The island was as beautiful as always. The sun casted a brilliant shine in the middle of a perfect azure sky, and the breezes gently rippled through the palm fronds. The crystal clear waters were rolling onto the shore lazily, while the proud tropical birds competed over whose mating call attracted the finest mate. It was in this beauty that the Italian couldn't help but be gently lulled to sleep, despite it only being noon at the latest. He snoozed under the shade of a coconut tree, his chin to his chest and his slow breathing matching the rhythm of the surf. He was having the most wonderful dream about pasta until…
WHAM!
Something connected with the crown of his head and he sprang up from slumber with a start, already face down with a white flag gripped in both his hands.
"Ve, ve, ve, ve, ve, England! France! Quit hitting me!" Italy was on the brink of tears as he waited for the Allies to hit him over the head again, but the next blow never came. He parted his face from the warm sand and peered upwards, his eyes neither meeting England's nor France's, but Germany's icy blue ones. They bore into Italy's eyes, and, at the moment, he wasn't sure whether it was a bad thing if it was England or France. They tended to show mercy.
"I-I-I…I'm so sorry Germany! I didn't mean to fall asleep! It just sort of happened." He pressed his face back into the sand again, blubbering, "Please don't hit me again!"
The German rolled his eyes and outstretched his hand. Italy flinched and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter than usual, thinking that Germany was going to hit him for sleeping on the job. Instead, the German grasped onto something that was laying beside the Italian. Germany was holding a ripe coconut, and the Italian blushed at his own foolishness. The blond offered a small smile and, with a flick of his wrist, cut the fruit in half and handed one of the halves to the blubbering country.
Italy smiled sweetly and let the last of his sniffles die away. He stood up, brushing the sand off his blue military uniform and taking the coconut half from the German. Italy scarfed down the fruit in less than ten seconds flat, and, when he was done, he pulled Germany into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of the German's neck.
"Thank you for not punishing me, Germany." The smaller country grinned against the German's neck, and Italy's warm breath made the blond hair on the back of Germany's neck stand on end. "You're a good friend."
Germany cleared his throat and lightly pushed the smaller country at arm's length. His blush was practically exploding across his face.
"You're not entirely off the hook, Italy," Germany stated firmly.
Italy's face fell, and he held out his hand for the German to drag him by, predicting that he would be led to the latrines to brush all the toilets sparkling clean by hand, or two extra hours of training, or even…his worst nightmare…his bedroom without supper. Germany grabbed the Italian by his forearm and dragged him neither to the latrines, or training grounds, or his sleeping quarters, but to the German's office. Italy gulped. What could he possibly have to do in there?
The two of them entered the German's place of work, but it didn't really match the country's impeccable standards. Stacks and stacks of paperwork were spread messily across his desk, charts that used to be neatly tacked to the wall were now sliding down, and his wastepaper basket was overflowing with discarded strategies.
"As you can see, this place is getting to be quite disgusting." The German scowled at his own chaos. "I want you to make it spotless, and you can start by sweeping the floor." Germany held out a push broom and let his hands linger on it as Italy enclosed his hands around the handle. They stood frozen on the spot, two pairs of hands gripping the broom handle until they turned white. Memories came flooding back.
"Here, Holy Rome! Take this to remember me by!" young Italy said, tears welling up in his eyes. He held out a broom and Holy Rome, stone-faced, took it, both the countries' hands not daring to disconnect with the broom, fearing that, if they did, Italy and Holy Rome would lose each other forever.
Eventually, Italy's hands fell away from the handle, but Holy Rome was still there, his unreadable, icy blue eyes boring into Italy's brown ones. "And what shall I give you in return?"
"Well…" the Italian began, "It is customary to give people who are going away for a long time and who are much liked a…kiss."
Almost instantly, Italy could feel Holy Rome's lips pressed against his own in a sweet, gentle kiss. Italy was filled with dread when the other country pulled away, but stayed strong and put on a bright face for Holy Rome. As his best friend walked away, Italy called out to him, "Goodbye, Holy Rome! I'll write to you every day!"
And Holy Rome faded off into the distance, never to be seen again.
The Italian and the German stared at each other, too stunned to speak. After all this time, they found each other once more. The handle slipped out of the German's hands and into the Italian's once more, Germany eventually breaking the stunned silence.
"After all these years…I kept that broom, not knowing why, for all these years…" The German's voice was uncharacteristically quivering and uneven, and Italy noticed. "And now, I'm giving it back to you," the German said a bit harsher than necessary.
Any hope that Italy had of getting anything more of out what just happened was dashed by the German's harsh tone. The Italian nodded, casting his face downward and willing himself not to cry. Germany's eyes widened in panic as he saw the other country's reaction and held the Italy's chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting his face up so the country's amber eyes to meet the German's azure ones once more before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper.
"And now you can give my kiss back to me."
The tears that threatened to escape Italy's eyes before now streaked down the country's cheeks. A grin was spreading like wildfire across the Italian's face, and as his arms flung around Germany's neck, he cried out joyously.
"I love you, Germany!"
Italy shoved his lips onto Germany's in an urgent kiss that was many years overdue. The blond wrapped his arms around the smaller country in a protective embrace, his eyes widening when he felt a shy tongue slide across his bottom lip before pushing its way into his mouth. A groaned resonated deep within the German's throat as his tongue tangled with the small Italian boy's, his fingers weaving through dark red hair. They pulled away with flushed faces and rapid panting after a minute or two, and with great flourish, Germany slammed his office door shut. The next moment, Italy was pinned to the aforementioned door, the German leaving very little space between them. The Italian was practically glowing with happiness and Germany inched even closer, making sure the smaller country heard him whisper seductively in his ear.
"Let's make up for lost time…"