It was no use. Germany liked girls, not men. Right?
Italy sighed sadly, holding his head in his hands. Why couldn't Germany love him? Yes, he knew it was a silly though to think of, but he wanted so desprately for the Germany to love him back!
Italy loved everything about Germany. His body, the way his muscles flexed with every move he made; his hair, the way it slicked back oh so perfectly; his voice, oh /dio/ his voice! So commanding, so powerful, so /perfect/!
Alas, the German Italy had constantly found himself haveing fantasies over loved women. No matter what Italy did could change that. Italy had proof, too. He had overheard Germany mumbling in his sleep over some girl. Who was she? Was it a distant girlfriend Germany never spoke of or just a figment of Germany's imagination? Who knew.
What is she like, Italy wondered. She was deffinately pretty. She probably had a soft face and gentle voice. A sweet smile to greet him and probably a tender kiss. Long, flowing hair resting gentally on her shoulders. A small, fragile figure that seemed tiny compared to Germany's. Big, bright eyes to look deeply into the Germans icey, blue ones.
Italy would never have any of that, would he?
It wasnt untill then that Italy realized that he was eating dinner. He was crying and the man that he could only dream of being with was sitting across from him, a very worried expression on his otherwise emotionless face.
"Italy...? What's wrong?" Germany asked. He had never seen the italian so upset. Tears spilled freeley out of Italy large, auburn eyes as he mumbled words that Germany could not understand.
"Germany?...what it she like?" Italy asked in a hushed tone
Germany raised an eyebrow, taken back by the question. "She?...Italy, what are you talking about?"
"The girl! The one youre alwase dreaming about! What is she like?" he almost sounded desperate.
"Italy I have no idea what you could possibley be talking about." the German stood, pushing away from the food.
Italy stood, looking slightly irritated. His tears contuined flowing, makeing his eyes red and puffy. "Your dream girl! The one who you love! I want to know what she's like!"
Germany walked twords Italy, brushing the hair out of his face softly. Italy looked down, trying to contain his rappid sobbs.
"Well," Germany started softy "She's the cutest thing I've ever seen."
Knew it.
"She's alwase smileing at me..."
Shed better.
"She's got big, beautiful eyes that I love..."
Was Germany purposely trying to make him feel worse?
"Her hair is soft and silky, I alwase want to mess with it alittle..."
Anyone could have guessed that.
"She's giggly, sweet, loud, yet so incredibly useless..."
She sounded familiar...
"But I find myself so attached to her that I can hardly contain it..."
Italy couldn't take any more, he was about to lash out in anger. That is, untill Germany hooked a finger under Italy's jaw and forced him to look at him.
"But," a small smile was exposed on the Germans face as he spoke, "The only problem is, it's not a girl..."
"Wh-what?" Italy questioned, looking up with wide eyes. Germany wiped away the tears off the Italians face.
"I...I love you, Italiean..."
"I love you too, Germany!" Italy exclaimed happily, smileing a smile of pure joy.
Germany hugged him softly, tucking Italy's head under his chin and cradling him softly.
Finally, Italy realized that it was not a girl Germany had been dreaming of for all this time. It had been him. Him! Germany had been dreaming of Italy! They loved eachother so much that it hurt! But it was a good kind of hurt. Like a mind-numbing pain of pure joy.
And Italy would take that pain at cost. No matter what.