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Germany was fidgety. He’d been so for a while, now. There was something weighing on his mind. A certain something—or rather, someone—that he never had the chance to think about properly, because it was always around him. Speaking of which…
“Germany, Germany!” He heard the high-pitched voice. Speak of the devil.
“Ja, Italy?” He sighed imperceptibly, hoping Italy would not notice. It’s not that he minded the other man’s presence, but he wished he could have some alone time to sort out his muddled thoughts.
“Look, I made a painting of us!”
This piqued his interest. “A painting?” It was then that he noticed the square frame that Italy was holding behind his back.
“I hope you’ll like it…” Italy was suddenly shy. Such a strange and mercurial being, he was, with his moods.
“If you made it, then of course I would like it.” He winced internally as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was so obvious! No wonder his brother teased him.
Italy, mercifully, only gave him a wide smile at that, a smile that made his heart beat faster. He really had to figure out what to do with these feelings. “Here you go, Germany!” He produced the painting he had hidden behind his back, showing it to Germany.
Germany took the painting, handling it carefully. “Oh…” he breathed out. The artwork was beautiful. It was obvious that Italy had worked very hard on it, and his artistic talent shone through in the brushwork, the masterful play of colors and light. It depicted the both of them, sitting under a gnarled oak tree, whose leaves seemed to dance, speckled with sunlight. The viewpoint was that of a distant observer’s, but it was obvious that the two figures under the tree were them. Germany’s blond hair shone, partially lit by a sunbeam that glimmered through the tree’s branches. Italy’s brown-reddish locks were captured gorgeously, shining in the myriad of colors emitted by its real-life counterpart. And of course, that one curly strand, delicately depicted, coiling out from beneath his tresses. Italy’s hands were animated, a movement captured in a snapshot, as he spoke excitedly about something. He could just about make out the blue of his own eyes, rendered as lovingly as his half-smiling face, as Germany sat under the tree with Italy, listening to his lively conversation.
“…What do you think?” asked Italy, toeing the ground somewhat nervously. His hands were clasped behind his back.
Germany realized he had been silent for a while, taking in every gorgeous detail of the painting. “It’s… it’s beautiful, Italy. Simply beautiful. How long did this take you?”
Suddenly shy again, Italy’s gaze turned to the ground, and a very faint blush could be made out on his cheeks. “Don’t you worry about that, Germany. I’m glad that you like it.”
Germany tore his gaze from Italy’s reddened face, with some difficulty, to look at the painting again. With every sweep of his eyes along the colorful artwork, he could make out more hidden details. A small flower here and there, an insect flitting about in the fields. Every blade of grass painstakingly carved out with pleasing color. The clouds in the sky looked so real, wispy and fluffy. “And this is for me?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes!” Italy beamed. “It’s a present.”
“But… why?”
The other man shrugged. “I just felt like making you something.” Again, his gaze cast downward.
“Well… danke—uh, thank you. It’s very beautiful. I cannot wait to hang this in my home.”
“You will?” Italy exclaimed with happy surprise.
“Of course! A piece this gorgeous deserves to be displayed.”
“That makes me happy.” Italy lifted his eyes to meet Germany’s. The latter wondered how Italy could speak his emotions so plainly. It was something Germany needed to learn to be better at. If only his emotions didn’t involve Italy, then he could ask the man for help.
Germany gave a small smile, breaking the sternness of his face. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, yes!” Italy threw his arms up, catching Germany in a surprise hug. He felt his face flush.
He patted Italy’s back awkwardly, still clutching the painting in his other hand. “Shall we go get something to eat, then? Let me stop by my place first to drop off this painting.”
“Sounds good to me!”
“Bruder, was ist das?”
“Oh, das? Ah…” Germany rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to explain the painting proudly displayed in the main hallway of his home. He realized that the easiest explanation was the truthful one. “Italy painted it for me.”
Prussia raised an eyebrow. “Italy?” He studied the painting. “Wow, it’s awesome…” he murmured. “But not as awesome as me.” He turned back to Germany, grinning. “Why did he make you a painting?”
“I don’t know,” Germany shrugged. “He said he just wanted to make me something.”
“Okayyyyy,” Prussia said suspiciously, drawing out the last syllable. Germany sighed, knowing what was to come. “He’s definitely into you.”
“You can tell from a painting?”
“Normal friends don’t just spend weeks painting masterpieces for their friends.”
“Weeks?” Germany asked. “How do you know?”
“Well, weeks or months. It’s obvious, judging from the detail and amount of effort put into this.”
“Well,” Germany said sheepishly. “He’s just like that, I think.”
Shaking his head, Prussia answered, “Not for just anybody. Only for you.”
He sighed. “I suppose.”
“You really ought to do something about that.”
“What do you want me to do, bruder?” Germany asked in frustration. “It’s not like I can just tell him how I feel!”
“Why not?” Prussia looked back at him, no hint of mockery in his voice or his face.
Germany had no answer.
He couldn’t sleep. Usually he didn’t have much trouble getting to sleep, seeing as how he started his day so early, but tonight was different. In fact, he’d had trouble falling asleep the past few weeks. So many things on his mind. Well, really only one thing. Person. But that thing—person—made his mind swirl with unbidden thoughts.
It certainly didn’t help that said person was snoring peacefully next to him.
Sighing inaudibly, Germany pushed a hand through his messy bangs and rolled over to look at Italy. The man looked as carefree as he did when awake, albeit without the usual huge grin on his face. Often, Germany preferred this Italy, the one with the peaceful, calm expression. The one that was only for him.
And all the other girls that have seen Italy sleeping, probably, his mind helpfully supplied. This is why he didn’t like to think about such things. His brain always managed to come up with the most negative take on a situation, and he’d spiral. He knew Italy liked to flirt and court lots of girls, it was simply how he was. Germany had no hope of changing that. So why, in his deepest fantasies, the ones he would never admit to anyone else, much less himself, did he imagine that Italy could settle down with him?
Germany rolled back over, now unable to look at Italy’s sleeping face. It made him feel bitter. His fantasies were better off as just that—fantasies—because they would never come true.
He suddenly felt like crying, which was ridiculous, of course. Germany didn’t cry. That was a show of weakness, and one must never show weakness. Especially not about something as silly as this. But still, the thoughts swirled to the forefront of his mind, pipe dreams of Germany coming home after work to a kitchen smelling wonderfully of pasta, Italy dressed in a cute little apron, and he’d welcome Germany home, and then they’d kiss each other good evening, and Germany would tell Italy all about his day…
Wincing internally, he shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. It was no good thinking about such things. It would only make him feel worse. Then again, these peaceful delusions were the only images that could lull him to sleep these days. Germany weighed the cons of sinking deeper into emotional madness versus getting a good night’s sleep. Despite his conviction, the softer part of his brain won out, somehow managing to convince him that it would be at least better to sleep now, and he could sort things out in the morning.
With more than a little bit of shame, he indulged again in his daydreams, letting himself sink into one of his favorite ones: him and Italy touring Europe together. Travelling as they often already did, but this time, as a couple. Getting couple’s massages in Sweden… visiting the famous Turkish baths… having a romantic candlelit dinner in Paris…
He sighed softly, feeling more peaceful now. Gradually, his body relaxed at the welcome musings, and he didn’t notice when he finally fell asleep.
“Good morning, Germany!”
Blearily, he opened his eyes, still only half-awake. Sunlight was filtering in through the gaps in the curtains, and he frowned. Turning over to check his alarm clock shocked him fully awake. “It’s… 12:30?!” he muttered in surprise. Normally up at 6 am sharp, he never let himself sleep in this much. Now he already felt like his whole day was wasted. “How did I…”
It was then that he noticed Italy standing there, nervously. Wait, nervous? Italy was never nervous, or at least didn’t show it, but yet there he was, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. “Good morning, Germany,” he repeated, softer this time. Germany noticed that he was wringing his hands. “I would have woken you up, but you seemed really tired. I know you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.”
Italy had noticed? Damn, he’d hoped that wasn’t the case. He’d tried to be as quiet as possible in his late-night musings, but evidently the other man was more perceptive than he let on.
Suddenly he realized something horrifying. Italy had, somehow, woken up before him. How was this possible? It must be those sleepless nights. He evidently really needed the sleep, as Italy had said.
Italy was still standing there, smiling a nervous little smile, still wringing his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Germany asked.
At this, Italy’s eyes widened, and he dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, nothing!” He let out a trepid little chuckle. “I just, umm…” Italy’s gaze dropped to the floor for the briefest of seconds, then shot back up to meet Germany’s eyes. He opened his mouth once, twice. “Imadebreakfastforyou.”
“What?”
The other man took a deep breath. “I made breakfast for you.”
Germany blinked. Was this what Italy had been so nervous about? “Oh… thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
At this, Italy waved a hand nonchalantly. His nerves seemed to be easing, which was good, because Italy was never nervous, and it made Germany nervous to see Italy so nervous. Nerves all around. “You deserve it! You’re so hard-working all the time, you need a break once in a while.”
“Well… I suppose. If you say so.” Germany yawned, blinking the still-clearing sleep from his eyes, then made to get out of bed.
“Wait!” Italy held his hands out. “I was, um, thinking that maybe… I could bring it to you?” He bit his lip. “In bed?”
Now Germany was confused. “Why?”
Back to the hand-wringing. “I just thought… it would be nice.” At Germany’s surprised gaze, he quickly amended, “I know you don’t like eating in bed because of the crumbs and the mess but I found one of your serving trays and I can clean up afterwards, I wanted… to do something nice for you.”
“But you always do nice things for me.” There Germany goes with his big mouth again, saying exactly what he feels. Italy’s habits must be rubbing off on him.
“I’m glad you think so.” Italy smiled widely, an action that made Germany’s heart beat faster. “So… can I do this for you?”
Germany thought about it. It was true, he really didn’t like getting crumbs in his bed, but he was a careful eater, and it did sound very nice… “What did you make?”
“Eggs and bratwurst. I have some fruit as well, and I thought about making toast, but then I realized the crumbs would probably get everywhere, so I decided against it.”
So thoughtful. Germany caught himself in the beginnings of a smile. “Alright then.”
Italy brought his hands together in glee, practically jumping up and down. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay with it! I’ll be right back.” Then he rushed out of the room, leaving a bewildered Germany staring back at him.
Italy was always rather over the top with his gestures of affection, but lately it had been… different. Germany couldn’t quite put his finger on how, but he could tell. Even Prussia had noticed, with the painting. The painting… breakfast in bed…
Germany sat up straight. It couldn’t be. No, it was just his lovestruck imagination, painting everything in rose colors. It couldn’t possibly be… that Italy was trying to court him?
He put his head in his hands. “Scheisse,” he whispered. This was all too much, and he was never any good at feelings. If it was true, and Italy was trying to court him, then Germany had no idea how to react. He would probably mess things up dramatically, like… He shuddered, banishing the thoughts of that Valentine’s Day from his mind. But what if it wasn’t true, and Germany was just reading into things too much? And then what if Germany thought it wasn’t true, and he brushed this off, but it was true, and he actually ended up hurting Italy’s feelings? He never let himself think about the possible positive outcome, because he was sure he would never be able to get there. He just wasn’t skilled enough at navigating an emotional minefield like this. It was all very complicated… he needed an outsider’s opinion. He needed help.
At this moment, the object of his anxiety reappeared in the doorway, bearing a tray laden with food. Germany quickly lifted his head from his hands, not wanting to worry Italy. The smell of the freshly cooked eggs and bratwurst reached him, and his stomach grumbled. He suddenly realized that he was very hungry, which made sense, as he’d slept in six and a half whole hours past his usual waking time. “That smells delicious, Italy.”
“Oh, thank you!” Was that a very faint dusting of blush across Italy’s cheeks, or was Germany just imagining it? “But you haven’t tried it yet, you don’t know if it’s good,” he continued with a sly smile.
“You made it, I’m sure it’s good.” Germany felt like an idiot for being so obvious.
Italy just stood still for a heavy moment, seeming speechless (a rare occasion). He swiftly jumped back into action, though, and walked to Germany’s bedside, balancing the tray carefully in his hands.
“Here, let me help,” Germany said, quickly clearing some things from his nightstand so Italy could set the tray down. It did, indeed, look delicious. The eggs were sunny-side-up (his favorite), and the newly washed and cut fruit was beautiful, fresh strawberries gleaming red and ripe, with banana slices arranged neatly around the side. “Have you eaten breakfast already?”
“I did,” Italy said sheepishly. “I wanted to wait for you, but I was so hungry…”
“It’s alright,” Germany chuckled. Then he looked down at the rumpled bedsheets in front of him, weighing out his words carefully. “You can… still join me, if you want.”
Italy beamed. “Really? I would love to!”
“Ja, come on.” Germany patted the empty space next to him on the bed. “We can share.”
Wasting no time, Italy practically jumped in the bed next to Germany, scooting much closer than he usually did. Germany could feel the heat radiating from his body. It seemed to warm up his own face, and he hoped his blush was not too obvious.
Luckily, Italy immediately started chattering away, talking about wanting to make pizzas later that evening. The conversation (somewhat) distracted Germany from how close together they were. He picked up the plate of eggs and sausage and balanced it carefully on his lap, then grabbed the cutlery from the tray and began digging in. “Mmm, it’s delicious. Thank you, Italy.”
Smiling shyly, Italy said, “You’re welcome, Germany.” How Germany loved to hear his name coming from Italy’s lips, the soft, melodic sounds almost caressing the syllables. So contrasting to his own language.
“Do you want a strawberry?”
“Sure!”
Germany took the bowl of fruit, plucking out a strawberry. The leaves and cores had already been taken out, just how Germany liked it. Italy opened his mouth, and automatically, without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they had done this countless times before, Germany popped the strawberry into Italy’s mouth. Italy chewed on it, blissfully oblivious, as Germany’s thoughts caught up with what he’d just done.
“I…” he began, then snapped his mouth closed, teeth clicking with the force of it, as Italy looked up at him through his bangs. Was he doing this on purpose?
“What’s wrong, Germany?” the other man asked, tilting his head slightly. So cute. “We’ve been friends forever, you can tell me anything.”
He gaped for air for a few precious seconds, then blurted out. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Italy giggled. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“For…” Germany felt his cheeks redden. “For that.”
“Oh.” The briefest flicker of disappointment crossed Italy’s face, then he perked up again. “It’s okay! I don’t mind.”
“You don’t?”
“Why would I?”
At this, Germany had no answer. Anyone else would probably be angry at such a violation of their personal space. Then again, Italy had opened his mouth, seemingly inviting Germany to do such a thing. What did it all mean? He was so confused. His heart was pounding through his chest, so hard that he was sure Italy could hear it. Was this normal? Of course not, for a normal person. But Italy was no normal person. Did he do this with everyone? No, only with Germany, Prussia himself had said it. Could he trust Prussia? His brother could be mean sometimes, but in the end, he did have Germany’s best interests at heart. What did it all mean? He continued staring at Italy, thoughts chasing each other around his head, heart still hammering in his chest. Was Italy closer than before? That couldn’t be possible, could it? Had he scooted even closer while Germany was blanking out? Why? What did it all mean? What did it all mean?
From Italy’s point of view, Germany had remained silent for a precious, laden few minutes. Germany caught the wisp of an almost imperceptible sigh, before Italy made to move away.
“Wait,” he heard himself say, almost as if someone else was controlling his body. He saw Italy freeze in place. Slowly, excruciatingly, Germany brought his hand up in the air between them. He had no idea what he was doing. Everything felt unreal. “I…” He trailed off. Brought his hand, quivering, to rest on Italy’s cheek. It felt so soft. “I…”
“Yes?” Italy whispered.
There were so many thoughts drumming in his head that they all swirled into so much white noise. Through the noise, however, was one unbidden thought screaming at him again and again. Germany leaned forward before he could think about regretting it, before his nerves caught up with him, and saw the flash of Italy’s wide, surprised eyes, before he fully closed the distance between them and caught Italy’s lips in a soft kiss.
It was cliché, but time really did seem to stop. Germany’s eyes fluttered closed. Italy’s lips were so soft, so warm, so much better than he ever could have imagined. He slid the hand on Italy’s cheek down and over to the back of his neck, fingers ruffling the soft hairs there. To his surprise, Italy didn’t pull away, but wrapped his fingers around Germany’s upper arms, seemingly holding him in place. It was a chaste kiss, their mouths closed, but it still made warmth wash through his body. The bowl of strawberries lay, forgotten, on the bedspread, at risk of toppling over, but he didn’t care. He wanted this moment to last forever. He could feel the soft breaths through Italy’s nose tickling his face.
Finally, it was Italy who pulled away. He had a slight blush on his cheeks, and his eyes were so warm, so full of adoration. He smiled, a small, private smile. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to do that.”
It took some time for Germany to find his voice again. “…Really?”
The other man huffed out a breath of amusement. “Really.”
“Oh.” Germany was such an idiot. A few heavy seconds passed. “Then… do you want to do that again?”
Italy’s small smile broke into a wider grin. “I’d love to.”
“Hold on.” At Italy’s quizzical look, Germany took the breakfast plates that were still on the bed, having miraculously not spilled them, and placed them carefully on the tray on the nightstand. “While I would love to eat the breakfast you made for me, right now, I think there’s something else I’d rather taste.” Where had that come from? Was he suddenly smooth? The kiss had emboldened him. He felt like he was on top of the world.
Italy giggled, the sweetest sound in the universe. “Oh, Germany, you—” He was cut off by Germany suddenly turning around from placing the dishes on the nightstand and pouncing on him. “Ah!”
Germany lay on top of him now, his hands cradling Italy’s face. “You’ve been waiting forever for me to do that, but you see, you’re not the only one.” He leaned in to kiss the wide smile on Italy’s lips.
“We’re idiots, aren’t we?” Italy chuckled.
“Ja, we are,” Germany murmured into Italy’s mouth. “Now kiss me back, idiot.”
Wrapping his arms around Germany, Italy whispered, “I’d love nothing more.”
The eggs grew cold, but neither of them cared.