A/N: Awww we all love Chibi/Hre, don't we? Sho cute... Perhaps I was just feeling cutsy romanticy today. Rated T only for when Chibi Italy's curly hair is touched accidentally :) Oh, and my sister thought that I should add that Italy's not a girl, it's just that that's how holy rome sees him.
Plus, what the hell did the Holy Romans speak? I asked my sister and I thought it was Italian, but she said it was a mixture of French and Italian. But, then again, wasn't it the Roman empire that spoke Italian? And didn't the Roman Empire use Greecians as slaves? *Too lazy to look all this stuff up*
How could anyone even take a glance at her and not think, oh how I yearn for her? Could you deny anything she asked? Rid of her at the first sign of weakness or procrastination when she couldn't get her work done? How can you do it? How? How do you not dream of her every night you are alone, or think of her in your head, even when she is nearly three feet in front of you? And you always want her to be with you. You want her there at the sunset evenings staring at the salmon pink sky together, but looking in the corners of one another's eyes just to see the other's face. It wouldn't matter to either one whether you were together through the day or the night, life or death, or the ocean or land. As long as you are together with her, you feel gentle and happy, like a warm feeling you get in your stomach when your mommy offers you your favorite meal for no apparent reason. I guess that's just how I feel about her. Italy.
"She's working so hard," I mumbled to myself at the sight of her sweeping the cobblestone walk beneath her. An ugly gray color that shouldn't even have to be swept. The thin auburn hair that stretched to her cheeks bounced the opposite direction of her body moving back and forth for the hair was so light, it didn't have the strength to move with her. Although, that curly hair that protruded from the left side of her head was an exception. For some reason, she looked angry. Perhaps she was frustrated at the extra work she had been doing lately. I decided to walk over and speak with her. As I edged closer, she never looked up, and I wondered why for a moment. "Italy... What is wrong today?" I asked.
Quickly, she turned her body to face me, about a couple feet away. (maybe a meter for everyone who's not American). Then, she jumped with a shriek from her throat and exclaimed, "I'm so sorry! I'm working harder now. Hard as I can!" And she turned around and frantically began to sweep the push broom back and forth, causing more dust build-up because of her unattended focus on her work.
Shocked, I grabbed her shoulder, making her jump again before she stood still, not facing me, waiting for a response. "I-i was just asking how you were. You... Seem upset." Touching her felt so warm. I had those butterflies made of hearts in my stomach. At that moment I wanted to use my other hand to pull her closer, wrap my arms around her and never let her go. But, she realized that I hadn't let go of her shoulder and turned around to sort of shake it off.
"I'm not upset!" She shrieked. "Everyone's been asking me that!" I was so stunned that I jumped back a step to avoid any spontaneous violence. Then, looking at my expression, I suppose, she dropped her head and frowned, relaxing her eyebrows "Do I look like I'm upset? Really?" She tilted her head to the side a bit to avoid eye contact.
"I-I-I'm just worried about you... Is all," I murmured. "I fear we've been making you work too hard." This time it was her turn to turn surprised; her face a light pink, she turned her head back up to face me.
Then, for the first time, I watched her long, thick, delicate eyelashes part to expose the beauty hidden beneath. Dark brown, like chocolate, and just as sweet. They sparkled in the misty morning air that hovered about. The spring sunrise made those two heavenly gifts from God look so sad, so hurt. As if now I was able to see all the pain she had to go through in life. "You are, Holy Rome?" she asked so sweetly, and a little slow, showing the affectionate tone. A smile eased across her face, making her happy again.
"Yes, Italy, I am," I tried my best to make my voice sound soft and comforting. Although this would've been a perfect moment to say, I will always be worried about you, because I love you I couldn't find the courage to do so.
Our eyes were in direct contact with one another's, and for a while we gaze as if we saw the starry heavens above, and for a second I forgot I wasn't. A slight breeze coming from the west blew against me, fanning my black cape behind me. Then I noticed that Italy was right in front of me when I felt her dress brush against my body from the wind. That's when my eyes popped open to reality. I looked behind her to see that the push broom sat a few feet back; she had come to me.
"Th-thank you so much," she said quietly, her cute Italian accent "cuting" me to death. I could feel my face get hot, my heart beating. It urged me to make a move or something. I didn't. I couldn't even speak properly if I tried. God, she was so beautiful. Some people might try to imagine their crush intimately, but I couldn't, I wouldn't even try. She was so beautiful on the outside, why would I try to imagine anything else?
A silly grin came upon her before she spoke, "You made me feel better." Then, she took that extra step forward, and wrapped her arms around my waist. (quick author's note: this would be a good time for like, hr to think, "Your random hug is as stunning as your looks, my dear.") Although I was quite shocked, mostly because I have only dreamed of this kind of contact with her, I held her back, tightly. So warm. Such a good feeling to have. Fish swimming in my head, butterflies flying up and down my torso. Love it was. And it was so good. I could feel her small childish hands clenched against my clothes on my back and I held her tighter. Somehow, the lack of breathing space between us felt nice. I could feel her chest move in and out quickly against my own. Wow, I could even feel the tiny air from her nose on my neck, it felt right. Involuntarily, I began stroking her head softly with my right hand, in which she buried her face into my shoulder comfortably.
"Are you okay?"
"I-I don't know." With a tight, but comfortable squeeze, I released her from my body to examine her more closely.
"Well, what is it?"
I could see tears forming into the corners of her eyes, ready to drip as soon as she blinked, or when the water piled too high. "I... Have a confession, but I'm scared to say it."
"Tell me anyway."
"You've been lied to," she said quick as any human could speak, "You've mistaken me for a girl for a long time now! I'm not a girl!"
"Wh-"
He cut me off, "I'm so sorry, Hungary told me something about you mumbling to yourself all the time and she told me a little about what you say sometimes." Then, he took a few steps back, staring at the ground, and closed his eyes again, tears streaking down his cheeks, leaving damp trails behind them.
This was a huge jump for me. So unexpected. But, how do I respond to it? I loved Italy. No, I may still love him, but how? That would be so wrong, I could probably get in trouble. But, what would be the worst to happen if I did? Having said that in my head, I stepped forward and took his hand in mine, to which he lazily let his hand sit there in return. "Italy," I said softly and slowly, "That's okay." I rose his hand up to my face and kissed the back of his fingers lightly, although I could feel the nervous wreck in me trying to make me stop and freak out. (A/N: Still, ooc, huh?) "It's okay." I nearly whispered. I laid our hands back down in between us, refusing to let go. Even now as I knew that Italy was a boy, it still felt nice to hold his hand like this. He was still the same Italy, after all, he just had different outer parts, and even then, it was only a small part of him that changed. So, in conclusion, I should feel no different about him, right?
"I thought you would be mad, or upset because you're not allowed to like me the way I like you, right?" He peeked up at my face, squeezed my hand finally. That face would make anybody swoon, whether you are a boy or girl, it was so cute.
"Y-you like me, Italy?" I asked, my heart skipped a beat in joy and hope that I had not imagined that he had said that.
"Of course I do," and for a second my hope died again until after a few seconds, he spoke again, "I actually... Think that I love you, Holy Rome." Eyes halfway open, he cocked his head to the side.
I stared into those eyes, searching for the right thing to say. And, of course, I couldn't help but smile at the sound of those church bell words. "I love you too, Italy," was all I could manage to say, for it seemed that looking into one another's eyes allowed access to our thoughts. I let go of his hand, lightly running my fingers along the sleeve of the dress before bringing both of my hands to his face, holding each cheek. So soft. "I-I always have." We both leaned in slowly. I could feel his breath on my face, the smell of tomato plants(not the fruit) radiated from his skin from being in the garden. Closing my eyes, I kissed his lips softly. So sweet and soft and comfortable. So odd that it wasn't what others had described, it was just a feeling of being close, like if you were kissing your mother. Not that I didn't feel special, or feel like I wanted to give as much love as I could, it just felt... not awkward.
Although it felt like forever, and I didn't want to leave the closeness, we eventually parted, keeping our faces only a couple inches apart. I held his face lightly with one hand, and if he would want to back away, I held him in a way that would've allowed him the access to do so. "I- that makes me so happy," he whispered against me softly. "And I don't care what anyone says." He leaned into my palm, holding my hand with his own. Stepping forward, I kissed the top of his forehead softly, briefly.
"If you don't, then I don't either," I said sincerely with a smile. "No matter what." And then I kissed his lips again, not wanting to let go. Never ever.
But soon we had parted, staring into one another's eyes once again. I ran my hand alongside his face, and my fingertips came across that large curl on the side of Italy's face. Then, for some reason he recoiled from the touch, shuddering. And, like I said, I had barely a grip so he jumped back pretty far. A small blush came upon his face as well as he looked up at my face. "Italy, what's wrong?" I asked.
"I-" He swallowed, "I'm n-not sure. It felt... Odd."
I'm still confused "Oh, I'm sorry."
"Actually... It felt kind of... Nice," I could tell he was just saying it to himself but I didn't see a reason why I couldn't hear it. That was odd to hear come from his mouth, and I always though that was just hair! What was I supposed to say to that? All the areas that I knew of on the body that felt nice to the touch didn't include hair, I wasn't sure if it was normal or not; I had never asked anybody about it.
"Oh, I see...I'm sorry for touching you there," I said quietly, meaning what I said; if I had known I certainly wouldn't do it.
"Ah, no! It's okay!" he nearly shouted. Then, he walked toward me again, saying, "That's what the adults do, isn't it? They touch each other in places that feel good. Maybe we can do that when we're older, too!"
As awkward as it was to be talking about that kind of thing aloud to each other, I was, in a way, glad. "Yes, maybe we can someday." And of course, I meant it. I knew that I wanted to do whatever I could to make Italy feel happy and good as well, anything at all.
Anything
A/N: Don't we all wish that all men could be as romantic as Holy Rome? Me too, but we expect too much from men: Romance, strength/protectiveness, kindness, darkside, smart, good looks(which really, men don't care about their appearance), good smelling, sometimes good with children, etc. So, at least give your boyfriend/husband/future partner some credit for trying... if he's trying. :)
When I use the word "Ah" I mean it in the sense of a relaxed ahhhh but shortened, not the Aaaah term.
I once had a "boyfriend" when I was in second grade who was my first kiss and such and then soon later he died... So in a nutshell Chibitalia doesn't make me sad because of that.