Hello Hetalia fans! This story was written for chiachiaamichan on livejournal for the Gertalia Santa fic exchange. It's my first Hetalia story. The prompt was cute, fluffy Germany/Italy wherein Italy is not as much of an airhead as he appears. I hope it turned out okay! This fic is set after the "Buon San Valentino" comic strip, so if you haven't seen that yet, read it first. You can probably just google it, or the Hetalia livejournal community should have it posted.

I don't own Hetalia. Enjoy!

Japan hummed a tune to himself as he slipped a disc into his Playstation 3. He'd been doing his spring cleaning for almost a week now and this morning he'd finally finished the last of it. He was looking forward to feeling the mild spring air, watching the days grow longer, and seeing the Sakura trees blooming. Right now, though what Japan wanted most of all was some peace and quiet in which to enjoy his new dating sim.

In retrospect, it was really too much to ask.

He had just started a conversation with the pretty girl from the cover when the door to Japan's living room suddenly slid open. He hurriedly turned off the TV and turned to see Northern Italy standing in the doorway, giving a little wave. "Hey, Japan!" He greeted, "Your door was open, so I just came in!"

That's why I have a doorbell, thought Japan as he got to his feet and gave a hasty bow, trying to discreetly kick the game's box underneath his couch in the process. He wasn't truly upset at Italy, though; it was just his friend's way. At least he was fully clothed this time. He had even remembered to leave his shoes at the front door.

"Please," Japan said, gesturing to the couch he had just vacated, "have a seat."

"Thanks, Japan!" Italy plopped himself down, looking around admiringly. "Ve~ Your house is so nice and squeaky clean!"

"Oh, thank you very much," Japan murmured, hurrying to put the water on for tea. The last thing he wanted to seem was rude or a bad host. Once he had gotten everything together for tea – he still used tea leaves; although it was true that bags were more convenient, he didn't care for them – he returned to the living room and sat down beside his friend. "It's nice to see you," Japan remarked, relaxing a little.

"Yeah, it's been a while, huh?" Italy replied, smiling at him. While they waited for the water to boil, Italy chattered inanely about the latest news from his house: his boss had insulted someone again, an American song was currently topping the charts, Italy himself had tripped the other day at Mass and spilled holy water all over the Pope. Japan studied him as he spoke. Italy was smiling as usual, but there was a tension at the corners of his mouth that told Japan something was bothering him. He waited patiently for Italy to bring up whatever the problem was, but years of experience with the Italian had taught him that if there was something that Italy really didn't want to address, it was difficult at best to draw it out of him. He had a way of deflecting unpleasant topics by either completely ignoring them or by skillfully and quickly changing the subject.

If he's here, he must want to talk about whatever it is, Japan reasoned. He decided he would have to be a little more direct. Of course, direct for Japan was still very oblique. "How are your neighbors?" he probed gently.

Italy's shoulders tensed slightly, but otherwise he gave no sign that the question had bothered him. "Well, brother and Spain got into another fight last week and Romano still isn't talking to him. Switzerland hasn't shot at me lately." He paused, brow furrowed in thought. "Oh! Greece called the other day. He asked how you were and I said we hadn't talked in a while and you were probably lonely, so don't be surprised if he visits."

Japan flushed, looking away. He was embarrassed even to hear that Greece had asked about him, but a reply like that! Sometimes he wondered if Italy knew that he and Greece had—Japan stopped himself. He was worried about his friend; this was not the time to dwell on his own dysfunctional romantic relationships!

Japan was so flustered that he forgot to be polite and roundabout. "A-and Germany?" He managed, "How is he?"

Italy frowned slightly, the expression looking out of place on his normally sunny face. Before he could answer, however, the two countries heard the sound of the kettle whistling. Japan excused himself and headed into his kitchen to make tea for the both of them, his mind racing. Had his friends been fighting? Why was Italy upset? He'd heard rumors about the two of them regarding this past Valentine's Day, but nothing substantial, and there had been no calls or emails from either of them to give good or bad news. Japan was sure Italy would have told him if there had been any major changes in their relationship, but at the same time he couldn't help but wonder why now, months later, his friend was troubled.

He returned to the living room moments later, tray in hand. He set it down on the table and set one cup in front of Italy, sipping at his own. The other country dumped at least three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and stirred noisily while Japan waited for an answer to his earlier question.

"Germany is alright, I guess," Italy said finally, "we haven't talked in a while either." Japan waited patiently. Sure enough, Italy took a sip of his drink and continued. "I don't know what to do, Japan!" he said, pouting at the rim of the cup.

"Why don't you start from the beginning," Japan suggested, settling back. He had a feeling it would be a long story.

* * * * *

"…And so I ran away," Italy finished, rubbing at his eyes. Japan didn't quite know what to say. He must have been wearing a stupefied expression, however, because Italy flung out his arms and continued. "But, but Japan! It wasn't that I don't, you know, like Germany like that. It's just that, that – well, you're supposed to date before you get married, and it was really sudden!"

Japan nodded weakly. This was all getting a little out of his league. He knew that his former allies had always been – well, close – but marriage? He was even more surprised that it had been Germany who had proposed.

Italy kept going. "But, see, I think he's mad at me for leaving because he hasn't come to see me or called me since. We've seen each other at meetings but I can't talk to him because I'm too intimidated! You know how scary he gets." He pouted, looking down at his knees. "What I really want to do is let him know that I don't mind going out with him but I want to take it slow. But if I call he won't even pick up."

Japan mimicked the Italian's posture, frowning. What could he do? It wasn't as if he had much experience at this kind of thing… It was then that the corner of his new dating sim, poking out from beneath the couch, caught his eye, and Japan got an idea. In games the hero had to train his skills to get the girls (or boys, Japan did own some BL games) to like him.

"Italy," he said slowly, "maybe what you need to do is… win Germany over. Use your skills and talents! Fight for love!" Japan realized that he had just punched the air and hurriedly withdrew his arm, flooding with embarrassment. Sometimes he got fired up about the strangest things…

Italy looked thoughtful (meaning, of course, that his expression was slightly less blank than usual). "My skills and talents, huh? That's a good idea. You're so smart, Japan! Thank you!" Italy wrapped his friend in a brief hug before bounding to the door. "See you later! I'll tell you how it goes!" With a last parting wave, he vanished through the doorway. Japan heard his front door close as he remained frozen, waiting for his blush to fade. He never had gotten used to Western customs.

* * * * *

Long plane rides had always bored Italy. The view out of the window was nice for a while, but it tended to get dull quickly. He preferred to visit friends by car or on foot, which usually led to him getting sidetracked and ending up late, but which was a lot more fun than sitting in a cramped airplane waiting to be on solid ground again. Accordingly, Italy only wasted about ten minutes being bored before he got started on his plans for romancing his best friend.

Evening was the most romantic time of day, and almost everybody (himself included, of course) said that Venice was one of the most romantic cities in the world, so it was obvious that he should invite Germany over for dinner. Add in a few candles and a scattering of stars, and Germany would be swooning from the atmosphere alone!

A quick search through his pockets produced an old receipt. It had gone through the wash once or twice already, but it would do to write on. He borrowed a pen from the cute stewardess and started making a list. It went something like:

Date night

Invite Germany over

Feed him dinner

Seduce him

The man seated next to Italy gave him a weird look. Italy was too busy frowning at the list to notice much, though. There was kind of a big gap between the eating and the seducing. Hmm, he thought, that must be where the rest of my skills and talents come in, like Japan said. Unfortunately, he'd run out of space on his paper so he couldn't list his strengths, but it wasn't a problem – he could worry about that when he got home. The important thing now was to let Germany know he was coming over.

Italy considered his options carefully. There were a few ways he could do this. If he called Germany's personal or house phone, he would pretend he hadn't heard it ringing or come up with a lame excuse as to why he hadn't been able to answer. Sometimes caller ID was so frustrating! If, on the other hand, he called Germany's work phone, he would certainly answer, but once he heard what Italy wanted to talk about he would start to lecture him about not using work communications for personal matters and probably hang up without listening to Italy.

No, Italy thought, the best option was probably an email. Germany had a bad habit of obsessively checking his email on his laptop and his mobile. Usually when Italy sent him chain mail he immediately responded with a 'please don't send me any more of these' message. Italy didn't mind too much because saying that he was worried Germany was going to die at midnight was always a good excuse to call him.

Italy pulled out his phone and started typing a message. After some thought, he wrote 'HELP!!!1!1!!' in the subject line. That ought to get his attention, he thought, satisfied. "Dear Ludwig," his note began, "I was thinking that you and I should talk and be friends again, so why don't you come to my house on Friday at six and we have dinner together? See you then! Feliciano". Italy surveyed the message, then added in a smiley face at the end. Much better. He sent the email and then curled up for a nap. It was just about siesta time, and he'd definitely have a reply by the time he woke up.

Italy was only able to doze through his siesta because the man next to him kept awkwardly shifting, as though he didn't know whether to lean away from Italy or the Japanese girl in the window seat, who when Italy last looked had been wearing cat ears and drawing something of a clearly adult nature in her sketchbook. Once he felt decently well-rested Italy gave up on sleeping. There was really no room to stretch in the airplane, but it was alright. His phone was vibrating every couple of minutes, which must mean that Germany had replied to him.

Sure enough, he had a new message on his phone. Italy opened it, beaming. 'Dear Italy,' the email read, 'Meeting you on Friday would be acceptable. Germany' Italy had to laugh. Germany was always so serious. He was excited, though; now that Germany had agreed there was nothing that could stop his plan from succeeding! Italy settled in for the rest of the trip, too happy even to notice when the man next him started begging the stewardess for a change of seat. Germany wouldn't know what hit him.

* * * * *

Japan stared at the screen of his television, brow furrowed, gaze intent on a 2-dimensional young woman he was flirting with. He was so close to unlocking the secret ending. There was only one girl left to charm and then—his concentration was abruptly broken by the sound of his phone ringing. Sighing, Japan put down his game controller and took a moment to compose himself before he answered it.

"Hello, this is Japan speaking."

"Japan? Hello, it's Germany."

Japan paused, thinking quickly. He had expected a call from one or another of his friends eventually, but had Italy really patched things up so soon? "Germany, how are you?" he tried, bemused.

"I'm well. Listen, Japan, I'm sorry to bother you about such an embarrassing thing, but I couldn't find any good guide books." There was an awkward pause before Germany continued. "My, uh, my brother is—well, he needs some advice and I couldn't think who else to ask."

Japan could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Please go ahead, Germany. How can I help?"

"W-well, you see, my brother had a disagreement with someone… on a date." Another long pause, then Germany added, sounding forced, "He pushed too much. You know how he can be. But he and this person didn't speak for some time, and now they've invited him over for dinner and he's not sure what to do. I don't have much experience with this sort of thing, so I wondered if you have any advice for him."

"I don't think your brother should worry," Japan answered, trying to sound calm and neutral, "if he and this person were close enough to go on dates together they can manage any problems they may have. Perhaps the other person just needed some time to think."

There was a silence so long Japan wondered if Germany had been disconnected. Then, slowly, came a quiet "Yes, maybe so." Germany seemed to collect himself. "Well, thank you, Japan. I'll tell him what you said."

"Of course," Japan replied, "and wish him good luck for me."

"I will. I'll see you at the G8 summit next month?"

"Yes. Stay well until then." Japan hung up, finally allowing himself to smile. These two, he thought, shaking his head, I guess they'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, he had a game to finish.

* * * * *

Italy glanced at the clock again as he rushed around the kitchen. So far everything was going great. It was 5:50, which meant Germany, who was always early, should arrive soon. Dinner was almost finished, and luckily they had the house to themselves. Romano was supposed to come next week to help him prepare for the G8 summit they were hosting next month, but for tonight it would just be Italy and Germany.

Italy was actually feeling rather proud of himself. He had intended to make some delicious pasta for Germany, but when he was thinking about what kind to make he'd realized that at one time or another he'd cooked most kinds of pasta for Germany. In fact they ate pasta together often, so Italy had decided to surprise Germany with something different. It was risky because he didn't have much experience cooking Germany's favorite foods, but the wurst seemed like it was coming along alright and baked potatoes weren't really that difficult to make.

Just as he was opening the oven to check the potatoes, Italy heard the sound of his doorbell ringing. His heart sped up involuntarily and he almost tripped trying to run to the door. He glanced down at himself to check that his slacks and button-down shirt weren't wrinkled or stained. He had three things to wow Germany with right off the bat: great cooking, a sense of style, and warm Italian hospitality! Unable to hold back anymore, Italy flung open the door and launched himself into Germany's arms. The other man tensed, then cleared his throat and patted Italy on the back a few times.

"It's…it's good to see you again, Italy." Germany said, sounding a little lost. Italy pulled back, smiling broadly.

"Ve~ I'm glad to see you too, Germany! Come in, come in!" He tugged Germany's hand, ignoring the sudden blush his actions caused. Italy happily talked Germany's ear off about whatever came to mind while he maneuvered his friend into the dining room. Germany stood stiffly next to the table, looking awkward and uncomfortable. Well, that wouldn't do! "Sit down, Germany! I'll have dinner out in a second."

If it was possible, Germany looked even more uncomfortable. "Italy—" he began, but he fell silent at the sound of a key turning in Italy's front door. Italy was confused. There weren't too many people who had a key to his house. Was his boss dropping by? He headed back into the hall to investigate, but was saved the trouble when the door burst open and his brother stormed in, talking a mile a minute.

"Stupid Spain I can't believe he did that – Feli! Can you believe it, that stupid Spanish bastard had the nerve to show his stupid fucking face at my house after I told him I'd kill him if I ever saw him again—" Romano threw off his coat onto the stand and went into the kitchen, Italy trailing after him helplessly.

"Brother, maybe you shouldn't—"

"Where are your tomatoes, Feliciano? I want to smash them into little pieces just like I'm going to do with that bastard's head. And I need some wine too, lots of wine." He started going through Italy's pantry with single-minded fury, still cursing as he did so. "…And that goddamn son of a bitch still doesn't understand the difference between 'Leave' and 'Fucking get out of my house, you bastard'." Romano finally found a tomato and tore into it, continuing with his monologue even as he chomped on the tomato. "It isn't that hard, you know?! I mean, if he would just fucking understand that when I swear at him I want him to ignore me—"

"Uh, brother, do you think you could—"

For the first time Romano glanced over at his younger brother. "Feli, why are you dressed up? Are you going out?" He started to turn around, then abruptly froze. Italy looked behind himself, wondering what had caught Romano's attention. Oh no. He'd seen the plate of potatoes cooling on the countertop. "Feli," Romano said slowly, "what are those?" He seemed even angrier than before. "Are you eating that potato bastard's food again? I thought you'd finally gotten over h—WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?!" Romano let out a shriek not unlike an angry harpy. Italy turned around again to see that Germany had followed him into the kitchen, an alarmed expression on his face.

"WERE YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU BASTARD!?" Romano spit out a barely intelligible string of curses that were a strange mixture of Italian, Spanish, and English. His face was as red as the tomato being squashed inside his fist. Before Italy could stop him, he had grabbed the potatoes on the counter and chucked them at Germany, leaving trails of buttery, starchy potato across the front of Germany's clothes.

Germany face darkened. "Hey, don't just throw food at people!" He yelled, stepping forward aggressively. Romano stepped back just as quickly, clearly frightened despite his anger. Italy was devastated. His perfect night was ruined! Not only was the dinner he'd worked so hard on for Germany strewn across the floor, his brother had completely destroyed the friendly, welcoming atmosphere he'd been trying for. He couldn't help sniffling a little. Unfortunately the sniffling turned into hiccupping, which turned into tears.

The two other countries turned to look at him. "Shit, Feli," said Romano, looking annoyed and guilty at the same time, "s-stop crying, damnit. I didn't mean to, to—just stop, alright?!"

Germany was more comforting. He grabbed a tissue off the table and leaned in to mop the tears off Italy's face, murmuring what sounded like, "Hey, it's okay, stop crying, I'm not mad, come on." Italy was still upset, but he was glad Germany was being so kind about the unprecedented disaster the evening had become. He hugged Germany tightly, reassured by the solidity and warmth of his friend's body. The German seemed surprised, but he relaxed and hesitantly returned Italy's embrace. They stood like that for a while, Italy sniffing now and then to keep Germany from letting go of him. He heard Romano mutter something uncomplimentary and stomp off to his room, but he didn't care much right then. At this moment, it was almost as though nothing had changed between them, and Italy never wanted it to end.

Soon enough, though, Germany pulled back and set about trying to clean up both of their clothes, since some of the potato had ended up on Italy. "Sorry about my brother." Said Italy, still worried that Germany was upset.

Germany sighed, but he looked more amused than angry now. "It's alright, I should have expected that from him. Come on, we can just go out to eat. It's still early."

Italy brightened. He might not have been able to impress Germany with his own cooking, but his citizens ran excellent restaurants. They would be able to find someplace good, he was sure.

* * * * *

An hour and several restaurants later, Italy was not so sure anymore. "I'm sorry, Germany!" he wailed for the hundredth time, "I had no idea that the first place would be closed for renovations or that the next three had hour-long wait times or that the next one would find a rat in the kitchen just as we got there…" He should have known that it would be hard to find a good restaurant on a Friday night without a reservation. After all, he was not the only one going on a date.

Italy's only consolation was that things could not get much worse. Even the weather was not cooperating; the stars were hidden behind a thick cover of cloud and the temperature had dropped since they'd started their search for a decent place to eat. Italy was about ready to give up when he caught sight of a small bistro he'd gone to once or twice up the road.

He hurried inside to check with the waiter. Thankfully, the restaurant was not very busy that night and they could be seated right away. Italy's spirits rose slightly, and he motioned Germany inside excitedly. The tall man looked relieved that Italy had finally found someplace that satisfied him and wasn't already packed.

They were quiet over dinner, which was decent but not anywhere near as good as Italy's own cooking. Germany seemed to want to say something, but looked as though he couldn't decide how to bring it up. He kept setting his fork down and looking up at Italy, then frowning and resuming his meal. Italy wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to talk, too, but this probably wasn't the place to do it. Germany seemed to reach the same conclusion, because they finished the meal peacefully enough. Italy paid the bill despite Germany's protests, and they headed back outside.

"So, Germany," Italy began, having thought about the next stage of his plan over dinner, "would you like to go on a gondola ride with me? I can pilot one."

Germany looked surprised, but agreed readily enough. "Yeah, okay," he said, following Italy to the closest rental place.

Italy had a brief conversation with the owner, whom he was friendly with, and they set out in the boat. Italy steered the boat confidently, hoping that Germany would appreciate the beauty and artistry of the city around them. Even Italy had to admit that despite the disappointing weather and the troubles they'd had this evening, it was pretty romantic. He was feeling comfortable handling the boat, so he turned to talk to Germany, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to adjust their course.

"Germany," he began "I wanted to talk to you about—"

"Are you looking where you're going?" Germany interrupted, frowning.

"Huh? What do you mean, of course I'm looking—" Italy turned to look at where the boat was headed just in time to smack the side of his head on a low-hanging bridge. The momentum from his turn pushed him over the side of the boat and into the cold waters below. Oh no, Italy thought dizzily as the water closed over his head, I can't swim. I guess being useless counts as a talent. I'm really good at it.

* * * * *

When Italy came to, he was sitting in the bottom of the boat, Germany's coat draped over him like a blanket. He tried to sit up, but his head throbbed with pain. When he reached up he could feel a large lump on the side of his head where he had hit the bridge. Germany had taken over guiding the gondola back to the dock. Italy watched him through the blurriness that seemed to have taken over his vision. He was trying not to cry, he really was. It was just that he had thought his bad luck had run out.

Germany glanced back, and seeing that was awake, said, "Ah, are you feeling okay? We're almost there."

Italy nodded, not trusting his voice. The world spun briefly and he closed his eyes until the boat stopped moving. The owner was very understanding and even gave Italy a blanket to warm up with. It was really nice of him, Italy thought, just like it was really nice of Germany not to leave now and go back to his own house, which was probably where he wanted to be: somewhere where there were no useless countries who didn't have any talents or skills that could make somebody love them. He didn't even realize where they were until Germany said, "Sit down." Italy looked up and saw that Germany had found an old wooden bench for them. He sank onto it, tugging his blanket up around his shoulders.

Germany sat next to him. He was really warm, and Italy couldn't help leaning into him. Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally Germany cleared his throat. "I understand if you just want to be friends," he said quietly, staring out onto the water, "I can handle that. But I need you to tell me. I'm not good at guessing about these things."

Italy snuggled closer to him. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea, that time. I didn't want to rush things, that's all. Can we just… go slowly?"

Germany turned to look incredulously at him. "You mean…?"

Italy's stomach was doing flip-flops. He had one talent left, one last thing that he was known for, one final thing that he could do really well. He tilted his head up and leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Germany's. There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity, and then Germany pressed back, and suddenly they were kissing like Italy had never kissed anyone before, with his entire heart.

Italy had many talents. But of all the things Italy could do well, loving was probably the best. The world was a strange and crazy place and you could never count on anything, but something – maybe it was the lightness in his chest, or the elusive smile that was lighting up Germany's face – told Italy that for now, at least, they were going to be alright.