"Ve~ Germany! It's so nice out today! Can't we take a break from training?" The Italian whined, using his feared-all-throughout-Europe-puppy-dog-eyes. Germany couldn't believe it. Wasn't it bad enough that Feliciano had to have a siesta everyday and hardly focused the rest of the time if it had nothing to do with pasta, women, or retreating?
"Absolutely not! We're," You're "Not ready yet. We have too much to do!"
"Please, Germany~~" There were those puppy dog eyes again.
Germany threw his hands up in the air in irritation. "Fine," he snapped. "Be back here at 1900 hours sharp, or no pasta."
"Aye, aye Germany," Italy chirped, giving a rather sloppy salute. The meaning of Germany's words sunk in, and his face fell. "Ve~ Germany doesn't want to come?" One look at the blond's stern face and he dropped it. "I'll see you later, then, Germany!" He said brightly before waving and dashing off before Germany changed his mind.
Germany watched him go, still irritated. "The only thing he's not useless at is retreating," He said aloud before leaving in search of his men. Perhaps they would be willing to train and the day wouldn't be a complete loss.
--
Seven o'clock came and went. Germany was just outside of his house, right where he told Italy to meet him, but his annoyance hadn't shown up. He felt a twinge of something like worry, but quickly squashed it. The Italian was horrible with being punctual, and had probably met a pretty woman and lost track of time. It happened constantly. Or, perhaps his siesta had run late, or he was taking the longer, scenic route back to Germany's house. Germany let out an annoyed sigh before taking a seat. Surely the Italian would be back soon.
--
Nine o'clock. Still no Italian. That odd feeling of worry crept up again, but Germany ignored it. Italy was simply lost, that's all. He'll come around the corner any minute now, weeping about the roads and how impossible it was to see anything. Or, he ran into one of his brothers, maybe even Austria, and was talking with them. He never did know when to shut up. As long as he wasn't talking to France, it was fine. But, what if he was talking to France? What if the Allies had captured Italy?
"They would release him," Germany told himself. "They've caught him before and realized how troublesome he was. They wouldn't bother catching him now. But—what if they wanted to catch him to use him as bait? They've done that before. I wouldn't put it past them to try again." Germany jumped to his feet, and made his way—calmly, because he wasn't worried—inside to check his phone. No messages. He called Japan, wondering if he had heard from the Italian. Nothing. Maybe South Italy had heard from his younger brother?
If Germany translated Romano's insult laden words correctly, he had not heard from Veneziano and Germany had better stop hanging out with him. Well, that wasn't a problem for Germany at the moment, as it was now going on ten and there was still no sign from Italy.
"He'll show up soon. He's probably just having dessert with a pretty girl he met. Nothing unusual for him." Why did he keep getting a twinge of worry? The Italian was a grown Nation, he could take care of himself. Surely he'll show up soon since he seemed unable to do anything without being near Germany. With another sigh, Germany went back to his meeting place, lest Italy show up and miss Germany's house because the blond Nation wasn't visible.
--
Ten and eleven o'clock came and went with no sign of Italy. Germany wasn't worried. Why would he be? It wasn't like he particularly liked Italy who was just a constant thorn in his side. But he was concerned. Germany had threatened to take away pasta, after all. Surely by now, Italy would have called, sobbing out apologizes and apologizing for forgiveness so he wouldn't lose his sustenance?
Unless…maybe he didn't call because he had been captured by the Allies. Maybe they were trying to make him miserable so he wasn't as much of a pain to hold on to? Were they torturing him at this very moment by feeding him England's food and keeping his arms tied? That would be a fate worse than death for the Italian! Germany may not like Italy, but he didn't want him to suffer like that at all! He hustled—not ran, hustled, because he still wasn't worried—back inside and called France, who only told him to stop worrying (he wasn't), the Allies did not have Italy, and that he interrupted a date so please don't call again or he'd be forced to invade earlier than scheduled, thank-you-very-much.
Germany committed that bit of information to mind before taking a seat. He wasn't worried! He only felt anxious because he was anticipating a loud arrival, and really, he should be preparing for bed since it would be a long day tomorrow. When he stood to act on that idea, another thought came to mind. Italy loved crossing Switzerland's territory. What if he tried crossing and was now full of holes on the side of the road somewhere? Or, what if he cut through the mountains and there was a rock slide, or even an avalanche? Was Italy now stuck somewhere in pain and in need of help, but knowing that none would be coming since no one had any idea where he was? Germany shot a worried glance out the window, hoping that the Nation would be coming up the walk. Nothing.
The sky flashed, and Germany let out a sound of surprise. Wait a minute…America had that alien! What if it kidnapped Italy and was taking him far away forever? Germany would never see the Nation again, and his last memory of the easily excitable Nation would be one filled with irritation. Plus, Italy would forever think that Germany hated him and that…wasn't true, he realized with a start. Somewhere along the way, Germany's complete annoyance with Italy had morphed into something like care. When did that happen? There was no time to think about that now, though. "I need to help Italy," Germany resolved, grabbing his coat as he moved to the door. He'd check a few places in town, see if anyone had seen the Nation, and hopefully he'd be able to track him down.
--
Germany was so involved with pulling on his coat and boots at the same time, that he wasn't paying attention and bumped into someone at the door. "Prussia, move," He growled because who else would be coming through door? The answering hug told him otherwise, however.
"Germany is so silly~," Italy laughed, letting go of the stunned Nation and moving further inside the house. "Ve~ Is it really midnight? I don't know when 1900 hours is. Am I late? I hope not! It's really late, though, isn't it? It was just so lovely outside! Did you know there was a park nearby? It was so peaceful! There were all these couples, and one even shared their pasta with me. And—Germany? What's wrong?" Italy was watching the blond, concerned. There was an odd look on Germany's face, and if Italy didn't know better, he'd say it was relief. But why would Germany be relieved? He really was a silly Nation.
"It's…nothing," Germany said, shaking his head. "I'm just glad you're back, safe and sound," He told him, giving a small smile and squeezing the Italian's shoulder softly. It was weird, he thought. The moment he realized Italy was back, his anxiety had disappeared, only to be replaced by something warmer. He wasn't sure what the feeling was, but now was not the time to think about it. Maybe he would borrow a book from Austria tomorrow, but for the time being, he was going to enjoy the Italian's company. "Are you hungry? There's some leftover wurst," Italy involuntarily shuddered, "And possibly some pasta hidden in the kitchen."
Italy let out an excited "Ve~" and ran off to the kitchen, leaving Germany standing and watching him go, a smile still on his face. So distracted was he, that he didn't notice Prussia coming up behind him until he felt a hand clap on his back. "Admit it, brother, you're in love~" Germany's smile was wiped off his face as he glared at his cackling brother, but he said nothing. Let Prussia think what he wanted. So what if Germany was worried, so what if he did care? It wasn't love…was it?