Work Text:
"I'm worried about you."
Veneziano turns away from his painting to look at his boyfriend: "What?"
"I'm... worried about you," Germany says, leaning against the door of Veneziano's studio, arms crossed in front of his chest.
"I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to worry you, ve," he says, placing the brush on a nearby table and cleaning his stained hands on a dirty old towel. His skin looks unusually pale, there's a dry patch on his forehead and bags under his eyes. It's an unusual sight for a nation, especially in times of economic prosperity like these.
"Are you-"
"Do you want gnocchi for dinner?" he interrupts him as he throws the towel on a chair, "Romano made some, ve."
"Um, okay, but-"
"It's almost dinner time for you anyway, I'll go prepare them."
"Ah, there's no need, you know I can wait for your time to eat," Germany says, pulling away from the door and walking to Veneziano. He looks at the painting the other was creating and stills, an uncomfortable, sick feeling curling in his stomach, "What is this?"
"Ve," Veneziano sighs, leaning against Germany as if to steady himself - Germany's arms automatically curls around his waist, "It's a funeral."
He could tell: the scene is set in what looks like the outside of a church; at the center of the composition there's a man staring vacantly at an open casket, while the people around him approach him to offer their condolences as the priests performs the funeral rite. Two small children, one of them with the same dark hair and blue eyes of what Germany presumes is their father, are lying crowns of chrysanthemums on the floor near the casket, their eyes red and tears falling on their full cheeks.
"That's an unusual subject for you," he says.
Veneziano shrugs: "Wanted to experiment, ve."
"I see," Veneziano is not telling him the whole truth, he can feel it, "It's... haunting. Beautiful, but haunting."
The other smiles: "I'm glad, that's what I was aiming for."
That doesn't sound like him: "Did you finish it?"
"Almost," he stretches and the t-shirt he's wearing rolls up, revealing a too flat stomach and the bones of the pelvis poking out. The sight almost makes Germany panic - he didn't look like this last time he saw him naked. Veneziano has never been bony in all the time they have known each other.
"T-Take a break," Germany says, grabbing his hand in a gentle hold and kissing the knuckles - and noticing how thin they now are, "I'll prepare dinner this time."
"But you are my guest, amore."
"You have worked hard," he replies as he gently pushes Veneziano towards the door, "Go take a shower liebe, I'll set the table."
Normally, Veneziano would have protest, claiming that he has to be a good host and that his cooking skills are better anyway - not that he's wrong - and Germany he's here to rest and not take care of the house in his stead.
Worryingly, there's no fight: Veneziano sighs and closes his eyes, still, too still; when he opens them again he smiles, tired: "Va bene, I'll go take a bath if that's okay."
"Of course," Germany caresses his hair - since when are they so dry? - and kisses his chapped lips before letting him go. Once he's alone in the studio, he turns towards the painting. Panic raises in his chest the longer he stares at the empty blue eyes of the man at the center of it. It almost looks like a premonition.