Author's note: Howdy hey!
I've finally gotten down to writing a proper Buon San Valentino fic! I've been wanting to do one for ages.
I already like this fic much more than my first attempt, Mending Broken Bridges. I've given this one a surprising amount of thought.
It's mostly based on the anime version, though I cherry-picked a few things I liked from the manga version.
I hope you enjoy it!
P.S. Happy 10th anniversary of Hetalia!
Chapter One: Flavour of the Week
1943
Italy walked away from the training area, frazzled and confused. Just what had been wrong with Germany? All he'd done was given the guy flowers and he'd completely flown off the handle. Did he really find flowers that offensive? He'd have to remember not to give him any more in future.
Also, why did he have to ask about him being in love before? What did that have to do with anything? And why, oh why, did he have to make him think about him again? He'd tried very hard over the last century to stop thinking about him...
Germany probably thought he was a freak now. That much was clear from the look of outright horror on his face. He'd never wanted his best friend to know that his first love had been a boy. Never. Especially not now, in World War Two, when Germany's boss had a massive issue with same-sex relationships.
He'd wondered sometimes if Germany himself would mind, but, now, it was pretty clear that he did.
Sighing to himself, he made his way back over to the man who'd sold him the roses. The second bouquet, that he'd promised to come back for, should be ready by now.
Italy rapped a hand on Japan's paper door, then waited a few moments. Eventually, the door slid open.
"Oh, Itary," Japan said. "It's you. Gomenasai, but I'm very busy wis paperwork right now."
Italy smiled. "Si, si, I know!" he replied. "I just-a came to bring you these!" He held out the roses, praying that he didn't get the same reaction. "Happy Valentine's Day!"
Japan's eyes widened slightly in surprise as he took the bouquet. "Oh, arigatou." He paused a moment. "It's not just me you're giving sese to, right?"
Again with that weird question. Was it really so strange to give people flowers? He'd picked up the habit from France, since, in the man's own words, "Ze world always needs more amour", but he was wondering now if it was such a good idea.
"Uh, no? I gave some to Germany earlier, but I don't think he liked them."
"Ah."
"Well, I'll let-a you get back to your boring paperwork! Ciao!"
"Hai. Sayonara."
As Italy turned around and walked off, he could have sworn he heard Japan mutter, "Werru, at reast sey're not chocorates..."
Huh, weird. Did Japan not like chocolates, or something? He made a mental note never to get him any.
It was the following day and Italy was running laps. He hated running laps. As Japan passed him for the third time, he felt his leg muscles burning.
Why Germany insisted on this every day, he had no idea.
He continued to struggle, gradually growing slower with each step. His breathing was coming out in ragged pants and he just wanted to stop!
Slowing to a crawl, he really couldn't take anymore. He bent over, placing his hands on his legs as his chest heaved.
Suddenly, Germany - who'd passed him for about the fifth time now - stopped beside him. Italy looked pleadingly up at him, sweat dotting his face.
"G... Germany..." he said, "I can't... run anymore..."
Germany eyed him with that stern glare of his. He knew this wouldn't work. It had never worked before, so why would it work now? Still, it couldn't hurt to try.
After a few moments of silence, Germany let out a long breath. "Alright, fine. I zink you've done enough laps today."
Italy stared at him. Then stared some more. "Uhhhh... what?"
"You've done vell, so you can rest." He paused awkwardly for a moment. "Good vork." He turned around and continued running.
Italy couldn't help but stare after him, befuddled.
"Alright, I zink you've run enough laps," Germany said. "Good vork, Italy."
Italy stared. It had happened again! Once was creepy enough, but twice in two days?! Just what was up with Germany lately? Why was he suddenly being so nice?
Not to say that the German couldn't be nice. It was just that, oftentimes, he'd choose not to be nice, in favour of being a strict military general.
Maybe he was just in a good mood recently, for whatever reason. Whatever it was, Italy certainly wasn't going to complain about it.
As he watched his teammates disappear into the distance, he sighed, walking over to the grass and flopping down to rest.
Some time passed while he was doing this. So much time that he eventually recovered from the fatigue and grew very, very bored.
Glancing around, he checked for any sign of Germany and Japan. Finding none, he grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a marker pen.
Not a permanent one, of course. He didn't have a death wish.
Italy was mid-way through a drawing of Austria with a pompous moustache when he heard footsteps approach. They halted behind him and he jumped in fright.
Turning around slowly, he came face-to-face with Germany, who was glowering down at him.
"Oh, hi, Germany!" he said nervously. Noticing the marker in his hand, he hid it behind his back. "How are you doing? All done with your training? It's a lovely day today, isn't it?"
Silently, Germany looked up at the tank - which was covered in sketches - then back down at Italy.
"I'm sorry! I know you don't-a like me doing that, but I was really bored and I felt-a like drawing something and please don't-a put me in a headlock again!"
Germany continued to stare at him. After a moment, he gave a light huff. "Don't vorry about it." He looked back at the tank. "... Hmm. Nice drawing of Austria."
Italy's mouth fell open. "... Huh?"
"Ja. Very accurate." He paused again. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to vash zis off."
Italy continued to stare at him. Since when did Germany just let him off like that?!
The following day, there was more of the same. Less laps and a generally nice air about Germany. Maybe he'd had a recent workload lifted? Maybe he'd bought a new brand of beer that he liked? Italy had no idea.
As he continued to stare up at the passing clouds above him, a figure suddenly blocked his vision.
He smiled. "Ciao, Germany!" he said. "Done with training?"
"Ja," Germany replied. He suddenly glanced away, looking uncomfortable.
"Is something wrong?"
"N-Nein. Everyzing's fine." There was a long pause. Then Germany let out a breath, still not looking at him. "I... never noticed vhat a nice colour your hair is."
Italy stared. "... Huh?"
Germany's face turned red. "Vhat colour is zat, anyvay? Red? Brown? Reddish-brown? It's... quite lovely."
Italy's brain broke. "... Hah?" He paused as he tried to think of a response. "Um... grazie?"
Germany glanced back at him, looking slightly more relaxed. "Your uniform matches it quite vell. It... suits you."
"Gra... zie?"
Okay, he just had to have entered a parallel universe, or something. Either that, or he needed to stop running laps. They clearly weren't good for him.
The following day, Italy showed up for training, only to see that Japan wasn't around. This wasn't unusual for the man - as he lived seven hours ahead of his allies and always got a lot of paperwork from his boss - so Italy wasn't the least bit worried.
Smiling, he walked up to Germany, who had his arms behind his back. Hopefully, his friend had stopped being weird and was back to being his grumpy self.
"Ciao!" he said, stopping in front of him.
"Guten tag," Germany replied.
"So, what hell am I in for today?"
Germany looked away. Italy tilted his head at this weird response.
Before he could ask any questions, Germany shoved a bouquet of blue cornflowers into his hands. He stared at them disbelievingly.
"Z... Zese are ze national flowers of Germany." There was a pause. "I hope you like zem."
"Uh... si... they're... lovely..."
Just what the heck was going on anymore?
Another day dawned, with Italy heading to the training ground. When he saw Germany standing with his hands behind his back again, he got suspicious.
"Ciao!" he said nervously as he stopped in front of him.
"Guten tag," Germany replied.
"Japan still busy?"
"Ja."
"Aww. Poor guy never catches a break."
"Ja." Germany paused. "Anyvay, ve are due to train soon, so..." He shoved a bouquet of white lilies into Italy's hands. "Zese are for you."
Italy felt nervousness creep up his neck. "Uh... grazie..."
"Zey're ze national flower of Italy, so I... zought zey'd be appropriate."
"Si..."
Appropriate for what? He wanted to ask this, but his voice froze in his throat. Why was Germany doing this? Was he trying to make up for something? But he hadn't done anything, as far as Italy knew. So, did he want something from him?
Yeah, that must be it. He was buttering him up for something. What, he had no idea, but Germany wasn't the type to be this nice without there being a reason for it.
He was about to ask what it was he wanted, but, at that moment, Germany blushed and turned away from him.
"Alright, vell..." He cleared his throat. "Ve'd better start ze training."
"Uh, si..."
The following day, Italy stretched awake. It was mid-afternoon, but, being that it was Saturday, the only day when he wasn't required to do training - unless Germany decided otherwise - he'd been free to sleep in late. Man, he loved Saturdays!
Smiling, he turned over in bed, only to pause as he saw the two vases on his shelf. The red one containing cornflowers and the blue one containing lilies.
He had to wonder what it was that Germany wanted from him. He assumed the man would tell him at some point, but still. Should he ask?
Well, he couldn't deny that it was nice being spoiled, as weird as it was. If these presents had been coming from anyone else, they wouldn't be quite so weird, but this was Germany. Strict, stern, serious Germany. His best friend in the world, but a massive stick-in-the-mud.
Maybe he'd just leave it alone. After all, Germany had been showering him with niceties, gifts and compliments for five days straight now. He imagined that he'd get to the point fairly soon. Though why he had to drag it out this long was beyond Italy.
He yawned, climbing out of bed, when the doorbell suddenly rang.
He blinked. It wasn't often he got visitors. He was just glad that Romano was a really heavy sleeper, or else he'd be swearing like a sailor right now.
Still in his pink vest and yellow boxers, he ran across the hall and down the stairs.
Upon reaching the door, he opened it. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Oh," he said. He smiled. "Ciao, Germany!"
Germany was standing there, looking awkward with his hands behind his back again.
"Guten tag," he replied.
"What are you doing here?"
"Ja, sorry. I made sure to vait until you vere probably avake."
"Oh? For what?"
Germany suddenly thrust a box of chocolates into his hands. He stared at it, heat rising to his cheeks. Okay, this was getting ridiculous.
He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Germany beat him to it.
"I vas also vondering if, later, perhaps, I could cook you somezing at mein house?"
Italy looked up at him, his eyes snapping open. "Eh?"
Germany was looking away, red-faced. "I've spent several hours learning how to cook pasta, so you could come and eat some viz me, if... you like?"
Italy's blush deepened and he felt yesterday's nervousness creep up his neck again. Okay, from anyone else, this would have sounded like a date.
"Uhhhh... sure?"
Germany gave a small sigh of relief. "Zat's gut." He turned and walked off. "Be at mein house at seven." He paused mid-step. "Or somevhere around zat, anyvay." He continued walking off.
Italy stared after him, unable to tear his eyes away.
After a moment, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. If it was Germany asking, then it most certainly was not a date. This was most likely the man's perfect chance to ask Italy... whatever it was he was going to ask of him.
He nodded to himself several times as he closed the door, his face still burning. Yes, that had to be it.
Later on that day, Italy found himself outside Germany's door. He wasn't dressed particularly fancy, but, since it wasn't a date or anything, he didn't feel the need to be.
He rapped on the door and waited. After a few moments, the door opened.
He smiled. "Ciao!" he said.
"Guten tag," Germany replied, dressed very prim and proper. That wasn't unusual for him, though.
He stepped aside and Italy passed him, the door being closed behind him. He continued walking down the hallway, with Germany in tow, until he reached the kitchen. He paused as he noticed the glasses of red wine on the table.
"I didn't know you liked-a wine!"
He heard a grunting noise. "It's Italian vine. I don't usually drink it, but... I zought you'd prefer it."
"Oh, well, grazie!"
Sometime later, a plate of pasta - covered in sauce and grated cheese - was placed in front of Italy.
He looked at it. Well, it certainly looked appetising, but he was a bit of a gourmet when it came to pasta.
Germany cleared his throat. "I hope you like it..." he said, moving away to get his own plate.
Picking up the fork, Italy stuck it into the spaghetti and twirled it around. Time for the taste test. He shoved it into his mouth.
He was just starting to chew it as Germany sat down, looking oddly nervous.
"So, um... how is it?"
"Hmmmmmm..." Italy swallowed and smiled. "Not bad! It's not-a perfect - a little on the soggy side - but it's pretty good!"
Germany sighed in relief, beginning to eat his own pasta.
This was nice, Italy thought as he continued eating. It wasn't like he'd never eaten a meal with Germany before, but their meals weren't normally this... relaxed. It was a pleasant experience, simply enjoying each other's company. They didn't do that as often as he would have liked.
He smiled back up at Germany. "It's really weird that you made-a me pasta! Did you have nothing better to do today?"
"Vell... I vent for mein morning run, but I... vanted to do somezing special for you."
"Aww, how nice! Though I would've expected you to make wurst and mashed potatoes!"
Germany blushed. "Ja, vell... I vanted to make somezing you vould like... You don't always like mein sausages..."
"That's true."
Italy studied Germany's face for a moment. The man certainly had been blushing a lot lately. Maybe it was due to the embarrassment of feeling he needed to go to such lengths for whatever it was. Italy couldn't imagine what kind of question or request would require this, though. He was an easy-going guy, so he'd be likely to say yes to it, regardless.
Finally, they finished their meal. As Germany started clearing away the plates, Italy took a sip of his red wine. Ahhh. Delicious.
"So, it vas gut?" Germany asked.
"Si! It was decent."
Germany nodded to himself, taking away the plates. Italy continued to sit there, sipping his wine.
After his friend was done washing the plates, he returned, placing two smaller plates on the table. They each had a fork and a slice of cake on them.
"Oh! Cake?"
"Ja. It's apple cake."
Italy grinned, putting down his wine. "Sweet!" He pulled the plate towards him, grabbed the fork and stabbed it into the cake. Raising it to his mouth, he took a bite. "Mmmm~! Delizioso!"
"I'm glad you like it."
It was amazing how much this felt like a date. Not that he'd ever managed to go on one - so he didn't really know - but he imagined it would feel something like this. Not to mention all the gifts, compliments and general niceties. All of it combined made it feel like he was being courted and it was lovely.
It was probably temporary, but hey. He would never have dreamed Germany would even be capable of all this. He used to think the man would make a terrible boyfriend, but he'd clearly proven him wrong. He had it in him to make some girl very happy.
... Honestly, if Germany never got around to asking whatever it was he wanted to ask and, instead, kept pampering him like they were lovers or something, he certainly wouldn't complain.
The next day, Italy headed off to the training ground. After getting his briefing and being told to run some laps, he pouted to himself.
He really didn't want to do this. Well, he never wanted to do this, but especially not today. He was so thoroughly relaxed from the previous day that all he wanted to do was leave and grab some pizza.
As he ran behind Germany and Japan, he continued to think about how unfair this was.
... Then it hit him. Neither of them were paying attention.
Smirking mischievously, he ran in the opposite direction.
Stomach full, Italy happily made his way back to the training ground. Germany would probably yell at him, grab him in a headlock and call him a dummkopf, but, sometimes, one had to make sacrifices.
Surprisingly, it appeared that Germany and Japan hadn't finished their laps yet. Huh. Maybe he'd eaten that pizza faster than he'd thought.
Huffing in boredom, he looked around, wondering what to do. Once he spotted the pristine tanks, however, his mischievous smirk returned.
He was on his way back, after a job well done, when he suddenly ran into Germany, who'd been walking the other way. He mentally prepared himself for the yelling.
"Ah, Italy," Germany said. "Zere you are."
"Si," he replied with his best smile. "Ciao!"
"I've been looking for you." Germany suddenly blushed. "I... vanted to ask you somezing."
He blinked at the lack of a raised voice. The lack of a threat. Not that he was complaining, though. Instead, he continued to smile.
"Oh?"
"Ja. Do... you maybe vant to go to dinner tonight?"