"Ludwig must hate me…" The Italian thought late at night while sitting up in his bed all sweaty and shaken. It wasn't just sweat as his red face was moistened with tears. He buried his head in his hand and released tiny whimpers here and there. Obviously the Italian had a nightmare. Had it been his entire fault that he accidently slapped his best friend in the face yesterday during the World Conference? Well, of course it was his fault but he couldn't help it. Italians, and especially him, tend to talk with their hands. While suggesting the idea that he could paint the whole world in tomato sauce and confetti it in pasta he couldn't help but get overly excited and start expressing it with his hands. The moment his hand slapped the German across the face he knew he was trouble. The face that Ludwig had gave him still burned in his memory at this very moment. It was the face of un-amusement with a hint of a growl. He could swear there was hatred in the German's blue eyes and that hatred was directed right towards him. There was not a hint of a smile on Ludwig's pale face. Not a hint of sympathy or understanding. Feliciano (our main character) understood it very well that Ludwig wanted nothing to do with him. To make matters worse it adapted into a nightmare. The very reason why now he was lightly sobbing in his hands. The German was just down this very hall, the man he usually went to whenever he had a nightmare. Oh but what would his dearest Ludwig would say if Feliciano told him his dream about how the German had stopped talking to him all together and decided to become friends with the Canadian known as Matthew. Then it would only become true in real life. The Italian wanted anything but that. Perhaps, though, he should check on the German- a hint of hope that he still liked him.

Feliciano wobbly lifted up his head and looked longingly at the doorway before peeling the blanket off of him and slinging his legs off the bed. At first when he stood up he nearly fell backwards onto the bed but quickly caught himself and tried to stay up his straightest. Wasn't quite working though as he felt himself leaning over slightly forward. Regardless he couldn't dilly dally. He had business to attend to and it was time to press forward. How should he begin this first? Tip toeing out of the room of course and he did just that. Halting at doorway he stuck his head out and peered down the long hallways. Never had the Italian realized how dark and scary this place looked at night. Shivering he crept about the halls nearly leaping at anything creepy he saw- or thought he saw. During the day it would take only a matter of minutes to reach his best friend's room. Now? It felt like hours. From here the room looked like a great distance away from where he was standing. He could barely take it much longer but this was for his friendship. He crept more along the halls and just so happened to take a glance at the wrong thing he was hoping for. There. Right there, was a short little auburn haired man with a set of amber eyes. He looked not a day over twenty- well that was probably because determining from his looks he was in fact twenty. As Feliciano leaned forward to get a better look the other did the same. With a humongous yelp and a scream he dashed down the hall at the speed of light. Little did the Italian know that just so happened to be his reflection in the mirror which was gone as soon as he dashed away.

"LUDWIG! LUUUUUUUDWIG!" was all you could hear throughout the no longer pin drop silent night and the loud bangs of the panicking Italian banging rapidly at the German's door. Wasn't before long before the door opened and Feliciano landed flat on his face. The German hovering over him was not pleased. Not a single drop of amusement can be seen on his face. Normally Ludwig's blonde hair was slicked back but it was in an utterly ruffled mess. Of course this was a sign that he was sleeping and another sign that he wasn't ready to wake up until a certain Italian decided to act like an animal. The German never understood the Italian, in fact- he didn't think he would ever. Like yesterday when he was talking about painting the world with tomato sauce and teepeeing it with pasta. Who does that? Then he got slapped in the face, that Italian could never keep his hands in place while he talked. Though Ludwig couldn't blame him for how he was. After all, he was a big-beefed German with nothing but military related thoughts swimming in his head. Then there's Feliciano- who….is anything but big-beefed and definitely NOT military worthy. Retreating? That's an A plus. Actually defending himself? It will never happen.

A great big sigh left Ludwig's lips before he bent down to pick the Italian up on his feet. At his very touch Feliciano started rapidly shaking. Any moment the German's hands can turn on him and start choking Feliciano. With that thought in mind he slinked away from Ludwig. Ludwig simply raised a blonde brow at this, silently questioning him. After a few moments of the German's contemplations he opened his mouth to speak. Not even the first word left his mouth.

" I'M SO SORRY LUDWIG!" Feliciano burst into tears and like a magnet and metal he automatically clung to his best friend sobbing dramatically on his shoulder. The German's thoughts? Why do I deal with this guy? But Feliciano was one of the only friends he had and while he might be such an annoying clingastical friend it was his duty to make sure they stay friends. With an irritated growl he asked; "What is it NOW?"

"Yo-you hate me! I know you hate me. The way you glared at me after I slapped you on accident proves it! A- an-an-and then- and then- I had a drea- no a nightmare that you ignored me and became friends with that one kid that looks like Alfred!" His dramatic speech was all rambled, no breathes taken in between so that when he finished he was huffing and puffing yet still looked as if he wanted to say more. Figuring that, Ludwig put a halt to Feliciano's words with a few of his own.

"First off the kid that looks like Alfred goes by the name of Matthew Williams. He's Canadian- not American. There's a fine difference between those two. Now as for the rest of your squabble-" With a sigh the German didn't know where to start.

"I don't hate you Feli, you should know by now-" as much as he didn't want to admit this next part- "I have a very unpleasant look on my face. It's just who I am. That slap- though it hurt and I can't believe you actually had it in you- did nothing to change my opinions at all. I get slapped all the time. My bruder Gilbert is a fine example and as much as I would like to- I can't hate him. Therefore- I can't hate you. You're my only- erm- you're my best friend."

Feliciano wiped a tear away from his face and looked at him in a flabbergasted state. The German raised a brow; "What is it?"

"YOU DON'T HATE ME?" A rippled of joy escaped the Italian's mouth and gave Ludwig the tightest hug the German ever possibly received.

"That's wonderful! We celebrate with pasta, right?"

"Only if there's wursts and beer involved…..though you understand what time we wake up for training do you?"

Ludwig received a blank stare from Feliciano. "Um…."

"Six O' Clock." He gestures to the clock; "And it is now that time. Now that you finally woke up in time for once in your life go and get dressed and be prepared for ten laps."

"But Lu-"

"NOW!"

With that the Italian ran scrambling to this room. Little did he realize he wasted his regular sleep and his sleeping-through-training sleep. Next time he would consult his dear friend after he woke up. The bright side to this all is that they remained friends, well, they were always friends. Feliciano just takes Ludwig's always un amused face way too seriously. Shouldn't he know by now that only beer and wursts make that man happy?