[Fanfic] Impossible is nothing if you're Italian - chp 02
Author: me
Title: Impossible is nothing if you’re Italian
Pairings: Germany/N.Italy, Spain/S.Italy, mentioned others
Rating: mostly K+, but might get higher, who knows?
Summary: the Italian brothers find themselves pregnant at the same time… the world might not be ready for that.
---
Impossible is nothing if you’re Italian
Chapter 02
“Ve~! Ludwi~g! Ludwig! Please, come! I beg of you!”
Germany’s fingers tightened around the receiver as he slammed it down, standing up in a hurry. Italy had just called him (an eerie resemblance to the many phone calls he’d received during the war), and his voice had been panicked, and definitely scared.
More than just scared, to Germany’s worried ears, Italy had sounded even frightened, of a different tone than the stupid reasons from before, and the thought made his heart constrict in his chest.
Warfare had ended so many years before, but that didn’t mean Italy couldn’t get himself into some problem or another.
The thought worried him more than it should.
Germany was out of the house seconds later, taking with him only the keys and his wallet; breaking all speed records set previously, he reached Italy’s house in no time at all. Thankfully, Nations could move differently from normal humans, otherwise it would have taken him all day.
Slamming the entrance door and hurrying inside Italy’s house, Germany was prepared for almost anything -from monsters coming from one of England’s failed magic to aliens attacking from America’s house- but what he saw… was completely different.
Yet, in true Italian fashion, it still managed to shock Germany to the core.
Italy was sitting at the kitchen table, frozen with a cloth over his mouth, skin of a very pale colour, and in front of him, intact (which was the worrisome part) was a plate full of pasta.
Still unwilling to accept the fact that Italy had once again managed to make him fret over something trivial, Germany inspected his lover’s body, finding no wounds, eyes checking every inch of the room for hidden dangers, but there was none. Why had Italy felt the need to call him with such a desperate, panicked voice when there was nothing wrong?
Was it possible that Italy had once again overreacted about something trivial?
… well, Germany had to give it to him -that was very possible, indeed.
“L-Ludwig! You came~”
Italy twisted around, noticing his lover in the room, and stood up, completely missing Germany’s embarrassed expression (he was still berating himself for falling so readily to Italy’s pleas), moving towards him.
Germany braced himself for the usual tackle, but was surprised when instead of running at top’s speed at him, Italy wobbled slightly, reaching him and finally allowing himself to fall into Germany’s ready arms with a sigh of relief.
Out of habit, the German Nation held him close, arms wrapping around his frame and feeling the possessive part of his brain purr contentedly at the motion.
“Feliciano, I told you over and over not to-” then he stopped. Italy was staring up at him, eyes open wide and reddened for crying, whilst the rest of his face looked sickly pale.
All his previous annoyance gone, replaced instantly by another rush of worry, Germany gently kissed Italy on the forehead.
Holding him close, bodies fit against each other, Germany tried his best to console his Italian lover, not knowing what was wrong but willing to wait until he was ready to talk.
And… was that his stomach poking uncomfortably at his own? Germany had to admit he wasn’t expecting Italy to be growing fat so fast…
“V-ve, Ludwig… I’m glad you came here so fast…”
“Feliciano,” even though Italy looked apparently unharmed, Germany could see that something was wrong. “What happened? Why did you call me?”
“I… I can’t eat it!” pointing at the pasta on the table, Italy hid his face into the German man’s chest. “I can’t really eat it, Ludwig!”
With a glance towards the table, Germany noted that the pasta looked just like all the pasta Italy had cooked before.
He couldn’t really understand.
“Feli-”
“I can’t eat my pasta anymore! At all! It’s not just one plate, it’s pasta! It smells awful, it tastes like burnt paper! I keep cooking and cooking but the taste never changes! Oh, my lovely pasta, why?! Why~?!”
Germany blinked, and detaching himself from his lover, he threw another look around in the kitchen. It was quite true, there were piles of dirty plates and pots with remains of all the different kind of sauces Italy loved on pasta.
He guessed that the bin would be also full of the cooked, cold pasta.
Looking back at Italy, Germany felt the worry spike up again; he was pale, of a sickly white, and was sobbing so hard, not his usual crying over stupid things, but crying like someone who’s just lost their pet, or something.
All of this reaction was for pasta.
Had Germany being less worried, he would have bumped him on the head.
“Feliciano, how are you feeling? Are you sick?” with firm hands he probed the Italian man’s neck, forehead and cheeks, searching for signs of some kind.
Italy hiccupped.
“I… I keep throwing up… i-in the morning, and s-sometimes in the afternoon, and the pasta… and I keep wanting broccoli, but I hate broccoli!” his tone turned whiny, desperate. “A-and my back aches so much, and I feel tired, and cranky, and weak-”
Leaning forwards, Germany let his lips press lightly on those of Italy, making him shut up after a last hiccup; careful not so jolt him around, he took the Italian Nation in his arms and brought him out of the kitchen, sitting down on the sofa in the sitting room and holding him close to his chest.
Italy whimpered, shuffling on his lap and trying to find a comfortable position, but quickly relaxed, settling and snuggling against Germany’s broad chest.
As he remained still, holding his lover close, Germany tried to sort out the recent happenings; Italy was suddenly looking ill, he couldn’t eat pasta (which was something to worry about), vomited often, was in pain…
Taking the opportunity to check out what had worried him previously, the German Nation lifted Italy’s shirt, pressing his hand against the naked skin.
Just as expected, Italy’s belly was showing more than usual. It also felt rounder to the touch, so it wasn’t just his imagination…
Italy growled.
Germany looked down at him with a frown, and found a pair of brown eyes glaring up at him, accusing. He took away his hand as if scalded, and Italy stood up and far from him, cheeks flushed red.
“Feliciano, wha-”
“I know I’m fat! But it’s not my fault! It’s been one week! And I cannot eat pasta, and I swear I’ve been trying to stop eating things, but I can’t! So don’t try to blame it on me! I don’t need that, damn you!”
Hiding his stomach with one arm, he slapped Germany’s hands that had tried coming up to encircle his frame again, and backed away, eyes wide and filled with fury.
“D-don’t come near me, you bastard!”
Completely shocked at the sudden mood swing, Germany stood up, feeling a pang in his heart at his lover’s words, together with a strongest sense of worry. He didn’t really know what to-
“Feliciano, I-”
“Uwaa~! Ludwig~! I’m… I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! Scusami! D-don’t hate me! I love you so much!”
A second later, he had an armful of a sobbing Italian man. And he couldn’t still understand anything about what was happening.
‘T-the hell?! There was nothing about this in my manuals!’
Germany closed his eyes and hoped to get out of this situation alive, so that he could go and buy a book on how to deal with suddenly extremely moody Italian men.
…………
“…”
“…”
“… so… you… uh, you look, well…” Spain stammered, looking at everywhere but at Romano, who was clearly on the brink of losing it completely, and the Spaniard felt he was in trouble. “I mean, uh…”
Romano was staring at him with eyes wide and darkened in anger, hands clenched into fists, and Spain tried to think something to say that would not make him angry. Unfortunately, in this situation, he really didn’t know what could be safe.
He really didn’t want to be kicked out from the house again -three times in three days were enough, and Spain really missed sleeping in his bed.
For the lack of a better word, Romano was gone bananas. Hmmm… bananas… momentarily side-tracked, Spain tilted his head to the side, only to quickly return to the current problem with a gasp.
No! it wasn’t good to be losing focus!
One single mistake, and Romano would shift from being calm, even nice (something that scared the shit out of Spain, actually) to a vicious cat, thrashing the room and throwing tomatoes and cutlery at him.
Not to mention how his eating habits had changed, until nothing of what he was used to eat appealed him. which in turn made him the more angry and prone to bitching.
No pasta.
No tomatoes.
Hell, even Spain’s prided churros were making him twitch in disgust!
His little Italian lover was living off potato-based foods and fish, the kind of expensive, hard to find fish that he demanded Spain to go buy him.
And this -which made the rest pale in comparison. His dear South Italy was gaining weight, and he was doing so at an alarming rate; after a week his perfect body was sporting a bulge on his belly, but no fat anywhere else on his body. It was quite disconcerting, and yet Spain found it strangely arousing.
It tickled something inside of him, making his heart throb with necessity to hug Romano close, and at the same time tugged at the chords of his heart and vital regions, making him more passionate, too.
This rounder Romano was, frighteningly enough, sexually alluring.
Not that Spain thought of normal Romano as ugly. If anything, he would have made love to him any time of the day, holding him close, whispering words of love… but there was something different now, and Spain couldn’t but react to this. Of course, he couldn’t dream about mentioning this without incurring in his lover’s wrath and homicidal bouts.
And now… it looked like the bulge had suddenly gotten even bigger.
“I asked you a question, bastard!” Romano hissed, attracting Spain’s wandering attention back to him. “I-it’s visible, isn’t it?!”
Gulping down his uneasiness, Spain knew he was doomed either way.
So, he simply nodded and looked away, hoping against hope that his adorable little South Italy wouldn’t kill him. or kick him out. The patio was terribly uncomfortable at night.
“T-then…” Romano’s voice suddenly lowered, and Spain cringed. “Am I… am I that repulsive that you can’t even look at me?!”
Spain’s head snapped towards his lover in a second, ready to deny his stupid claim and proceed to demonstrate him in detail why the Italian Nation would never be disgusting to him, but unfortunately, luck was not on his side.
“Y-you bastard! You do think I’m disgusting! I’m fat! Vattene a fanculo, Antonio, brutta merda!”
And much to Spain’s shock, instead of a flying tomato coming his way, Romano simply started crying.
Hard.
The sight of an openly bawling his eyes out Romano broke Spain’s heart. He stepped forwards in a flash, hurrying so that his cute, adorable lover wouldn’t keep thinking this, but Romano kicked him in the guts with such a strength that Spain fell on the ground, painfully clutching at his vital regions, lungs burning with lack of air.
“R-” he wheezed.
Too late -Romano was already out of the bed and out of the room, still completely naked.
Moments later the front door slammed close.
It took almost ten minutes for Spain to recover enough to stand up, and by then, Romano was gone somewhere already.
“Ah… m-mierda!” he groaned out, still pathetically clutching his pained crotch.
Then he was out of the house as well, chasing his lover down.
…………
Germany thought the crisis had passed when he was finally able to detach himself from the still shaken up Italian man, patting awkwardly his head and retiring to the kitchen to prepare some tea for the both of them.
He’d thought that coffee would be far too much, given the state Italy was in, but at least he seemed rather fine, if only crying and shaking in pain and fear.
His level of discomfort was high enough for Germany to feel uneasy; he didn’t know how to comfort his lover, sobbing so pitifully that the German Nation wanted nothing more than hold him close, and yet…
What could he do? He wasn’t knowledgeable in this sort of thing!
No book could explain him in detail how to help a distraught Italian man that was blaming himself for yelling at him!
Unfortunately for the poor German Nation, things were not going to get any easier yet.
Which was exactly why, when the front door was kicked open so hard it slammed on its hinges and against the wall, Germany brought his hands to his temples and started massaging the headache away.
He knew things were going to get even more complicated now.
With steady hands, be prepared two cups of tea and moved to the sitting room, ready to face anything.
That ‘anything’, as it was, did not include the sight of a stark naked, sobbing mess of a Southern Italian standing on the door, to hell with modesty, staring at his equally crying younger brother with a mix of anger and shock and pain all rolled into one single ball.
“Lo-Lovino?” Germany cautiously moved forwards, having the intelligent idea to place the tea down on the side table before doing so.
‘Oh, for the love of-’
“Fottuto bastardo!” Romano’s eyes, dark with fury and rage, turned towards him in a split second. “Out. Of. My. House! How dare you make Feli cry?! Vattene! Ora!”
Then, he started cursing in strict Italian, and Germany didn’t really need a degree in languages to understand that Romano wasn’t complimenting him for the tea, either.
Germany’s brain only had the chance to register a few things before he found himself standing outside of Italy’s house, door slamming against his face.
One -it looked like it was deeply engrained in the Italian brothers’ blood to run around naked when in a hurry.
Two -he’d been picked up by his neck and kicked out by Romano, of all people.
And now he was standing outside, without his coat and without having understood a single thing that just happened.
“Ah… F-Feliciano? Lovino?” Germany turned around, knocking on the door.
“Don’t even think about coming back! Fucking bastard! I swear I’ll shoot you!”
With a sigh, Germany massaged his temples again.
Maybe he could just humour them and go out to find a book on ‘dealing with angry, crying Italian people’ before coming back.
After all, it looked like Romano would not calm down anytime soon.
Peering into the house by the window, Germany observed Romano launch himself into Italy’s open wide arms, both sobbing in synch.
He had the sudden, strong need to slam his head against the wall, but valiantly resisted.
Mein Gott.
He picked up his phone, dialling Austria’s number.
It looked like he needed help once more…
…………………
that was it. ^^ I hope you liked! Please drop me a review to comment!
Scusami (Italian) - Forgive me
Vattene a fanculo, Antonio, brutta merda! (Italian) - Go fuck yourself, Antonio, ugly shit!
Mein Gott (German) - My God
Fottuto bastardo (Italian) - Fucking bastard
Vattene! Ora! (Italian) - Go away! Now!
Title: Impossible is nothing if you’re Italian
Pairings: Germany/N.Italy, Spain/S.Italy, mentioned others
Rating: mostly K+, but might get higher, who knows?
Summary: the Italian brothers find themselves pregnant at the same time… the world might not be ready for that.
---
Impossible is nothing if you’re Italian
Chapter 02
“Ve~! Ludwi~g! Ludwig! Please, come! I beg of you!”
Germany’s fingers tightened around the receiver as he slammed it down, standing up in a hurry. Italy had just called him (an eerie resemblance to the many phone calls he’d received during the war), and his voice had been panicked, and definitely scared.
More than just scared, to Germany’s worried ears, Italy had sounded even frightened, of a different tone than the stupid reasons from before, and the thought made his heart constrict in his chest.
Warfare had ended so many years before, but that didn’t mean Italy couldn’t get himself into some problem or another.
The thought worried him more than it should.
Germany was out of the house seconds later, taking with him only the keys and his wallet; breaking all speed records set previously, he reached Italy’s house in no time at all. Thankfully, Nations could move differently from normal humans, otherwise it would have taken him all day.
Slamming the entrance door and hurrying inside Italy’s house, Germany was prepared for almost anything -from monsters coming from one of England’s failed magic to aliens attacking from America’s house- but what he saw… was completely different.
Yet, in true Italian fashion, it still managed to shock Germany to the core.
Italy was sitting at the kitchen table, frozen with a cloth over his mouth, skin of a very pale colour, and in front of him, intact (which was the worrisome part) was a plate full of pasta.
Still unwilling to accept the fact that Italy had once again managed to make him fret over something trivial, Germany inspected his lover’s body, finding no wounds, eyes checking every inch of the room for hidden dangers, but there was none. Why had Italy felt the need to call him with such a desperate, panicked voice when there was nothing wrong?
Was it possible that Italy had once again overreacted about something trivial?
… well, Germany had to give it to him -that was very possible, indeed.
“L-Ludwig! You came~”
Italy twisted around, noticing his lover in the room, and stood up, completely missing Germany’s embarrassed expression (he was still berating himself for falling so readily to Italy’s pleas), moving towards him.
Germany braced himself for the usual tackle, but was surprised when instead of running at top’s speed at him, Italy wobbled slightly, reaching him and finally allowing himself to fall into Germany’s ready arms with a sigh of relief.
Out of habit, the German Nation held him close, arms wrapping around his frame and feeling the possessive part of his brain purr contentedly at the motion.
“Feliciano, I told you over and over not to-” then he stopped. Italy was staring up at him, eyes open wide and reddened for crying, whilst the rest of his face looked sickly pale.
All his previous annoyance gone, replaced instantly by another rush of worry, Germany gently kissed Italy on the forehead.
Holding him close, bodies fit against each other, Germany tried his best to console his Italian lover, not knowing what was wrong but willing to wait until he was ready to talk.
And… was that his stomach poking uncomfortably at his own? Germany had to admit he wasn’t expecting Italy to be growing fat so fast…
“V-ve, Ludwig… I’m glad you came here so fast…”
“Feliciano,” even though Italy looked apparently unharmed, Germany could see that something was wrong. “What happened? Why did you call me?”
“I… I can’t eat it!” pointing at the pasta on the table, Italy hid his face into the German man’s chest. “I can’t really eat it, Ludwig!”
With a glance towards the table, Germany noted that the pasta looked just like all the pasta Italy had cooked before.
He couldn’t really understand.
“Feli-”
“I can’t eat my pasta anymore! At all! It’s not just one plate, it’s pasta! It smells awful, it tastes like burnt paper! I keep cooking and cooking but the taste never changes! Oh, my lovely pasta, why?! Why~?!”
Germany blinked, and detaching himself from his lover, he threw another look around in the kitchen. It was quite true, there were piles of dirty plates and pots with remains of all the different kind of sauces Italy loved on pasta.
He guessed that the bin would be also full of the cooked, cold pasta.
Looking back at Italy, Germany felt the worry spike up again; he was pale, of a sickly white, and was sobbing so hard, not his usual crying over stupid things, but crying like someone who’s just lost their pet, or something.
All of this reaction was for pasta.
Had Germany being less worried, he would have bumped him on the head.
“Feliciano, how are you feeling? Are you sick?” with firm hands he probed the Italian man’s neck, forehead and cheeks, searching for signs of some kind.
Italy hiccupped.
“I… I keep throwing up… i-in the morning, and s-sometimes in the afternoon, and the pasta… and I keep wanting broccoli, but I hate broccoli!” his tone turned whiny, desperate. “A-and my back aches so much, and I feel tired, and cranky, and weak-”
Leaning forwards, Germany let his lips press lightly on those of Italy, making him shut up after a last hiccup; careful not so jolt him around, he took the Italian Nation in his arms and brought him out of the kitchen, sitting down on the sofa in the sitting room and holding him close to his chest.
Italy whimpered, shuffling on his lap and trying to find a comfortable position, but quickly relaxed, settling and snuggling against Germany’s broad chest.
As he remained still, holding his lover close, Germany tried to sort out the recent happenings; Italy was suddenly looking ill, he couldn’t eat pasta (which was something to worry about), vomited often, was in pain…
Taking the opportunity to check out what had worried him previously, the German Nation lifted Italy’s shirt, pressing his hand against the naked skin.
Just as expected, Italy’s belly was showing more than usual. It also felt rounder to the touch, so it wasn’t just his imagination…
Italy growled.
Germany looked down at him with a frown, and found a pair of brown eyes glaring up at him, accusing. He took away his hand as if scalded, and Italy stood up and far from him, cheeks flushed red.
“Feliciano, wha-”
“I know I’m fat! But it’s not my fault! It’s been one week! And I cannot eat pasta, and I swear I’ve been trying to stop eating things, but I can’t! So don’t try to blame it on me! I don’t need that, damn you!”
Hiding his stomach with one arm, he slapped Germany’s hands that had tried coming up to encircle his frame again, and backed away, eyes wide and filled with fury.
“D-don’t come near me, you bastard!”
Completely shocked at the sudden mood swing, Germany stood up, feeling a pang in his heart at his lover’s words, together with a strongest sense of worry. He didn’t really know what to-
“Feliciano, I-”
“Uwaa~! Ludwig~! I’m… I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! Scusami! D-don’t hate me! I love you so much!”
A second later, he had an armful of a sobbing Italian man. And he couldn’t still understand anything about what was happening.
‘T-the hell?! There was nothing about this in my manuals!’
Germany closed his eyes and hoped to get out of this situation alive, so that he could go and buy a book on how to deal with suddenly extremely moody Italian men.
…………
“…”
“…”
“… so… you… uh, you look, well…” Spain stammered, looking at everywhere but at Romano, who was clearly on the brink of losing it completely, and the Spaniard felt he was in trouble. “I mean, uh…”
Romano was staring at him with eyes wide and darkened in anger, hands clenched into fists, and Spain tried to think something to say that would not make him angry. Unfortunately, in this situation, he really didn’t know what could be safe.
He really didn’t want to be kicked out from the house again -three times in three days were enough, and Spain really missed sleeping in his bed.
For the lack of a better word, Romano was gone bananas. Hmmm… bananas… momentarily side-tracked, Spain tilted his head to the side, only to quickly return to the current problem with a gasp.
No! it wasn’t good to be losing focus!
One single mistake, and Romano would shift from being calm, even nice (something that scared the shit out of Spain, actually) to a vicious cat, thrashing the room and throwing tomatoes and cutlery at him.
Not to mention how his eating habits had changed, until nothing of what he was used to eat appealed him. which in turn made him the more angry and prone to bitching.
No pasta.
No tomatoes.
Hell, even Spain’s prided churros were making him twitch in disgust!
His little Italian lover was living off potato-based foods and fish, the kind of expensive, hard to find fish that he demanded Spain to go buy him.
And this -which made the rest pale in comparison. His dear South Italy was gaining weight, and he was doing so at an alarming rate; after a week his perfect body was sporting a bulge on his belly, but no fat anywhere else on his body. It was quite disconcerting, and yet Spain found it strangely arousing.
It tickled something inside of him, making his heart throb with necessity to hug Romano close, and at the same time tugged at the chords of his heart and vital regions, making him more passionate, too.
This rounder Romano was, frighteningly enough, sexually alluring.
Not that Spain thought of normal Romano as ugly. If anything, he would have made love to him any time of the day, holding him close, whispering words of love… but there was something different now, and Spain couldn’t but react to this. Of course, he couldn’t dream about mentioning this without incurring in his lover’s wrath and homicidal bouts.
And now… it looked like the bulge had suddenly gotten even bigger.
“I asked you a question, bastard!” Romano hissed, attracting Spain’s wandering attention back to him. “I-it’s visible, isn’t it?!”
Gulping down his uneasiness, Spain knew he was doomed either way.
So, he simply nodded and looked away, hoping against hope that his adorable little South Italy wouldn’t kill him. or kick him out. The patio was terribly uncomfortable at night.
“T-then…” Romano’s voice suddenly lowered, and Spain cringed. “Am I… am I that repulsive that you can’t even look at me?!”
Spain’s head snapped towards his lover in a second, ready to deny his stupid claim and proceed to demonstrate him in detail why the Italian Nation would never be disgusting to him, but unfortunately, luck was not on his side.
“Y-you bastard! You do think I’m disgusting! I’m fat! Vattene a fanculo, Antonio, brutta merda!”
And much to Spain’s shock, instead of a flying tomato coming his way, Romano simply started crying.
Hard.
The sight of an openly bawling his eyes out Romano broke Spain’s heart. He stepped forwards in a flash, hurrying so that his cute, adorable lover wouldn’t keep thinking this, but Romano kicked him in the guts with such a strength that Spain fell on the ground, painfully clutching at his vital regions, lungs burning with lack of air.
“R-” he wheezed.
Too late -Romano was already out of the bed and out of the room, still completely naked.
Moments later the front door slammed close.
It took almost ten minutes for Spain to recover enough to stand up, and by then, Romano was gone somewhere already.
“Ah… m-mierda!” he groaned out, still pathetically clutching his pained crotch.
Then he was out of the house as well, chasing his lover down.
…………
Germany thought the crisis had passed when he was finally able to detach himself from the still shaken up Italian man, patting awkwardly his head and retiring to the kitchen to prepare some tea for the both of them.
He’d thought that coffee would be far too much, given the state Italy was in, but at least he seemed rather fine, if only crying and shaking in pain and fear.
His level of discomfort was high enough for Germany to feel uneasy; he didn’t know how to comfort his lover, sobbing so pitifully that the German Nation wanted nothing more than hold him close, and yet…
What could he do? He wasn’t knowledgeable in this sort of thing!
No book could explain him in detail how to help a distraught Italian man that was blaming himself for yelling at him!
Unfortunately for the poor German Nation, things were not going to get any easier yet.
Which was exactly why, when the front door was kicked open so hard it slammed on its hinges and against the wall, Germany brought his hands to his temples and started massaging the headache away.
He knew things were going to get even more complicated now.
With steady hands, be prepared two cups of tea and moved to the sitting room, ready to face anything.
That ‘anything’, as it was, did not include the sight of a stark naked, sobbing mess of a Southern Italian standing on the door, to hell with modesty, staring at his equally crying younger brother with a mix of anger and shock and pain all rolled into one single ball.
“Lo-Lovino?” Germany cautiously moved forwards, having the intelligent idea to place the tea down on the side table before doing so.
‘Oh, for the love of-’
“Fottuto bastardo!” Romano’s eyes, dark with fury and rage, turned towards him in a split second. “Out. Of. My. House! How dare you make Feli cry?! Vattene! Ora!”
Then, he started cursing in strict Italian, and Germany didn’t really need a degree in languages to understand that Romano wasn’t complimenting him for the tea, either.
Germany’s brain only had the chance to register a few things before he found himself standing outside of Italy’s house, door slamming against his face.
One -it looked like it was deeply engrained in the Italian brothers’ blood to run around naked when in a hurry.
Two -he’d been picked up by his neck and kicked out by Romano, of all people.
And now he was standing outside, without his coat and without having understood a single thing that just happened.
“Ah… F-Feliciano? Lovino?” Germany turned around, knocking on the door.
“Don’t even think about coming back! Fucking bastard! I swear I’ll shoot you!”
With a sigh, Germany massaged his temples again.
Maybe he could just humour them and go out to find a book on ‘dealing with angry, crying Italian people’ before coming back.
After all, it looked like Romano would not calm down anytime soon.
Peering into the house by the window, Germany observed Romano launch himself into Italy’s open wide arms, both sobbing in synch.
He had the sudden, strong need to slam his head against the wall, but valiantly resisted.
Mein Gott.
He picked up his phone, dialling Austria’s number.
It looked like he needed help once more…
…………………
that was it. ^^ I hope you liked! Please drop me a review to comment!
Scusami (Italian) - Forgive me
Vattene a fanculo, Antonio, brutta merda! (Italian) - Go fuck yourself, Antonio, ugly shit!
Mein Gott (German) - My God
Fottuto bastardo (Italian) - Fucking bastard
Vattene! Ora! (Italian) - Go away! Now!