Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz
Meanwhile These Three Remain
Germany watches the pale dregs of wine gathering at the bottom of his glass and remarks, "You're older than I am." Veneziano doesn't much look it, crouched forward in his sun-bleached chair, his hands drenched in the juice of the peach he's peeling. He's locked his elbows stiff and straight to keep the liquid dripping down from his knuckles and into the wine glass set between his feet, but frankly, Germany's surprised there aren't more wasps drawn by the sweet smell and crawling across the damp paving stones.
But Germany's statement is true, at odds though it is with Veneziano's youthful and haphazard and earnest face, and Veneziano bobs his head and hums an agreement as he slices the peach into his glass and pours deep red wine to cover it.
Germany reaches down to set his glass beside Veneziano's for a refill of his own. Cloudy fingerprints cover the outside of the glass, and Germany flexes his fingers to find that Veneziano's peach-fragrant handprints are clinging fast and sticky to his own. "Did you know me when I was a child?" he asks.
"Yup!" Veneziano replies. He digs a worm-bitten spot out of Germany's peach and tosses it into the garden beds that cover half of the tiny courtyard tucked behind his house. "Europe's not really all that big, you know? With everyone always grabbing and shoving and not keeping their hands to themselves."
Germany knows, a little too well. "What was I like?"
Veneziano makes a thoughtful noise as he twists and pulls the pit out. "Actually you were pretty terrifying. Kind of like big brother France." Then he turns his head to glance to the side and laughs helplessly. "Oh, Germany, don't make that sort of face! I think you've grown up really nicely compared to him." Veneziano chuckles and nudges the side of his foot against Germany's, in lieu of patting his forearm with a sticky hand to cajole Germany out of his chagrin.
Once both of their peaches are soaking in wine, though, Veneziano leans over anyway to run a wet fingertip down the length of Germany's nose. "Your nose is still all crinkly," he informs Germany, his own face crinkled in a bright, teasing grin that softens fondly. "You were also a sweet kid. I liked you a lot then. I like you a lot now."
Germany closes his fingers over the sticky-sweet imprint of Veneziano's palm in his own, and taps the back of his knuckle against Veneziano's nose in retaliation, and that's really all the knowledge he's ever needed to be getting on with.