He's not going back inside.
He won't.
Not after what Veneziano said.
Germany is absolutely, positively, definitely not going back inside. What he will do is go to a hotel. He will get out of the rain, and go to a hotel, and sleep off the anger boiling in his stomach, and maybe in the morning he and Veneziano can have a talk about what Veneziano said.
Except what Germany is doing is sitting on Veneziano's doorstep, in the rain, and the canals all over Venice are starting to flood, and he's not moving. Neither is he becoming less angry, becausewhat Veneziano said still rings in his ears, and so do Veneziano's panicked apologies that Germany didn't listen to, and so does the slam of the front door.
Germany sits.
It's not as though he and Veneziano haven't fought before, but it hasn't been this bad since… well, it hasn't ever been this bad. All the other fights hadn't suffered from the combination of economic stress and political irritation and just plain bad days and a thousand unheld arguments and unsaid words and then the one little offhanded comment which he couldn't remember who had said but which had brought those thousands of held-down fights right up to the surface, and out.
And now, Germany sits and thinks, he's not going back in.
Then why isn't he leaving? He wants to get away, he does, from the memory of those words and of how Veneziano's round, normally-cheerful face had twisted when he spat them, and of how it had felt like all the air rushed out of Germany's lungs once the words registered, and the way Veneziano's face had frozen and fallen, and the frantic no I'm sorry I didn't mean it pleases that followed him out the door, and-
Germany faces resolutely forward. He will, he resolves, get up right now and find a hotel. Then he will call Veneziano so he won't worry unduly, and then he will go to sleep, and he and Veneziano will talk in the morning. He will. He will, so why on Earth is he not standing up?
What Veneziano said…
That thought makes Germany stand up and take a few steps down the sidewalk, shoes squishing in the rain, before he realizes it's not going to work and returns to the doorstep and sits and stews and doesn't move, even though he should. Even though the words still sit like lead inside him, and the rain has plastered his hair to his face, and it's been… however long it's been (but it's noticeably darker outside now, and the air is beginning to bite), he hasn't left and he hasn't come back.
Does Veneziano know he's here? After all, the last he'd seen was Germany turning and slamming the front door behind him- for all Veneziano knows, Germany could be in some hotel somewhere and just too, too angry to let him know. And Germany knows, or hopes he knows, that Veneziano knows that Germany wouldn't let him worry like that, but. He doesn't know.
He shivers. The rain has soaked through his shirt, and it's definitely cold now. Germany should go.
But he doesn't.
And he doesn't know why.
So Germany sits and waits and tries to figure out why, and then (finally?) the door opens and Veneziano sticks his head out.
"Germany?" He's been crying- his eyes are puffy and red. "I- you're here."
He nods.
Veneziano takes a tentative step towards him, and softly says "Y-you can come in. If you want."
Germany nods again.
"I'm really sorry."
Silence.
"Really, really, really sorry. It was stupid."
"… It was." Veneziano gives a little jump when he hears Germany's voice, and steps closer.
"You should really come in. You'll catch cold."
"Mm."
Another step, and then there's a warm hand on Germany's shoulder and Veneziano is kneeling next to him and saying "I am sorry, I really am, but please come in before you get sick?"
And then he places his hands underneath Germany's elbows and coaxes him up in the way that only Veneziano can, and Germany doesn't really know why he lets Veneziano do this becausewhat he said-
But what Veneziano says now is "I'm still sorry, I didn't mean it, please come in," and he ushers Germany inside and onto the couch and presses a steaming bowl of straciatella into his (willing or unwilling?) hands and sits down beside him and tugs a blanket over both their shoulders, and Germany decides to just not think for a while about what Veneziano said and instead focus on what he's saying now.
(Later, Veneziano mutters I'm still sorry, let me make it up to you against Germany's now-warm neck, and Germany lets him, and decides that he will talk in the morning.
They do.)