Italy was so happy. For one, it was ~Valentine's Day~, which was an especially nice holiday, all things considered, since it involved lots of love and romance and candy. Two, he was spending it with Germany, who was so sweet and wonderful and who Italy loved more than anything (even pasta). Thirdly, they were at a very nice restaurant, where ( Read more... )

Italy's dreams were strange and murky, an odd mess of what were memories and couldn't possibly be real. He dreamt...although it felt too real to be a dream...that he was small once again, wearing his maid's dresses. There was a cold field, covered in the bodies of dead soldiers, shrouded in fog as the day headed towards sunset. It still stank of ( Read more... )

Italy's heart was beating very very fast as he made his way to Germany's house. Normally, he was a slow, lackadaisical walker but today he was almost sprinting. He wanted to see Germany so badly. He had missed seeing him and talking to him, and he'd spent a lot of time wondering if maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Nothing would have ( Read more... )

Italy was not good at confrontations. And not just of the war variety, where he would end up shrieking and running away. He was bad at talking person-to-person about things that were sad or upsetting or awkward, even when it was somebody he knew well. The fact that he had finally made himself do this was a testament to how long he'd waited to ( Read more... )