Love was a funny thing, Germany thought.
It was funny how these feelings could turn his world upside down, set his heart and veins on fire, make him lightheaded and confused Yet, love gave him wings, calmed his anxious mind and gave him much needed purpose. Love was a funny thing indeed.
Italy's brown hair looked soft in the lamplight, like dark feathers, and Germany could faintly smell the subtle scent of his shampoo as the smaller nation hugged him firmly. Soft lips were next to his ear, brushing over the germans heated skin with a smile.
"Goodnight", Italy said, a whisper for Germany and Germany only. He breathed it in and kept it in his chest, the word a hated and loved enemy.
"Goodnight", the taller nation answered, his arms still around Italy's smaller body, taking in his warmth and holding on to it. He didn t want to let go. Just like every evening, long after their training, when the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon and when he began to wonder how it would be like to never say any parting words again.
Italy let go of him, leaning back to look into Germany's face, his golden eyes like liquid. The smile was still there, lips soft and rosy. Germany was sure he was staring, but he couldn't help it, blue eyed gaze glued to his partners soft skin, bright eyes and intriguingly parted lips. It was like his brain was taken over by fuzzy, maddening feelings, temporarily paralyzing him.
The other man ended his stupor by leaning in and kissing him on the lips. There was fire in his veins, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. Italy's lips were warm and as soft as feathers against his. Germany's mind was sent reeling. Thoughts stopped and got lost in the warmth before he could grasp them. Seconds went by, their lips locked standing underneath an old street light.
It was a short kiss. The Italian pulled back, still smiling softly, before retreating alltogether, leaving the blond dumbfounded. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat, his whole body hot and his head too full.
"Goodnight", Italy said again, turning around and leaving with light steps, vanishing into the night like a feverish dream.
Germany could only stand there, gloved fingers on his lips, and watch him leave.
Truly, love was a powerful, funny thing.