Copper Curl Part IX

As usual, sleep didn't come easily for Germany. Romano's words tumbled around his head like an unstoppable and extremely annoying bowling ball. Since when did that tomato-loving dummkopf get so meaningful? Is it even legal for someone as unpleasant as him to give out relationship advice? And yet, Germany couldn't help but cling on to those words. He didn't understand why, but a lot of what Romano had said made a lot of sense.

He was Germany! When he loved someone, he wasn't supposed to just let them roll around in their own shit and misery. He had to go over there and do his best to fix it. Germany always had to clean up the mess that Italy left…whether it be dropping some bread crumbs or tomato sauce on the floor, or getting him out of jail at one of the allied force's places. So why was he backing out now? This all has to be fixable, right?

But how would he fix it? Is he supposed to go in there and talk to him? Try and be gentle? Listen to him? Hug him? Kiss him? Germany felt his face flush up at the last thought, but for some odd reason…that option seemed like the one that would have the most effect. Well, it would definitely catch Italy's attention.

Mein Gott! Vhat the hell am I supposed to do?

Germany shot up from his bed and grinded his teeth. The sky outside was starless, the absence of light casting strange shadows from the window and onto the walls of Germany's room. He swallowed and gently put his feet to the cold ground, standing up. There was no use in trying to sleep. It would just frustrate him more.

Maybe he could go on a night run? Just to get him a bit tired so that he could sleep more effectively? The thought made Germany groan internally. He was not in the mood to work out. He would be yelled at by his boss later, he knew. Germany had cancelled training all week due to his "romantic" crisis, and had basically stayed cooped up in his house thinking, cursing himself, and drinking. He had no desire to find out more about his childhood. He didn't want to get to know this "Holy Roman Empire." It would just depress him.

But something struck Germany. Something that Romano had said. The angry Italian had said that whether he was Holy Rome or not, Italy still loved him. Germany. Italy loved Germany. Could that even be possible?

Germany knew that Italy was a generally loving man. He seemed to adore Germany…but he sort of acted that way around everyone. Especially if he wanted to suck up to someone, or if he was afraid. Germany frowned. Could Italy actually love him in a special way? A way that was only reserved for a special someone?

What was there to love about him? Germany yelled a lot. He hardly smiled. He lacked social skills. He had very little patience and tolerance, as well as an awful temper…Germany's eye twitched. To be honest, he didn't really seem like Italy's type.

But then again, he never really talked to Italy about romance or girls or boys or whatever he was into. Maybe Italy was into that sort of thing.

What was Holy Rome like? What was he like when he was a child? He can't remember. He just can't remember anything apart from the few clear visions or memories. They didn't give much away, apart from the fact that he doted on Italy. And that he thought Italy was a girl.

Germany realized that he was a lucky bastard then. To love Italy and have him love him back. But now, he wasn't Holy Rome anymore. He was Germany. A sovereign nation in the middle of a war, along with too many alliances, and a crazy boss.

Germany walked into the hallway and switched on the lights. He made his way into his living room and cringed at the huge mess. God, he really had let himself go, hadn't he? Beer bottles, vodka bottles, dirty plates, dusty blankets, sweaty clothes, strewn pieces of paper…

The blonde nation smacked himself in the head with his hand. How could he let this happen? All because of one stupid Italian with a stupid flyaway curl.

He would fight for Italy, dammit. He would fight, starting now.

He couldn't believe he was actually taking Romano's advice.

Germany rubbed his hands together and got to work. He cleaned out the living room first, and then the kitchen. He washed the plates, the clothes, and the blankets, he threw out the bottles and the paper, he scrubbed the floors and walls thoroughly…he cleaned the kitchen as well, picking up any crumbs or food items…

Germany even went into his bathroom and washed himself off. He took a shower and shaved. He took off his dirty tank top and slipped a clean black one on. He pushed his blonde hair back and sprayed on some mild cologne…not too much, but enough.

Training is back on tomorrow.

In fact, he'll contact Japan right now.

He walked over to his phone and dialed Japan's number. After four rings, he heard Japan's voice on the other side.

"Moshi, moshi?"

"Japan? It's Germany. I vanted to tell you that training starts again tomorrow, eight AM sharp."

There was a two second silence before Japan responded, "Hai. I'rr see you tomorrow then. I'm assuming Itary-san is not coming?"

Germany sighed. "I'm vorking on that one."

He knew it would take a lot more than a phone call for Italy.

"I understand. Goodnight Germany," Japan responded.

"Goodnight, Japan."

Germany hung up the phone and stared at his clock.

It was midnight.

But he didn't care.

He didn't give a flying shit if Italy was asleep, or passed out, or drunk, or sick, or crying, or whatever.

He was going to go to Italy's house right now.

And fight for him.

He'll convince him to come to training. He'll tell him that no matter what, first and foremost, he's Germany and always will be, Holy Rome or not. He'll maybe even tell him that he has feelings for him…and if he's really daring…he'll even kiss him.

If all fails, he can just blame it on Romano.

Germany bolted for the front door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him before he could change his mind about the whole thing. There would be no backing down this time. He needed to get this done. He wouldn't just let this all go to shit. No.

So he ran. He ran through the thick forest and over that awful slippery hill and that pile of leg breaking rocks. All the way to Italy's house. He didn't care that the house looked dark and desolate and abandoned and shitty. He knew that Italy was in there.

Under the shadowy sky, the starless night, the lightless plethora of vast horizon…Italy was there in that house. Germany's heart pumped.

Now or never.

Germany took a deep breath, and made his way to the front porch. His heart thudded against his ears with every single step he took. His stomach was turning, flipping and twisting in huge knots. It was hard to breathe as he wracked his knuckles against the wooden door. Seconds seemed like hours as he held his breath and waited…waited…waited…

And then the door opened.

Slowly, gently.

And there, covered in a glorious cascade of shadows was Italy.

He looked magnificent.

Germany couldn't find words to describe the feeling in his gut.

In his heart.

It didn't matter that Italy's eyes were bloodshot, with dark bags under his eyes. It didn't matter that his skin was paler than usual, that his hair was messier and more unkempt, that he looked exhausted, defeated, tired, and…was that anger?

No. It didn't matter.

Because Italy was still Italy. And to Germany, he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Germany's throat seized up. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Italy sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for Germany to come in.

The blonde nation grunted slightly before walking stiffly past the Italian. A bolt of electricity passed through him as his arm brushed against Italy's.

The interior was dark. No lights were on, but Germany was okay with that. He wasn't sure if he was ready for Italy to turn on the light and reveal his overly red face. Despite the fact that it was rather cold, Germany felt as if a heat wave was cascading over him.

He heard the door shut behind him and he knew that it was permanent. There was no way he could just turn around and run away now. Well, he could, but Germany knew that things wouldn't turn out to well if he did that.

It was silent. He waited for Italy to say something. Anything. But the Italian didn't move. Germany breathed in slowly and turned around to face him, only to see that Italy was still at the door, staring at the blonde nation. Germany could see his eyes glittering through the dark.

"U-Um…" Germany choked out.

"Germany…" Italy said with a cautious voice. It was a voice that Germany wasn't used to hearing from Italy. It lacked the boisterous tone, the smile, the sing-song ring. Instead, it was soft, quiet, and almost tender. Germany wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

The blonde nation opened his mouth again, but he just didn't know what to say. When this whole scene played out in his head, he was a lot more eloquent. Romano had made it sound so simple…so easy. But it wasn't. Not when Germany's heart was pounding at his ribcage, not when he was staring at Italy…the most beautiful man in the world.

The Italian nation stepped out of the shadows, and made his way to Germany. The blonde nation was frozen. Italy was coming closer…closer…closer…

Germany could feel the heat radiating off the other's skin, for Italy was standing only a few inches away from him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and close the distance between their skin. He held his breath. He looked down into Italy's eyes. A strange flicker of emotions passed over his face, a mixture of fascination, hurt, anger, joy, and something else entirely.

Germany felt himself leaning forward instinctively. He managed to stop himself before he made anything to obvious. But it was hard. He didn't realize how strong his feelings for Italy were until now, when he's standing only a few inches away from him. Italy's lips moved, and Germany felt himself mesmerized by them. However, he still caught his words.

"Ve, it's only been a week, but it feels like forever."

His voice was still soft, still tender, almost whisper-like.

Germany was suffocating. It hurt so much, this self-restraint. He was shocked, utterly shocked, that he felt this strongly. Not only emotionally, but physically. He wanted to just grab the Italian's sweet pink cheeks and place his lips on his. Germany gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a step back.

"I-Italy…shouldn't you t-turn on the lights?" he stuttered, cursing himself for how weak his voice sounded. No, he had to be the emotionally stable one here! He just had to!

He saw the Italian's shoulders fall. A small smirk appeared on Italy's face as he answered, "Ve, things are better hidden in the dark."

Germany gulped. Did the temperature just heat up by about…let's say…twenty trillion degrees?

The blonde nation was trembling. Italy wasn't even doing much, but the man was driving him crazy! He gave a shaky sigh and said in a clipped tone, "Vell…um…I am here to tell you that training starts again tomorrow…I-I mean, if you vant to come…"

Italy gave a small smile, a smile tainted with unbearable and nostalgic sadness. "Of course, Germany."

"Ja," Germany responded lamely, giving one curt nod. Well, so much for eloquence and hardcore romantic fighting. Germany was too shaken up to say much else. He wasn't really sure if he could handle a full-on love confession.

They were silent for a moment, the air thick. Germany could literally hear his heart echoing through his head. He stared down at his feet, doing his best to avoid looking at the Italian before him.

Germany took another breath. He had to say something…anything…

"Italy…"

"Please, Germany. Don't say anything…" Italy clarified sadly.

"B-But…"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for pushing you away like that. It wasn't right for me to do that. You must be extremely confused about this whole thing as well…" he said.

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose in distress. "Look, Italy… I have something to t-tell you…"

"Ve, I have something to say as well. D-Do you mind if I go first?" Italy asked, fear and anticipation tainting his voice.

Germany closed his mouth, his throat dry, his palms sweating as he looked up at Italy.

Italy looked straight into Germany's eyes, his face ablaze with determination. "I don't care if you're Holy Rome or not."

Germany felt his stomach sink. Of course this would happen. Romano was wrong. Italy could never love him the way he loved Holy Rome.

But Italy continued, "I-I don't care because either way…you're Germany. You're my best friend. And I-I…"

He faltered for a second. Germany held his breath.

"…I don't think I could live without you"

The Italian gave a small giggle.

" Ve, this sounds very cheesy, doesn't it? But it's true. Holy Rome…I mean…you made a promise to me a long time ago that you'd come back. I know you don't remember it, but you didn't break that promise, because you're here now. That means a lot for me. It really does. But… it's nothing compared to what you're giving me now...just as Germany."

Italy was blushing. Germany could even see the red invade his cheeks through the dark. The blonde nation's mind was exploding. Romano was right after all. Italy may love Holy Rome. He'll always love Holy Rome, but he's accepted Germany just as he is.

Germany felt like he could jump for joy. He felt like he was invincible…like he could jump over the moon one hundred times. His stomach felt light and a giddy happiness streamed through him. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

But he still had to say his part.

"Italy…I…"

The Italian looked at him with wide eyes.

Germany took a breath. Keep calm! Keep calm! You can do this!

"S-Someone told me t-that…um…that I need to fight for those I-I really care about…"

Italy's eyes widened.

"Those I…l-l-love…"

Dammit, curse stuttering!

"A-and..you sort of…um…mean a lot to me…no…Italy…"

He gulped, staring straight into the Italian's eyes.

"You mean t-the vorld to me. And um…vell…I lo-l-…"

Italy was now smiling, his beautiful brown eyes glittering at his through the dark.

"I…Ich liebe dich…ja."

Well. That was very…eloquent. So eloquent in fact that Germany could challenge that damned psychotic England and his Shakespeare.

Right.

Everything was silent for a few seconds. Germany was trembling. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what the hell just happened.

Did he just…admit to Italy his true feelings?

Crap.

He just did.

Germany suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury his head in a pillow or smack himself across the face repeatedly. Why did he do that? Why didn't he prepare more for this moment? AND WHY WASN'T ITALY SAYING ANYTHING?

Suddenly, in one swift movement, Italy came up to him, stood on his tiptoes, and placed a swift and gentle kiss right on Germany's lips.

The blonde nation literally felt his insides flare up. His mind was melting. The air swirled, magnetic, dizzying, hypnotic, warm…

His lips were tingling. He stared at Italy, his mouth open.

The Italian had a playful smirk on his lips as he slowly backed away. "Ve, I think it's time for you to be going, Ludwig. I'll see you at training tomorrow!"

Ludwig? LUDWIG? Italy never called him by his human name. It was considered to intimate…to personal…

And Germany liked the sound of his name on Italy's lips. No…on Feliciano's lips.

Germany numbly walked to the door, and opened it. His whole body was literally on fire. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think straight…it was bliss. Complete bliss.

"Buonanotte, Germany," Italy teased, his voice almost…devious? Sultry? What the hell?

Then the door closed behind him, leaving Germany standing on the porch, his mouth hanging open and his heart hammering violently against his chest.