"Germany…"
My name had been the first thing he'd said.
I hadn't heard him. I had been too relieved and happy and upset and in love to hear.
I'd decided that was what this was now.
When you care about someone so much you wish you had died instead.
When you are so stricken with grief that you think kissing them could bring them back to life.
When it works.
Italy seemed to like the idea of us being in a relationship together. I wasn't sure what to do and an experience one Valentine's Day had confused me no end.
But he led the way.
He was very experienced in this area, somehow, and he had a passion in him that I didn't know what to do with.
I was going to see Italy and Japan at the latter's house. This was the first time I'd seen Japan since that night. I hoped he was okay with me and Italy.
Every time I was preparing to see Italy these days I got fidgety and nervous. I had to be perfect. Perfect! Was my hair okay? Were my shoes shiny? I sighed. Italy seemed to do this with such ease, always breezing smoothly through the door wearing something casual yet entirely flattering… Where was I going wrong?
Italy was already at Japan's house when I got there. He must have arrived early (which was unusual for him) because I was exactly on time, as always. Before I could greet the two of them, Italy hit me with a flying hug, causing me to drop my papers over the floor. I twitched, and he released me.
"I'm sorry, Germany! Let me help you pick those up!" He started collecting up the papers, but clearly not in the very specific order they'd been in before. He handed me a jumbled stack of paper and I managed to squeeze out a
"Thank you, Italy." He waited until I had greeted Japan and set the papers on the table before hugging me so tightly and kissing me so fiercely I could hardly breathe.
"N-not in front of Japan, It-Italy," I said to him, highly embarrassed, and he stepped away. He looked sad, though, so I pecked him on the cheek and he brightened again. I marvelled at how his shirt could be so rumpled and yet still look so good. I wanted nothing better than to iron every crease out of it, but even to my eyes he still looked very…
I cleared my throat and sat down. Italy sat next to me and entwined his fingers in mine.
"Japan." I started, "You already know about me and Italy. But what are your thoughts on this?" Japan said nothing, just shrugging. Italy took this as encouragement and started kissing my jaw. I tried my best to ignore him.
"Surely you must have some opinion?" I asked Japan.
Japan hesitated, opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. He eventually said,
"I am glad… Italy is alive." he stated. I thought back to that night and my throat caught. I struggled to bring my mind back to the present. No! Italy was not dead! He was here and he was kissing my neck and it actually felt surprisingly good…
Japan and I did our best to ignore what Italy was doing to me. I'd had to reorganise my papers first, but other than that the meeting went well. Italy came back to my house afterwards and cooked a meal for us.
I knew better than to go into the kitchen when Italy was cooking. He always made such a mess on my nice clean counters, on my floor, he always left used cutlery out…
Instead I listened to Italy singing 'That's Amore' while he cooked. Italy was a good singer. He was best at opera, of course, but I liked listening to him sing anything. I just didn't like him singing in the same room as me; he always tried to get me to join in.
"Germany, Germany!" came Italy's voice, "Where do you keep your cheese-grater?"
"In the cupboard to the left of the cupboard under the sink," I called back, "at the back, in the back right-hand corner." There was a pause as he checked. Then,
"It's not there, Germany!"
Well, that couldn't be true. Everything in this house was always in its place. I went to check the cupboard myself.
I sighed as I entered the room, where Italy was looking in the wrong cupboard. He had got his left and right mixed up again, I think. I handed him the cheese-grater, but then I couldn't leave the kitchen again. Not… Without… Cleaning…
Italy hadn't finished cooking, but I started furiously cleaning anyway. I couldn't just leave it like that…
Later on, Italy was kissing me as we watched a film on the television. He was leaning on me and had told me to put my arm around him, but other than that I didn't know what to do. He kissed up my neck and along my jawline. I started stroking his hair awkwardly.
"Germany!" he gasped, colour rushing to his cheeks. I realised I had accidentally touched his curl, and quickly withdrew my hand.
"I'm sorry, Italy, I didn't mea-"
"It's okay, Germany. I don't mind if it's you."
I was unsure what this meant. I touched it again for a moment, experimentally, and he shivered and kissed me on the lips.
Author's Note: Yet another pointless and plotless fic, but I enjoyed it all the same. Germany's OCD POV is fun to write, and I wanted to try some adorable Doita shippyness. I love how innocent they are, because I have England and America sleep together all the time. XD