It just wasn't Italy's best day. He'd been taking a walk around Berlin, enjoying the scenery and hiding from the women, when England strode up to him, and kicked him in the shin.
The kick sent sparks of pain up Italy's leg, and he immediately lifted his leg and clutched it to his chest, sending his other leg off balance. England laughed as Italy flailed for something to steady himself, or at least to catch him, but he fell with a dull thud onto the pavement.
Italy gasped for breath as his lungs seemed to collapse in surprise, and push the oxygen out of his frail body; England shook his head and walked away, leaving Italy with an unsettling statement:
"You're always good for a laugh."
After a few minute of coughing, Italy regained his breath, and shakily got to his feet. Maybe going for a walk wasn't a good idea… Italy thought as he brushed dirt off of his black pants and cream colored dress-shirt. He turned and began walking again, trying to get back into his carefree stride, when he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. He didn't flail this time, but instead readied himself for the impact; his arms lifted up to block his face, and his eyes squeeze shut in fear.
His fall was over in a minute, and he stood up, inspecting the hole in the sleeve of his shirt. What will Germany say? Italy sighed and shook his head, and walked into a restaurant. It was crowded, with many people eating sandwiches while they ate and hovering over the other diners in the tables, but the he didn't mind; he wanted something to make him feel better. His whole day had been going in the wrong direction.
It was his birthday; so why was everything so wrong? It seemed to Italy that the universe just hated pasta-loving, white flag-waving adorable Italians at the moment.
"Ciao." Italy sad flatly to the lovely Germany girl behind the counter; she blinked, and gave him a confused sideways blink. Italy rolled his eyes, and waved. The girl smiled, and spoke English in a heavy German accent.
"How may I help you?"
Italy took a moment to scan the menu hanging behind the counter, stopping when his eyes fell over the pasta. Maybe there was hope for his birthday; Italy smiled, and looked back to the girl, who was waiting patiently.
"I'd like some pasta, please."
The girl winced, and gave him a sad look, playing with her hands. Italy knew what was coming, and he attempted to brace himself; his day was only getting worse.
"I'm sorry; we're all out of pasta, sir."
Italy's breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head with a smile. The girl gave Italy the most desperately sad look he could have imagined, clawing at his heart with the sorrow swimming in her eyes.
"Anything else you want?" She asked, attempting to save Italy's mood. "I'll discount it for you."
"Oh, that's okay, I guess. No big deal."
This is the worst birthday I've ever had. Italy thought with a frown as he walked out of the restaurant and back out onto the street. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and tried to see the bright side of the day, but couldn't find it behind the dark storm cloud that seemed to cover his head. I'll just go back to Germany's… maybe he'll have something fun to do for my birthday. Italy struggled to put a smile onto his lips, and rushed back to the large house on the edge of town.
He took off his shoes, and walked to the end of the hall, cracking the door to Germany's study open a few inches.
The room was dark; storm clouds had begun to gather outside the windows, but Germany didn't notice, and hadn't turned on the light yet. Germany sat at his desk quietly, looking at papers, writing something down, and then looking at other papers.
"Germany?"
Italy squeaked, surprised by how his small voice could fill the empty room. Germany paused, looked up at Italy, then back down to his papers.
"What is it, Italy? Did England smack the back of your head again?"
Germany asked with his gruff voice. Italy scooted into the room, pushing the door shut behind him, and hiding his torn shirt sleeve by clasping his hands behind his back.
"Oh. No, that's not it. He kicked my leg, today."
Germany shook his with a sigh, scratching his ballpoint pen over a paper, circling something, then taking out a new paper.
"And you let him get away with it?"
Italy looked to the floor, suddenly embarrassed with his behavior. Germany placed the pen cap onto his pen, and looked up at Italy, his gaze burning into the top of Italy's head.
"What is it, Italy?"
Italy lifted his gaze from the floor to meet Germany's eyes; his brown eyes reflected the strong country that sat at his desk with his hands folded, waiting for a reply. Italy blinked at this man; He was incredibly handsome. Germany raised an eyebrow as Italy remained quiet. Italy's voice cracked as he spoke.
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to do something fun."
Germany pushed a stray piece of his blonde hair back into place as he sighed, looking down at his desk; his boss had marched into his office and slammed a pile of paperwork onto the surface, and demanded it be done by the end of the day.
"Nein, Italy. I've got paperwork to do."
Italy rocked back and forth on his heels, hoping Germany hadn't… forgotten his birthday… had he?
"Per favore, Germany? When you're done, we could..."
Germany shook his head, waving Italy away with a flick of his wrist.
"I said no, Italy. I'm very busy."
With that, Germany pulled out his pen and began to look over his papers again. Italy's heart shook; Germany had forgotten. Even though Italy had been talking about his birthday for weeks, Germany didn't bother to think about it.
"Beh, buona fortuna."
Italy wished Germany luck, and quickly headed for the door. Italy's chin shook, threatening to reveal the tears he was hiding, but Italy had closed the door by the time the first sullen tear rolled down his cheek.
"Feliciano?"
Italy's older brother called out his human name, causing Italy to panic. His older brother usually yelled at Italy when he cried, and he didn't want to be yelled on his birthday.
"Ah. Lovino!" Italy smiled, quickly wiping away his tears as his brother, Lovino, walked down the hall towards him. Lovino placed his hands on his hips, giving Italy a strange look.
"Why're you crying, Feliciano?"
Italy looked at his brother blankly, trying to hide his disappointment with a shaking smile. There was a lump in his throat, and he struggled to swallow; Lovino would know he was lying, but he tried to cover his sadness. He shrugged loosely, smiling.
"I'm not crying, Lovi."
He said as he began to walk away, towards another door that led out to a garden behind Germany's house, but Lovino grasped Italy's hand, and yanked him back. Lovino's hand held Feliciano's solidly, and they both paused, not wanting to cause an argument.
Tension filled the air as time streched out before them, and Feliciano gritted his teeth as his brother spoke to him.
"Was is that potato bastard?"
"No."
Italy's answered a little too quickly. Lovino shook his head in disapproval as Italy tried to pull away to the door, but Lovino held his grip on Italy tight. Let go, Lovi... Italy wanted to say it out loud, but the words didn't come; instead he hung his head in shame.
"You put too much trust in that jerk."
Italy scowled at the ground, not agreeing. He gave his arm one last tug, and Lovino let go stubbornly. Feliciano took a shakey breath, looking down at the dark wood floor at his feet; he couldn't look Lovi in the eyes. He knew if he did, he would fall into his brother's arms and tell him everything.
"I'm... going for a walk. I'll be back soon."
Lovino's eyes widened and shook his head, reaching for his little brother, but missing as Italy stepped out of the way, and opened the door.
"It's going to rain, Feli! Thunder storm warnings were all over the news this moring!"
Italy shrugged, taking a step through the door, not wanting to keep still; he needed to move, to forget about his birthday, and Germany.
"So, I'll get a little wet."
"No, you'll get struck by lightning."
Lovino rolled his eyes at his little brother, crossing his arms over his chest as Italy shrugged, and shut the door behind him, disappearing into the garden.