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”And- And then, there’s Rigatoni, and..Oh! And there’s delicious Manicotti! And–! And–!” Veneziano entered him and Romano’s residence, which was located at their capital. Veneziano’s bubbly demeanor vastly differs from Germany’s, which is whom he dragged into their house by his hand. “Very nice, Veneziano.” Germany says, blunt. It’s hard not to think he has an attitude with such intimidating mannerisms. Though, he doesn’t mean to be this way. He truly does want to listen to Veneziano rant. Hell, he would all day if he could. He’d let that dear boy talk his ear off. Romano glances up and scoffs upon noticing Germany’s presence. “Hi-ya, big brother! Oh, I was just telling Germany about all of the amazing pasta shapes!! He said me and him could make some later!! Can’t you believe it, big brother?? LA GERMANIA PREPARERÀ LA PASTA CON ME!!” Romano rolls his eyes, clearly not enjoying the fact that he had to share his space with Germany. He lets out a sharp exhale as he exits the room. Veneziano looks to Germany. “Germanyy!! Do you know why my brother could be so annoyed with us? Romano is never that angry, Germany!!” He looks aside, not facing Veneziano, “I’m…sure it’s some dumb reason, Veneziano. I wouldn’t pay that much mind. Now, mein schatz, why don’t we make that-” “PASTA!!!!” Germany grins slightly. “Yes, pasta.”
Veneziano smiles like an idiot as Germany helps him tie his apron. “Oh, Mamma Mia! We’re ready to prepare the pasta!!” He claps his hands. Germany has a small smile. It brings immense joy to see Veneziano happy, and oh boy, is he happy when it comes to pasta. He places flour on the counter-top and creates a crater in the aforementioned mound of flour. He dusts his hands off. “Germany, can you crack the eggs in the flour?” Germany nods as he takes hold of three eggs gingerly, cracking them into the crater one at a time. Veneziano tries to reach for the oil on top of the fridge, however to his disadvantage, he was too short. Germany picks him up without warning. “VE?? GERMANY!!!! YOU SHOULD GIVE ME A WARNING AT LEAST!” He laughs, though shocked, as he retrieves the oil. He is let down and puts the oil and salt in with the eggs using as precise of measurements as you can get. He starts to gently knead the dough, rambling to Germany as he does so. “Hey, Germany!! Did you know there is over 600 pasta shapes? And over 1,300 names have been documented!” With Veneziano's continuous rambling, the time it takes to knead the dough flies by. “Hey, Germany, can you get the water boiling?” And, again, Germany follows Veneziano's request. He slips a pot out of a bottom cabinet, taking the deep metal pot to the sink and filling it decently with water. He lifts it out once done and sets it on the stove-top, turning up a burner. As he did this, Veneziano had already got the dough cut. “Perfetto! Now, we wait!” After a comfortable beat of silence, he looks up at Germany and smiles, “Germany?” “Yes?” "A-thank you. For cooking with me. Romano never wants to do it with me anymore.” Germany’s heart aches a bit at his last comment. “No problem, Veneziano.” As they talk, they take notice of the now boiling water. Veneziano puts the pasta in with a light ripple in the water following. He starts to slice tomatoes and other miscellaneous vegetables, spices, and herbs. As he creates the sauce, he demands Germany shred cheese. He scoffs, but his scoffs are amused, as he grabs the grater and starts to shred. Eventually, they create the overly-complecated, time-consuming pasta. As they sit and eat it together, Germany comments, “Is this what you usually do when you crave pasta?” “Mhm!” They continue eating in a comfortable serenity. It comes time where Germany is ready to leave. While he hugs Veneziano and kisses his forehead, he can’t help but look down the hall where Romano’s room resided. Veneziano clings to him. Before he knows it, he’s alone again. Romano isn’t exactly there. He hasn’t been since he started to see Germany a couple weeks prior. But, that shouldn’t consume him. He had Germany, and he knew he was loved. He picks up a bowl of his perfectly curated pasta and wraps it. He labels it ‘Romano’ and places it in the fridge. He waves bye to the pasta, saying, “Hasta La Pasta!” as he shuts the door. Sure, it was partially a weak attempt to clear his negative thoughts, but he also just really, really loved pasta.