Germany sighed as he headed to Italy's house in irritation. He was constantly attempting to get him to sign a specific stack of paperwork and the other nation was constantly forgetting to, which honestly he knew he should have expected. They had been friends since before World War Two and remained close long after, even into the 21st century. Veneziano was always shirking on his work even then. Pasta was more important than work. Unfortunately, the other Italy seemed to have the same philosophy, so it should go without being said that Italy was always behind on paperwork.
At least Prussia, for all his annoying faults, was efficient at paperwork, didn't have to be told to do it, cleaned up after himself and others, and generally did what he was supposed to. Germany was fairly certain that Romano and Veneziano would lock themselves in a panic room if pasta or tomatoes ceased to exist. Well, if the latter happened Spain would probably join them. The nation sighed as he walked up the steps to the house that the two brothers shared. Germany knocked on the door loudly when he got there, hoping that Italy was the one that would greet him. He already had a headache and didn't feel like dealing with the unjustified insults from Romano or with the feeling that he got when the other was around.
"Oi! What the hell do you want Potato Sucker!" He heard as the door opened. His heart sped up slightly as he looked into Romano's irate face, though he didn't show it. He was never good at showing emotions, even when he tried. It was hard for him to figure out how to be social, how to be part of the group that the other nations had created. Sometimes he felt like the way he was holding conversations was all wrong.
Germany sighed. "I just need one of you to look over this paperwork and sign it for me, if that is no problem. I have been asking Veneziano to do it for the last three months."
Romano frowned after a small look of confusion that seemed to have stemmed from the word Veneziano. Germany paid no attention. "Si, whatever. Damn stupid potato bastard… Veneziano isn't even here, dammit. He's in Venice on vacation for the next two days" He mumbled as he walked to track down a pen.
"It's not like I could have known that." Germany said, used to this behaviour from the other Italian by now.
"Shut the hell up, dumbass!" Romano yelled from the kitchen. He came back with a bottle of wine and a can of beer. Germany blinked; he didn't expect that. "Testa di cazzo, stupido patate. Your stupid brother left it here the last time I let Veneziano throw a party. Might as well not waste it, dammit." (1)
"Danke, Romano." He said anyway. Romano rolled his eyes and picked up a pen that he apparently kept on top of the TV. Germany frowned at the disorder of the Italian's home.
Romano sighed. "Just show me this fucking paperwork so you'll leave me alone already.."
Germany handed it over. "Make sure you read through all of it."
"I'm not an idiot like my fratello, you culo." Germany was unimpressed as he remembered both of the two and their habit of almost blowing themselves up with grenades. Romano rolled his eyes when he saw Germany's incredulous face and turned to the papers that the younger nation placed in front of him. Romano started to read through the text, taking sips of his wine. He found himself inching a bit closer to the German than he wanted to, wondering when it became so cold in his house.
Honestly, both knew that Germany could just go home and Romano could fill the paper out and fax it over, they could do that in this century, but neither of the two said that as Romano signed the several pages of paperwork that Germany was slaving on him.
Romano was part of the way through the document when the clapping of thunder made him jump. He had never liked thunder, even now as an adult. His hand holding the pen started to tremor, but he tried to focus finishing the task at hand.
Germany was a bit concerned by the way Romano was behaving. He frowned. Romano grimaced and willed his hand to stop shaking by its own accord. It wasn't working much. He tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him instead to distract himself, but it was clear that he wasn't paying attention at this point.
Romano managed to read through and sign a few more pages before a louder, sudden boom of thunder made him drop his pen in surprise. Germany was about to ask if he was alright when suddenly a head of brown hair found his shoulder and tan, short arms managed to cling to his chest. Germany blinked, not expecting that.
"Romano?" He asked the shivering head. Hazel eyes looked up at him, the face they belonged to contorted into an expression that wasn't sure if it was angry or petrified so had chosen to be both. "Are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine you stupid bastard! Shut up! I'm just cold!" Romano clung to him more. Germany frowned, not believing him.
"It's true, dammit! Stop looking at me like that!" Romano snapped, before leaning back down to bury his head into the blonde's shoulder.
Germany sighed, though he couldn't help but remember all the nights that Veneziano had run crying to his bed because a really loud boom of thunder scared him. Who did Romano turn to? He couldn't imagine Romano running with tears in his eyes to one of his friend's houses. Who were Romano's friends anyway. Spain, Belgium, Netherlands, maybe America and that one nation that looked like him that Prussia called Birdie.
He moved his arm slowly to awkwardly hold the surly nation close. He wasn't used to doing this even when Veneziano clung to him wanting a hug and knew Romano didn't seem to like hugs either, but it was the only thing that he had figured out seemed to make Italians happy besides a plate of pasta. However, that was Veneziano, and he was expecting Romano to shove him away, call him a potato bastard and maybe punch him in his German jewels—and so he had already steeled himself for the inevitable onslaught.
It didn't come. In fact, Romano even snuggled more into his body. Germany went almost rigid with shock at first, but relaxed, ignoring his heart and the way it started beating in that weird way again. "Romano?" He asked quietly.
Romano lifted one hand lazily to flip him off, but kept his body curled up against him, as if he couldn't find the strength to move. Germany listened to the rain outside, hitting against the brother's house in rhythmic patterns. It actually had a beautiful sound to it, though Germany wasn't very fond of the wetness that came with it.
Germany's hands moved on their own, rubbing circles into Romano's back. Romano shifted a bit more, practically laying in the other nation's lap. "D-don't tell anyone about this, got it, stupid potato?"
"Ja…" Germany mumbled. He was a bit concerned that Veneziano didn't even seem to notice that his brother was just as if not more afraid of storms as he was. It was almost like the younger Italian didn't even care about his brother's wellbeing as long as Veneziano himself was okay. Maybe he cared, but not enough to enquire on his own. Maybe he didn't think to do so. Germany didn't believe he was like that either. Veneziano had a sensitive heart. Surely, he would go to his brother before Germany. Maybe Romano just sent him away.
"The other nations would just laugh at me. They don't care anyway. They always leave eventually. Grandpa Rome, Austria, Spain, Veneziano…. I don't blame them." Romano continued. "You can leave now potato head. You don't have to feel sorry for me."
Germany looked at him shocked. Is that seriously what Romano thought? He was suddenly more resolved to comfort him that he already was. "Nein. I'm not leaving." He said sternly.
"Why do you care anyway, dumbass? I'm an ass to you. Go comfort Veneziano on his stupid vacation? He loves your stupid potato face so much anyway." Germany frowned, trying to think. Why did he care, other than the instinct to help another nation who clearly needed it. Romano looked up at him and Germany looked at his face, glanced deep into his hazel eyes.
Romano really was rather handsome when he wasn't screaming, when his guard was down and his facade was unveiled. And Germany realised just why his heart beat in an odd way whenever Romano looked at him, whenever he felt oddly warm whenever the insult "Potato Bastard" slipped out of his mouth, and why recently he had noticed he'd long stopped calling Veneziano Italy.
Germany pushed Romano away slightly so he could force the Italian to look at him. Romano raised an eyebrow. "What the hell, you di—" Romano was cut off from the lips against his own. Germany didn't move away at first either, a bit embarrassed that he had even thought that it was a good idea. He finally moved back, expecting to be punched.
Romano blinked, as if he couldn't believe that had happened. "Potato bastard?" His voice was weak, though he oddly didn't sound angry. Germany wasn't sure that was a good thing though.
"Potato Bastard?"
"Yes, Romano?"
"….Why did you just kiss me you asshole!" Romano was blushing bright red. "Didn't you just hear a thing that I just said? You can't like me, dammit!"
Germany sighed. "Well, I do."
"You can't."
"Ich liebe dich." Germany was pretty sure that Romano couldn't speak German, but his reaction said another thing His eyes widened and he started visibly shaking. Germany was a bit worried again.
"Anch'io ti amo…. Bastardo….." Romano finally mumbled, glancing away from him as he he had expected rejection.
Germany pulled Romano close again. "Mein Italien."
"No one calls me that."
"Mein Süd Italien." (2)
"No one calls me that either."
Germany wasn't sure what to think about that, so he resolved to cuddling the Italian until he thought he had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He picked Romano up carefully and carried him to his bedroom. Germany had spent enough days here having people sign paperwork, untangling curls, or letting Veneziano or Romano out of a closet that he had the whole place mapped out.
He placed Romano on his bed carefully. The paperwork could wait, he figured. He wondered if Romano would be okay with him sleeping on the couch until he did so. It didn't seem very productive to go back to Germany and come back tomorrow. Maybe he could find a hotel…
Romano stirred. "Stay." He mumbled, reaching out as if trying to find him. Germany's heart thumped uncomfortably. Sleeping next to Veneziano or Japan was one thing, but his crush—boyfriend?—was another story. Romano moved over and glared at him impatiently. Germany swallowed and crawled beneath the covers. In about half a second, he felt hands in his hair, pulling it loose so that it wasn't slicked back.
"Humph. Don't see the point in slicking back your hair everyday. Just makes you look stupid." Romano mumbled.
Somehow, Germany got the feeling that that wasn't why he was playing with his hair, though whether it was because he was still a bit scared or because he just wanted to do so, Germany didn't feel like asking.
1. Testa di cazzo basically means the same thing as vaffanculo, more or less. Basically in Lovi-speak he noted Luddy's incredulous expression and said, "Fuck off, potato idiot. It's not like I went out and bought this beer for whenever you come to see my stupid fratello even though that's most likely what happened because I'm sappy as hell."
2. Means "My South Italy." Not "My South Italian." Italienisch ist Italianisch. Lol. German is fun. I just wrote Italian is Italian.