Germany x Italy - Relax
Blinding sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains of the grand window that overlooked the lush green countryside. Birds chirped merrily, bringing life to the atmosphere of the morning. Italy groaned as the twittering roused him from his slumber and his eyes fluttered open, the golden tint in his irises shining like the sun. He yawned loudly and turned over to face away from the window; the light was giving him a headache. Actually, even when turned away he had a headache. It was painful. But why? Where had it come from? How could he make it go away? Maybe he needed more sleep? There didn't seem to be anything going on, so perhaps he could get more sleep. He shut his eyes again and snuggled into the warmth of the pillow, inhaling the scent of it. Italy frowned. What was this scent? He sniffed again, trying to remember this familiar scent. It smelt of shampoo and Wurst. He opened his eyes again and sat up, looking down at the pillow. Wait, that didn't look like his pillow. His head shot up and he scanned the room. This place didn't look like his room. Where was he? Oh wait, he remembered now. The portraits of beer on the walls let him know that he was at Germany's house. But what was he doing there? And where was Germany?
Italy swung his thin legs over and off the bed, planting his small feet on the welcoming, carpeted floor. He then yawned again and rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Maybe he'd been asleep for generations, and Germany wasn't there because he died years ago! Italy clung tightly onto the edge of the mattress, shocked by his own scary thoughts. That could be true for all he knew. Germany could have been in a pinch even, and Italy would have been too busy sleeping to save him. Or he just died of old age. Either way, it meant that Italy didn't get to say goodbye.
Italy's throat became dry, and swallowing was painful as he thought of the painful possibilities. Tears formed in his eyes, trickling down his cheeks before falling to the floor and shattering upon impact. Shattering like his heart. If Germany were dead, what would he do? He didn't think he could live without Germany's protection, or his delicious cakes. He would miss Germany being there to catch him when he fell, he would miss Germany being there to clean up his kitchen messes, he would miss Germany being there to tie his laces, he would miss Germany being there to guide him down the right path in life. All that would be gone with Germany. Italy jumped up and ran clumsily towards the door, flinging it open without a moment's hesitation to consider what may be there after generations of sleeping. The only thought driving him on was that of his friend, Germany.
"Germany! Germany!" Yelped Italy, running down the long up stair corridor, only stopping momentarily to peer into doorways. All the rooms were empty much to Italy's fear, and the echoing silence plagued him with worry. Still, the rooms looked the same as the last time he had saw them, so maybe he hadn't been sleeping for as long as he had first thought.
His feet continued to patter against the cold, wooden floorboards as he ran. He felt slightly disappointed that they didn't pound against the floor like that of a manly man's feet Not that he wanted to be a manly man or anything. But he wouldn't mind being just the tiniest bit manly, to please Germany. Maybe if he was stronger and braver then Germany would finally smile again. The last time he saw Germany smile was when they had first become allies. He seemed so happy to make friends with him, and so, Italy hated to disappoint him. Sadly, he often ended up doing exactly that, causing stress for Germany. And now, if Germany really was dead, then Italy would truly never see his smile again.
"Germany!" He wailed, becoming more and more desperate with every passing second. There were no longer any rooms upstairs to check, so he hurtled downstairs, almost tripping and falling at one point. Italy hated the fact that his gasping breaths rebounded against the walls, returning to him, making him feel truly alone. The pitter-patter of his feet did the same, and yet more tears welled in his eyes. The tears made his eyes cloud over in an almost painful way, so he shut them and ran on blindly. He didn't want to feel more pain than he was already in. Headache, confusion, loss all of them wounded him. Though perhaps if he had kept his eyes open then he wouldn't have hurtled into the large obstacle standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
"Ve~" Groaned Italy, rubbing his forehead. What was that large, hard thing he had just bumped into? He hesitantly looked up, expecting to see some kind of monster, but instead he saw a friendly face. Not particularly friendly, but familiar to Italy none the less.
"Germany!" Cried Italy, relieved. He was relieved to see the usual slick blonde hair and deep blue eyes and all the other things that made up Germany that Italy was too ecstatic to name at that moment.
"Italy? Why were you running?" Asked Germany, looking behind Italy, down the corridor, to see if some country was chasing him. If England had snuck into his house, he'd kill him. Or maybe Prussia was stalking Italy? Germany frowned at the memories of last night.
"Well, when I woke up you weren't there beside me, Germany. In fact, you weren't there at all. So I got scared thinking that you had died centuries ago, and so I ran all around the house looking for you." Italy smiled in delight as he finished his story. Now that he had found Germany he could go back to being relaxed.
"So that's what all that noise was." Sighed Germany, pinching the bridge of his nose, "But centuries? I just saw you yesterday though. That hangover must have really gone to your head."
"You don't remember? We went out drinking?"
I don't remember
But I do have a headache." Italy laughed at his own pain, much to Germany's confusion. If he was hurt, then why smile?
"Well let's get you some pain killers." Said Germany, heading towards the medicine cabinet within the kitchen. Germany had been visiting that cabinet often recently due to how accident-prone Italy was.
" Italy repeated after Germany, as if trying to teach himself, "Pain killers like Pasta?"
"No!" Exclaimed Germany, "Pasta does not kill pain."
"Ve~? It does for me."
"Well that's because you're weird."
Italy drooped his head and followed Germany like a sad, little duckling. Germany sighed and ran his large hand through his hair, causing a few hairs to stray from the slicked style and stick outwards. He was seriously worried about Italy's Pasta obsession. Was it a fetish? Was it healthy for him to have so many Carbohydrates? Why did he care?
Italy obediently took the pain killers (Though Germany had to struggle with him at first the pain killers didn't suit his gourmet taste-buds) and went to lie down on Germany's couch. Germany had known Italy for a long time and yet it still astonished him how much Italy could just
all day. Relaxing
Perhaps he could try to do that? Germany sat down beside Italy, trying to relax. He was trying so hard to relax in fact that he became tense with concentration.
"Is this relaxing?" Germany asked himself, fidgeting in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He looked over at Italy, whom was in a state of Zen. How did he do it? Suddenly, Italy's eyes shot open. Ah, the beauty of the Italian's eyes still astonished him too. Wait! Beauty? No, he wasn't acting gay or anything, he was simply complimenting his friend's eyes. That's what all friends did
or so he hoped.
"Hmm?" Replied Germany, turning away in embarrassment.
"I forgot to thank you."
"Eh? For what?"
"Well, for always being there for me, no matter how annoying I am."
" Germany responded, tensely. He had never been thanked by a friend before; it was a new experience. Had he said "No problem" correctly? Was he supposed to use more enthusiasm? No, enthusiasm only worked with Italy. Enthusiasm was one of the good things about Italy. Well, that wasn't the only thing. Italy's kindness was another, as was his determination to carry out orders even though he always did a terrible job. Oh, and his cooking was wonderful too, as well as his art. And Germany also loved how Italy wasn't after his wealth or the beauty of his country; Italy wanted his friendship and nothing more. Germany smiled.
"Thank you too, Italy."
"Ve~? But I didn't do anything."
"Exactly." Said Germany, "Or, actually, you're doing more than you know you are."
"I still don't get it, Germany." Sniffed Italy.
"It doesn't matter." Breathed Germany. He ruffled the Italian's soft, brown mess of hair. Somehow, ruffling the hair of Italy always managed to help him relax, kind of. He was like a cat in that sense.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Italy squealed and gasped, recoiling away from Germany, huddling up into a little ball. His face was bright red and he was moaning.
"Ah! What's the matter, Italy? Is it your headache?" Asked Germany, concerned for his vulnerable friend.
"Y-You touched m-m-my hair." Gasped Italy.
"I did what?" Germany pondered for a while. Of course he touched his hair, he did that all the time. Italy had never revolted before, so why now? He was always careful to avoid Italy's
Italy's curl of hair
He hadn't looked out for it that time. He realised what Italy had meant and blushed as he saw Italy's small curl of hair, now slightly ruffled, quivering and shaking.
"S-Sorry." Mumbled Germany.
"It's alright." Whimpered Italy, still clutching his knees, still slightly turned on.
The two sat there in silence for a while, hearing nothing but the others breathing, seeing nothing but the side of the room they were turned towards in embarrassment, daring not to touch one another, smelling and tasting the air of the drowsy afternoon. Italy hoped that Germany didn't say anything, or else his gruff, German voice would just end up tempting him further to try something that would ruin their friendship.
"Stupid hair." Muttered Italy under his breath. He took a peek at the German beside him. He was blushing an obvious Tomato red, as per usual. Italy giggled quietly. He hoped that he would always be with his dear friend, Germany.