UEFA Euro 2012 Quarter Final Match: England vs. Italy

"Ve...? We... we did it?"

The auburn-haired Italian released a breath of air as his shocked expression remained on the large scoreboard. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alessandro Diamanti running to his fellow teammates while screaming with joy.

The entire stadium had erupted into loud cheers the moment the ball made contact with the net. There was a slight ringing in the young Italian's ears, as a wild grin appeared on his face. He frantically looked around, searching for someone to go to first.

He could see his brother already in Spain's arms, crying with joy as the former conquistador patted the Southern Italian's head. Veneziano's eyes darted over to his former caretaker, Austria, who was watching the game from the stands. He was currently engulfed in one of Hungary's cheerful hugs, both proud of the Italian brothers. A flash of white hair appeared at the corner of his eye, as North Italy turned to see Prussia approach England, who had sunk to the ground out of exhaustion and dejection. The Englishman glanced up at the albino and quickly stood up. They offered each other a smile and the Englishman held out a hand with his head held high. Ever the gentleman, he extended a few words with the Prussian and they exchanged a firm handshake. At the sight of the iron cross around the albino's neck, Italy's gleeful smile disappeared and he heard a quiet cough behind him.

"Italy."

The young Italian turned to face his next opponent.

"Germany..."

The blond-haired man's face remained ever stern and serious. And for once, Italy returned the German's expression with just as much solemnity. They watched each other for a moment, the voices of reporters and teammates muffling. Then, the taller nation allowed a soft smile to form.

"I'm proud of you. Don't vorry about the game on Thursday. Ve'll both do our best, no matter vhat."

The Italian's brave front shattered as his eyes watered and with a teary grin, he saluted the German, carefully making sure he used the correct hand.

"Yes, sir!"

With a deep chuckle, the larger man hesitated before gesturing his arms towards the pasta lover. The auburn-haired man quickly launched himself at the German, and into a tight, comforting hug.

An obnoxiously loud laugh rang out near them, and both nations turned to see Prussia with his trademark grin and an arm around a familiar Brit.

"Come on, let's celebrate! Apparently there's a bar nearby with a shit ton of awesome beer. And my drinking buddy here offered to pay up. I'm down with that!"

The German released the other nation to glare at his older brother.

"Nein. Ve'll pay for it, since ve received a lot of money for winning the last game. It's on us, friend."

The Englishman spluttered and tried to convince the German otherwise. But then he paused in mid-sentence, as the last few words repeated in his mind.

"Ah, o-okay. Um, I greatly appreciate it then... friend."

The bushy-browed gentleman offered a token of gratitude toward Germany, before settling his eyes on the victor of the day's match. The Italian let out a small whimper when their eyes met. However, all the discomfort and fear washed away when England's usual frown was replaced with an awkward smile.

An excited squeal was all the gentleman managed to process before he suddenly found himself in a tight embrace. The former pirate squirmed, unused to such affection, and then sniffled before returning the hug as he felt his own eyes moisten.

"Good game, Italy. No, no wait. Ven... Veneziano."

AN: Oh mein gott. I wrote this right after the match, and meant to edit and post it that same evening. That obviously didn't happen. I'm excited for today's match: Portugal vs. Spain! I'm going for Spain, personally. Anyways, this was originally 601 words, so I fixed it to 600 words. Yay. Thank you for reading.