a sob escape his lips which prompted him to clamp his unclenched hand over his mouth. Germany can’t hear, Italy thought with horror. He’d get involved if he heard.
Italy braced his back against the wall, not taking notice of the screeching sound that emitted from the friction of his bare back sliding down against the tiles. He couldn’t breathe; he could barely hear. But one sense he could pointedly make out was the wafting scent of vomit that made his stomach turn in guilt and shame. He’d promised...he’d promised Ludwig he’d stop. The last time was the last time, and he’d never do it again.
Yet, here he was, hyperventilating to the point where darkness crept up on the edges of his vision because of his own body dysmorphia. What in the Hell even happened? He used to have no issues with food or body image. He was fine; he was normal.
What happened?
The day Germany found out had been a nightmare.
Despite Italy having thought he had kept his secret well hidden, Prussia had long since suspected something was wrong.
To be completely clear, Prussia never would have suspected just what illness plagued Feliciano. He figured it was simply a bug that Italy was trying to hide. Granted, that should’ve been a red flag in and of itself, considering Italy always sought out Germany’s comfort when he was ill. However, Prussia gave Italy the benefit of the doubt since Germany had been exceedingly busy at the time. He was probably just waiting it out to keep Germany from worrying.
However, after two weeks passed, it was clear to Prussia that whatever was wrong with Italy wasn’t going away. Prussia was still kept awake within the wee hours of the morning by the painful sounding wretches the Italian went through.
Prussia would never admit that he was concerned for the brunette, he was much too awesome for that…
...but he’d figured this was information that Germany would want to know.
Prussia was certain that the look of worry that graced his brother’s face was a look he’d never get out of his head.
Long, in short, that night while Italy was throwing up, Germany went to help him, but let out a horrified scream at the sight of Italy with his fingers shoved down his throat. It had been a long night of screaming, crying (which Italy had never seen the blonde do), and Germany learning that this wasn’t as simple as Italy “just eating again.” He had almost immediately made the smaller man eat an entire bowl of pasta, despite the Italian’s loud protests.
That was the first time in a long time that Italy had thrown up unintentionally.
From then on, Germany learned that this would have to be taken in baby steps. Sort of like how they had to get used to normal food portions after the war. Years of living off of rations certainly made larger portions harder to stomach.
It was ironically funny yet twisted. Italy had been Germany’s main source of support throughout the difficult transition, asking the German to eat more when he’d barely touched his plate, and urging him to stop when he was about to eat himself sick.
Now look where they were.
Despite months of support, love, and patience, Feliciano felt as if he was back at square one. The cruel thought alone made him want to crawl back over to the toilet and empty his stomach further, but alas, he felt practically frozen in place, back pressed firmly against the wall, and hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he hyperventilated.
He had failed. He had given in. He was so weak that he couldn’t even hold a little food anymore. Germany must think he’s truly pathetic.
Feliciano was so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t hear a certain beloved German frantically attempting to coax the Italian to open the bathroom door. Frantic sweet words soon turned to desperate pleas, and when those gained no response, a bare foot began to make harsh contact against the wooden door over and over again. Even when the door eventually broke open, the splintering sound fell on deaf Italian ears.
Feliciano didn’t know the blonde had entered until big gentle hands encompassed his small wrists. Panic still had a tight noose around the Italian’s brain, but some of the fog cleared up when wide amber eyes met concerned crystal blue ones.
Germany’s face was so painfully readable. Italy would have given anything at that moment to be rendered blind. The look of concern, terror and slight disappointment that was etched into Germany’s face was damn near unbearable.
“L-Luddy?” He hadn’t wanted for his voice to come out that meek and shaky. Germany already probably thought he was weak and was preparing a big lecture about how disgustingly easy it was for Italy to fall back into old habits.
That didn’t happen though.
Instead, the German gave gentle shushes, stroking the Italian’s wrists soothingly with his thumbs. “Breathe, Feli,” he instructed calmly.
Right, Italy thought sickly, still hyperventilating . He nodded in response, hands shaking violently under Germany’s gentle hold. He tried to take in deeper and longer breaths, blue skies in, grey skies out, as Romano had once taught him long ago. Despite the repeated mantra, Italy’s breathing remained quick and ragged, the panic not settling.
“Follow my breathing, Feliciano,” Germany stated firmly, but his tone could not be mistaken for anything but pure concern. Slowly and pointedly, Germany began to take in big and exaggerated breaths, urging the Italian to follow in suit. At first, it appeared that Italy wasn’t going to be able to do so, and Germany feared the smaller man would pass out. Thankfully, however, Italy did manage to follow the breathing patterns of the blonde, choking every once and a while, but always managing to get back on track.
It was long, it was grueling, it was painful on both ends, but soon quick and empty breaths were replaced with long and staggered ones as tears began to fall more steadily down the brunette’s cheeks. The only sound reverberating off of the tiled bathroom now was Italy’s soft but choked sobs that he tried desperately to hide.
Desperation could only do so much, though. He knew that.
“Mi dispiace,” he said once his breath was steady enough. The phrase caught Germany off guard, but before he could move to respond, Italy spoke again. “Mi dispiace...mi dispiace, mi dispiace, mi dispiace…” The phrase was repeated like one of those mantras England used in his rituals, but this one held more weight. With every utterance, Italy’s words felt heavier and heavier as he began to break down into disheartened sobs, removing his hands from Germany’s grip and moving them to cover his face.
To say Germany’s heart broke would be an understatement. He’d seen the Italian at his worst. He’d seen him sick and hurt from years of war that his people had been through and through many economical crises that his country faced. However, that was all Italy . This battle was all Feliciano . And sure, it had been beyond heart-wrenching to see Feliciano go through this the first time, but this almost seemed worse. After all, this was supposed to be recovery. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt and frustration Feliciano felt.
“Sh…” the German soothed, bringing Feliciano in for a tight and supporting embrace. The brunette all but fell into Germany’s hold, hands clenching tightly against the blonde’s shirt in a last-ditch effort to keep himself grounded. “It’s alright,” he said softly over Feliciano’s continued mantra of apologies. “You don’t need to apologize. This isn’t easy, and that’s ok.”
“But I failed,” Feliciano whispered. “I failed. I can’t even do anything right for myself. I guess that’s to be expected when I can’t do anything right for my country either,” he said, punctuating the sentence with a watery laugh. Germany, of course, knew better than to believe that this was a genuine attempt at humor.
“Feli, listen to me, alright?” He said softly, rubbing his hands up and down Feliciano’s arms gingerly while the brunette laid his head against the bigger man’s chest. “You’ve done enough for your country. Your country is thriving. It’s beautiful, the people are beyond happy, and it’s still going strong. Your war tactics leave a little to be desired, sure, but when it comes down to it, you always seem to know what you’re doing. You have your peoples’ best interest at heart, and mein gott, your heart is one of the purest out there. No matter what you do, you’re always trying your best. Not only as Italy but as Feliciano as well. You’re brave and strong for trying to get better, and in a way, you’re at war with yourself. But that’s ok. You’re not fighting this battle alone, and you’ve been doing so well. One set back won’t be the end of this, I promise,” he pressed gentle lips to the top of brunette hair, making the Italian cling onto his clothing tighter. “You’re still strong. You’re not weak. Relapses happen. They’re normal. We’ll get through this and carry on.”
Italy sniffled, feeling secure in Germany’s arms, snuggling his head against the blonde’s chest. “W-When did you get so insightful? I thought I was supposed to be the one with artistry and beautiful words,” he joked lightheartedly.
Germany hummed in response, placing his chin on top of Italy’s head. “I guess you could say a certain Italian has helped me with my fair share of struggles. I see things a bit differently now.”
Despite the sweetness of their current position, there was still a whole other issue that had yet to be properly addressed, and it sat about a meter away in the toilet. The scent wafted sickeningly through the air and made Germany’s stomach turn slightly in discomfort. They needed to talk about this. He needed to help Feliciano.
“What happened?” He asked gently. “Why, Feliciano?”
The questions made Feliciano stiffen in Germany’s hold, his blood suddenly turning to ice. There hadn’t been a particular cause for his sudden distress if he was honest. No rhyme or reason that suddenly made him want to purge his body of the excessive sins that were food. It simply struck him like one of those bullet trains Japan has in his country. Quickly and with no room for logical thought. “I...I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “One minute, I was fine. I was doing the dishes for us so we could have more time tonight for just the two of us, but...it just came on so suddenly; this...dreadful feeling of lead weighing my stomach down, and I felt so heavy, and before I knew it I was in the bathroom and locking the door.”
Germany hummed in acknowledgment, originally not too keen on the “I don’t know,” answer, considering it felt as though Italy was only trying to keep him from delving into the heart of the problem to attack it and set him back on track again. But with further explanation, Germany realized that this really had been just a spur-of-the-moment intrusive feeling. “That’s ok,” Germany eventually voiced. “It’s going to be ok. We’ll work through this. You’re not alone.”
And dio , was that good to hear. After having dealt with this battle completely alone for the better part of a year, it felt too good for words to hear that he was no longer alone in trekking this horrendous mountain, even if he screwed up sometimes during the climb.
“ Grazie, Ludwig. Grazie mille .”
Germany, by no means, was fluent in Italian. The small Italian was definitely working with him, as he was in German, but his comprehension of the sweet and beautiful language still left much to be desired. However, that was a phrase he did know.
“ Ti amo. ”
Ah, yes, that one as well.
“ Ich liebe dich ,” the German followed up, pressing his face into auburn hair and giving the head it belonged to a small kiss.
The two sat there for a moment more before the bigger shifted slightly, a silent plea for the smaller to stand so they could move somewhere that was much comfier than the cold bathroom floor. Thankfully, it appeared to Ludwig that Feliciano knew exactly what he was insinuating, even without the use of verbal words. Feliciano moved away from the blonde, moving to stand on shaky legs. Ludwig quickly stood after him and steadied him, hands moving to rest on either side of Feliciano’s arms. The Italian smiled sheepishly.
“Guess I shouldn’t have stood too fast, hm?”
His tone sounded as if it was meant to be playful despite the gravity of their current situation. Though, Germany was failing to find the humor considering his heart felt so heavy for his boyfriend.
“You should definitely take it easy for a moment,” the blonde agreed, noting how tremulous the shorter man felt under his hold. “You’ve probably overexerted yourself not only from the...relapse but from the panic attack as well.” He hadn’t had the heart to bring himself to say the poisonous word that was purging .
“Ve~” was the only sound of agreement the Italian gave.
Ludwig flushed the toilet, thankful to get rid of the unsightly cloudy colors that plagued the waters within it that only served as a painful reminder of the smaller man’s relapse. Then, despite Feliciano’s shaky legs, the two made their way to Ludwig’s bedroom, where Ludwig helped the Italian up and onto its soft surface.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the help and sentiment, because trust me, I do, but I can get up on the bed without help, I think,” Feliciano giggled softly, noticing the way red dusted over Ludwig’s cheeks.
“I’d rather not risk you trying and falling and getting hurt,” Ludwig stated, wondering how Feli could stand to be so joking at a time like this. It was mere minutes ago that Ludwig had found him crumpled up on the bathroom floor, struggling to breathe, with the sickening stench of their dinner mixed with stomach acid floating about the room. Upon closer inspection, however, Ludwig realized that Feliciano wasn’t really alright. Not in the slightest. His eyes told the entire story that Germany needed to know.
Pressing a kiss to Feliciano’s temple, the German stood straight and made his way to the door. “I’ll be back in a second,” he explained briefly, watching to make sure Feliciano’s face didn’t fall more at the announcement. When it didn’t, Germany took his leave into the hallway and towards the kitchen.
His heart felt so heavy, almost heavier than the instant he found out about Italy’s problem. The fact that the brunette had been doing so so well compared to what he’d originally been reduced to was enough to send sparks up Germany’s spine. But now that the Italian had relapsed into what he once was…
Germany feared how this would affect Italy’s recovery process.
“Ey, brohaus!” Came a nasally voice that Germany knew all too well. It took everything in the German to not groan in annoyance, but then again, he figured it was important that Prussia knew about the current situation as well. “France and Spain are coming over tonight, so I wanted to know if we had enough beer.”
“Please,” the younger of the two scoffed, “if it’s you three, there’s never enough beer.”
“You can’t say much, though, can you? It’s that awesome blood you share with me!” The older one laughed out.
For the moment, Germany bit his tongue about his brother’s claim to awesomeness as he moved towards the cabinets that held their glasses. “On a serious note,” Germany began, running the tap and sticking a good-sized glass under the water, “I’m going to have to ask that you either cancel your plans with France and Spain or at the very least hang out anywhere that isn’t here.”
It wasn’t commonplace for Germany to kick his older brother out, especially when he and Italy had... special nights planned, so the Prussian immediately grew defensive. “Normally I’m all for respecting your want and need to get pegged by that little Italian that has you wrapped around his finger, but you didn’t even give me notice this time.”
“It’s not that!” Germany yelled, whipping around to meet his brother’s ruby-red gaze that matched the burning color of his cheeks. “And...And he does not!”
“Right, and I have a date with that Austria douche.”
“Shut up!” Ludwig bellowed, almost smashing the glass of water onto the kitchen counter. “It’s not that! It’s...It’s serious,” his infuriated voice lost its flare near the end of his sentence and trailed off as if Germany was becoming lost in his thoughts.
“What? What happened? Do I need to declare war on someone?” Prussia asked with genuine concern laced through his voice.
“ Nien, nothing like that. It’s just…” Germany took a deep breath, moving his hands to cover his face as he tried to process the encounter he’d just been faced with. “Italy had a relapse, and I...I don’t think having a house full of rambunctious drunks is what he needs right now.”
Prussia’s face fell slightly at his younger brother’s words, having kept a close eye on the Italian himself considering they all practically lived together at this point, Italy only ever going back to his home country if Germany was in tow, which happened maybe once a month for a week. “ Verdammt ,” Prussia breathed through clenched teeth. When Germany didn’t speak again, Prussia took the time to take his phone out of his pocket, shooting a quick text to his friends through their group chat that plans were canceled that night due to some personal business. “Anything I can do?”
Germany was silent for a moment longer, hands still covering his face, eyes debating whether or not they wanted to cry from frustration and grief. “I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly. “He was doing so well, and now...I don’t know where to go from here. Do we treat him like we did when he was actually at square one? Do we just keep a closer eye on him? Should we take him back to Italy? Maybe we should get Romano for support? I just... ficken , I don’t know what to do.”
As ecstatic as Prussia was at the prospect of being useful for once in what felt like thousands of years, he certainly wished that the circumstances weren’t this dire. But they were, and Prussia’s awesome little brother had finally admitted to needing help. It was time for him to finally resume his role as big brother.
“Hey,” he said in that sweet and small tone he always used when Ludwig was barely taller than his knee, hoping it would get the younger to peek out from behind his hands. It didn’t, though. “Remember that time when you were a kid and you were sick for nearly two weeks?”
Germany groaned from behind his hands, the memory fresh in his mind despite its age. “Yes, why?”
“Well, I’m not sure if you remember, but after resting for that first week, you started to feel better. You still had a couple of symptoms, sure, but nothing too severe. So I let you get back to your typical activities and training. That was a mistake on my part because you barely lasted five minutes in a spar before passing out and falling ill all over again,” Prussia left out the fact that his error made him feel like a totally unawesome big brother. “We basically landed right back where we started. So we started over with the same routine when you first got sick. And even when your symptoms dulled down, you rested until they were gone. No ands, ifs, or buts,” Prussia chuckled slightly. “Though you tried to give many. Stubborn kid.”
Germany was silent for all of a moment, letting his brother’s words sink in. He slowly allowed his hands to fall away from his face, crystal blue eyes burned a subtle red from tears, but Prussia had half a mind to not say anything about it. “Are you suggesting we set him back to the same routine we had when we first found out?”
Prussia nodded his head side to side. “To an extent. Implement the same rules and supervision, but I don’t think we’ll need to be as aggressive this time. The first go-around was definitely trying to break through the damn near solid ice in his head. I think this will be more so a matter of healing and reassurance.”
Germany sniffled lightly, wiping the back of his hand against his eye. It wasn’t often Prussia gave sound or sage advice, but whenever he did, it was almost always exactly what he needed to hear. “ Danke, Bruder .”
“Any time,” Prussia voiced as he watched the blonde move to put honey in the cup of water, undoubtedly to soothe Italy’s throat after the relapse. “But also keep in mind that you’re not supporting him alone.”
Germany grunted, screwing the honey’s cap back on before picking up the warm glass of water, ready to head back upstairs. “This isn’t about me.”
“No, but I know how frustrating and worrying this whole situation can be so...remember, Romano and I are always here to help.”
Germany smiled slightly. His brother was a dummkopf most of the time, but he could be sincere when he wanted to be. “ Danke, ” he repeated. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Fantastisch. Now, holler if you need me. For now, Gilbird and I are going to play video games.”
“Why? So you can lose to him again?”
“Hey, I resent that!”
The two said their goodnights after Prussia made sure there was nothing he could do as of now and parted, Germany upstairs to his bedroom where a certain Italian sat, and Prussia to his bedroom in the basement where he would inevitably get his ass beat in a video game by a bird.
Germany half expected to find Italy asleep, knowing how drained he must be from the mental relapse he’d had, however, he was surprised to find the Italian wide awake and sketching in a spare notebook Germany had on his bedside table. Should this be any other night, Germany would’ve thought the sight before him to be beautiful and serene. From the fire rolling and crackling comfortingly in the fireplace to the wonderful, charismatic, and beyond creative man that sat in his bed, harboring his own sense of heat and comfort that no fire could ever hope to compete against.
However, this wasn’t any other night.
Where typically Italy was warm and inviting, Germany felt a cold and disheartened presence in his place. The light that Italy oh so often gave was threatening to snuff out.
Germany was determined to keep the light lit.
“Oh, Germany!” a high tenor Italian voice broke through the blonde’s thoughts. “You’re back! You were gone for a while, so I thought I’d draw a little, though I don’t have my own sketch pad on hand. I hope you don’t mind-”
“It’s fine,” Germany interrupted, just happy that the brunette was still interested in art. When they’d first started recovery, Italy had become cynical and irritable, almost like Romano. He’d lost complete interest in making pasta, art, playing football, and even playing with their pets.
This was a good sign.
“I brought you some water,” Germany said, extending the cup of slightly yellowish water to the brunette. Germany rolled his eyes good-naturedly when Italy crinkled his nose in disgust at the discolored water. “It’s just a little bit of honey to help your throat. I know you at least like honey.”
At the mention of the natural sweetener, Italy began to look slightly apprehensive. “H-How much?”
“Not important,” the German pressed, urging the glass into the Italian’s hands. “We both know honey doesn’t have many calories, to begin with, anyway.”
The anxiety didn’t wash away from the brunette’s face, but he still took a sip of the warm beverage. He hummed involuntarily as the healing agent washed smoothly down his scratched-up throat, relief almost immediate. “Thank you,” he said somewhat bashfully after downing half of the glass.
Germany gave a slight hum in response, moving towards the opposite side of the bed to lie down next to the Italian. “Are you comfortable?”
“You stress too much,” Italy chastised lightly, setting his glass on the bedside table and continuing with his sketch. “Is Germany comfortable?”
Avoidant as ever. Germany supposed he shouldn’t have expected a direct answer. The Italian didn’t only run away from war. “I’m serious,” Germany mumbled. “All things considered, how do you feel? Does anything hurt too much? You don’t taste anything metallic, do you? And just...mentally where are you at?”
“Luddy,” the brunette interrupted, leaning into the blonde’s side, “I’m...as ok as possible right now. Yes, my throat’s sore, but nothing severe, and mentally, I’m…” he paused. He had a feeling Germany knew exactly what he was feeling but wanted the confirmation for anxiety’s sake. “Kinda scared,” he finished dumbly, looking away from blue eyes that felt as if they were piercing his heart.
Germany was silent as he moved to put an arm around Italy, his hand moving to hold one of thinner stature. “Tomorrow we’re going back to the old routine.”
“I figured as much.”
“But I don’t think it’ll last nearly as long as it did the first time.”
“I hope not.”
“I’ve got hope for this. And you know not much gives me hope,” Germany confided, squeezing his arm a little tighter around the petite man. “Despite this, you’ve been in a better headspace as of late. Much better than when this first started. Even now,” Germany leaned back against the pillows, bringing Italy down with him. The brunette lied comfortably overtop the bulkier man, head pressed gently against Germany’s heart, and sketchbook laid lazily over his stomach. “I think we’ll be ok this time.”
Italy hummed lightly, listening to the steady thrum of Germany’s heart. A warm feeling spread through his body that blossomed into a sense of gratitude that couldn’t be matched. It always made him feel better, safer, when Germany said ‘we’ . It showed Italy that Germany had no intention of letting him fight this alone. This was just another war in which they were allies — and more — and the gunfire and bombs were Italy’s terrifying and harmful thoughts. And even though Italy’s style of combat was waving a white flag in surrender, as was his previous plan, Germany’s, thankfully, was not.
He closed his eyes, fatigue finally taking over his mind as consciousness began to slip away. He knew tomorrow and the days that followed would be scary and beyond difficult, but as long as he had Germany — Ludwig —he knew he could conquer anything. “I think so, too,” came his sleepy response.
And that was all the confirmation Ludwig needed to know that Feliciano would be just fine.