It was a known fact that Germany was a light sleeper. He was, even if it wasn't necessary, always on guard, even unconscious. The first times his friend Italy had tried sneaking himself in his bed in the middle of the night, he had reacted by jolting awake, but after a while he had somehow gotten used to it, and didn't wake up by that anymore, which was surprising for a lot of people, including himself. That's why he had been so shocked the night that man who claimed to be Ancient Rome had come into his room to see his grandson, who had, somehow, snuggled up in his bed without him noticing.

No matter all that, he was quite used to Italy sleeping beside him by now, to the point where he in fact had felt a little lonely, or at least alone, the times Italy had decided to a) sleep alone or b) with somebody else. But fortunately, and Germany felt weird by saying "fortunately" in this context, Italy had tip toed into his bed just a few moments after he had gone to bed himself. They had fallen asleep, comfortably beside each other, because the two of them was that close, after all.

It had been a peaceful night. That was, until the German was jolted awake by a shrill scream.

Exclaiming a little yelp of surprise, he looked wildly around himself, only to find Italy squirming beside him; eyes shut closed, fists clenched and with tears streaming freely down his face.

He was having a nightmare. And a bad one as well; probably the sort where you're so deep in, you don't realize you're dreaming until you wake up.

The Italian was whimpering, and between the sobs he could only hear two words, choked out like his life depended on it: "Holy Rome!"

Holy Rome? Germany couldn't remember hearing that name before, although somehow, it was familiar. Either way, that wasn't important right now.

"Italien!" he said, and shook Italy carefully. He didn't wake up. If anything, it made his sobbing worse.

"Holy Rome! Holy Rome!" was the only thing that came out of the Italian's mouth, over at over again, until he finally uttered something else: "Please, don't go…!"

"Italien!" Germany said again, louder this time. He scooted forward, and cupped Italy's face in his hands. "Feliciano, you're dreaming. Wake up!" The last words came out a little harsher than he meant them to be, but in return, Italy snapped his eyes open.

Instinctively, probably, Italy slapped his hands away as he sat up as quick as he could run while being chased by England, and gasped, like he'd been holding his breath for a long time. He then continued with wrapping his arms around his chest and breathing heavily, not spearing Germany a glance. Germany waited to say something, knowing that when the always so cheery Italian reacted like this, he must have dreamt something astonishingly awful.

After a minute or so, his breathing had quieted down, and was replaced by a soft, steady sobbing. Not the kind he so often got from him, the obnoxiously loud kind when he was crying for help, but the kind that only a feeling of loss and sorrow could bring with. Just by the way the other Nation was holding himself told the German exactly what he was feeling: anguish, solitude and regret. It was, after all, feelings he was familiar with himself.

As careful as he could manage, not being the gentlest man you could find, he put a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder. "Feliciano, are you okay?" he asked softly.

The Italian took a few seconds before he answered. "Y- Yeah, I think so …" he whispered, and sniffled. He started to turn around to face him. "Sorry, I was having a … bad …" His voice trailed off when they locked eyes. Italy had gotten a peculiar look on his face. Something between shock, like he'd just seen a ghost, but also … realization?

Germany answered with a slightly nervous glance. "Italien … ?"

"Of course," Italy muttered, without taking his eyes from the blond. "I- I'm- I've been so blind … I didn't even …" His words crashed into each other as his amber eyes once again brimmed up with tears. Crying wasn't something that was unfamiliar when it came to Italy, but even so, this type of tears was far from the same. The way his shoulders hung, and the way his lips shivered even as the corners of them pointed slightly upward … The way his eyes lit up, like he had just found something lost for many, many years. He seemed sad … yet he seemed happier than ever before. And, as a flash of emotions shook through Germany's body like a sudden storm, he realized Italy looked at him with something in his eyes, something that no matter how he saw it had to be … love.

He also realized, even though he knew Italy had never gazed at him like this before, he had still seen these eyes before, this look, just as they were now, staring at him, like a lost memory.

Italy smiled, tears glimmering in the dim light of their night stand lamp. "You've been here all along." he whispered, before he leaned forward and pressed his soft lips against Germany's rigid ones. It caught the German off guard, to be blunt, yet after a few seconds of digesting his bewilderment, he felt himself kissing back; softly and more careful than he had ever been. The kiss felt wonderful … And somehow it felt right and even stranger, it felt longed for.

But the thing that astonished him the most was that it felt oddly familiar, like he had felt the touch of Feliciano's lips before, just … a long, long time ago.

Italy didn't explain his behavior that night. In fact, every time Germany brought it up in the latter days, he got the same sad, yet happy look on his face, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "You might just find out, some day," he always said. Normally, Germany would have gotten frustrated by not knowing, and sometimes he did, but he didn't complain. He didn't think much about it, really. Because after the one touch of love that night, followed many more. And that was all he wanted.

Because for some reason, Germany felt complete, like he had found something he had been looking for, for many, many years …

The end eue