I got the idea while watching the weather report this evening. Maybe you know the 'ice saints' which are called "Eisheilige" in Germany. If not: There is a nice article on Wikipedia about it. I got further inspired by the song "Sunday" by Hurts.
"I'm gonna do this…", Feliciano handled the toothbrush like a weapon. Germany talked about cleaning the spaced between the showers wall tiles, but he always had too much work to do. And he… he had now nothing to do. He had slept, eaten, watched TV, read some of the old American comics he found in a little box in Germanys library… He didn't have to do training in four days – he never believed he would miss it. But maybe it wasn't the training itself, maybe it was just the person who forced him to do it. And this person was on a trip to Greece since four days.
Once he was done the toothbrush bristles had suffered and sweat showed on his forehead, but the tile spaces were indeed cleaner.
He showered with Germanys shower gel. He was a bit embarrassed to do so, but nobody was there to see it and he had to admit that he really missed his captain. And also he dabbed a bit of Germanys after-shave onto his neck.
He cuddled himself up in a thick beige woolen cardigan, Germany had given him as present for Christmas.
He made some hot cocoa, but it wasn't as good as the one Germany always made him.
He watched some more TV, Germany had installed a few Italian channels for him. The program was just boring.
Feliciano fell asleep.
He didn't know how long he had slept, when he heard a noise and flinched awake: "Germany?"
There was no one. It was already half past ten. He wrapped the cardigan tighter around his body, took the house keys, left a floor lamp on in the living room to not stumble around in the completely dark house. Then he left the house through the patio door.
The night was starlit, some flies whirred around in the slightly cold air. The anthracite stone stairs, which lead down to the terrace, had cooled down. The house walls next to it were covered by ivy and Feliciano had several pots with herbs rowed up under the window. The fresh scent of rosemary kissed the air, Feliciano just let himself slump into the dew coated grass, spread onto his back and stared into the sky. It was marvelous. The sky had the same color as the air, he could smell the resin of pines and firs, luscious and clean, fresh earth, the frosty air numbed his skin caressing, dazzling.
"Over the next days of May it's probably going to get a bit frosty. Make sure you take the second blanket out of the bedroom wardrobe, if you're cold and please cover Austria's roses, he'll get furious if there is any harm on them."
"Isn't Austria always furious?"
"I heard that, Gilbert*!"
"Have a safe trip!"
He combed his fingers through the grass, the dew gliding down his fingers, he wished it was hair, shower wet hair, shower wet blonde hair – for one moment he wanted to lick it away, when he heard the sounds of a car.
He got up suddenly, fumbled with his hair. A sleek silver Mercedes drove its circle around the round flowerbed in the middle of the front yard and stopped a few inches behind the stairs Feliciano was standing on.
Gilbert exited the car from the driver's seat. Austria from the back seat and he took a demonstrative breath of fresh air: "I'm not going to drive with Gilbert behind the steering wheel ever ever again…", he steading himself on the roof of the car.
"Just because you get a heart attack 200 km/h? Should I make you a tea, little master?"
"Thanks, no, I'm feeling ill already…"
"Feliciano!", Gilbert ran to the little Italian, hugged him tightly and tousled his hair, "God… you're smelling after a whole bottle of –"
"Brother! Take your bags!"
"Can't the little-"
"Gilbert! Take your bags or there is not going to be any Sachertorte for the next three weeks…"
"Am I three years old, or what?"
"Obviously that's the case."
Gilbert rolled his eyes. Then he winked and whispered in Felicianos ear: "Used West's aftershave?"
Feliciano blushed heavily. Gilbert took his bags and carried them together with Austria into the house.
Finally Ludwig was coming. He carried one holdall, a briefcase and a small paper bag.
"Hello.", he smiled a bit embarrassed, "We brought you wine.", he held the paper back up.
Feliciano smiled and a sandpaper voice in the house sang: "Griechischer Wein ist so wie das Blut der Erde. Komm schenk' dir ein und wenn ich dann traurig werde…**"
„God, stop torturing me!", Austrias voice echoed.
Feliciano looked up weirdly shy and then he spread his arms: "Don't you want your 'Welcome back'-hug?"
Germany smiled: "Of course I want it.", he had almost no time to settle down his bags.
It felt so good to hold the small body again in his arms. But the smell was a bit unfamiliar. Also his skin felt a bit cold.
t.b.c
*I use Prussias name in almost every fanfic. Since he is not 'Prussia' anymore it would feel weird to me to call him that.
**"Griechischer Wein" is a famous german song by the recently died singer Udo Jürgens. The title means "Greece Wine".