It's Valentine's Day in Italy. The chipper country looks up at all the smiling faces at the large table. On the table there are different kinds of sweets from all over the world. Everyone was able to make it this year, despite the snowstorm they just had.
Italy reaches delicately over the table to pick up a chocolate ball and pops it into his mouth. It melts over his tongue and he presses it to the roof of his mouth, feeling it melt some more. He hums in delight and smiles.
He looks up to see America guzzling down more chocolate than he can swallow. Everyone around him wears the same face of disgust. Italy laughs aloud, the many pairs of eyes in the room staring his way. He wipes his eye with a single finger and waves a hand in the air. "Sorry, sorry!"
Italy drops his hand to land directly on Germany's, the muscular country jumping at the touch. Italy smiles, and to his amazement, it takes a moment, but Germany smiles back at him. Just a quick upturn of his lips and flushed cheeks, those deep blue orbs growing soft before looking back down at his plate. Italy's heart nearly stops. That face feels somewhat familiar. It pinches at the back of his mind, the feeling of nostalgia making him a little dizzy.
Italy sits up. "I'm gonna go get some fresh air, okay guys?" and walks towards the large doors leading to the cold winter night.
Once Italy is outside, he stretches his arms and yawns, choking on the harsh smell of cigarette smoke in the evening. He turns his head to his left. France stands there with a single hand in his dark jacket's pocket, the other hand holding up a short cigarette to his mouth, the tip glowing in the dark night. A long scarf is tied around his neck, and France adjusts it before turning to see Italy. "Bonsoir, Italie."
Italy waves and doesn't do so much as mutter a little 'hey' before staring at the dark clouds, already lost in thought. 'The feeling I felt...', Italy thought, '...seems extremely familiar somehow...'.
Italy swings around slightly to face France. "Big brother?"
France takes a drag and blows dark smoke out into the cool air. "Oui?"
"I wonder..." Italy starts, pausing a moment to lower his lashes and look back up to the sky, "...if Holy Rome ever watches over me."
France stubs out his cigarette on the ground and scrapes his shoe over it. He takes a long glance towards the wide glass window where he can see Germany perfectly, sitting somewhere near the head of the table, talking to Prussia. "Of course he does." France says, soudning very sure.
Italy smiles at the sky and lowers his head to the ground, burrying it in his jacket collar. His nose peeks out, pinking a little.
"You shouldn't be sad about it, Italie. You know he's always with you, right?" France says gently, placing a hand on Italy's shoulder.
Italy turns to face France once again. "You shouldn't be sad either, big brother."
"I'm not sad though." France cocks an eyebrow, looking confused. Though the light pouring onto him from the streetlamp shows how wide his eyes get when Italy says, "I know you still think about her."
France hesitates, almost taking his hand off of Italy's shoulder, but instead he pulls him into a tight embrace. Italy smiles and wraps his arms around the taller nation in response. After a moment he pulls away, smiling. "Come back inside. Let's all eat together. I made pasta!"
France chuckles and can't stop the smile taking form on his face. He ruffles Italy's hair as they walk back inside.
"Bonne Saint Valentin, Italie."
