Untitled: Germany/Italy Fic
There had always been war.
Wars had existed before he was born, before any of them were born; it was simple fact and a cruel fate none of them could escape from.
He didn’t think it would come to this though.
Never.
Germany paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the large room waiting for something to happen. Italy couldn’t, wouldn’t do this; never, no, not in a million yea--
The door to the room opened, revealing a much worn-out Italy; Germany fought not to hold him.
“Germany?”
“Italy.”
“Why doesn’t it stop?”
“What?”
“The wars, the blood; why doesn’t it stop?” Italy was crying now, the tears gliding down his face dropping to the floor, a small plink echoing in the silence.
“I-It’s just the way things are. You can’t just eat pasta and be done with it! That’s just not how it works!” Germany screamed; Italy cringed and faced the tall man.
There was no sense in his words; he wasn’t the Germany he held every night, wasn’t the man who made him laugh day after day. No, this wasn’t him.
Germany looked at Italy, so different from his former naïve and happy-go-lucky self that it was almost frightening. God, he would do anything, anything to tell him it would be fine, that yes the war would be over, and that he loved him and wanted him so much.
Italy laughed and kissed the nape of his neck, breathing in his lover, his best friend, enjoying the peaceful moment they had found.
“I-I love---“
“I’m leaving Germany, I’m not coming back.”
“Why? Why do you always run away from things? Why can’t you just stay and fig-“
“Fight!” Italy screamed.
“That’s all you ever do is fight! I’m tired Germany and frankly, sick of you. You can’t butter me up with kisses and tell me that everything is fine because it’s not! We fight and we die, that’s all that happens! Just stop it already! What are you trying to prove?” Italy slammed the door shut and he was alone.
The question repeated in his mind; what was he trying to prove?
Wars had existed before he was born, before any of them were born; it was simple fact and a cruel fate none of them could escape from.
He didn’t think it would come to this though.
Never.
Germany paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the large room waiting for something to happen. Italy couldn’t, wouldn’t do this; never, no, not in a million yea--
The door to the room opened, revealing a much worn-out Italy; Germany fought not to hold him.
“Germany?”
“Italy.”
“Why doesn’t it stop?”
“What?”
“The wars, the blood; why doesn’t it stop?” Italy was crying now, the tears gliding down his face dropping to the floor, a small plink echoing in the silence.
“I-It’s just the way things are. You can’t just eat pasta and be done with it! That’s just not how it works!” Germany screamed; Italy cringed and faced the tall man.
There was no sense in his words; he wasn’t the Germany he held every night, wasn’t the man who made him laugh day after day. No, this wasn’t him.
Germany looked at Italy, so different from his former naïve and happy-go-lucky self that it was almost frightening. God, he would do anything, anything to tell him it would be fine, that yes the war would be over, and that he loved him and wanted him so much.
Italy laughed and kissed the nape of his neck, breathing in his lover, his best friend, enjoying the peaceful moment they had found.
“I-I love---“
“I’m leaving Germany, I’m not coming back.”
“Why? Why do you always run away from things? Why can’t you just stay and fig-“
“Fight!” Italy screamed.
“That’s all you ever do is fight! I’m tired Germany and frankly, sick of you. You can’t butter me up with kisses and tell me that everything is fine because it’s not! We fight and we die, that’s all that happens! Just stop it already! What are you trying to prove?” Italy slammed the door shut and he was alone.
The question repeated in his mind; what was he trying to prove?