Sick Day
It was becoming a morning routine to wake Italy up for the actual morning routines. The Italian not only insisted on taking a nap every day, very punctually, at three in the afternoon; but he also persisted in sleeping in as much as Germany would let him.
Germany had gotten very good at not letting him sleep in. Sometimes just his booming voice announcing, "Italy, you'll be late for morning training!" would do the trick. Other mornings he'd have to subtly add a kindly threat, just to speed the process up. The day before he'd gotten Italy bolt upright and out of the bed in minutes just by casually mentioning that he'd learned how to do a one-armed shoulder throw from Japan.
Today Germany's temper was already aggravated, various battle reports not coming back with the numbers he was hoping for. So without so much as a preamble to it, he stormed into Italy's bedroom yelling orders at the top of his lungs.
"Italy! You're late again today!"
This sort of order was usually enough to get soldiers crying for their mothers, but Italy didn't budge. Not a single twitch or movement at all. Instead, Germany's demand was answered with a very feeble mumble and a cough.
Germany blinked, seeing Italy's shoulders shake with the force of the cough he'd just emitted. Before he could say a word more, the Italian started coughing again; louder and obviously more painful for his lungs this time around. He'd rolled onto his back, bleary eyes seeking out Germany's as he wheezed in a gasp of air.
With anyone else, Germany would have suspected an elaborate staged sickness; someone wanting to weasel out of training for that morning because they'd heard what was in store. But he never second guessed Italy's cold being genuine; the other country clearly feverish and utterly miserable by appearance alone.
Reaching out a gloved hand, Germany pushed back Italy's bangs and rested his hand on his forehead.
"Don't catch a cold!" He tried to say it as a reprimand, but it came out more of an admonishment in concern.
Italy coughed again, his shaky hand reaching up and grasping Germany's hand, bringing it next to his cheek and holding it there.
"Germany, I'm sorry," he rasped out, his voice crackly. "I'll get up for training now."
He started to sit up when another fit of coughs hit and Germany found himself instinctively moving to wrap his arms around Italy, holding the coughing country against his chest as he tried to gently pat his back.
"You'll do no such thing!" Germany instructed once the coughing had stopped. He held Italy at arm's length and looked him straight in the eyes. "If you overwork yourself in this state, you will only worsen your condition. A good soldier keeps good health!"
Italy nodded meekly, his eyes unfocused and his head bobbing back and forth aimlessly. Sighing, he lowered the other country back down onto the bed. "Rest. That's an order, Italy."
Nodding again, Italy offered up a feeble smile. "Ve… Germany can be nice sometimes after all."
Germany felt his face flush at the comment, but cleared his throat to will it away. He still wasn't quite used to having a friend, and every now and then Italy's bluntly honest comments would just…make him a tad embarrassed.
Moving to sit back down in the bedside chair, Germany felt a weak grasp on his sleeve.
"Neh, Germany?"
"Hmm?"
Italy coughed again, Germany closing the space between them and once again slipping a hand behind Italy's back to pat it in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Germany lips tightened into a frown; he wasn't very good at these sorts of things and he was now hoping he wasn't making things worse.
"Does that help?" Germany asked. Italy nodded. "Ah. Good. What were you going to ask?"
The hand clutching on his sleeve tightened its grip. "Can you stay with me until I feel better? Or do you have somewhere you have to go?"
He said it in such a manner that it was going to be impossible to resist. Sweat on his brow, a feverish flush on his cheeks and his chest heaving with effort to breathe through whatever was afflicting his lungs; all coupled with pleading eyes and a timid smile, and Germany really had no other choice.
"I suppose if it will help you get better sooner…"
"Yes! Germany, it'll help lots!" Italy exclaimed, his voice still not its usual timbre and rather hoarse.
With a nod, Germany settled himself onto the edge of the bed. "All right."
Italy used what little strength he retained to latch onto Germany and tug him further into the bed with him. Germany, attempting to maintain some dignity on both their parts, tried his best to keep the sheet over the Italian. Why he insists on sleeping in the nude...
"Thanks Germany," Italy muttered into the German's chest once he got situated. He was cocooned in the sheet and snuggly pressed against Germany's side, the taller country's chest now acting as Italy's pillow.
"Hm."
The morning passed in an odd cycle of Italy coughing, Germany patting his back and then the Italian relaxing back against his chest with a relieved sigh. At one point, he finally managed to convince Italy to at least put on some pants. But as it got closer to midday Italy kept attempting to talk, his voice coming and going, as he tried to ramble on about what he wanted for lunch.
Lunch itself presented a new problem, since promptly at noon Italy endeavored to get out of the bed. Germany had been doing single-arm exercises with his free arm to pass the time and didn't notice until it was too late that Italy had not only moved away but was attempting to stand.
And between his blurry vision and light-headedness, it was mere seconds before Italy went from standing to a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Italy!"
"Ve, I think I need help up Germany…"
Sighing, Germany got up and went over to help Italy to his feet. "What are you trying to do? Didn't I say to rest?"
"But it's lunch, Germany! I wanted pasta because pasta would definitely make me feel much, much better!"
Not too surprised at Italy's logic, he wordlessly helped him back into bed and then left with the promise he'd return with lunch if Italy promised not to move from the bed. Germany considered a soup, or perhaps a potato dish or wurst, but knew that Italy's mood would definitely be lifted by his favorite food. Not wanting to risk fixing something the Italian deemed inedible, Germany spoke to some of Italy's soldiers and had them help prepare a meal for the sick country.
"G-Germany, is that…" His posture alone seemed to perk up at the mere sight of a plate of pasta.
"Yah. I had one of your men fix it up for you."
He started to sit up and grab for it, but Germany gave him a stern look and shook his head. "Italy, rest."
"B-But Germany!" He whined, looking to the pasta longingly.
Sitting aside the plate temporarily, Germany helped lift Italy up, fluffing the pillow behind his head and situating him in a seated position. Then, once he deemed it satisfactory, he handed over the plate.
Italy positively beamed and happily ate the entire plateful. Once finished, he gestured wildly towards Germany to lean closer.
"Hmm?"
"Germany, you're the best!" Italy exclaimed as well as he could with his croaky voice. Then, before he could respond, the Italian pecked a kiss to Germany's cheek and smiled up at him.
Pulling back, Germany felt his face heat up suddenly. He was feeling light-headed all of the sudden, his hands felt sweaty and his pulse had started to accelerate. As he pondered this new development, Italy clutched his hand, intertwining their fingers- an action that only seemed to worsen his condition.
With a frown and a sigh, Germany looked back to Italy and came to the only logical conclusion for his sudden symptoms. "Italy, I believe what you have is contagious."
"Ve?"
"I'm ordering myself to bed rest and quarantining this room."
Taking the empty plate out of Italy's hands and setting it aside on the bed stand, Germany scooted Italy over to one side of the bed and lie down next to him, folding his arms and waiting for his symptoms to progress and the coughing to begin. But it never did.
A few days passed and Italy was back to his usual exuberant self. As for Germany, he found his symptoms had gone away mostly. For some odd reason, he never developed any sort of cough; but sometimes if Italy kissed him on the cheek or held his hand, it would make his pulse race, his palms sweaty and his head get slightly fuzzy.
It was only much later when he was referencing the symptoms in a book that Germany realized that he had another type of sickness entirely.
See also: Love Sickness.
THE END.