Please Note; writing in italics is said in German
It would seem that, despite the mad amount of beer he is capable of drinking, Germany cannot handle wine. It would also seem that when he's drunk, Germany is very talkative. I think he's telling me a story, but I don't know because he seems to have forgotten that I don't speak German.
"Y'know, Italy, when I was a child, I was really, really powerful. I had so much land! So much… I was an empire, y'know? The Holy Roman Empire. I was so powerful, and rich, and big, but I wasn't happy.
"Why wasn't I happy, Italy? You should know; you're always happy! When are you not happy? Tell me what makes you sad…"
He stares at me earnestly. I think he might have just asked me a question.
"Uh… pasta?" Germany frowns. I don't think that was the right answer. "Uh…sì?" the frown deepens.
Germany shakes his head, chuckling. "You're a strange, strange person Italy," he ruffles my hair, narrowly missing the sensitive curl. "I know what makes me happy, Italy… you make me happy! But if you make me happy, then what makes me sad? Not… you… that doesn't even make sense!"
He's raising his voice now. I think he's frustrated about something. He's frowning, thinking hard.
"Wait… yes it does! Not you would be lonely! Loneliness makes me sad!"
He stares at me, his expression sobering into something akin to a nostalgic smile.
"Before I met you, I was very sad and lonely. When I was a child, I was very sad and lonely. I only had Prussia, and he's so 'awesome'. No, he's an idiot.
"Wait! No! I'm lying! I forgot! I forgot the maid-girl! How the hell could I ever forget her?"
His eyes widen, hand tugging at his hair as he hollers a few short sentences.
"Italy, I don't think I've ever told you about the maid-girl, have I? No… she was very pretty. I think you would have liked her. She liked pasta, and painting, and Austria was teaching her to play the piano… yeah, I think you two would have been great friends.
"But I have to leave her Italy! I had to leave to go to war! And I never went back, and I never saw her again!
"Do you want to know what I think? I think she was human. I think she died while I was at war. And do you want to know something bad, Italy? I can't even remember her name. I remember her face. I remember her dress. I remember that she used this silly little song about drawing a circle. I remember that she had a decking brush- she actually gave that decking brush to me too; it's in the storage cupboard at my house. Y'know, the one nobody's allowed in…
"I don't think she'd recognise me if she was still alive, anyway. I'd probably struggle to recognise her… but I've loved her for so long… since the ninth century, Italy. I've loved that nameless little maid-girl since the ninth century."
He sits back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. I take a sip of wine, watching him carefully as he takes a lazy swig straight from the bottle, the red liquid dripping uncharacteristically messily down his chin.
"Wherever you are," he addresses the empty air. "I love you."
I wish I knew what he'd been telling me.
Feels enough for you?
Might write a second chapter in which Italy tells Germany about Holy Rome. Might not.
I don't own Hetalia. Or wine.
-Laurel Silver