A/N
Hey there! :)
Thanks for taking a look! :-)
This is a little advent gift for all Italy x Germany fans. ^.^
Acting stupid
„Geerrmanyyy!" Italy rushed into his neighbour's heated workroom, where that very man sat at his desk, swiftly flipping through some paperwork. Germany looked up, nodded shortly, and turned back to his papers. His eyebrows creased slightly.
Italy took off his boots covered with winter snow and entered the timber flooring room. He held up the two fancy paper bags he carried in his hands. "Germany, since it's advent, I brought you some pannettone!" he beamed. "I even wrapped it the way you like it. It's a quite convenient way to wrap something nicely, actually…"
"Oh, really." Germany's eyes widened a little. He took off his glasses and turned around to his guest. "I assumed you'd only drop in in order to fetch something."
"Noo-ho, I have prepared a present for you!" Italy answered happily and rushed over to Germany's desk.
The blonde looked hesitant. Actually, he had work to do, he was busy working, on serious problems, in fact, and besides, he felt a headache slowly becoming more intense. "Italy..." He thought about a nice way to kick Italy out and about another date to listen to the surely hours-long chatting of his warm-hearted but sometimes annoying neighbour.
"Vee, I heard you and the other countries up north had snow. I haven't seen any in my place, except for the Alps."
"Yes, thanks. Um..."
"Here you are." Northern Italy happily put both bags on Germany's desk.
"Thank you." Germany disapprovingly moved them over since they covered the documents and forms he had been filling out. "Italy, that's nice, but would you please go somewhere and do something quietly?" His voice had become harsh now. "I have work to do."
"You do? Oh, come on. Don't you have any spare time? You need to relax more, Germany! Speaking of relaxing..."
Now Germany furrowed his brows. "Italy, I can not. Now leave me alone!"
"Oh." The lanky boy looked disappointed. "By the way, I forgot to ask you: will you drop by in summer again?"
Germany gritted his teeth. "Yes."
"Great! Also, what about advent, have you already started baking?"
Now, Germany was about to lose it. "I'm busy, I have serious problems to solve! I don't know how but I'll have to come up with something, so you just shut up and leave me alone!" He banged his palms on the table. "You and everyone else!" His ice-blue eyes had an oddly exhausted gleam, yet they were still glowing with anger. "Just give me a break, all of you! I am just fine on my own! I want to be alone. Just leave."
That outburst surprised Italy. But he was used to his blonde companion shouting. He knew very well that actually Germany hated being alone. Solitude made him gloomy.
So Italy stayed. Just stood still and looked at the man he called his friend, trying to figure out why he had gotten so mad.
They were both silent, Germany standing behind his desk, hands still on the desk surface, Italy on the other side. "Are you stressed out?" Italy eventually said. "Then you could make a winter break, like..."
"Italy, leave me alone for now! I work, you cause trouble, I help, you cause trouble again – and besides, I don't like pannettone! –" Italy felt his shoulders slouch. "Why don't you leave my house and stop bothering me?"
There was utter silence.
"I know I'm the one who came over . But didn't you want me to come over, too?"* Italy asked. Calmly. Bluntly. Cooly. Like Germany did when he was really angry but did not feel enough affection for his opponent to shout. Not like him, Italy, at all. But his light brown eyes had adopted a dark colour and a burning shimmer. He looked a lot like his brother this moment.
Germany looked at him. Their glances met. It was silent again until Germany said: "You weren't planning on going home in this weather, were you?" Italy blinked in surprise. "I didn't." He was about to add a fuming statement that he'd rather go now.
"Do as you please. I'll be out." Germany took his papers he had been working on, tossed them aside fiercely, letting them lie on the desk orderlessly as they were now and then strode out of the room.
"Germany?"
The front door slammed shut.
Fesso.
Italy sat on the sofa in Germany's living room, head in hands, and gloomily brooded.
Germany getting mad at him was alright.
Germany losing it and hurting his feelings was not alright at all.
This time, Italy was really hurt. He had put much effort into the pannettone.
Out of politeness, Germany would usually at least have eaten it and wouldn't have said anything.
But even that was useless now. Italy knew that he simply didn't like it. It's my self-made pannettone. You haven't even tried it!
The guy was so – so stiff, working all the time and expecting the same attitude from everyone else, venting his anger on others, being stern, sometimes just being sullen and grumpy and ill-humoured, even if you tried really hard to cheer him up. Always ready to scowl, always ready to shout… Italy dejectedly dropped his hands.
But, on the other side, he was just – nice. Good-natured. He could be quite sociable, he listened attentively, with interest, ready to comfort... He was always ready to help him. He was honest, could be cruelly blunt, but also amazingly reserved, and polite. He would respect you... unless you were – let's say, too cheerful. Or me, Italy thought, saddened.
And I hate your stupid biscuits! And whatever!
Which, in fact, was not true.
Weighed down and disappointed, Italy idly looked around. Outside in the hallway there were his boots and winter coat. The snow would have to have melted now. His clothes surely were wet by now. Italy stood up, fetched them and laid them onto the armchair next to the fireplace in the living room.
Germany would possibly go off again if he saw the wet clothing lying on his chair that messy. Italy rearranged them.
Nothing left to do.
Italy started to roam about the house.
It was quiet now in the empty house, much too quiet for his taste.
If he hurried, he could be back home again by tomorrow evening.
Italy strolled back to the hallway. He was getting hungry. He could eat something... No potatoes, Italy swore to himself. No wurst, no beer, and no bread. Nothing that - that depressing jerk would like! He should have some noodles somewhere. Italy looked for some. He could make at least something of them.
The box was around medium size and quite handy. It lay between the storage jar for flour and the one for noodles. Its plain exterior concealed the content. Three kinds of biscuits and a small chocolate Weihnachtsmann. Italy shut the jar again and reread what was written on the note pasted on the lid.
"Für Italien"
Italy had spent quite some time with Germany, so he was quite sure what these letters meant.
For Italy.
The brown-haired boy quietly looked at the jar. Then he took one biscuit.
Fesso, again.
Where was he, by the way?
It had gotten pretty dark outside. Italy took a look at the clock. Only quarter to seven.
Maybe I should go now. Italy took his boots and opened the front door. He immediately jerked back.
Santi Numi, that was cold! Some small icy snowflakes whirled in the freezing air. Not good weather to go home in. The way up here had been snowy enough. Italy swiftly closed the door.
But really, where was Germany?
Italy pulled the curtains of the window in the living room aside. Someone hat neatly shoveled the snow hours ago, but everything was covered with a thin blanket of snow again. The street was not salted yet. It was slippery out there, wasn't it?
Italy decided to cook something for himself and wait for Germany to come back. All acting stupid aside, Italy was worried about him.
*This is a reference to Italian foreign worker's history in Germany
Word explanations:
pannettone: Italian Christmas pastry
fesso: Italian; wally, dumbass, muppet
Weihnachtsmann: German, Santa Claus
Santi Numi: Italian, Oh god! Oh my gosh!
A/N
First chapter done. Whew!
I hope you like it.
And if not, please tell me why. I want to make it better. ^^
I am busy too XD, but I will upload the next chapter as soon as I can.