Work Text:
It all starts in a crappy business meeting...
“So it’s come to my attention that there’s a.. bicycle shortage going on- does anyone care to explain to me, why there is a shortage of.. uh, bikes?”
Spain coughed into his fist. “Maybe because we’re running out of real issues to talk about, so you're getting paid less.” Portugal and Ireland snicker.
UN rubbed his eyes, and looked at Germany, who , was currently doing his best to take notes, transcribing the meeting and jot down anything worth recording (UN asked him too).
Unfortunately, the other countries didn't quite share his work ethic. He was usually the one country that had to pay attention to everything.
“Germany, please note ‘attitude management’ under conference ideas.” The navy colored Union muttered. A handful of countries collectively groaned. Italy wasn't one of them. He was dead asleep, head on top of folded arms and breathing evenly. The tricolor stripes slack with relaxation.
“So about the bikes..”
Germany really wished he would at least pretend to pay attention. Nonetheless, he over the table to hide his friend from EU. Austria gave him a knowing smirk (that he ignored).
“Any questions?” Eu finished, glancing around. Thankfully he didn’t notice Italy.
It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but something about the pinched expression on EU’s face told Germany that it wouldn’t be good if someone was outright sleeping right now.
Suddenly Italy shifted, and now the crown of curly hair was pressing against Germany’s arm, and he stiffened. Italy was warm, it was… pleasant. He didn't dare move his arm.
It was so nice, in fact, that he failed to notice France raising her hand.
“Yes, Francois?” EU sighed.
“Are we allowed to sleep too?” France smirked, her stupid
Germany looks, and it’s too late, EU is looking over at him…then at Italy. He strides over, wings folded tightly.
“ Psst wake up-“ Germany nudged the Italian’s side, first gently, and when that did nothing he switched to a semi-panic semi-violent elbow strike to the shoulder.
The Italian shot up with half lidded eyes and a scowl. “Ouch… Che diavolo Germa-?“
UN stared down at them sternly, Italy pressed his lips shut and nervously smiled up at the winged country. They both stood up frantically.
“Heyyy United Nations! How are you?” He smiled cheekily. Germany ignored how his heart swooped at the sight of his tousled hair, and lidded eyes.
“Bow- Dummkupf,” Germany muttered, putting a hand behind his head and forcing him to bow. It was bad enough to sleep through an entire meeting, but Italy’s airheaded demeanor was bound to get them into more trouble.
The room is watching them, and the European Union is aware of it. His stern expression changed into a tired one. Germany knew it feels, to be antagonized and constantly overworked. It isn't much, but he finds himself apologetically bowing too.
“-I’m sorry, EU I’ll talk with him.”
Italy’s head restlessly shifts under his hand.
“...Thanks Germany,” The union gave a small smile, and taking his notes and transcripts in hand. He rose from the bow and politely nodded, Italy follows the motion and shakes Germany’s hand off his head
The room of countries breaks into bored conversation as EU makes his way to the head of the table.
“Why are you so nice to him? He’ll just give you more work.”
Germany turned curiously, Italy’s lips were pulled tight in annoyance.
“Well,” He wasn’t too sure what to say. That he pitied the union? Related to how he felt? Thankfully, Italy interrupted him before he could say anything stupid.
“ Non importa , I guess.”
“You’re the best at getting me out of trouble, grazie amico . I trust your judgement.”
Italy softly smiled at him.
He blinked at his best friend, and suddenly felt hot in the face. It was just a smile, a quirk of the lips. But somehow it becomes so much to him.
All the other bodies in the room became unimportant, it was just the two of them standing under the ugly fluorescent lighting.
Just Italy in his fine black suit, smiling at him. Germany loves him, his angular frame and bubbly attitude. He’s known the man since they were kids, Italy usually- if not always , had his back. Italy could do the smallest things, and it could spark a fluttering sensation inside his chest.
His face was hopelessly warm. So he turns his head away, hoping it could hide it.
“No problem, Italy.” Is all he can muster.
The meeting ends not minutes after. As the other countries leave, EU hands him a stack of papers due in two days. Italy stays behind to watch the interaction, eyes trailing EU like a hawk.
EU leaves eagerly leaves before the can, and leaves the two in the office.
“That ridiculous…” Italy mutters, leaning against the table.
Germany is trying his best to cram all of the papers into the briefcase, but it doesn’t seem to be working…
“What is?” He replies, still pushing down.
“That!” Italy snapped, jabbing a finger at the overstuffed briefcase. “No one else has to do all of that paperwork- Not even EU himself!” Germany shrugged, and then tried to use all of his weight against the lid, then gritting his teeth when it refused to budge. Italy sighs and nudged him away from the suitcase, and without a struggle-closed it on the first attempt.
“I swear he’s so uptight!” Italy says, handing him the suitcase while going on an annoyed rant about EU.
Germany raises an eyebrow at the man. EU hardly interacts with Italy at all, what was he so mad about? Interrupting his nap?
“It was France that pointed out you were sleeping,” He points out as they made their way out the door. Italy paused and groaned.
“Ughh that dumb frog- I should’ve known!”
Germany chuckled a bit, “Why are you so angry today-? It was just a nap, no?”
Italy opened his mouth to speak, then grumbled inaudibly.
They didn't speak for a while, and made it into the elevator before Italy suddenly yanked his shoulders and excitedly slammed him against the wall. Germany nearly screamed if it wasn’t for the ridiculous grin that split across Italy’s face.
“I have an idea, mio amico !” Italy declared, hands gripping his shoulders tight, and eyes glimmering with mischief.
Germany froze, the elevator became so quiet that he could hear the machinery around them.
“Uh-”
Italy beamed up at him with an innocent, almost sheepish smile up at him, and any apprehension Germany had just..sort of melted away. He didn't know what the idea was, but deep down he was already going to agree with it.
“Alright,” He sighed. “what is it?”
The Italian’s grin somehow got wider. “Let’s get back at France- and steal the Mona Lisa! It belongs to me anyways -“
Germany froze, that was certainly not what he was expecting.
He fixed his glasses, and looked down at the man in deadpan.
“You want to steal the Mona Lisa…”
Italy nodded, freakishly eager.
“The painting that’s worth over a billion dollars.” he said slowly.
Another nod. Then, without warning, Italy dropped his hands and stepped back, practically glowing with excitement.
Germany would never say it, but there was a certain burning warmth lingering where Italy had touched him.
“All the more reason to steal it right?? Plus we’re already in Paris- We just need to find the museum and break in!”
Italy was going to be the death of him, surely. Gripping the suitcase tightly, Germany exhaled a nervous sigh. He wanted to hang out with Italy, he really did-
-but on the other hand, this seems like a surefire way to ruin his reputation. Especially as a trusted and respectful member of the UN. It could undo all of his hard work.. no one could trust him again, what if they decide he’s just as bad as.. What if they kick him out of the Union? What if-
“Germany-? It’s..it’s okay if you don’t want to,” Italy said, his hand was touching his shoulder again. But it was softer, a gentle hold. The warmth returns to his face tenfold.
“Really, you don’t have to do this. I just thought it’d be fun to hang out.”
He already knew he was going to agree from the start. But something about the proposal really solidified it.
“No no, it’s okay. let’s do this.”
When Italy smiled and punched his shoulder playfully, he knew he made the right decision, logic be damned.
__________
“Louvre Museum- this is it!”
The taxi drove off into the dark nightly streets of Paris. Leaving the two of them staring up at a huge Victorian building.
Germany was fidgeting with the backpack strap-pulling the hastily purchased black beanie over his head.
“Italy when you said hey ‘let's steal the Mona Lisa!’ I thought you meant tomorrow.”
“Non preoccuparti, this is way more fun then waiting!”
Italy smirked, tugging Germany’s arm towards one of the windows before grabbing a brick and slamming it repeatedly until the glass shattered.
Italy blinked at it, as if waiting for some alarm to go off.
“That’s mighty convenient.” he whispered, before climbing through it.
“We are definitely getting caught..” Germany whispered back, latching onto Italy’s offered hand and letting him get pulled up through the shattered window. He is careful to doged the shattered remnants clinging to the wooden frame.
After getting in, they spent the next twenty minutes wandering around and looking for something. Any kind of map or sign- but the hallways were draped in total darkness and Italy couldn't help stepping on his shoes or accidentally walking into him.
At some point, Italy whacked him in the face while trying to point towards something. “ Uze your zamn phone lightz! ” He had whisper-screamed, Italy jerked away and apologized profusely.
They continued stumbling through fancy halls and passing beautiful artworks,
Timeless landscapes, Greek sculptures.. sometimes they paused to glance at the ones underneath a spotlight. Like a beacon in the darkness of the room, the lights drew their eyes in but the art made them linger.
Some particular paintings made him think of his father, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
But for the most part they would look at them in quiet appreciation, until Italy grabbed his hand and tugged him along through the halls until spotting a massive banner, with La Mona Lisa printed across it. They grin at each other and rush inside.
Finally they found her, the Mona Lisa, in all its yellow aging glory. Protected by a thick layer of glass, her expression taunted them. Celebrating her place in history as timeless and beloved.
Italy looked at it, pressing a gentle hand to the glass. Germany wondered what he was thinking, he wanted to know if this was his first time seeing it, and lastly, by any chance, if he was doing this for his grandfather.
Germany wordlessly unzipped the backpack, got the hammer, and placed it in the Italian’s hands.
“Alright- three, two… wait take a step back you're gonna get hit with glass-”
“uno..due..tre!”
The hammer collided with glass, sending spluttering shards in every direction. The spotlight reflected off of them as they flew. In a strange way, Germany thought it was quite beautiful.
Italy was grinning like a madman.
even Germany found himself excited at the sight- until a blaring alarm went off and the lights switched on, flashing red every few seconds. A wave of alarm flooded the pair and they couldn’t help but stare at each other in fear.
“GRAB THE PAINTING-“
Italy suddenly dropped the hammer and scrambled to yank the painting out. He yelled- unable to hear himself think with the sirens going off.
“IM TRYING- BUT SHE WON’T BUDGE!”
Italy shouts, before finally, the damn thing comes loose. Germany’s pretty sure there’s a million shards of glass embedded onto Italy’s hands- he can feel them as Italy grabbed his hand as they sprinted through the halls. After tracing their steps in a flurry, finally they jumped out the window and into the cold cement.
The alarm was slightly muffled, but they knew they weren’t safe yet. Italy dropped his hand so he could clutch onto the painting as he ran.
Excitement is pumping through his veins as he chases after. Italy darts down the sidewalk, leagues ahead of him. It made sense, he was always better at football than him, not that Germany ever minded.
_____________________
“C’mon let’s hide in here!” Italy gasps at him, pointing at a bright red-dome made of plastic, there were kid sized tunnels leading inside.
They were at a playground, and Germany was too out of breath to protest or think of a better idea.
After crawling inside with the Mona Lisa safely tucked under Italy’s armpit, they both collapsed all at once. He’s horribly sweaty.. Italy’s still trying to recollect his breath, but he’s looking down at the painting in his hands and smiling so wide it gave the man dimples.
“I can’t believe we actually did it-“ he said, breathlessly.
Germany nods, and folds his knees up to his chest. What time was it-? Could they really sleep here, in the sand with some billion dollar painting? Should they be getting back to the hotel?
Italy thrusts the painting in front of him, with a huge smile that pushes aside any logical thoughts Germany had.
“Check it out! Ain't it great?! Made over 300 years ago- humans really don’t make art like they used to, huh?”
Germany lets himself chuckle, and shakes his head.
“It really is beautiful.” He paused, looking at the painted woman, and the rolling hills and gentle rivers behind her.
“No wonder France hoarded it for so long.”
“Right? At Last, it’s all mine!” Italy is grinning. Germany stares at him, full of so many warm things he doesn't dare name. Its
Gently, he wedged the canvas into the sand and turned to Germany again. It was night- so everything was dark, save for the streetlights creeping in through the small tunnels. Germany still felt a little delirious, here he was- hiding out in a playground with his best friend after an entire heist. Again, it felt a lot like being a kid. It felt simple and exciting, easy and fun.
He looks at Italy’s relaxed figure in the dark and finds himself never wanting to go to work again. He finds warmth in his chest to aid him against the breeze of the night. (The air is getting increasingly colder)
Maybe it’s the sleepy-ness getting to his head, but he feels like a thousand words are trying to cram into his mouth at once. All in some desperation to express what he, the embodiment of an entire nation, feels around his friend.
But like always, Italy says something before he does. Because unlike him, Italy doesn’t sharply curl in on himself if he does the wrong thing- he just does it, consequences be damned. And Germany loves him for it.
“Grazie, for helping me.” The country shuffled to lay down, hands folded beneath his head and staring up at the ceiling on the dome with tired lidded eyes.
“No, thank you, Italy.” he breathed, the night air filling his lungs like ice to a furnace. “It was fun.”
Italy closed his eyes as Germany pulled his hand to his lap to observe the glass still in it.
“You think she’ll find out we did it-?”
“hmm...Probably,”
“..ugh.”
“We’ll need to get you band-aides after…” He comments, frowning at how many little red slivers littered Italy’s hand.
“This is fun.” Italy says instead of replying.
Germany frowned, he knew Italy often brushed off his own injuries, but this one may actually get infected. Regardless, he keeps digging out the glass shards with careful precision and responds.
“What is? Stealing-?”
They both pause to listen to the howling sound of police sirens come and go. Waiting to see if they’ll find them.
The sound passes briefly.
“No, just.. being around you. It’s fun,”
Him? Fun? Italy must be delirious, or in shock. Germany hums in response, now hunched over and trying to get out a particularly small shard that's wedged deep into Italy’s palm. They were also very soft, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t partially doing this to feel the other’s hands.
He’d like to be able to hold them without an excuse. To be able to just reach over and interlock their fingers without fear.
Germany glanced up, and felt his chest swell with a certain warmth. Italy’s eyes were watching him, with almost scary precision. But with the warmest smile he’s ever seen from the man.
Italy’s expression doesn’t change when Germany notices him. Instead, he just chuckled and looked back down at his own damaged hand.
He lets out a shaky exhale, one he didn't even realize he was holding. Italy made it far too easy to fall in love with him- Germany pressed his lips into a thin line. Trying to remind himself to stop hoping for so much from him. He doesn’t feel the same, you already know this, Germany.
“Ouch- not so tight-” Italy winces, Germany looks down- he had started to clenched around the man's hands. He mutters an apology before letting it go, awkwardly leaving the hand on his knee.
“Germany..?"
A wave of despair hits him, simultaneously with guilt. Germany can’t help but blush and frown all at once.
“I think you should probably sleep.” Germany murmured, trying to distance himself from the sudden intimacy that had crept in without warning.
Italy's eyes softened, his smile turning teasing. "Nah, it's way too cold. Unless..." He shifted, inching closer with a playful gleam in his eye, "you wanna snuggle to warm me up~?"
Germany froze, all he could do was stare at the man lying down beside him.
“Italy..” His voice faltered, unsure of how to respond.
Italy raised an eyebrow, a nervous frown tugging at his lips. “What? We used to sleep next to each other all the time… why’d you stop holding my hand?”
There was almost something like panic in the Italian’s eyes. Germany still doesn’t know what to say.
He thinks back to the few but bright memories of his childhood, the times they spent tumbling around the streets playing football, sleeping on the same twin mattress whenever their dads had meetings- trying so hard not to giggle when they were supposed to be asleep. Germany loved him back then too, it only felt natural to be so close. But they are older now.
“We were younger then-” He tries to reason, but Italy wouldn’t have it.
“That shouldn’t matter! We are countries, the humans' weird social laws don’t affect us!” Italy protested, his voice growing more and more urgent, for what reason Germany can’t even begin to fathom.
“This is silly.. Just..sleep with me Germany, it isn’t that difficult..” Italy’s laid down, hair tousled and eyes tired and half lidded- heat overtakes Germany, to which he responds in desperate refusal.
Germany’s breath caught, his mind racing. “Italy, you can’t just say that!”
The words hung in the air, sharp and trembling, and suddenly everything went still. The silence was thick, heavier than it had ever been before. He almost forgot they were outside, in some empty playground under the cover of night. He even forgot the Mona Lisa. All that mattered was the man beside him, the one who had always been by his side.
“Why not?” Italy’s voice was quiet, but his eyes were wide, searching for something in Germany’s face.
Germany blinked, the pressure in his chest becoming unbearable. “Because I—because I like you, Italy!” The confession exploded out of him before he could stop it. “It hurts so much to be this close... when I know you’ll never feel the same.”
Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and before he could stop himself, he removed his glasses to wipe them away. The weight of the moment crashed down on him—he had ruined everything. He had confessed, and now there was no going back. The words hung in the air, unfinished, and his heart pounded as he dared not look up.
But then, a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. Italy’s touch was warm, grounding, and when he looked up, he found himself staring into those familiar yellow eyes, full of something tender, something raw.
"Is that true?" Italy whispered, his voice barely audible, almost like he was scared to ask.
Germany’s voice cracked as he nodded. "Yeah... It is the truth."
Italy’s face softened, and then, without another word, he reached across the space between them. His hands gently wrapped around Germany’s, pulling them close to his chest, like he was holding onto something precious.
“You’re an idiot, Germany.” Italy’s laugh was soft, but there was no mistaking the affection in it. He looked down at their hands, now intertwined, his smile wide but also... shy.
Germany’s heart thudded in his chest. “I... I don’t understand,” he murmured, confusion and disbelief clouding his thoughts.
Italy’s thumb traced circles over the back of his hand, his gaze intense yet tender. “I love you, Germany.” The words were barely a whisper, but they hit him like a tidal wave.
“I... I’ve loved you for a very long time,” Italy continued, his voice steady but filled with so much emotion. “I just... I didn’t know how to say it. I thought you’d never feel the same, that you’d never notice.”
Germany’s breath hitched. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Italy looked at him, biting the inside of his cheek, then smiled softly. “I figured you were straight,” he admitted with a laugh. “And... I guess I wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you’d go for. Loud, annoying, lazy... I’m not exactly your type.”
Germany shook his head, his heart swelling. “You’re kind, Italy. And you’re so full of life. You always try to help me... You make the best food, and... I don’t know, you make everything better.” He blushed, realizing how much he was saying.
Italy’s face turned a brilliant shade of red, and he glanced away, clearly embarrassed. But the shy smile that tugged at his lips made Germany’s heart skip a beat.
“You don’t have to say all that…” Italy mumbled, clearly flustered. Germany grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. “And you’re amazing at football, and your home is beautiful, and...” He leaned in closer, his voice soft, “You’ve always been more than enough.”
Italy’s eyes widened, and he turned even redder. “Germany, stop it!” he half-laughed, half-shouted. “The police are going to hear you!”
Germany leaned in, his voice teasing but warm. “Make me.”
Italy stared at him, eyes wide, before the familiar mischievous grin returned. He leaned forward, one hand gently cupping Germany’s cheek as he pulled him closer, their faces inches apart…
But suddenly a furious French woman’s voice cut through the air like a knife.
“HAH! JE VOUS AI ENFIN TROUVÉS, VOLEURS!”