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They don’t age. The matter turns up from time to time as it’s wont to do, a simple question that tends to come from a place of curiosity: “What does it feel like?” Most of the time it’s only their experience as a nation that others are curious about, so it suffices to answer with an anecdote that convinces the audience in question that they wouldn’t want to live that long to begin with.
Still, sometimes he’s certain that he can hear a tinge of malice in such few words, of envy. “What does it really feel like?” a few of them will ask, hinting at the boundless power they seem to associate with immortality, and the mere suggestion sends a shiver down his spine. It’s an insinuation that Germany rejects because he’s fully aware of where he used to stand, his eyes set on having the world caught inside his palm, and he no longer wants to be that kind of man.
He only considers his long life a true gift whenever he steps into his library, with its wooden shelves running from floor to ceiling, vibrant and solid as if impervious to the pass of time. He chooses a manuscript dating from a century ago and picks up the thinnest layer of dust from the cover, knowing that if he had been born as a mere mortal, a single lifetime wouldn’t have been enough to read the many books that have come to rest between his hands.
.
He studies his reflection in the stillness of a lake every now and then, dissecting each part rather than recognizing himself in the whole. For all the rulers he has seen age, he fails to see a single wrinkle in his own face, save for those caused by bringing his eyebrows together in a frown. “You should relax, Germany,” Italy often says with a certain melody to his words. He sings even when he doesn't mean to, and sometimes Germany just closes his eyes and listens, finding a spot next to Italy when the bells toll three. Sometimes.
.
His brother says he’s not old enough to worry about these things, and although that might be true, he’s decidedly an adult. As such, he remains composed even as his brother affectionately taunts him by pinching his cheeks. Germany supposes he doesn't fight fire with fire because it would be petty of him to do so, and also because there's a number of things that mentor figures can get away with, especially if they were forced to lose their identity because of one’s doings. “It’s not your fault, West. But if you still feel you need to atone for anything, I wouldn’t say no to pancakes,” his brother says with a boisterous laugh, and although Germany smiles, his chest doesn’t feel any lighter.
But perhaps his brother is right. He’s still too young, and the reminder comes when Austria's fingertips strike black and white with precision, each melody ageless and beyond grasp, when Hungary's fingers perch delicately on the shoulders of her former husband, and the answer of how strong is their bond is found in a language only they seem to understand.
.
Germany wonders at times whether he won’t ever despair upon knowing there’s no respite, only countless days ahead filled with more of the same. Because for the likes of them, life is a long, never-ending journey—time doesn't fly as it does with humans, it merely treads a path whose end they cannot see.
“Impossible,” Italy tells him laughing, because for him everything is new and delightful, and even after all these years, he remains as full of surprises as a Pandora's box. He proves this assumption true when he suddenly pushes Germany head first into a fountain. “Did you see that coming?” Italy yells at him before running away, and Germany is certain that something as dull as displeasure only becomes anger whenever Italy’s antics are involved.
Only after Germany discards his wet clothes in favor of dry, freshly pressed ones, he admits that Italy makes everything more intense too.
.
“Nothing is ever the same, Germany! Had you seen chocolate chips sprinkled in this exact pattern before? I don't think so!” Italy says, offering Germany a cup of gelato as a peace offering.
Every now and again Germany finds himself agreeing with that, because there are times when his world seems to turn upside down and he finds there are few things he can lean against with the certainty that they won't disappear.
That's why his complaints aren't as earnest as they seem whenever Italy climbs into his bed and settles in with a happy little sound. Germany smiles as he watches Italy fall asleep all too easily, this odd companion that is a constant in his life, both old and new, both friend and lover. He shifts to the side until their foreheads touch and closes his eyes, sure that he would never trade this for anything, this warm, warm presence that comes to disturb his nights.