Italy likes to lie naked in bed.
He doesn't think a lot about it, but he has various reasons. For example, when he sleeps with his brother, from whom he had been separated for so long. He needs to feel his skin, soft and there, making him closer, making him a solid being.
He likes to be naked with Germany the most.
When he slips under the covers it's as if every reason he usually has comes together in that one single person bed. Germany's body is way sturdier than Romano's, more muscular and he always tenses when they accidentally touch in the narrow space of the bed. An elbow to one's back, a hand grazing an arm. It's all so innocent and still somehow it always seems as if there's something. It always makes Italy want to touch him. Be touched in return.
Yet he never does and they never do.
Sometimes he is awake and Germany is asleep. Those are very rare moments, as Italy always sleeps like a log next to him, feeling safe and secure.
Every once in a while he dreams of his grandpa vanishing, or of a Germanic little boy going away and never coming back, and wakes up startled only to find Germany's serious sleeping face turned to his side, still there.
Just like that, the little boy is back. Or yet, it's another little boy, so grand and stoic during the day, but slightly curled up in Berlin's cold night. The cotton sheets are comfortable, if a little rough, Germany's close body radiates heat toward his skin and, once more, he is safe, he is glad.
He is naked.