Wow, I'd forgotten that I'd written this! I wrote it so long ago, but I found it and just had to post it! I skimmed, but I have no idea if this story has even been proofread, so after I get it posted I'm gonna read it again myself. Then I'll write author's letters to match, but for now, enjoy the unaltered version… XD
Everything about this story will probably change, including summary and title. Maybe even rating…anyway, enjoy!
I DON'T OWN HETALIA (but this couple is really cute…I enjoy it immensely…)
He tapped his the pen against the table irritably, huffing and slumping into his hand in exasperation. If there was anywhere he really wanted to be in the world it was most definitely, in that moment anyway, not Berlin. He picked up the letter he had come home to and read it again.
Bruder, regrettably I had to leave on immediate business with my Fuhrer. I will be back in about a week, give or take, but in that time I'm leaving the house to you. I've leniently let you stay with me, so the least you can do is take care of things while I'm gone. Water the plants, clean up after yourself, and if anything is damaged by the time I get back I hope for your sake that I don't realize it, but we both know the likelihood of that. Oh, and the food in the fridge is free to your taking, just don't burn down my house trying to cook. See you in time.
-West
He grumbled to himself, crumpling the crisp piece of paper with a good deal of satisfaction. Dammit all, West, this was by no means awesome! You couldn't restrict his amazing self to a confined area for longer than it so pleased or else said area would self implode! But...
Well, how was he supposed to make it home alive from the bar if he didn't have West to come get him?
Dammit! Why did he have to do this? Wait, he didn't really have to, right? He could leave right now if it so appeased his awesome desire, couldn't he? If something happened to West's house was that really his fault? Of course not, but...
He really needed a place to live...
Fuck! He needed his own money, or at least someone better to mooch off of. Well, there was always Antonio, but that meant dealing with the bratty Italian the stupid Spaniard allowed to walk all over him. He ruled Francis out without a second thought. The frog would never let him forget it, and there was no way he would ever call the pansy nation of France superior to the ever-awesome ex-nation of Prussia. He just couldn't tarnish Old Fritz's name like that!
He slammed his hand on the table, growling out of pure aggravation at his crappy circumstances. What could he do? He was beginning to realize just how much he relied on his younger brother, and that alone pissed him off, but it also brought to his attention one frightening epiphany. West could cast him away with any slight mistake, one impassable slip.
What if he left the house and it was broken into? Would that be his fault? Gottverdammt, he couldn't even leave the fucking house now? He had to stay there in pure fear-fear that someone as awesome as he should never have-that his luck would lose him a home? His luck never had been very good, though, hence the reason he was forced to live with someone else. He really shouldn't chance fate's level of cruelty.
He pushed himself up from the table, his nose crinkled at the long week ahead of him. What could he do, he thought, walking over to the fridge and pulling out one of West's most expensive beers. He popped the top and poured half of the contents down his throat, wiping his mouth while deep in thought.
I can't invite anyone because they might break something. I can't leave because I have to guard the place. Dammit, can this week get any less fucking awesome?
He shook his head, walking into the living room. Sprawling comfortably on the large sofa using one of the cushions as a pillow, he closed his eyes. Purely by fear of boredom, he was instantly lulled to sleep.
~.~.~
He woke soon after at the soft sound of knocking at the front door, jolting him to his feet. He had no idea who it was, but they weren't coming in! Hell no, no one was coming in, not on his life. He wasn't risking it, no matter who-
He wrenched the door open with a fiery resolve to send the person away, his mouth open and the breath drawn to yell. The air had the briefest of moments of sound before he cut it off, nearly choking on what he saw. Standing in the doorway, with that eternal grin of his that Gilbert had grown accustomed to, was the younger Italian boy, the cute one. "I-Ita-chan?" he pushed out, blinking in confusion. "What are you...doing here? Y-you know that West isn't here, right?"
The bubbly auburn haired boy giggled, making Gilbert twitch in a sort of confused and unwilling pleasure at the sound. Dammit, no! He said no one, he meant no one! "I know~. Ludwig called me to say there'd be no training until he got back. Well, not with him. He said I have to work alone to keep up my endurance, and I'm a little afraid to see what he'd do if I didn't. I came to keep Prussia company~!" The boy advanced slightly, stopping abruptly when Gilbert didn't drop his arm to allow him entrance. Dammit, no one, no one!
Feliciano looked up into the flustered red eyes, only serving to enhance the panic in them. Gilbert swallowed at the pleading look he received, fighting his arm to keep it up. No one, no one! "Can't I come in?" Feliciano asked sweetly, causing a slight pang of nausea to wash over Gilbert.
As the amber eyes bored into him, he bit his lip in wavering deliberation. No, no one's coming in here, not even the cute little Ita-chan. He's broken more of West's property than even I have! It's not gonna-oh, fuck me, who am I kidding? and with a defeated sigh, he dropped his arm reluctantly, granting the little Italian the entrance he desired. He wanted desperately to keep it up, but how could he with those eyes begging him oh so persuasively? He could handle Ita-chan and the house at the same time. Everything was gonna be just fine.
Well, he believed that anyway.
~.~.~
As he watched the Italian work his magic at the stove of the kitchen, humming some tune he couldn't name, he pondered what it was that made him so...persuasive. Surely his awesomeness hadn't worn off. He wasn't going soft, was he? He watched carefully as the boy pressed the spoon he was using to his lips to taste the sauce, giggling. Gilbert inwardly kicked himself for how cute he thought that was.
He'd always liked the Northern Italian, though he had no idea why. With most he'd be glad to bag their vital regions and leave it at that, but somehow, even when he was helping to drive that damned aristocrat from Venice, he wasn't able to hold such intentions of Ita-chan. It was almost as if he was just too pure to taint. But if lust wasn't the draw, then what was?
Just then the boy snapped the stove off with a flick of his wrist and stirred the pasta in the pan near the sauce. He drained the noodles and served them both, smiling at Gilbert as he sat down to eat.
Gilbert blinked at the food laid before him. Was it really okay to eat this? Wasn't the atmosphere a little too much like one of those shitty husband and wife sitcoms (that he totally didn't watch in the days of the world meetings that he wasn't allowed to attend). It did smell good though, and he knew that the instant Ita-chan left he'd have to cook for himself, which would inevitably end in disaster. This may be the only edible thing he would consume in the week, so maybe it was okay?
As he sat staring at the plate of food before him, Feliciano had been staring at him. He'd wanted the assurance that what he made tasted alright before allowing himself to relax into the luxury of a well cooked meal. He knew that he would like it, how could he not, but Gilbert might not have.
So, for a few minutes of silent pondering on one side of the table, with an increasing state of panic on the other, they both sat there as the pasta steamed and cooled, untouched though the scent made both of their mouths water.
Finally, Feliciano had had enough waiting, fidgeting and feeling horribly self conscious of his potential mistake. He cleared his throat, breaking Gilbert out of his reverie. The blood hued eyes shot to the trembling Italian as he got up from his seat to take the plate and throw the precious food out. "M-mi dispiace, Prussia. I should have asked what you wanted before I cooked. Do you not like alfredo? I can make ragu, that has some meat in it at least, or I can make you something that isn't pasta-"
He slid his hand across the table and took the edge of the plate, but as he pulled away he was shocked as Gilbert lunged and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from taking the still steaming fettuccine from him. He winced as the albino's iron grip clamped onto his own slender wrist and began to stutter out nearly unintelligible apologies and pleas not to hurt him.
As soon as he realized what he was doing Gilbert wrenched his hand away, pink tinting the pale skin of his face. "Ah, s-sorry Ita-chan. I, uh, I really want to eat it but..." he trailed off looking away to avoid the teary eyes that watched him expectantly. "But I couldn't because...'cause I was waiting for you to start! I had to let you pray or whatever, you know?" Ita-chan was religious after all, so that totally made sense. He snickered to himself at how awesome his improvisational skills were.
Feliciano just stared at him, but pulled his hand away from the plate and sat back in his seat. He spun the pasta, now cool enough to eat straight off the plate, and tossed the bite into his mouth, slurping up the noodle that managed to fall slightly off the fork and giggling. Gilbert smiled despite himself. Then Feliciano took to watching him again, unassured of his contentment in the meal.
For a brief moment, they sat watching each other. Smile dropping slightly at Gilbert's hesitation, Feliciano looked from the wavering albino's face to the still untouched pasta and back. "Your turn, Prussia~!" he urged impatiently.
Seeing the eager face that stared, waiting for him, Gilbert worked to push the awkward thoughts to the back of his mind, blushing a little darker and leaning down to take his first bite.
The second the pasta hit his tongue Gilbert's eyes widened. "I-it's delicious, Ita-chan!" he exclaimed, meriting once again the bell like jingle of Ita-chan's laugh.
It was all either of them needed, and a silence fell over the two as they continued eating, this one less worrying.
After about ten minutes of no words passing between the two, Feliciano wiped away the sauce at the corners of his mouth and took a sip of the water next to his plate to wash his palette. "So, Prussia, what's new? You live with Ludwig, but any time I come over you're not here!" Gilbert looked up at the younger nation, his cheeks tinting again at the disappointment he found in Ita-chan.
"Well, you know, Ita-chan...I just...go out. I can't deny the rest of the world my awesome presence, can I? Kesesese~." He scratched his head nervously. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the reply to that, seeing as most people told him just how untrue it was. He could take it if Francis or West told him what a loser he was, but if Ita-chan said it...
Feliciano, however, just nodded and took another bite of food. "I guess you're right, but maybe some day you could do it just for a day. Unless you don't want to see me..." The last part was barely audible, but Gilbert caught it.
Suddenly the albino was on the defensive. "Of course I want to see you, Ita-chan! It's just that you and-" He stopped himself there, knowing that what he wanted to say wasn't really...appropriate to the situation. You and West are too close...he finished to himself, looking down and sighing. He didn't like how close Ita-chan and his little brother had become, even after the war. He wouldn't lie to himself in denying that it hurt when the small Italian came over and ran to West, hugging him as if they hadn't seen each other in years, though it had only ever been a week at most. Sure he received his hug after West had pried the boy from himself, but it was so much less excited and so much more brief than his younger brother's. Didn't he deserve just as much of Ita-chan's affection as West did? He'd been at war with Ita-chan at his side, and he never yelled at the Italian half as much as West did.
What hurt the most, though, was that West was actually starting to reciprocate the affectionate gestures. He'd started to hug back, even if just slightly. He used the Italian greeting if so requested by Ita-chan. He endured Romano's long rants and raging about how he needed to get out of the northern nation's life and leave them the fuck alone, and had taken to replying simply with "I'll get out of his when he gets out of mine, and no sooner." He no longer resisted the boy's desire to sleep in his bed at night, and if he was having a bad day and did by chance happen to insult or make Ita-chan cry you would never hear a more sincere apology than the one that came from West following that moment.
Really, Gilbert had never seen any relationship so devoted as they had, except maybe of Antonio to Romano, and that was one sided. The two were more than best friends, even if they were the only two in the world who didn't know it yet. Who could blame Gilbert if he didn't want to be there when they finally did realize it?
This was the honest reason that Gilbert had began to leave any time that Ita-chan came over, but he couldn't say that out loud. Not to Ita-chan, not to West, and not to anyone.
Through this long moment of contemplation, Feliciano had simply watched Gilbert, trying in vain to finish the cut off statement for himself. "'It's just that me and-' what, Prussia?" he pressed, set on edge by the sudden somber attitude the albino had developed.
Gilbert looked at him and smiled wistfully, causing a hint of alarm to enter the amber that watched him. He spoke as he stood from his seat, walking over to the fridge and taking out another of West's beers, popping the top and nursing it while he stood next to the fridge. "Just that you and West seem to have such a good time alone. I'm way too awesome to try and impose on that." Well, perhaps that wasn't a lie either...
Suddenly the Italian stood and and nearly tackled him into a hug, and as happy as it made him, it suddenly felt wrong. He shouldn't be the receiver of such a loving embrace. It should have been West.
"But Gi-I mean Prussia, you wouldn't be imposing on anything! We'd both love to have you spend time with us~!" the Italian argued, clinging hard to the man despite the fact that he didn't hug back.
Unable to resist the close and warm contact, he slowly wrapped his arms around Ita-chan's shoulders and returned the hug. He tried to build up his mood back to where it normally was, but he couldn't quite force the weight from his heart. "Well, I don't think West would agree, but I'll stay occasionally for you Ita-chan." And that was a promise, a promise to someone he couldn't lie to. He couldn't break it, no matter how much he feared what would happen if he didn't.
He knew the day would come that West slipped up and proved his feelings to the Italian, and the boy would in turn confess his own. Even if he wasn't there for the first revelations, he would eventually see the signs of them. How would he feel when the greeting hugs were combined with hello kisses? When the tense silences were broken by one taking the other's hand, and a giggle from one, a chuckle from the other? When each tear that West caused, and a few that he had no part in as well, were met with small kisses of apology? When Romano broke their door down and came in to beat the living hell out of the German having heard the news, and West welcomed him with "Hello, Romano. How is my favorite brother in law?" (Okay, so maybe that image was just as funny as it was painful, but still...) Worst of all, how would he feel each night with Ita-chan across the hall, knowing that whether they were settling down to sleep or wide awake and active (he tried not to give the concept too much thought) they held each other and whispered words of adoration to each other.
No, he didn't want to be witness to that. Not in the slightest.
As for now, though, West wasn't there, and Ita-chan was hugging him the way he'd always wanted him to. If it would please that little nation that he slowly realized just how much he adored, and didn't piss off West too much, he would grin and bear their love, acting as though he was happy for his little brother. He was, wasn't he?
Well, he'd allow himself to believe he was either way.
~.~.~
After they finished dinner Gilbert helped Ita-chan tidy up, but Feliciano stopped a lot sooner than Gilbert thought he would. He glanced around the kitchen, not quite satisfied with the status of the kitchen. "Ah, Ita-chan, I don't think that we're done. If West saw this he'd-"
"Don't worry, Prussia, I'm not done, I'll finish in a bit, but I don't like to clean right after I eat. It takes away from the joy of the meal~!" and having said that he trotted out of the kitchen, into the living room. Still unsure of leaving the kitchen in it's slightly less than perfect state, Gilbert followed hesitantly, wondering just how late Feliciano intended to stay if he planned to "finish in a bit." It was just after six o' clock, if the boy wanted to get home at a decent time he would have to leave in about an hour. Oh well, he thought, brushing the matter off. It's not like I can't clean it myself, he did cook...
When he got into the living room Ita-chan was kneeling in front of the entertainment center, placing a disk in the DVD player and pushing the tray back in. The TV showed that it was loading, and soon the previews were rolling. "What're you doing?" he asked confusedly.
The boy on the floor turned around and smiled at him. "America made a version of one of England's plays, and I have to make sure that they didn't portray my country wrong! Well, England's playwright doesn't glorify it very much, but maybe the Americans did alright with the settings..." He trailed off as he pushed himself to his feet and ambled over to the couch. He again turned to look at Gilbert, who stood standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Aren't you going to watch with me?" he inquired.
Gilbert bit his lip, looking away from Feliciano to a very peculiar spot on the wall. He wanted to, he really wanted to, but if Ita-chan was talking about Shakespeare, which he likely was since England didn't have many famous playwrights that Americans cared enough to read, then the fact that it took place in Italy was a good sign that, tragedy or comedy, the play was almost positively romantic. "Wh-what play is it?" he asked, blushing slightly.
"The Taming of the Shrew!" Feliciano chimed happily.
That's the romantic-comedy, right? I liked that one, but it's still a romance...not that I should care. Don't all American movies have romance in them these days anyway? He thought about all of the action and horror films he'd ever watched that came from America, and how each of them ended. He could think of maybe two or three out of the hundreds that had no pansy-style love crap. Those were, incidentally, the plotless and therefore crappy movies too. "You know," he stalled, "I really oughta clean up the kitchen, but maybe when I'm done, okay?" He decided that tonight had to be the night that he would deep-clean the room; clean the stove, empty the refrigerator and wipe down the inside, scrub the walls, polish the table, wipe all of the appliances down (and then repeat four times), shine all of West's expensive silverware, organize the cupboards and drawers, order all of the food in the pantry by color of label, type of food, alphabetically, and by expiration date, and if that wasn't enough to keep him busy until the Italian left he had a feeling that the garbage disposal was going to magically break. He couldn't let that go without fixing, could he?
That was his plan, but somehow that was changed the instant he met Italy's pouting stare. "I told you, I'll do that later! Per favore, Prussia~!" he pleaded earnestly. Gilbert sighed, walking over and sitting next to the bouncing Italian. "Just press play," he ordered softly, settling into the couch. It was just a movie, right?
Feliciano beamed at him, making a tiny peep of joy, and did as he was told.
The scene opened to a beautiful view of Padua, which Feliciano seemed to recognize based on his happy reaction to the setting, with a proudly sounding fanfare and a bright atmosphere. Soon after the opening credits had ceased two men entered the stage, their state of dress describing which was Lucentio and which Tranio. As they conversed in a method of explaining to the audience their positions and background information, Gilberts eyes slid over to the Italian who sat enthralled next to him. He was calmer now, but still bouncing in excitement, and the occasional hums and 'vehs' escaped him despite his attempts to stay quiet.
Soon he heard new voices, signaling that the old guy and his daughters had entered, but he no longer cared for the movie. He couldn't care less if Katherina was the hottest chick in the world right now, or if Bianca was a goddess in the making (this was his normal reason for watching movies, as it be. He was once a nation, after all! What hadn't he seen happen in the real world?). All he cared for right now was watching this ever happy person next to him.
Idly he wondered what it was that kept him in his right mind. He couldn't recall a time that he had sat in a dark room with someone (who was oblivious to all potential disasters) as cute-or even half as much so-as Ita-chan and didn't try to conquer them. Well, he rarely got anywhere with his attempts, except home in bed, unconscious from a frying pan to the head or a punch to the jaw with the strength of a Canadian hockey player behind it. He knew, though, that Ita-chan would be too weak to fight him off. He would bag the Northern nation's vital regions and maybe then he could stop brooding about how he never got a proper hug, and no matter what West got from him, Gilbert would always be able to say that he had taken his vir-
He stopped the thought and looked away from the unknowing boy. His cheeks were hot and his head was throbbing. What was he just thinking? How could he ever...ever even consider doing that to Ita-chan? No, he...he wasn't considering it, he was just thinking that with anybody else that's what he would have done. There's just...no way he could do something so despicable...
As he unwillingly rocked back and forth with each passing thought, trying as hard as he could to banish the mental images that coursed over his mind, Feliciano had become aware of his companion's agitation-with absolutely no concept of why he was suddenly on edge. He watched him worriedly before finally speaking. "Pr-Prussia? Are you...okay?"
Gilbert turned rapidly, his answer coming a little too quickly, too soon. "Y-y-y-yeah, Ita-chan! D-don't you worry about me!" he stuttered out, the heat in his face now suffocating. Had he been figured out? Had Italy realized what he was thinking? God, no, what was he thinking, he couldn't have, there was just no way that he...that he would think...
The rushed and nervous answer wasn't at all reassuring to Feliciano, and he only grew more frightened when Gilbert looked away again. "What's wrong, then?" he questioned, moving closer to try and touch the albino's forehead.
Gilbert tensed as he felt the warmth of Ita-chan's body get closer to him. He flinched away, but the boy just continued to close the small distance between them. "Th-there's nothing wrong! I just...I thought something and it was...it was just not so fucking awesome, okay?" And closer still. Dammit, you're not helping! he thought, inwardly cursing the young nation, then inwardly kicking himself for having done such a thing. Just as Ita-chan's hand hovered over his face he smacked it away and jumped up from the couch, not giving the auburn haired boy the chance to ask why or what he had been thinking.
~.~.~
When he got upstairs, he ran into his room, forgetting to lock the door behind him, and ran into the small bathroom that West had ever so generously seen to it that he had (his little brother did take pretty good care of him). He ran the faucet of the sink on cold, dipping his hands underneath it and splashing the water up to his face. No, that wasn't enough, his cheeks still felt like they were on fire. He slapped the handle of the faucet off, ripping off his shirt and turning on the small shower, as cold as it would go. He leaned in so his head and half of his torso had the icy water pounding down it, feeling almost like hail to the sensitive skin. As the sharp little needles of pain rained down on him, slowly numbing and just becoming pressure, he shook the thoughts out of his head, and slowly the heat in his face subsided and was dulled to nothing more than a glowing warmth there. He hit the dial, turning the water off, and stood up straight, stretching his muscles as they ached from the cold contact. He shook out his hair and ran his fingers through it, laughing as he passed the mirror and saw that most of it was pulled back and stuck there. Yeah, it looks better on him, he assessed, ruffling the hair so it fell in front of his face again.
He stumbled over to his bed and plopped down, his muscles and skin tingling from the change in temperature. He knew that Ita-chan was still downstairs, and that he probably should have gone down to keep him company while he was still there, but he was...Gottverdammt, he was afraid. He never thought the day would come that the awesome Gilbert Beilshmidt would be afraid of something, or someone, so sweet and harmless as Ita-chan, but here it was, laughing in his face. He smacked his forehead and groaned, if he had just kept his thoughts at bay-
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Prussia, are you alright~?" He heard the voice, and he wanted to get up and open the door, but somehow he was frozen in his place staring at the ceiling with wide, blood red eyes. "Hey, if you don't answer I'm just going to come in! Are you okay?" Just come in? Hadn't he locked that door?
Apparently not, he thought, wincing a little as he heard the door click. Well, this was awkward. How was he going to explain this? He was drenched, half naked, freezing (he realized he was shivering just then), and laying on his bed in the dark with the light of the bathroom streaming in on him. Well, he could say that he was going to bed, but he wasn't sure if he was okay with Ita-chan thinking that he would just forget him and call it a night. Any one else he wouldn't care, but not Ita-chan. He could say that he was sick, but then Ita-chan would worry and God knows he'd have to act sick tomorrow because the boy would likely come back to check on him. Actually, that didn't sound too bad...but he didn't want to lie. But he'd feel better about lying than he would about the truth.
"Prussia, are you asleep?" Feliciano asked in a hushed voice, making Gilbert shiver even more than he already was.
He sighed, knowing that he couldn't live with himself if Feliciano became upset because he left him all alone. "Nein," he answered reluctantly. "I'm just...thinking."
He heard the proceeding footsteps halt, and knew without looking up that Feliciano was standing above him, most likely watching him with close eyes. The warmth in his cheeks tinged a bit hotter as he suddenly realized that he was still not wearing a shirt. He wondered why that made him feel so...self conscious. He'd never been shy of his body before
"Are you alright?" he heard Ita-chan ask softly for the, what, fourth time that night? Why did he care so much about him? Even if he wasn't alright he'd get over it, he'd gotten over much worse than a little cold.
"Ja," he answered simply, not explaining why he had run away, not easing Feliciano's worry. As he sat down on the bed next to the silenced albino he accidentally brushed his hand against Gilbert's shoulder, recoiling from the contact instantly. At this sudden jolt Gilbert pulled the hand that hid his eyes away from his face to look up at Feliciano, who was regarding him in utter horror. "Ita-cha-"
"Prussia, you're ice cold!" Feliciano gasped in terror. Gilbert blinked in confusion. Yeah, he was ice cold. He just took a cold shower, he would be more worried if he was hot. He opened his mouth to explain this, but Feliciano put his hand back to the spot on his shoulder, flinching away at first, but then settling into the touch and pushing his hot hand to the freezing skin. "A-and you're wet...that isn't sweat, is it?" he asked fearfully, his eyes wide. If Gilbert was this cold and sweating this much...oh, Dio, was Gilbert going to die? He couldn't die now, what would Feliciano do?
Cutting off the irrational thoughts of panic that ran through Feliciano's head, Gilbert looked away from the terrified amber eyes that watched him as the heat in Ita-chan's palm burned his chest where it lay, and now his face had warmed up considerably as well. "I-it's not sweat, it's...I took a cold shower..." he mumbled.
Feliciano blinked, not entirely sure if he'd heard him right. "Why'd you do that?" he asked.
Gilbert wasn't sure what to say to that. "It...I was hot, I guess."
This really didn't make Feliciano feel any better. "Are you sure you don't have a fever?" he inquired, moving his cooled hand to Gilbert's forehead. His brow furrowed and he bit his lip. "You feel warm...and I don't know how much it's cooled down from the shower..."
Gilbert shook his head under the warmth of Ita-chan's palm. "You're hand is cooler than body temperature from touching my shoulder, so I probably just feel warmer by contrast," he stated matter of factly. Feliciano tilted his head at him. He was talking in such a subdued manner; he was definitely feeling out of sorts. How could Feliciano prove that he was sick so that he would just go to bed? Well, first he had to prove that he had a fever.
He grabbed Gilbert by the arm and tugged, urging him to sit up. Gilbert did as he was instructed, feeling a little lightheaded from having laid down for so long. Suddenly, though, any levelheadedness he had was sent flying as, seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the action, Feliciano took a hold of his jaw and placed his own forehead against Gilbert's.
Confused at first about what was going on, but slowly coming to understand as his vision refocused, Gilbert's face went from slightly more than warm to boiling in a matter of milliseconds. "I-I-I-It-ta-ch-ch-ch-" he stuttered out horrible, unable to form a single word.
Gaging just how warm his friend was Feliciano hummed to himself, then let out a cry in surprise when suddenly the temperature he was measuring sky rocketed to a high that nearly burned him. "Gilbert, you're burning up!" he cried out, jumping back and looking into the red eyes that were nearly teary.
As he readjusted to the distance between them, going cross-eyed and blinking at the distorted world as it cleared but ceased to make sense to his own distorted mind, he continued trembling. His body, it was still freezing, but his face felt as though it was melting. Oh, Gott, he moaned to himself. Shit...Fuck...! I can still...still sm-...smell his breath...mine...what does mine smell like? Oh, mein Gott, I sound like a teenage girl! Ugh, fuck me, I'm screwed!
As his mind reeled in nervous disbelief at what had just happened, Feliciano stood panicking about methods of lowering fever. Was it good to try to cool the person down, or were you supposed to keep them warm? What medicines were you supposed to use? Did Ludwig have a thermometer? How high could a nation's temperature get before you had to worry about cranial trauma? How high was Gilbert? Oh, Dio, what could he do?
Suddenly, his eyes filling with tears of fear and worry, Feliciano cried out in distress, telling Gilbert that he would be right back and dashing out of the room at a speed that he normally reserved for retreat.
Watching Feliciano take off, still having trouble processing what was happening, Gilbert threw himself back into his bed, rolling over so he wasn't facing the door and clenching the comforter in his hand. He knew he should follow Ita-chan, tell him that he wasn't going to die, but he just...he was still afraid, or rather he was even more so now. Dammit, what just happened?
He ran his hand through his hair, clenching it in his fist and pulling at it in his state of panic. And yet...he realized as the heat in his face simmered down to a bearable heat, that the spot on his forehead still tingled where the contact had been made. He unknotted his fingers from his damp silver hair and traced the spot on his forehead. Wow...suddenly the shock and fear that filled him dulled, and all he could feel in it's place was that feeling he got when he was still at war, and he won a battle, or when Old Fritz told him how great he was. It was something he hadn't felt in a while...what was it? Oh, he knew exactly what to call it.
Pride. Self-worth. Hell, just call it what he normally would: Awesome. Yeah, that was it. It was the first time it had been true in a long time, the first time he had proof or reason for saying it.
Thus, he lay there, in a strange kind of bliss that was all new to him, or at least unfamiliar from a long time of not having felt it. And as he thought, he remembered that Ita-chan was downstairs, probably a frantic mess over worry for him. Wait. That wasn't a good thing.
"Ah, shit!" he cried out, smacking himself on the forehead and rolling off his bed clumsily to his feet, stumbling as the blood rushed from his head. He snatched up his button up shirt and followed the same path the Italian had taken, though not nearly as swiftly, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his shirt as he did so.
~.~.~
Feliciano had no idea what he was supposed to do, and that fact only made him feel awful and useless. Darn it, what if Gilbert's fever was critical? What would he tell Ludwig if his brother died right now? Oh no, what would he tell himself? If he was smarter he'd know what to do. Oh, Dio, help me! What do I do?
The tears in his eyes were flowing freely by now as he stood in the hallway of the main level of the house searching for some sort of sign of what he should do. Catching sight of the phone, he decided that to be his sign. If God couldn't tell him how to save Gilbert, maybe someone who loved both of them could.
Running over and snatching up the phone, he stared at the numbers as he pondered over who to call. Darn it, who would know what to do? Eli! Elizabeta would know, and she was a childhood friend of Gilbert, but...well, he was pretty sure the last time Gilbert had come up in conversation with her she had plainly said "I'll kill that bastard yet!" So, maybe she wasn't a very good choice...then, who? Maybe Ludwig? But he rarely left his cell phone on when he was away on business, and Feliciano didn't even know where he was on business. For all he knew, it was midnight and Ludwig was in bed! Um, big brother Francis might know, but there was no guarantee that he would...so that left...big brother Antonio?
Well, he was Lovino's caretaker, so he probably knew what to do when fever struck, but what if Lovino got to the phone before he did? He shook his head, no time to worry about that now! Still sobbing, he dialed the number with a shaky hand, and listened anxiously as the line rang.
He smiled in hope, tears still rolling, as he heard the phone click. "Hola? Gilbert?"
Feliciano opened his mouth to cry to Antonio his predicament, but stopped when he heard Lovino in the background. "Hey, tell the potato bastard you're busy and sit the fuck down!" the Italian shouted irritably. Antonio sighed. "Gil, you better make it quick before Romano ki-"
"Tonio-nii-chan~!" Feliciano bawled, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
The unexpected voice set Antonio back a bit, causing him to pause as the younger Italian cried on his side of the line. "Uh, Ita-chan?" he questioned, still a bit surprised, and more than a bit irritated by the elder of the brothers who sat yelling like an unappeased child. "Ugh, that's even worse! Tell him to fuck off, you're eating dinner!" Feliciano felt a pang of guilt about having interrupted them, but shook it away for the sake of the dying albino upstairs. Another pause as he shot Lovino a disapproving look. "What's wrong, mi amigo?"
"N-nii-chan, Gilbert's gonna d-die!" Feliciano informed, breaking down to near hysterics.
Antonio processed the information slowly. "Whadaya mean by that, mi tomate-" "Dammit, don't fucking ignore me!" screamed Lovino, and Feliciano heard what he guessed was silverware thrown into a plate. He heard the rush of air as Antonio pulled the phone away from his face. "Hey! Romano, sit down! No-ugh, fine then at least remember to bring your plate back down when you're done eating this time!" Feliciano fidgeted as he heard Antonio's cheek brush up against the phone. "Now what are you afraid of, Ita-chan? Did Gilbert tell you he was gonna die, because you shouldn't believe him. In fact, I wouldn't even stay there, he's probably got somethin' planned for you. Come here and I'll make sure he doesn't get in." Feliciano was confused by Antonio's proclamation, but shook the questions away. This was no time to waste asking about pointless comments!
"Nii-chan, he didn't say he was going to die-h-he denied that he was even sick-b-b-but I know that he is! Wh-what am I s-sup-posed to do~!" Unable to bear his grief and shame at how useless he was being when Gilbert was alone upstairs, probably feeling so horrible he'd rather die than feel like that, Feliciano fell to the ground and curled up, crying into his knees.
Antonio could tell how stressed Ita-chan was feeling, and wondered if Gilbert really was sick (even though he was still entirely doubtful. It wouldn't have been the first time his best friend had used such scheming measures to possess an innocent's vital regions). Shaking his head, he decided to try and sooth the boy on the other line, who had at this point fallen into a state of helplessness and was, likely, curled up in despair.
"Ita-chan, hold on. Breathe, mi amigo!" He waited until the heezing softened to shaky breath and broken sobs. "Good, don't make yourself sick. Alright, now what exactly's wrong with him?"
Taking a few more deep breaths before answering, Feliciano ran his fingers into his bangs and clenched the hair to keep himself stable. "He's really hot. I-I think he must have a fever of one hundred and ten degrees! Tonio nii-chan, how high can a nation's temperature get before they die?"
"Stop saying the word 'die' Ita-chan, I'm sure he's fine. Gilbert's pretty strong, I don't think he's gonna allow himself to be taken out by a little cold. And I dunno, but I'm sure it's pretty high. Romano's made it up to a hundred and four and he's okay, and I'm pretty sure Hungary said once that you made it up to one o' seven." This did relax him a little bit. He knew he wasn't the most brilliant nation on the globe, but he was pretty sure he didn't have brain damage, and he was sure that Gilbert was a lot stronger than he was. "Listen, you just do what you can to lower it and I'll come over tomorrow and see what's wrong with him, sound good?" he said, making Feliciano smile and nod despite the fact that Antonio couldn't see.
"Okay, nii-chan! Wait, what about fratello? Is he going to come with you?" he inquired, fearing that Lovino's presence really wouldn't help Gilbert's condition.
Antonio scratched the back of his head in thought. "Well, no, I don't think that would be smart..." he trailed off. Lovino didn't like to be left alone.
"I-if you want, I'll hang out with him for the day! A-and I'll cook breakfast for us all, too. So you two just meet us here and then I'll take fratello out while you help Gilbert!"
The Spaniard laughed at the eager attitude the Italian had taken suddenly. He was glad to hear a spark of joy, though Feliciano's voice still wavered from his fit of crying. "Sound's great, Ita-chan. I'll see ya tomorrow, then."
Feliciano giggled happily, knowing that Gilbert would be in capable hands in about twelve hours. He just had to make sure the albino was okay until then. "Alright, grazie nii-chan. Ciao~!"
"Adios, mi tomate." -click-
Feliciano stood there for a moment, holding the phone to his chest, before the panic over took him again. He still had to make sure that Gilbert was alright until tomorrow, what was he doing relaxing like everything was fine all of a sudden. He gently placed the phone back into the receiver as his eyes filled again and he turned around, almost running into Gilbert as he enterred the hall from the living room. "Ack-Gi-Gil...Prussia?" Feliciano stuttered, confused. He thought Gilbert was upstairs, resting in bed, and here he was, looking at the phone that Feliciano had just been using with a contemplative expression.
"Uh, you said nii-chan...that means it was either Francis or Antonio, right? How was he, whoever it was. I haven't seen them in a while." Feliciano looked up into the distraught red eyes, shaking his head in determination.
"Prussia, what are you doing? P-please go back to bed, you need to rest!" he begged, pushing the albino back towards the stairs, or trying to at least. He really didn't get much movement, no matter how hard he tried.
Gilbert looked down at him, ruby eyes widening at the tears in Ita-chan's own amber ones. "I-Ita-chan, why are you crying? I told you that I was alright!"
"No you're not!" Feliciano protested, tears falling and welling anew. "Your temperature isn't alright, Gi-Prussia! Ve, just go back to bed!"
Wishing that there was some way to stop the tears that flowed down the flushed cheeks that were already raw from prior crying, Gilbert gave in and obliged, ruffling the auburn bangs. "Fine, but do you need me to drive you home first? It's dark, and I'd feel better knowing you got there safe."
Feliciano's brow furrowed as he processed this request. "Y-you want me to go home?" he asked sadly.
Gilbert blinked at the question. He planned on staying? "N-no, of course I don't, but I just figured since West isn't here you had no reason to spend the night..."
Feliciano averted his eyes, wanting to hide the embarrassed flush that shaded his cheeks. "Well I guess if you want me gone..." he sighed, shifting awkwardly and pulling away from Gilbert.
The albino shook his head vigorously. "No, I just didn't think you wanted to stay! I swear, Ita-chan, I'd love to have you here!" he exclaimed, grabbing the Italian by the shoulders. As their eyes met and held Feliciano's cheeks steadily went from pink to beet red.
"W-well then I guess I'll...stay..." he said quietly, in awe by the vibrance of Gilbert's eyes. Both he and Ludwig had such beautiful eyes, he wondered how anyone could think that Gilbert's were scary. They weren't frightening at all to him. They were little peculiar and curious maybe, but not in a bad way.
Realizing what he had done Gilbert yanked his hands away, folding his arms and shifting his eyes to a corner in the ceiling. "W-well, you are pretty awesome company, kesesesese~." He fidgeted and sighed, unsure of what to to say. "So, are you ready for bed, then?" he asked in an attempt at changing the subject.
"Um...no?" Feliciano answered with a bit of uncertainty. It was only seven thirty, he never went to bed this early.
Gilbert smiled at him, offering his hand. "Neither am I. Come hang out with me!" he suggested.
Feliciano looked at his hand, slightly puzzled, but placed his own into Gilbert's clutch and allowed himself to be towed up the stairs and into the dark room. Gilbert let go of his hand to go turn off the bathroom light, setting Feliciano on edge until the lamp on the bedside table flared to life with a click, revealing the room to adjusting eyes. Gilbert gestured toward his bed, and Feliciano walked over and sat on it, biting his lip at a sickening feeling in his stomach.
"I gotta change, so you can just sit there...or whatever..." Gilbert instructed, walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Feliciano recalled that his own pajamas were probably across the hall in Ludwig's room, and informed Gilbert that he was going to change as well.
As he flipped on the light of the bedroom across the hall, he walked into the room and allowed the door to fall shut behind him with a soft click. He glanced around the room, finding his pajama pants and t-shirt resting on his side of Ludwig's bed. That had been their compromise, after all. If he dressed himself he could sleep there, and how could he deny such an offer?
Stepping near the bed Feliciano saw something else on top of the neatly folded and newly washed pajamas: his iron cross. He moved it aside and changed first, slipping into his pants colored to match the German flag, and pulling the black t-shirt roughly over his head. He ruffled his hair to fix it, and then flopped down next to the cross, weaving the string around his fingers and clutching the cold metal in his hand. He lay, gazing at the necklace Ludwig had given him. He'd forgotten it the last time he had left here, he recalled. Smiling fondly, he blinked away the tears that glistened in the corners of his eyes. Why did you even give this to me? he pondered, blinking and sighing. Each time he blinked it seemed harder to open his eyes again until, finally, crying and exhaustion took their toll, causing him to fall asleep with the metal of the cross pushed to his lips in a yearning kiss.
~.~.~
Gilbert sat in his bed, waiting for Ita-chan to return, for about fifteen minutes. As he glanced at his alarm clock that read "7:52 PM" he sighed and decided to investigate. He didn't have to look far, however, when he walked out of his room and noticed that the light was on in West's. He tapped the door cautiously. "I-Ita-chan? Are you in there?" he called. With only silence to answer him he twisted the knob and poked his head into the room. What he saw made his heart drop.
Ita-chan was asleep, which didn't irritate him in the least. As a matter of fact, he sincerely considered just watching the small boy as he dreamed of who knows what, softly snoring and making his little hums and "vehs" that just came naturally from him, but it somehow seemed painful. He just found something horribly wrong with the image; Ita-chan was asleep in West's bed, wearing pajamas of West's flag, probably thinking and dreaming of West himself. And-what was that in his hand? A cross? Oh, wait, he knew what that was. That was West's too. Gilbert had given it to him when he was just a tiny little nation. He'd given him two, telling him to give the other to the person he never wanted to lose, just as Gilbert gave his second to West. Maybe it was fitting. Ita-chan wore the cross knowing that it was West's, but did he know that it had once belonged to Gilbert? No, of course not. He wasn't thinking of Gilbert when he touched the cross and smiled. He wasn't yearning for a kiss from Gilbert when he pressed the metal to his lips as he seemed to have done just as he was falling asleep. He didn't cling to the cross wishing that Gilbert was with him. That was all West.
Everything he ever wished for was all West.
~.~.~
Well? Reviews? Keep in mind that the title might change, so if you alert the updates may confuse you. Sorry, I'm just so excited to have found this~! Now I have to go back and read again! XD (I really did write this like…months ago…I was just waiting for another story to be updated to post it…)