oOo
"No…that tastes like shit…" Italy rolled over where he slept, disentangling himself from the covers that held him to the bed. "Woah! You're pretty…"
"Wahh!" Italy awoke with a jolt.
He opened his eyes and looked around. The world seemed shorter. Quickly, he checked his vitals and sat up, coming level with the bed he'd rolled out of.
"Ne…" Italy grunted, standing. He watched the bed.
Germany was fast asleep. He was cocooned in a dark comforter, which rose and fell as he breathed. His hair, unkempt in sleep, fell back on the pillow, framing his stoic features.
Italy smiled.
"I want to draw Germany…" He murmured, blinking away particles of sleep that clung to his eyes. "I wonder if Germany has paper."
Absentmindedly, Italy made his way to the drawer beside Germany's bed. He pulled it open and rummaged through it silently, finding nothing but the erotic magazines Germany had received from Santa that year and a leather-bound book. Hoping it was a sketchbook, Italy pulled out the leather-bound diary.
He opened the book there and peered inside, surprised to find Germany's perfect handwriting on every page.
"This is…Germany's diary?" Italy whispered to himself.
His face brightened immediately.
I'll learn all about Germany and he'll be my friend forever!
Italy turned to a random page in the book and began reading.
Dear diary,
Today has been weird for me. Italy has been in his own little world as normal, but something he said made me stop and think. He called me his 'friend'. It made me wonder. What does it mean, to be someone's friend? Is Italy my only friend? Is that why I feel so warm and happy when he's around? I might even be a little bit jealous of others who speak to him. Am I his only friend, as he is mine? Or is it a title he throws out randomly to those who save him or tie his shoelaces for him? It's depressing to think that I might be nothing to him.
Sincerely, Germany
"Ne?" Italy blinked. "I mean that much to him?"
Disbelieving, Italy shook his head and turned a few pages until he found a particularly hasty-looking scrawl. He read it.
Dear diary,
What is Italy to me? Why does my heart beat so frantically when he says my name? Japan's been noticing it, too. He asked me why I allow Italy into so many embarrassing and personal areas of my life. I couldn't answer him. All I could think was, "Because I love it." Or "Because I love him.". Do I love him as a friend, or possibly more? I don't know any more. He's my only friend, and yet I've never felt this way before. Is this right? He is my comrade, after all. I don't get it any more! What defines love? I wish I had a definite answer for that.
I guess I'll just continue as I am. Italy doesn't seem to be catching on. It hurts, though, knowing that I can't discuss this with him. It would only push him away from me.
Sincerely, Germany
Several tears had made their way down Italy's cheeks before he noticed he was crying. He stared at the diary in his hands, not sure how to react to what Germany had written. His hands shook and his heart pounded in his chest. He felt…serious. And silly, all at once. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, but his stomach felt like it was made of steel.
Italy turned and gazed at Germany's sleeping form. The man never looked so peaceful as when he was asleep. He was even…handsome. Italy smiled. He knew this feeling. It arose every time Germany said his name or held his hand or tied his shoelaces.
"Sono innamorato, Doitsu." Italy whispered. "I'm in love with you."
Italy returned his gaze to the book in his hands. An idea appeared in his mind suddenly and he stood, smiling blissfully. The Italian rummaged through Germany's room until he found exactly what he wanted: a pen.
oOo
Hahaha, so my writing mojo has disappeared this summer. I'm having a bit of difficulty pushing stuff out and making it sound good. So for now I'm saying "Screw it, it doesn't have to sound good. I just need to write!". And it's working for me xD
So—next chapter will be out later today. I can't help but write this I love Germany and Italy.