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Italy never had a problem with wearing a dress, even if he was a boy. It might just be a cultural difference. After all, Hungary loves him in the prettiest of dresses.
“You’re so pretty with flowers in your hair.”
And he wants to convey his emotions well, say, “Pretty like you?”
But it doesn’t come out, even if he’s not much of a shy kid. Only when it comes to things like this, he starts to lose himself, and all he can say back is, “Really?”
Everyone knows he’s a boy despite the dresses, surely. Hungary certainly does.
Austria probably makes him bathe with her because of a cultural thing, something like kids have to get help from women.
Yet, HRE never joins him. Never lets him come with him to bathe with the men. On the contrary, Hungary welcomes him with open arms. So maybe only boys who are close with a woman can bathe with her.
In that case, he should be braver, because when he sees her soft curves, he only wants to cover his eyes. Hungary was never hesitant, although she sees him as a boy. It’s why she always fawns over him in the bath, lets him rest his little head against her breasts, and tells him how much she loves cute boys like him.
“How come I can’t bathe with the men?” He once asked.
She replies, “Because then I’d be lonely.”
And although she’s teasing, the little boy took it seriously. He doesn’t know what face he was making, but it must have been too charming for a woman to resist, because Hungary suddenly cooed, “Aw, Italy.”
He was certain he was getting one of those hugs he loved so much, even though his heart can’t handle the content of naked skin against skin, so it surprised him when he got a soft, light kiss.
So this is how a girl’s lips feel.
From this, he learnt just a little bit, how to give a kiss.
He never pulled from her; she eventually separated from him, eyeing him as if wanting to gauge his reaction. All he could do was stare back, until the silence was broken with a hiccup that shot out of him.
His cheeks can’t get any more pink.
Just as he couldn’t hold back his hiccups, she couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Ahaha! Sorry, sorry, I’ll control myself better. I’m becoming a lady, after all.”
He has his mouth cupped, trying to stop the noise, feeling where his lips just were, and as he hears her laugh, he takes it upon himself to make sure she’s never lonely.
Even when the mansion suddenly becomes so quiet and empty.
Or when he has gotten so big, he might not be able to handle it if he gets any bigger.
So big, he’s no longer able to bathe with her, change with her, be naked… but is it not wrong to strip a man away from seeing a woman nude, the same woman he was allowed to see as a boy?
What strange practices.
“Hungary, have you gotten prettier than usual? Let’s go out! Let’s go out!”
Of course, it’s not only his body that has changed, but his boldness, as well.
“What? You flatter me… When did you get so good at flirting?”
“I’m not saying it just to play, though! How about a café?”
“Um, I’m sort of busy today. Sorry!” she gives him a small, apologetic smile.
“Really? Okay, maybe next time.”
He was so sure that she was lonely, though. She wasn’t doing anything but sitting and looking out the window.
Austria is sweeping the garden path.
“…Oh.”
It slipped out of him, but Hungary paid him no mind.
Italy didn’t have to be a genius to put two and two together. It was pretty obvious. It’s no wonder she’s looking prettier.
As long as she’s happy, he’s happy.
…But, then, why does she accept his advances? She never hesitates to refuse attempts from France or Prussia, so she was never one to be modest.
‘Because I’m closer to her?’ he thinks as he walks away, saying aloud, “Ve~ I’m so popular with the girls!”
It doesn't really land well when it’s obvious he’s just trying to cheer himself up and escape from the other possibilities before they come to his head, but it’s too late for that.
Because she doesn’t take him seriously?
Because he’s not a man in her eyes. Not enough.
Even though she couldn’t get her hands off him before. Even though she has kissed him, how many times? So many on the cheeks, head, back, once on the lips.
Once is not enough.
He always stayed close for her sake, chatted with her for her sake, gave her all the hugs in the world for her sake, went on dates with her for her sake. It’s all for her sake, yet it’s not enough?
How can he be happy?
‘…I feel like a side piece.’
Those dreaded thoughts finally reached its stopping point, a place to dwell on.
But nothing is official between Austria and Hungary. No, they haven’t said it. Only little gestures, maybe a couple of hints, but none of that matters when they haven’t said anything.
In other words, he still has a chance. He won’t settle on being a side piece, or even worse, nothing at all.
How many days has he let pass while not taking his chance? He doesn’t know, time moves fast for countries. But he has to build up the courage eventually, stop being cowardly about it. He can be slow on everything but this. All the continuous dates and hugs mean nothing when Austria and Hungary have gotten close enough to give each other those mutual stares.
Outside the music room, Hungary hides near the entrance frame, not wanting to interrupt Austria from playing his piano.
“Hun-”
Italy came to her with the usual cheerful wave, but she quickly put a finger to her lips and shushed him with a toothy grin, an action that made her come off as youthful.
His smile is not lost as he stays quiet and listens to the music with her. For a very short moment.
“Why don’t you ever kiss me like you did when I was a boy?”
He asks it louder than he should’ve, far from a whisper, and it causes Hungary to freeze, her expression turning to flustered shock.
“Huh? Oh, don’t mess around like that!”
“I’m never messing around when it comes to you!”
‘And I know how silly I am.
It’s one of my better traits.
But please, don’t treat me like a joke.’
“Wait- come here.”
Hungary tries to make him follow her, away from the music room, but before she can take a step, he grabs her by the hand and waist, pulling her to him.
“Italy-!?”
She gives him a look he has never seen before in his long life.
‘I won’t ever leave you alone, Hungary. For you.’
He presses his lips against hers quickly, before it’s too late, tightening his hold on her hand just enough to keep her there without hurting her. That soft, sudden kind of kiss he knows well. A familiar tune is playing on the piano.
He apologises in his head. He knows this is no way a man should act, to lose control of himself like a boy. But Hungary likes boys.
When the kiss was broken off, she looked at him, wide eyes, a few stray hairs, a flushed face, not a word able to come out of her mouth.
He smiles all the same.
“Figurati.”