For Better or For Worse
Germany thought today would be like any other with Italy making enough pasta to feed a country, and he recording anything of importance. That was, until he got the phone call, the one that would forever change life as he knew it.
It started with him munching on a cold bagel at ten in the morning, meaning Italy should of gotten up about thirty minutes ago.
Right as the thought crossed his mind the screech of the shower came to life. Just as he predicted, Italy was up. And since nothing was planned for today, Germany had no reason to rush things. Days like these were rather rare, but whenever they did come Germany made sure to take control over them. And what was even better? The fact that tomorrow was a "do nothing" day as well.
A small smile graced his lips. He knew Italy would love the news; he always did.
Unlike other lovers, Germany and Italy's relationship wasn't at all complicated for the most part. Italy was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy and straight up loved making friends - despite his irrational fear of anyone a smudge stronger than he - but he did tend to annoy Germany on certain levels. Even his moody brother Romano had issues with the loving nation half of the time. Aside from all that, it was extremely easy to take a liking to Italy. He was nice, kind, and fun to be with. Nothing mean or rude to him. That's what made Italy Italy, and truthfully, Germany wouldn't have it any other way.
On the other hand, Germany was like a polar opposite of Italy. Turn Italy's personality a whole three-sixty and you get Germany, the easily-irked, muscular, stoic-type man. Sometimes, whenever they would go out together, they'd get many odd looks from people around them. But the thing was, Germany didn't blame them. He'd be curious as to why two people of completely different personalities were out together too. Who wouldn't? That's one of the reasons why Germany preferred to not do things in public places, though Italy never minded.
Taking another bite of his cold breakfast, Germany heard the shower shut off. Then the phone rang.
What?
Now who on earth would be calling him? It's not like he had many friends to start with.
Getting up from the kitchen chair, he walked over to the phone and only hesitated for a second before picking it up.
"Hello?" he said, voice partially skeptical.
"Germany?"
Germany instantly recognized the British accent of England, though there was a hint of unease in the voice. What really got Germany confused was why the Brit would call him. It's not like they were close or anything. As a matter of fact, Germany recalled rejecting England's friendship offer a long time ago. They were better than that now, but still not close enough to be considered friends. Perhaps he was calling for Italy? Germany couldn't remember them being friends either, though they were considerably closer despite any past grudges. Germany could butt out the idea that he probably wasn't calling for the Italian. So maybe he simply called the wrong number? All the thoughts crossing his mind were beginning to cause a migraine.
"E-England? What are you calling here for?" He wasn't being nosy. After all, England was the one that called him.
A brief silence went up where both countries dared not to speak. To say this was awkward was an understatement.
There was a deep intake of breath on the other side of the line before Germany heard the other nation answer, "Well, you see, I-I was simply wondering if you and Italy had any plans for tomorrow?"
And Germany thought it couldn't get any more awkward.
"Plans? For tomorrow? Why?"
A gulp. "Um, er, perhaps we could - and this is entirely your decision - have a picnic?"
Ah, yes, there it was: Getting even more awkward.
Germany paused all sane thoughts for the moment, processing what the other man had just said. He was pretty certain that either they weren't getting good reception, or that England had finally lost his last shred of sanity. Option B seemed the more likely one, especially with England's "friends" he claimed to have.
"Excuse me? Am I hearing you correctly?"
"No! Uh, yes! I mean . . . Bloody hell, I don't know! This is too hard to say!" It sounded as if England was possibly having a seizure.
With England ranting about something Germany couldn't make out, the bleach-blonde man drew in a small breath and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, waiting for the other to calm down. When he did, Germany spoke up again, now trying to get an answer.
"England, just please explain whatever's going on."
Some banging went on before a sigh went through the phone. "I want to have a picnic tomorrow with America and thought it best if you two attended as well and-WHAT THE HELL?! AMERICA! WHY IS MY TOILET ON THE GROUND FLOOR AND WHY IS THERE A GIGANTIC HOLE IN THE CEILING?!" A muffled response could be made over the phone and, from what Germany could make out, it mentioned something to do with hamburgers.
Arguing ensued, and for that time Germany pondered over what England said. A picnic . . . tomorrow . . . with them. Oh! That's right! England and America had been going out for a while now. A little over a decade perhaps? So what England must've been getting at was that the picnic could sort of be like a double date. Now the only question left was why England would want to do that - and with him and Italy of all people! England was more of the private type. There had to be a good reason for this.
The fighting suddenly stopped when Germany heard a door slam shut. Another sigh passed from England.
"Sorry you had to deal with that; America's an idiot, that's all. Anyways, aside from that, what do you think of the idea?" A weird perk was in the Brit's voice.
Germany drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I guess it's fine, but why do you want to do this? It's unlike you."
There was a dull thump and a few curse words from the British man. Then a quite, barely audible response, "I want to . . . ask for . . . America'shandinmarriagethere." The last sentence was said so fast that the words were slurred so close together that it was remotely impossible for Germany to make sense of them.
"I'd understand it better if you spoke in real English," he said, seriously concerned for his fellow nation's mental health.
England made a groaning noise; he was probably annoyed at himself for speaking like a retard. "I . . . want to . . . propose . . ."
No, now THAT was awkward.
"Oh . . . I can see why you're so uneasy." That just might have been the most unintelligent thing ever spoken by Germany.
"I . . . do realize this is sudden and all, but, please, will you agree to it? I'm not trying to force anything onto you. I know you're a busy man and all and I-"
"Okay, we'll come." And with that, Germany cut England off. "But I need to make sure Italy wants to come before anything, though I'm sure he will be happy to."
If Germany could see people through the phone, he was a hundred percent positive that magical rainbows and unicorns were surrounding the Brit.
"W-What? Really?! Oh, God! Thank you so much! You have no idea how much of a life saver you are! And don't worry about bringing a lot of food or anything! I don't want to burden you! Though Italy will probably bring pasta, right? Well, anyway, it's tomorrow at two so come around then! Bye!" Just like that, the phone line went dead.
Germany held the phone in his hand for a minute, wondering exactly what he got himself into. England wanted to propose to America? How romantic . . . ish.
Light thumping down that stairs meant that Italy was done with getting ready. It also meant that Germany had to ask if he wanted to attend the picnic.
"Hey, Germany~ I found an interesting bug in the shower, Germany~ It was purple, Germany~ It reminded me of a grape!" The sing-song voice of Italy made its way over to the other side of the table, taking a seat.
"A purple bug?" Germany echoed, then shrugged. Whatever went on in the Italian's life was his own business. "Italy? Would you like to do something tomorrow?"
The slender man's eyes remained closed as his head tilted to the side. "Like what?"
"Go on a picnic with England and America? England proposed the idea and suggested we come."
Watching as the Italian simply swayed from side to side, Germany waited for his answer. It took a good five minutes before he got one.
"Magnifico~ I'll make a pasta! A really big pasta! Like your anatomy, Germany! How's that sound?" It's funny how innocent Italy could sound when saying something like that.
"Sure . . . And just to let you know, England plans on proposing to America, so be ready for that." Germany had a feeling he should tell Italy just to be cautious - he didn't want the thing to get screwed up and England give him hell for it.
"Cosà romantico~ I hope America accepts! Wouldn't that be wonderful, Germany?" Italy sang, getting up and skipping off to the stove. "I'll make a whole lot of pasta!"
Germany hoped the pasta would fit in a container this time.
As England sat the phone down on the charger he was stuck between smiling at his accomplishment, or frowning at the stupidity of it all. How did he even come up with the idea? Wouldn't it of been much simpler to simply ask America to marry him over a simple little dinner at a somewhat romantic restaurant? Apparently not. Oh no, his brain had to go off on its own and talk Germany and Italy into having a picnic with him. Bloody freakin' terrific. Now he just needed to figure out a way to propose that was neither cliché nor idiotic. Perhaps something classy but not too classy . . . Romantic but not too romantic . . . Unexpected . . . Unoriginal . . .
England's forehead collided with his kitchen table hard. He had no idea what to do! This was like trying to map out a plan for the Bermuda Triangle! Or like trying to swim in hot lava. Why would he even decided upon doing something so ridiculous without a clue on how to do it! Sex, yeah, sure, whatever. He'd been doing that for centuries upon centuries. But marriage! Not once in his long life had that ever crossed his mind! Well, besides that one time with France . . . But he never agreed to it so it never counted!
Great, now he was getting paranoid.
Lifting his aching head from the table's wooden surface, England let his thoughts drift over to America. His America. The one he had raised almost like a son. The America that grew and fought for his own sake. The one that had just recently broke his toilet . . . wait a minute.
"AMERICA!"
Blood boiling like hell itself, the pissed Brit swung the kitchen door back hard enough to make a dent in the wall and marched up the stairs and to America's closed bedroom door. So what if they lived together? People needed their personal space sometimes.
"Open this door right now you insufferable git!" England all but screamed.
"No!" was the muffled response. England imagined America had shoved his face in a pillow like stressed teenagers tended to do.
Sure as heck not taking that answer, England grabbed the knob and twisted it until it gave way and turned. Being a nation had its perks.
Not wasting any time pushing the door forcefully enough for it to almost come off its hinges, he stormed into the room, finding the other face-down on the bed. America's arms were folded over his head, which was indeed buried in a polka dot pillow - why England let him get that was a mystery. His legs were pounding on the bed in frustration like a five-year-old child. Really, had the Brit taught him nothing?
Running a hand through his messy blonde hair, England sighed. He knew that he had to be the one to fix things because - and this was fact - America would never do something as mature as that.
England drew in a shaky breath, gaining his bearings. Calm and collected. That's what he needed to be. If Alfred wanted to be the emotional type then it was his responsibility to keep him from going into a complete wreck.
Walking over to the bedside, England took a seat next to his boyfriend's head, hesitating before setting his hand in dirty blonde hair. When there was no protest the older nation ran his hand over the smooth hair, avoiding Nantucket. England heard a soft sigh escape the other's lips and he smirked. Sometimes it was too easy to calm America down when he went into rage-mode if you knew what to do.
"Alfred . . . I'm not mad, alright?" Lies. The lot of them. Damn right he was mad, but he could hold off that anger for now.
Whatever America responded with was muffled by the pillow, but it sounded like "of course you are." England went with it.
"Well, maybe I am. Who wouldn't be? I just want to know where on earth you got the idea to flush hamburgers down a toilet. Seriously, who does that?" Really, England did want to know. Those types of ideas don't just "appear" out of nowhere.
The Brit watched as America picked his head up and rested it on his arms, his lips forming a pout.
"I just wanted to . . . experiment a bit. I thought that they would dissolve or something, not back up the drain pipes and cause the bathroom to fall through the floor." America's voice actually sounded guilty.
A bloody experiment . . . "Thanks to your experiment, one of my rooms is now ruined. I'll have to call for repairs . . ." England trailed off as the thoughts of how much money would have to go into the expenses; he tried to keep the grimace off his face. "But let's forget about that right now. It was an accident. Everyone makes them."
America turned to face the opposite wall. "But not everybody makes toilets fall through the floor."
Now that was true. Jeez, America was not making this easy for England at all. "Look, it's fine, okay? I know that your accident was more major than usual ones, but . . . you're an idiot and I can't do much about that. Neither can you."
England thought America's frown had deepened, but he watched silently as it flickered into a tiny smile.
Then he went all out into hysterics.
That nation could laugh at anything.
"Dude, I know! I'm just that epic!" There was that attitude England loved so much . . .
"Oh shut up you bloody prick." Lightly whacking the other over the head, England realized he couldn't suppress the smiled forcing its way onto his face.
America pushed his face back into the pillow, quieting his laughter. England rolled his eyes before remembering he never even mentioned his plans to America. How stupid of him.
"How does a picnic sound?"
The laughter briefly stopped and the younger nation emerged once again from the pillow. "A picnic?" America's blue eyes were so wide and child-like England had to force himself not to jump him then and there.
"U-Uh, yes, a picnic, with Germany and Italy."
America furrowed his eyebrows. "With them? How did you even get them to come? You're not exactly people-friendly, ya know." Like he had said nothing of importance, America drew circles in the blanket with his finger, smiling like an idiot while he did.
England got a tic over his eye. "I'll let you know I do have friends!"
"Sure ya do . . . Now, about the picnic, yeah, it sounds good." Blatantly ignoring the Englishman, America went back to the previous subject.
"Well good, it's tomorrow at three." England said emotionlessly and motioned to get up, but as he did there was resistance on his left wrist and he looked down to see America's fingers tightly wrapped around it, showing no signs of letting go anytime soon.
England let out a partially annoyed sigh and let America have what he wanted.
Laying down beside the other nation, England pulled his wrist free and wrapped his arm around the younger's shoulders, using his other to run it through blonde hair. How America went from obnoxious to cute in a millisecond would forever remain a mystery to the Brit, but when he felt America wrap his own arms around his torso and bury his head in his chest he really didn't care.
Resting his chin atop the blonde mess, England wondered what tomorrow would bring. Anything could happen, hectic or not. England feared something bad was bound to happen. Those types of things seemed to follow him around wherever he went. It was like a curse.
England pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, refusing to let them ruin his mood. He was content and he didn't need those pestering little buggers around to irk him anymore than he needed to be.
Breathing in the sweet scent of America, the curious thought of what America's reaction would be began to bug him. Was it possible it wouldn't be what he expected? No, that was rubbish. He was completely stupid to even think something as absurd as that.
Nope, tomorrow would be absolutely perfect, and England was going to make it that way.
A/N this is a story I had been writing with a friend and she decided she wanted out, so she let me post it on my page and continue it