Author's note: A random thing that popped into my head. Because I roll like that. *rolls down nearby hill*

-I kinda gave myself cavities with fluff in this one. v.v

-v_v I don't know how to make someone speak with a German accent in writing... Like, I know exactly how the accent sounds and all the rules of the sounds of the German language, but I can't write it. You guys have imaginations, though, so just pretend that what is written seems German-ish. And if you watch the dub like me, you know what their voices sound like anyway. So just go with that. ^^

-Rated T for a kiss. That's right motherfuckers. There's a big bad kiss in this bitch. :o LOL I'm kidding, seriously. But that's it.

-I don't own Hetalia.

Normally, Germany didn't care. He was used to having the smaller man curled up next to him, snoring softly and sometimes mumbling about pizza or pasta or the like, turning over occasionally, and stealing the blankets. It really didn't bother him anymore. He'd gone past the point of caring, or maybe he was just becoming more comfortable with having Italy next to him. Even when the smaller nation slept naked, German couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed.

Most nights were unusually peaceful considering they were involving Italy. Germany would go to his room, change into boxers and sometimes a muscle shirt, and go to bed; then, moments later, Italy would skip in and strip naked or stay in his shorts and crawl in beside Germany. He wouldn't notice the light flush on the blond's cheeks and would instantly fall asleep, small arms twined around the German's solid waist. Whenever they were sleeping together, Italy would never have nightmares, and the night would go by without any event. Of course, as with anything that had to do with Italy, this peacefulness couldn't last forever.

Germany was in that place between sleep and consciousness when he thought he heard a whimper. He listened vaguely, but the room was quiet, so he gave up. Just when he was about to fall asleep, he heard it again, louder this time.

"G-Germany, n-no—"

"Italy?" he murmured, his voice a lazy, groggy grumble.

"Don't—"

"Veneziano?"

The body behind him jolted and there was a gasp, then another whimper. "Germany?" Italy whispered, his voice high-pitched and shaky. "Are you a-asleep? I'm sorry—"

Germany grunted, rolling over so that he was on his back and Italy's head was against his right arm. He rubbed at his blue eyes and forced his heavy eyelids open. "Nein. I can't with you whimpering like that. What's wrong?"

The Italian gulped. "I h-had a nightmare," he confessed. The bed was shaking from how badly he was trembling. His arms tightened around Germany's waist and his blunt fingernails dug into pale white skin to the point where Germany actually flinched. "It was r-really bad," Italy whimpered, his throat sounding thick.

Germany sighed. He sat up, dragging Italy along with him, and reached over to flick on the lamp on the table next to his bed. He looked down at the Italian clinging to him for dear life and couldn't help but soften as he saw tears filling Italy's amber eyes. His heart did a sad little thumping thing that actually physically hurt.

"What was it?" he asked softly, his accent even more prominent than usual because of this tiredness.

Italy gulped. "I-I c-cant say it."

Germany frowned; Italy was really terrified. He wasn't usually this bad when he had a nightmare. "Yes you can," he said firmly. "I won't let it hurt you."

Italy blinked rapidly, trying to calm down. "It's stupid," he whispered, his voice bordering on hysteria. "Y-you'll laugh." His fingers tightened in Germany's skin again, and the blond flinched, reaching down to grab the hands clawing at his torso. He held them in his own bigger hands, somewhat awkwardly, and tried to make Italy calm down.

"It's okay, Italy. It was just a dream."

"N-no, I-I—" Italy choked, tears finally spilling over. He let out a gut-wrenching sob. "It's going t-to come true, I know it!" Alarmed, Germany rubbed his thumb over Italy's knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing way.

"Calm down Ita—Nein, don't cry, it's okay, I'm right here." His voice became more alarmed and worried when Italy suddenly started taking light, quick breaths, his chest heaving as tears fell more freely down his face. He sobbed and hyperventilated, his fingers tightening around Germany's bigger ones until the German lost feeling in his hands. "Italien," he said softly. "Take deep breaths. It's okay. I won't let it come true."

Italy blinked hard, tears falling from his thick eyelashes, and he nodded quickly as he tried to follow Germany's instructions. He struggled to take in a deep breath. "I-I'm so s-sorry, G-Germany," he hiccupped, sniffling. His trembling was lessening and his breathing was evening out.

"It's okay," Germany repeated, his voice unusually soft. "Calm down."

After a few more minutes of this, Italy was finally breathing normally again and the tears had more or less stopped. He swallowed and wiped his eyes and face, avoiding Germany's worried blue eyes.

"Are you alright now?"

Italy bit his trembling lip. "I'm scared," he whispered.

Germany sighed patiently. "Yes, I know that. Can you tell me what your nightmare was? I've heard that it helps to talk about it."

Italy's eyes were wide and shiny again. "I'm too scared. I don't want it to come true."

"I promise I won't let it." Germany didn't know what else to do to appease the panicking Italian, but finally decided on something he normally would never do. He awkwardly held his arms out, a sigh ruffling Italy's hair. Italy stared at him with a blank look on his face. Germany made a sound of frustration; he didn't want to explain himself.

"Here," he said, flustered. "Sit on my lap and we can... cuddle. I'll hug you." He flushed, not liking to show his softer side, but willing to do so for Italy's sake. Italy's amber eyes widened and a hint of his usual smile flitted over his tear-soaked face. He climbed into Germany's lap, and the blond blushed even more; Italy had decided to wear shorts to bed tonight, and silently he thanked every god he could think of. He forced himself to ignore the fact that there was an extremely adorable, half-naked Italian on his lap and awkwardly wrapped his strong arms around Italy, cradling the small brunet to his chest. Italy slumped into him, sighing contentedly.

"Grazie, Germania," he whispered. "You always make me feel better."

Germany couldn't help but smile. "Gern geschehen, Italien. Now, can you tell me what it was?" Germany asked, his voice gruff with embarrassment. Italy was the only person he would be like this for.

He could feel Italy's blush warming his skin. "It's stupid," he sighed, his voice full of shame. "You'll laugh and say I'm being ridiculous." He moved so that he was straddling Germany, wrapping his arms tightly around the solid white chest and burying his face into his shoulder. Germany's face burst into flames and he had to think about horrible things—the Nazis, extermination camps, Prussia eating the last of his wurst again— in order to keep calm. Italy really couldn't have picked a worse time to be so obliviously cute.

"I swear I won't laugh," he promised.

"B-but..."

"Just tell me. You'll feel better. And then I can make sure it never comes true."

Italy trembled, but he swallowed and nodded. "Okay," he said weakly. "I-I dreamed we were having a fight." His voice broke for a moment and he gulped again, trying to fight tears. "It was bad."

Germany nodded slowly. "Go on."

"Y-you got really, really mad and yelled at me—I know you do that a lot but this was different. You were swearing and really super mad, it was so scary, you never even get like it during the world meetings. After a while you j-just stopped and s-said—said y-y-you—" He burst out into tears, but wiped his eyes roughly, trying to fight it. His heart throbbing painfully, Germany reached up and gently wiped away a stray tear that was sliding down Italy's soft cheek. Italy bit his bottom lip and shut his eyes, placing his smaller hand over Germany's before the other could pull away. He smiled softly and leaned his head into the large palm, and Germany thought idly that he had never seen something more beautiful in his life.

Italy sniffled then went on. "Y-you said... you said you were going t-to—to drop... our alliance, and I-I... I can't stand the thought of that— I know I always mess up and sometimes you hate having to deal with me but I can't live without you, and I'm so scared that one day you're going to drop our alliance and leave me and—and—" His voice wobbled, then broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut, gasping as he tried not to start crying again.

Germany's heart nearly broke in half. Italy honestly thought he would do that? How long had he been living with that fear? Without thinking, he pulled Italy in for a tight hug, burying his face in his thick brown hair as the smaller man began sobbing into his chest. His fingers dug into Germany's back painfully and his shoulders heaved roughly with the force of his cries, but Germany didn't mind.

"I d-don't want you to leave me," Italy wailed. "I try not to mess up and keep you happy but I always do, I know I'm useless, you always have to come save my butt, but I try and I always mess up—" His voice was raising hysterically. "I know you hate me, I don't blame you, I'm so usless—"

"Feliciano."

Italy hiccupped, looking up into Germany's horrified blue eyes. "L-Lud—"

"I don't hate you," Germany said softly, clenching his jaw hard. Damn, Italy even had him close to tears. "I don't," he repeated, more fiercely since Italy looked doubtful. "You might mess up a lot, and you're completely useless sometimes—but I don't hate you. I don't even remotely dislike you. I will never, never drop our alliance," he said firmly, holding Italy's arms in his hands. "Do you understand? I'm never going to leave you behind." Italy's mouth was hanging open, his entire body trembling. "So don't worry. I swear on—on my life, my country, that I will never leave you."

There were tears shining in Italy's eyes again, but they weren't ones of fear. "You mean it? Even if I accidentally almost blow up your house or something again?"

Germany had to smile. "Even then. I'll probably get mad—nein, I'll definitely get mad—but nothing will ever lead me to hate you. I can't hate you." Just then he realized how much that was true.

Italy looked completely shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find words. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a high-pitched, shrill sob that sounded vaguely like a word. "Germany," he finally cried out, tears spilling over once more and his lips started twitching uncontrollably and his eyes became clear of everything except absolute happiness. He threw his arms around Germany's neck, making the blond hit the head board painfully hard, but Germany was too busy trying to quiet the ecstatically sobbing man on his lap to take any notice.

"You're going to wake my bruder—Gilbert is a really light sleeper—"

"Mi dispiace, I j-just—I'm so happy..."

Germany flushed. "It's okay. Can we go back to sleep now?"

"Wait." Italy pulled away to look at his face. Germany's heart did a strange little thumping thing when he saw the joy radiating on Italy's face; he was practically glowing. He'd never actually noticed how beautiful Italy was, he thought, examining the beaming man before him. His skin was pale, but darker than Germany's, and it was so soft and unscarred and you could see his innocence just looking at his carefree smile. When he actually opened his eyes, all of his emotions could be seen so clearly, so flawlessly. You could see his passion in the way they shined, his love in the way they warmed around certain people, his terrors, his insecurities, everything. To Germany, that was the most beautiful thing in the world. With a sudden sense of crashing realization, something occurred to him, and it made his heart do funny things.

He realized Italy was saying something. "Sorry, what?"

Italy giggled nervously, tucking his hair behind his left ear. His one curl wobbled a bit as he shook his head. "Oh you didn't hear? Okay. That's fine, it wasn't important."

"Don't give me that," Germany frowned. "What did you say?"

"It's nothing—"

"Feliciano."

Italy puffed his cheeks out, and Germany smiled a bit. The brunet idly looked down at Germany's bare chest and began drawing a random pattern on it with the tip of his second finger. He didn't miss the shiver that went up Germany's spine. He swallowed, setting his jaw in determination. Germany was confused for a moment when he felt something soft touch his lips. After a moment, he realized Italy was softly kissing him, his brown eyes looking uncertainly at the wide, shocked blue ones in front of them. He flushed, his heart doing frantic jumping jacks in his chest, but before he could attempt to do anything, Italy sighed softly and pulled back.

"Ich liebe dich," he blurted, his accent making the German words sound awkward and childlike. Germany's eyes widened hugely as Italy murmured, "That's what I had to say."

"F-Feli..." Germany was completely shocked, and Italy seemed to take it the wrong way. His face fell.

"You don't—I'm sorry, Germany—! I didn't mean—"

"Nein, nein, don't apologize—I'm just shocked. I'm in shock. Give me a minute."

Italy looked worried for his sanity. "Shocked?"

"Ja."

"Uhm... Should I not have... kissed you, maybe...?"

"No. That was fine."

"Okay..."

Germany finally seemed to realize that this wasn't a dream or something. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Did you say you love me? You know that's what that means, right?"

Italy now seemed much more worried for his mental health. He titled his head to the side. "Si..." he said slowly.

This was crazy. He'd just realized, not even two minutes earlier, that what he felt for Italy was too strong to be just fondness, and now Italy was saying that he felt the same? No way. Good things weren't supposed to happen to bad people, right? He was bad. Well, Hitler had been bad—Ludwig himself fully disapproved—but it was still partially his fault. And that wasn't the only bad things his country had done. So how...?

"Italy."

"Yes?" Italy asked nervously.

"I need you to do something."

"Okay...?"

"Just... punch me in the face."

Italy's eyes widened. "Whaaat? Why would I do that?"

"Because. This can't be real and I need to wake up. Why would you love me? I'm a monster. So punch me."

"Germany, you're not acting like yourself at all!" Italy said firmly, fed up with Germany's semi-panicking. He grabbed Germany's cheeks in his hands, looking at the taller man seriously. "It's not a dream and I'm not going to punch you. You're not a monster. This is real. Ti amo, Ludwig, even though you're kinda weirding me out right now."

"Scheiße—I'm sorry." Germany sighed. He was so not used to dealing with things like this, and he just felt awkward, even though he was having a panic attack of happy on the inside. He looked at Italy, into the amber eyes which were shining with slight worry and love. Love for Germany. "I just—why? I don't understand..."

Italy looked down at the blankets. "You're just really special to me. You let me stay with you when you found me in the tomato box—I know you tried to get rid of me, but you still didn't kick me out. You listen to me when I speak, even if you get mad sometimes. You're different. You don't care about how good I am at drawing, or cooking, or painting, you just see me for me. No one else does." His hands had fallen to his lap, and he was wringing them together nervously as he tried to form more words.

"Sure, I like the attention, but you—you're like a big dose of reality. I need that sometimes. You always push me to improve and become stronger, and you don't let me do anything half-assed. If I mess up, you yell at me then help me fix it. You can be really sweet when you want to be, and... I just... I don't know what I'd do without you." His lips tilted up in a small smile. "You're the only one who sees past how stupid I can be and accept me as I am."

Once more, Germany was speechless. "Really... I really mean that much to you? I didn't... I had no idea..." Crap, he was tearing up; he wasn't supposed to cry, he was Germany. To cover it, he softly responded, "Damn, Feli... I can't even properly respond to that."

Italy looked at him, his eyes sparkling and his smile widening mischievously. "You could say you love me too?"

"Ja—yes, I do. I mean, I love... er, love you too," he mumbled, feeling awkward with Italy's eyes on him. He was not made to be romantic and had never really been in a situation like this, and that was pretty obvious. Still, there was no hiding the happiness Italy's confession had created; his blue eyes were glittering with a suspicious wet sheen and there was a hint of his rarely-seen smile on his face. Italy giggled.

"So you won't freak out if I kiss you again?" There was a huge smile on Italy's face.

Germany tried to fight the ridiculous heat flushing up his pale neck. "I can't promise anything," he said weakly.

With another giggle, Italy connected their lips in another kiss, a harder, more emotional one this time. It took Germany a moment, but he finally managed to get past his shyness and wrap his arms around Italy's waist, pressing them closer together. It was an awkward, fumbling kiss, but it was sweet nonetheless. After a moment, Italy pulled away, his eyes getting all teary.

"I love you," he said again.

Germany gave a small smile. "I love you too, Feli."

Italy yawned just then, tiny tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. They started to droop, and Germany gently wiped away the beads of water threatening to spill down olive cheeks before murmuring, "You know, it's late; we should go back to sleep."

"You're right," Italy said through another yawn. He wriggled down until he was cuddled against the side of Germany's body, latching to one strong arm like a koala and casually throwing his leg over his waist. Since Germany was used to it, it didn't bother him, but this time, instead of the mild amusement he usually felt, all he could feel were warm, happy tingles.

"Sweet dreams, Feli," he murmured.

Italy hummed. "Buonanotte," he whispered back. "I know I won't have any nightmares now."

Author's notes: Okay, that ending sucked, and it was supremely cheesy and my English teacher would croak at me for hours on end about how uncreative it was and how it could use sooooo much more closeure. I couldn't think of anything else though. Maybe if I get a burst of inspiration one day, I'll come and edit it. -_- Just... Ignore its failure for now. T_T

-Well, review please? Did it suck? I wrote it pretty quickly, and near the end it started to get a bit rushed, but I really just couldn't think of anything. Please, no flames. *hugs*

-HASTA LA PASTA, MOTHERFUCKERS.