Hello all! Just here to say everything but this story is not mine and that some parts of this story were written in other languages. They will be marked with a star (this thing*) and will be placed at the end with translation.
The window seat. It was positioned in a way that it overlooked the garden. High enough so that you could see beyond the garden and into the yard beyond. The flowers were scintillating colors on any given day. The dark purples, the intense blues, and burning reds all looked dreary as the rain fell from the sky. The window was a cold sheet and the scrawny figure of a boy leaned against it. His bright orange hair seemed almost tenebrous as his eyes scanned the garden below. He hugged himself, wanting to be alone in this ever depressing time.
His hand moved to the window, his fingertips grazing the surface. They twisted around, following the outside world's tears as his eyes fluttered between existence and abandonment. It has been five months since his best friend left him, there was no meaning to his actions. He would just sit at his window and think about him. Sometimes a drawing would come into existance of them together and the boy will cry. He always labeled them in Italian, his natural language, and always left room for his friend to input his thoughts in his messy scrawl of German.
"Il mio amico, dove sei andato?*" A lonesome tear left his eye as he looked at the sky. It was turning itself over, the gray undertones arguing against themselves to create this dark afternoon seem to go on forever. A lone man walked through the garden, making contact with nobody and went through the doors to the house.
There were always figures walking through the garden. Some were women, some were men, some were children, all were happy. The boy sighed. Some people would find him sitting here when he looks out and wave at him. The smiles made him wince, thinking about how they don't know his heartbreak. He would put on his best fake smile and half-heartedly wave back. When they looked away, he hid his face from the view of others passing by and slowly started to let his internal tribulation come into view through streams upon streams of tears. These people were his, but they didn't need to know that he was suffering from the loss of a friend.
The boy grabbed his sketch book from underneath the seat and opened it up to a random page. There he was with his unmistakable friend, his friend wide eyed and confused and himself a mixture of laughter and adoration. In his friend's arms were the little gifts with the wrong meaning: the little ring and the bouquet of the little purple blossoms. Beside it in the boy's tiny writing was 'A volte è così stupido! Egli deve capire un giorno che se andiamo avanti insieme la società penserà il suo torto. Almeno ci prova comunque.*' Next to the scrawl was a tiny heart, no bigger than the final E in his sentence. He sighed. That was only five and a half months ago, before he very same friend was called into battle. The boy tried hiding in his friends duffle bag, something he would do often, but he was soon found out. His friends final words were that this was a serious matter, that he couldn't come with him this time, and that he would see him soon.
But how long was soon to him? It was five months ago and no letter or call had been received to tell the boy his friend was okay. He knew he wasn't dead yet, someone would have told him by now. But what if something really bad happened to him and he couldn't write or call anyone? What if he had been captured as a prisoner? His face was as wet as outside as he looked down at the picture, smiling at one of their last moments together.
The man from the garden now appeared at the doorway to the barren room. "Oh, you poor thing." The voice was familiar to the scrawny figure by the window. He pulled his sleeve up over his wrist and dabbed his eyes dry before looking up to see the man. There were always people waiting to see him and sometimes they were important enough that they just went straight to him. The boy never really thought much of it, but always hoped his friend was standing beyond the figures and waiting with outstretched arms.
The man had no hat on, making his golden hair cascade down his slightly wet face. His eyes squinted against the darkness of the room with bright blue pupils. His coat was off, showing the ever-so-familiar green of his outfit. The boy blinked a couple times. "G-Germany?" His feet swung off the seat and he left the sketchbook open to the picture. The man nodded lightly, eyes fixed upon the boy and a slight smile adorning his face. The boy jumped up. His friend was back.
A sigh of relief filled throughout the room as the boy started bouncing over to the man. "I've missed you so much! I just couldn't sleep at night and everything wasn't the same! Even the pasta didn't taste right and that only happens when something is really bothering me!" The boy squirmed underneath the man's arm and hugged him. The man adjusted accordingly but soon contorted his face into one of sincere concern.
"Italy, I get it, you missed me. I missed you too. Just let go before I'm squeezed to death." The boy jumped away suddenly. He looked down at the ground in regret. He didn't want to lose his friend, at his own cost or otherwise. The man chuckled, returning to his smile. " It's not like we die that easily or anything, Italy. You were just hurting me a little bit." The man put his hand on the boy's head, causing him to wince. "Let's go sit down anyways. Not like you care, with your never ending energy."
"But my energy level has been different since you left, Germany! I wouldn't go out and talk with any ladies! I would just sit here and think and think and when I got bored of thinking I would draw pictures of you and pictures of me and pictures of us together and I would start crying. I feel like I'm hurting myself mentally, Germany, mi fa male in modi che non dovrebbe mai essere fatto.*" He walked away silently and sat on the corner of the window seat, holding his sketchbook. The man followed behind him and sat next to him, looking down at the little worn out book. Upon seeing a space where he could write, he pulled out a pen and placed a hand on top of the book.
"May I?" The boy, noticing that the man was doing what was originally intended, nodded and let go of the book. He slid the book over to the man. He read the words of the italian with ease, but having difficulty with writing sentences in the same language, he wrote out his little message in the way he knew the boy would understand: German. In his messy scrawl, the man wrote out, 'Ich weiß, Sie finden es dumm, aber alles, was ich tue, ist für einen Grund. Ich würde nie einen Patzer von mir selbst, wenn sie nicht machen wir beide aussehen wie Narren zusammen.*' Then upon remembering the little phrase that Italy once taught him in the lightness of jokes, he wrote in tiny letters 'Ti amo,Italia*' with the most discreet of hearts.
The boy glanced up from reading the note. He only half understood it, seeing as he almost never payed attention to many of the things that the man says, but the end stood out. He coughed, making sure the man was in his senses. Seeing he made no response, the boy whispered, "Same here." He slithered his arms around the man, making him feel wanted. One arm covered the boy and the two of them sat there hugging. Hugging in possibly one of the most public places in the house: the window seat overlooking the garden.
Il mio amico, dove sei andato?- My friend, where have you gone?
A volte è così stupido! Egli deve capire un giorno che se andiamo avanti insieme la società penserà il suo torto. Almeno ci prova comunque.- Sometimes he is so silly! He must figure out some day that if we go on together society will think its wrong. At least he tries though.
mi fa male in modi che non dovrebbe mai essere fatto.- hurting myself in ways that should never be done.
'Ich weiß, Sie finden es dumm, aber alles, was ich tue, ist für einen Grund. Ich würde nie einen Patzer von mir selbst, wenn sie nicht machen wir beide aussehen wie Narren zusammen- I know you find it stupid, but everything I do is for a reason. I would never make a goof of myself if it didn't make both of us look like fools together.
Ti amo, Italia- I love you, Italy