[fic] twentieth century triumvirate
Title: twentieth century triumvirate
Author/Artist: chromatic_coma @ animusia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Germany, North Italy, Japan-centric with South Italy, America, and references to China and Prussia
Rating: pg13
Genres: Angst, Friendship
Warnings: References to WWII, mentions of brutal injuries, blood, etc.
Summary: The Second World War has ended, and the three losers have to cope with that loss.
Twentieth Century Triumvirate
.blank slate
Darkness was beginning to fall outside, as the sun plummeted beneath the horizon. Germany could hear the leaves outside rustling, no doubt where America was standing watch, just in case. Didn’t he have better things to be doing?
“It’s nice to see you again, Germany-san.”
“A-Ah. You too, Japan.”
He thumbed at the cup of tea before him, looking at his friend’s bandaged body with pained eyes. Some part of him, the child, no doubt, wanted to ask if Japan regretted it as much as he did, but such words did not need to be spoken.
“It’s been lonely here,” Japan continued, his small voice filling the silence. “Everyone is busy, it seems.” And they are all avoiding me. I would avoid me, too, if I could.
Germany, knowing the feeling quite well, nodded and took a sip of his tea. The rustling stopped, and the cicadas buzzing outside were the only sound to be heard.
“It’s hard,” Japan began slowly. Germany, not expecting the smooth tenor of his voice, jumped a little. “It’s hard to want to be strong when you realize how destructive strength is.”
Germany made a soft, noncommittal sound in agreement, but in truth his heart was heavy at Japan’s words.
“We’re both outcasts,” he finally said.
Japan sat up a little more straightly, and offered Germany a soft smile.
“Yes, we are. But neither of us is alone.”
There was another tense silence. Germany heard the leaves outside rustle again, and wondered if America had returned, or if he’d even gone at all.
“Do you think… we’ll ever be forgiven?”
Japan did not answer for a long time. Then, he placed his hand atop Germany’s on the table top and smiled. And that was all the answer Germany needed.
.dead star
Germany lay awake under the stars in Japan’s backyard, staring at them in awe of the sight. Somehow, they never seemed so bright when he was at home.
Beside him lay Japan, a few enough distance away that he couldn’t feel his warmth against the cold grass, except for where their fingers were only centimeters apart. Germany didn’t dare to move his hand any closer.
“Have you spoken to Italy, lately?”
Germany didn’t answer. Overhead, one of the starts he was watching went out.
.estranged existence
“Do you think he will answer me today, fratello?”
Italy said this from his place by the window, where he’d been sitting practically since the war had ended. Or, rather, since his wounds had begun to heal.
Romano, who really probably deserved the title of Italy more than his brother now that he was the only one their nation could count on, scoffed. Lately he’d found it so hard to say anything to Veneziano, for even the slightest thing could set off his brother’s tears. He was starting to tire of washing handkerchiefs.
“I don’t know, Venezia,” he answered honestly, unable to keep the exasperation out of his tone. If Veneziano had heard it, which he probably hadn’t, it was obvious he didn’t care at this point. Romano sighed.
“I’ll make you pasta, Veneziano. Just… get away from that window. Please.”
It was a strange thing, to hear Romano beg. With one last sorrowful look to the mocking blue sky, Veneziano slid out of his stool and hobbled after his brother to their kitchen.
.wraith
Germany had not seen his brother since the middle of war, when Prussia had taken off with a cocky grin for the Eastern front. Certainly he hadn’t wanted Prussia to go, and in this rare case his boss had agreed with him. Though, perhaps that was because of a more personal vendetta and the sheer contempt Prussia and his former leader had had for one another…
Prussia had refused. After vehemently insisting that he was not an invalid, he armed himself and barreled out of Berlin, filling the streets with his almost manic laugh. And that was the last Germany had seen him, when he’d watched his brother’s weak back tote the gun across the border.
Even so, even though there was a wall between them now, even though Russia had Prussia (East Germany…?) now, Germany found himself seeing his brother’s face all over their home. On the couch, in the kitchen, sitting at the table nursing a lone bottle of beer…
And it killed him, to remember what he’d lost.
.nobody believes me
Japan took a deep breath and brought the phone to his ear. The dial tone sounded too loud to him, too menacing, but he took another breath and pulled the phone away from his ear, a little.
His finger moved into the number slot, but once it hovered above it he stilled. He had not been aware of how hard his hand was shaking before that.
’Call him,’ a voice in his mind urged. ’Apologize!’
Japan put the phone back down in its handle. There weren’t the words out there for this.
.where were you when I called?
When he got sick of pretending that the phone wasn’t ringing, and grew tired of the rut he’d found himself in, Germany called Italy.
He didn’t know what he was expecting from the other. The world was starting to forgive him, though, perhaps because there was a new big-bad stealing the spotlight. It seemed to be that all that was left was for Germany to forgive himself. But he couldn’t, so he decided to forgive Italy instead.
“Ciao?” The voice that answered was not Italy’s. Not Italy Veneziano’s, anyways. Not Germany’s Italy.
“R-Romano?” Germany was upset with how feeble his voice sounded, because he knew Romano was not going to be forgiving regardless, especially if he didn’t even sound sure of himself.
True enough, Romano scoffed. “Potato bastard,” he said, keeping his voice at a snappish whisper. “Why are you calling?”
“I-Italy…-”
“-Doesn’t need you anymore. We are just fine.”
Germany licked his lips. “Where is Veneziano?”
“He doesn’t need you, you dumb bastard! Don’t call us again!”
He must have hung up, because after Germany managed to choke out, “I’m sorry,” all the answer he got was an empty dial tone.
.keys
Before America left, he took Germany’s hand in his own and pressed a key into his open palm. Germany faltered.
“What is this?”
“The key to your house, of course!”
Now he was really confused. “But… why?”
America shrugged. “England and France asked me the same thing when I brought it up, but… things are changing, you know? You fucked up big time. There’s no arguing that.” He paused and bit his lip a bit. “But things are changing. I guess it’s my turn to fuck up a bit, now. And it’s your time to put it behind you and get going on making the people love Germany again.”
Germany looked down at the key, the key to his own home, one he’d not been allowed to own for years, and then he looked back up.
“Why are you giving this to me now?”
America sighed. “To be honest, it’s that wall. I just… I hate seeing a nation divided, you know?” He was rubbing at his stomach absently, and though Germany didn’t know he had something of an idea.
“Those older nations,” America continued. “They all think they’re that much bigger and wiser than us. And hell, maybe they are. But nations like you and me, young as we are, we’ve seen a lot, too. I’ve seen a lot. I don’t like the idea of East and West Germany, and I hate that fucking wall. But the only way it’s coming down is if the people see you’re not the bad guy they think you are.”
Then America smiled, and squeezed Germany’s shoulder. “Stay strong, okay? Things can only get better from here. And you’ve got my help.”
Germany nodded absently, not really understanding where this came from. His chest ached from that wall, he knew that much. America’s smile got bigger, and then it all but vanished.
“Sorry to cut it short, but I’ve gotta go. I’ve got to take a trip up North.”
When the door shut behind America, Germany closed his fist tightly around the key, not caring about the cuts it left in his palm.
.sight and sound
Before he went to see Germany, Italy visited Japan. He found his old friend sitting up in a chair, a small smile on his thin lips. The very same lips that were severely chapped and dried, affixed to a gaunt face. The picture of Japan’s sickness was made complete by the sheer quality his skin had, to the point where it might have actually been reflecting the light shining on it, showing Italy all his small, thin blue veins.
That was not mentioning the abundance of bandages weaved around his body, visible from the loose tie of his yukata.
“I do not mean to bother,” Japan murmured softly, “but would you please help me tie my clothing, Italy-san? It seems my fingers are too frail…”
He trailed off, but Italy did not pause, using his nimble fingers to adjust Japan’s clothes. At least Italy still had his fingers.
“It is nice to have you here again, Italy. It has been a long time.” Japan continued in that quiet tone. He sounded like a very old man, and he even looked the part now. Italy had to bite his lip, to hold in the guilt he felt. He had failed them, Japan and…-
Italy put on a smile, too. “I think these paper cranes are so pretty!” He tried to squeal, telling himself it was for Japan’s benefit. Italy was not the one hurt by the war, not like Japan. “Why do you have so many?”
“If you fold one thousand, you get a wish.”
“What did you wish for?”
Japan finally broke the eye contact they had, to look down at his bandaged hands in his lap.
“Nothing, yet. I have only managed to make six hundred twenty three, thus far. My fingers…”
Italy kept his gaze fixed on the birds hanging from the ceiling, suddenly imagining that it was America who helped string them up on their ribbons, and who hung them from the rafters above. His hands shook, but he kept looking up. Italy was almost surprised to learn it kept the tears from falling.
“They’re beautiful…” Italy commented, softly this time. “Can you show me how to make them?”
Japan nodded. Italy learned quickly, and he was reminded for the first time in so long that his hands were truly made to create.
He did not stay too long that visit; he had to get home and fold cranes. In his mind he figured he would need to start as soon as possible, to be able to make three thousand, three hundred and seventy-seven little paper birds.
.elusive dreams
The night Italy left, Japan dreamt of China. He, China, was lying in a bed. He, China, was lying in a bed, smothered by red sheets. At first Japan thought to himself, he must be the lucky one, to be sleeping so soundly in a war.
But then he realized the sheets were not meant to be red, and China was not sleeping. In Japan’s hand there was a bloody sword, and without thinking he turned it on himself--
But then China sat up, and pulled the sword out of Japan’s hand. Gently he touched Japan’s head, and the dream ended.
When Japan woke up, there was a miserable ache in his chest. He went to change his bandages, and found that none of his wounds were healed.
.overcoming great odds
The next time Germany called, it was Italy Veneziano who answered the phone.
“Ciao,” the feeble voice chirped. “Romano isn’t home now, but I can take a messag--“
“Italy,” Germany said simply. Veneziano stopped mid-word, just as he used to way back when. It was amazing, how the past decade had the ability to feel like a century.
“G-Germany…?”
“I-it. It has been a long time.”
“It has,” Italy agreed. “Are you okay?”
Honestly, Germany wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to ask the same question, either, for fear that Italy would give the same answer he was giving. But somehow in that silence, Italy understood.
“Why don’t you come over? I am working on something, and I need your help.”
What Germany wanted to say was that he was no help to anyone, not anymore. Instead, he said he would be there.
.back home
The house Veneziano and Romano shared in Rome was exactly as it had been the last time Germany had been there. It was strange to see something so… the same. His own home had changed, because of his own negligence of it, and because of France’s frequent visits to spruce up. At that point, Germany wasn’t even sure the home was his, as opposed to being the one he lived in. But Italy’s home was still home.
Italy did not touch him when he answered the door. There was a shy, almost sheepish smile on his face, but there was no hug or kiss; not even a handshake. And he was dressed, not only in a pants and a shirt, but even in socks. Though the house was the same, Italy obviously wasn’t.
“I visited Japan last week, and he told me about these little paper cranes from his home. He said that if you make one thousand of them, you get one wish. But he can’t make anymore and he only had six hundred, so I decided I would make the rest. Only… it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”
Germany noticed the small bandages on Italy’s fingers, and wondered how it was possible he’d gotten more wounds after the war than during it. Though, to be fair, Italy’s war wounds weren’t anything to laugh at.
“You have more than four hundred, though,” Germany said softly, looking at the tiny birds Italy had already finished.
“I know. But I think Germany deserves a wish, too.”
“O-oh… so you want me to help you make my cranes?”
Italy shook his head softly. “I want you to make my cranes. I think Italy deserves a wish, too…”
Germany bit his lip, and then he sat on a dining room chair.
“Teach me how.”
.original beauty
It took them a month to finish the cranes. After Germany and Italy had finished two thousand together, Italy shooed him away and told him they would meet at Japan’s soon. Then he worked slowly to thread them up, smiling at his handiwork when he was done.
Japan was surprised when a bag was pressed gently upon his chest when they visited, after the initial surprise of seeing them together again wore off.
“We made them for you. Three hundred and seventy-seven of them,” Italy smiled warmly.
Japan smiled too. Germany hung them from the rafters, and then he hung his own, and Italy’s. Japan’s ceiling could no longer been seen, but Italy pulled out a final bag.
“Do we have room for one thousand more…?”
.entwined
“Who are these for, Italy?”
Veneziano smiled widely. “I think there is one wish every nation has in common.”
Germany and Japan shared a look, and then the tears that had been waiting for long pushed themselves out of Italy’s eyes. He moved to stand between them, and linked a careful pinkie with both of them. Germany tsked and wiped the tears away shyly. Japan slowly released Italy’s pinkie, only to wrap that arm around his waist. He barely managed to suppress his wince.
They stood together under the rain of colorful birds for a long time; for as long as Japan’s legs could hold him up. Then they all sat down under the kotatsu, eating oranges and drinking tea.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was going to be okay.
end
--
A/N: according to wikipedia, a triumvirate "...is a political regime dominated by three powerful individuals." The most famous triumvirates are those of Ancient Rome, but some people still use the term today. I don't think it's ever been used to describe the leaders RoBerTo, but then again, they weren't leading the same political body...
The prompt words came from one of the many prompt communities here on lj, but I can't remember which one it was anymore ^^; If anyone has any idea...?
Thank you for reading! ♥
Author/Artist: chromatic_coma @ animusia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Germany, North Italy, Japan-centric with South Italy, America, and references to China and Prussia
Rating: pg13
Genres: Angst, Friendship
Warnings: References to WWII, mentions of brutal injuries, blood, etc.
Summary: The Second World War has ended, and the three losers have to cope with that loss.
Twentieth Century Triumvirate
.blank slate
Darkness was beginning to fall outside, as the sun plummeted beneath the horizon. Germany could hear the leaves outside rustling, no doubt where America was standing watch, just in case. Didn’t he have better things to be doing?
“It’s nice to see you again, Germany-san.”
“A-Ah. You too, Japan.”
He thumbed at the cup of tea before him, looking at his friend’s bandaged body with pained eyes. Some part of him, the child, no doubt, wanted to ask if Japan regretted it as much as he did, but such words did not need to be spoken.
“It’s been lonely here,” Japan continued, his small voice filling the silence. “Everyone is busy, it seems.” And they are all avoiding me. I would avoid me, too, if I could.
Germany, knowing the feeling quite well, nodded and took a sip of his tea. The rustling stopped, and the cicadas buzzing outside were the only sound to be heard.
“It’s hard,” Japan began slowly. Germany, not expecting the smooth tenor of his voice, jumped a little. “It’s hard to want to be strong when you realize how destructive strength is.”
Germany made a soft, noncommittal sound in agreement, but in truth his heart was heavy at Japan’s words.
“We’re both outcasts,” he finally said.
Japan sat up a little more straightly, and offered Germany a soft smile.
“Yes, we are. But neither of us is alone.”
There was another tense silence. Germany heard the leaves outside rustle again, and wondered if America had returned, or if he’d even gone at all.
“Do you think… we’ll ever be forgiven?”
Japan did not answer for a long time. Then, he placed his hand atop Germany’s on the table top and smiled. And that was all the answer Germany needed.
.dead star
Germany lay awake under the stars in Japan’s backyard, staring at them in awe of the sight. Somehow, they never seemed so bright when he was at home.
Beside him lay Japan, a few enough distance away that he couldn’t feel his warmth against the cold grass, except for where their fingers were only centimeters apart. Germany didn’t dare to move his hand any closer.
“Have you spoken to Italy, lately?”
Germany didn’t answer. Overhead, one of the starts he was watching went out.
.estranged existence
“Do you think he will answer me today, fratello?”
Italy said this from his place by the window, where he’d been sitting practically since the war had ended. Or, rather, since his wounds had begun to heal.
Romano, who really probably deserved the title of Italy more than his brother now that he was the only one their nation could count on, scoffed. Lately he’d found it so hard to say anything to Veneziano, for even the slightest thing could set off his brother’s tears. He was starting to tire of washing handkerchiefs.
“I don’t know, Venezia,” he answered honestly, unable to keep the exasperation out of his tone. If Veneziano had heard it, which he probably hadn’t, it was obvious he didn’t care at this point. Romano sighed.
“I’ll make you pasta, Veneziano. Just… get away from that window. Please.”
It was a strange thing, to hear Romano beg. With one last sorrowful look to the mocking blue sky, Veneziano slid out of his stool and hobbled after his brother to their kitchen.
.wraith
Germany had not seen his brother since the middle of war, when Prussia had taken off with a cocky grin for the Eastern front. Certainly he hadn’t wanted Prussia to go, and in this rare case his boss had agreed with him. Though, perhaps that was because of a more personal vendetta and the sheer contempt Prussia and his former leader had had for one another…
Prussia had refused. After vehemently insisting that he was not an invalid, he armed himself and barreled out of Berlin, filling the streets with his almost manic laugh. And that was the last Germany had seen him, when he’d watched his brother’s weak back tote the gun across the border.
Even so, even though there was a wall between them now, even though Russia had Prussia (East Germany…?) now, Germany found himself seeing his brother’s face all over their home. On the couch, in the kitchen, sitting at the table nursing a lone bottle of beer…
And it killed him, to remember what he’d lost.
.nobody believes me
Japan took a deep breath and brought the phone to his ear. The dial tone sounded too loud to him, too menacing, but he took another breath and pulled the phone away from his ear, a little.
His finger moved into the number slot, but once it hovered above it he stilled. He had not been aware of how hard his hand was shaking before that.
’Call him,’ a voice in his mind urged. ’Apologize!’
Japan put the phone back down in its handle. There weren’t the words out there for this.
.where were you when I called?
When he got sick of pretending that the phone wasn’t ringing, and grew tired of the rut he’d found himself in, Germany called Italy.
He didn’t know what he was expecting from the other. The world was starting to forgive him, though, perhaps because there was a new big-bad stealing the spotlight. It seemed to be that all that was left was for Germany to forgive himself. But he couldn’t, so he decided to forgive Italy instead.
“Ciao?” The voice that answered was not Italy’s. Not Italy Veneziano’s, anyways. Not Germany’s Italy.
“R-Romano?” Germany was upset with how feeble his voice sounded, because he knew Romano was not going to be forgiving regardless, especially if he didn’t even sound sure of himself.
True enough, Romano scoffed. “Potato bastard,” he said, keeping his voice at a snappish whisper. “Why are you calling?”
“I-Italy…-”
“-Doesn’t need you anymore. We are just fine.”
Germany licked his lips. “Where is Veneziano?”
“He doesn’t need you, you dumb bastard! Don’t call us again!”
He must have hung up, because after Germany managed to choke out, “I’m sorry,” all the answer he got was an empty dial tone.
.keys
Before America left, he took Germany’s hand in his own and pressed a key into his open palm. Germany faltered.
“What is this?”
“The key to your house, of course!”
Now he was really confused. “But… why?”
America shrugged. “England and France asked me the same thing when I brought it up, but… things are changing, you know? You fucked up big time. There’s no arguing that.” He paused and bit his lip a bit. “But things are changing. I guess it’s my turn to fuck up a bit, now. And it’s your time to put it behind you and get going on making the people love Germany again.”
Germany looked down at the key, the key to his own home, one he’d not been allowed to own for years, and then he looked back up.
“Why are you giving this to me now?”
America sighed. “To be honest, it’s that wall. I just… I hate seeing a nation divided, you know?” He was rubbing at his stomach absently, and though Germany didn’t know he had something of an idea.
“Those older nations,” America continued. “They all think they’re that much bigger and wiser than us. And hell, maybe they are. But nations like you and me, young as we are, we’ve seen a lot, too. I’ve seen a lot. I don’t like the idea of East and West Germany, and I hate that fucking wall. But the only way it’s coming down is if the people see you’re not the bad guy they think you are.”
Then America smiled, and squeezed Germany’s shoulder. “Stay strong, okay? Things can only get better from here. And you’ve got my help.”
Germany nodded absently, not really understanding where this came from. His chest ached from that wall, he knew that much. America’s smile got bigger, and then it all but vanished.
“Sorry to cut it short, but I’ve gotta go. I’ve got to take a trip up North.”
When the door shut behind America, Germany closed his fist tightly around the key, not caring about the cuts it left in his palm.
.sight and sound
Before he went to see Germany, Italy visited Japan. He found his old friend sitting up in a chair, a small smile on his thin lips. The very same lips that were severely chapped and dried, affixed to a gaunt face. The picture of Japan’s sickness was made complete by the sheer quality his skin had, to the point where it might have actually been reflecting the light shining on it, showing Italy all his small, thin blue veins.
That was not mentioning the abundance of bandages weaved around his body, visible from the loose tie of his yukata.
“I do not mean to bother,” Japan murmured softly, “but would you please help me tie my clothing, Italy-san? It seems my fingers are too frail…”
He trailed off, but Italy did not pause, using his nimble fingers to adjust Japan’s clothes. At least Italy still had his fingers.
“It is nice to have you here again, Italy. It has been a long time.” Japan continued in that quiet tone. He sounded like a very old man, and he even looked the part now. Italy had to bite his lip, to hold in the guilt he felt. He had failed them, Japan and…-
Italy put on a smile, too. “I think these paper cranes are so pretty!” He tried to squeal, telling himself it was for Japan’s benefit. Italy was not the one hurt by the war, not like Japan. “Why do you have so many?”
“If you fold one thousand, you get a wish.”
“What did you wish for?”
Japan finally broke the eye contact they had, to look down at his bandaged hands in his lap.
“Nothing, yet. I have only managed to make six hundred twenty three, thus far. My fingers…”
Italy kept his gaze fixed on the birds hanging from the ceiling, suddenly imagining that it was America who helped string them up on their ribbons, and who hung them from the rafters above. His hands shook, but he kept looking up. Italy was almost surprised to learn it kept the tears from falling.
“They’re beautiful…” Italy commented, softly this time. “Can you show me how to make them?”
Japan nodded. Italy learned quickly, and he was reminded for the first time in so long that his hands were truly made to create.
He did not stay too long that visit; he had to get home and fold cranes. In his mind he figured he would need to start as soon as possible, to be able to make three thousand, three hundred and seventy-seven little paper birds.
.elusive dreams
The night Italy left, Japan dreamt of China. He, China, was lying in a bed. He, China, was lying in a bed, smothered by red sheets. At first Japan thought to himself, he must be the lucky one, to be sleeping so soundly in a war.
But then he realized the sheets were not meant to be red, and China was not sleeping. In Japan’s hand there was a bloody sword, and without thinking he turned it on himself--
But then China sat up, and pulled the sword out of Japan’s hand. Gently he touched Japan’s head, and the dream ended.
When Japan woke up, there was a miserable ache in his chest. He went to change his bandages, and found that none of his wounds were healed.
.overcoming great odds
The next time Germany called, it was Italy Veneziano who answered the phone.
“Ciao,” the feeble voice chirped. “Romano isn’t home now, but I can take a messag--“
“Italy,” Germany said simply. Veneziano stopped mid-word, just as he used to way back when. It was amazing, how the past decade had the ability to feel like a century.
“G-Germany…?”
“I-it. It has been a long time.”
“It has,” Italy agreed. “Are you okay?”
Honestly, Germany wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to ask the same question, either, for fear that Italy would give the same answer he was giving. But somehow in that silence, Italy understood.
“Why don’t you come over? I am working on something, and I need your help.”
What Germany wanted to say was that he was no help to anyone, not anymore. Instead, he said he would be there.
.back home
The house Veneziano and Romano shared in Rome was exactly as it had been the last time Germany had been there. It was strange to see something so… the same. His own home had changed, because of his own negligence of it, and because of France’s frequent visits to spruce up. At that point, Germany wasn’t even sure the home was his, as opposed to being the one he lived in. But Italy’s home was still home.
Italy did not touch him when he answered the door. There was a shy, almost sheepish smile on his face, but there was no hug or kiss; not even a handshake. And he was dressed, not only in a pants and a shirt, but even in socks. Though the house was the same, Italy obviously wasn’t.
“I visited Japan last week, and he told me about these little paper cranes from his home. He said that if you make one thousand of them, you get one wish. But he can’t make anymore and he only had six hundred, so I decided I would make the rest. Only… it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”
Germany noticed the small bandages on Italy’s fingers, and wondered how it was possible he’d gotten more wounds after the war than during it. Though, to be fair, Italy’s war wounds weren’t anything to laugh at.
“You have more than four hundred, though,” Germany said softly, looking at the tiny birds Italy had already finished.
“I know. But I think Germany deserves a wish, too.”
“O-oh… so you want me to help you make my cranes?”
Italy shook his head softly. “I want you to make my cranes. I think Italy deserves a wish, too…”
Germany bit his lip, and then he sat on a dining room chair.
“Teach me how.”
.original beauty
It took them a month to finish the cranes. After Germany and Italy had finished two thousand together, Italy shooed him away and told him they would meet at Japan’s soon. Then he worked slowly to thread them up, smiling at his handiwork when he was done.
Japan was surprised when a bag was pressed gently upon his chest when they visited, after the initial surprise of seeing them together again wore off.
“We made them for you. Three hundred and seventy-seven of them,” Italy smiled warmly.
Japan smiled too. Germany hung them from the rafters, and then he hung his own, and Italy’s. Japan’s ceiling could no longer been seen, but Italy pulled out a final bag.
“Do we have room for one thousand more…?”
.entwined
“Who are these for, Italy?”
Veneziano smiled widely. “I think there is one wish every nation has in common.”
Germany and Japan shared a look, and then the tears that had been waiting for long pushed themselves out of Italy’s eyes. He moved to stand between them, and linked a careful pinkie with both of them. Germany tsked and wiped the tears away shyly. Japan slowly released Italy’s pinkie, only to wrap that arm around his waist. He barely managed to suppress his wince.
They stood together under the rain of colorful birds for a long time; for as long as Japan’s legs could hold him up. Then they all sat down under the kotatsu, eating oranges and drinking tea.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was going to be okay.
end
--
A/N: according to wikipedia, a triumvirate "...is a political regime dominated by three powerful individuals." The most famous triumvirates are those of Ancient Rome, but some people still use the term today. I don't think it's ever been used to describe the leaders RoBerTo, but then again, they weren't leading the same political body...
The prompt words came from one of the many prompt communities here on lj, but I can't remember which one it was anymore ^^; If anyone has any idea...?
Thank you for reading! ♥