*Marked the beginning of the part I like with a ***.*

"You call him Italy just to annoy me, don't you, you wurst-loving asshole?"

Germany was admiring some Italian beer mugs instead of paying attention to Romano, who since his brother was feeling better, was back in his normal sour mood, picking a fight about any random thing he could in order to make up for time he'd lost while being civil. They'd finally made it to the mall, and were currently in a store that sold random goods imported from Italy; a favorite of the Italian brothers, who liked to see what sort of things from their country interested Germans. The store sold anything from the cheapest snacks to the most expensive clothes.

Japan had referred to the store as an "antenna shop," since there was no short term for such a store, and when asked by Germany what that meant, described it as "gotochi." Even after asking for an explanation for the new word, Germany didn't really fully understand what that meant, but didn't really care enough for Japan to go on an elaborate explanation. Usually, when Japan tried to explain things, the cultural difference was so great that Germany ended up more confused than he'd started.

Back to Romano. "No, it's mostly because I met him first and got used to calling him Italy. Also, you hate me anyway, so I don't really care if I piss you off any more," Germany retorted nonchalantly, without even turning around, instead picking up a particularly cool-looking mug and analyzing it. "Plus, all I'm doing is calling him by his first name and you by your last name. If I really wanted to annoy you, I'd call you by your 'legal' name all the time, Herr Vargas."

Romano sucked his teeth in disdain. The countries rarely used those names seriously. For the longest time, Prussia would only call Hungary "Elizabeta" for the longest time when rubbing salt in the wound of finding out that she was female. The countries would also use them when they were trying to hide their identities, for ease of use with humans, or—depending on the country—when they were stone drunk. Neither America nor Britain would never live down that time that France dragged the latter out of a bar, sobbing his eyes out, screaming "ALFRED! DADDY LUVZYOU! I'LL NE'ER LEV Y'EGAIN!" as America looked like he wanted to climb under the bar and die, and Canada attempted to comfort him.

"Germany, look at this!"

Germany suddenly found his left hand in a smoother one, being pulled away from the alcohol glasses. Since opening back up, he'd noticed that Italy had become super clingy. Not his normal lack-of-the-knowledge-of-the-concept-of-personal-space friendly, strangely friendly. For example, just now: Instead of just getting the German's attention and calling him over, Italy had come all the way over, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him over. It seemed like he was using every excuse he could to be in contact with his friend. Germany was curious about this new behavior, but he'd learned long ago not to put too much thought into the meaning behind Italy's actions… because there usually wasn't one.

They stopped in front of the jewelry counter, where Italy pointed out his great find. "Look, Germany! Does that remind you of anything?"

It was obviously different than the one he'd had made for Italy, but before him laid a ring with a tomato as its main feature. Oh yeah it reminded him of something. Something he'd never wanted to remember, and never wanted Italy to remember, either.

"I really liked that ring you gave me," Italy continued chipperly, unaware of Germany's inner turmoil. Italy had yet to let go of his hand, and Germany suddenly became super aware of this. He wanted to break his hand away from the Italian's, but the impulse to take it away just fizzled away in his brain. As he became more and more helpless to move it, hormones started coursing through his body, creating an energy that he could feel all the way down to the narrowest of his capillaries. Italy's hand felt like he was holding onto nothing more than pixie dust, and his heart started thudding as if someone had set the inside of his chest on fire, and it was trying desperately to escape.

"Germany?"

Hearing his name brought him back to attention. Italy had just said something to him. "Ja, sorry?"

"I was just saying that those were some pretty good times. You were really super nice to me. I wish it could be like that again."

Oh that naïve, naïve country. Germany couldn't believe that he was still oblivious to what actually happened.

Something in Germany almost had the nerve to reply with "ja", but the German smacked that impulse. Hard. Until it wasn't moving. "I felt like such an idiot. It was so stupid."

"Stupid…?" Italy repeated. "What was?"

"That ring, how I was acting… I mean, the whole thing, really, was just a stupid misunderstanding, don't you agree?"

"Yeah… stupid… Hey, uh, I'll… I'll be right back." And suddenly, Germany's hand was empty.

The look on Italy's face was a far cry from the casual tone of his voice. Germany didn't think he'd ever seen him look that serious and bothered at the same time. Usually if he was worrying about something, he'd be completely hysterical about it, not quietly brood.

He walked away from the German, and quickly out the door. "Italy, where are you going all of a sudden?" Germany called after him.

Romano, who looked up at what Germany had said, was able to see his face more clearly than Germany was. He looked like he was about to cry. "Veni…?" he asked he nor Germany got a reply; Italy just strided out of the store and headed to the right, as if he hadn't heard him.

"Jeez… what is it this time?" Germany found his friend's actions completely confusing and very frustrating. He was frustrated at himself as well, for doing something that. His palm was on his forehead, fingers lightly gripping his slicked-back hair.

Spain had the same question, coming over to meet the others on the other side of the store. "Is something wrong with Veni? He just flew out of here like a bat out of hell, no?"

Romano sighed. He'd heard the conversation between Germany and Italy. With what Italy had said, his face as he stormed out, his earlier violent outbursts, his week-long emofest, and that thing he had revealed to him earlier in the week… Romano was unable to deny any longer that two plus two is four. But… how to go about telling Germany without revealing his revelation?

"Alright, look, you dense potato bastard," Romano exhaled, as he thought about how to word his confession. "I might've left something out of our earlier conversation." He paused to wait for Germany's response, which was a cocked eyebrow. "Veneziano learned about what happened that Valentine's Day."

It took Germany a second to realize what Romano was talking about, even though he and Italy had just been discussing it, but when he did, he realized it hard.

"He told me what happened, about a week ago, right around when he started acting mopey. I don't know why he's acting awkward about it all of a sudden if it happened decades ago." He lied about not knowing why. He very well knew why, and didn't understand how Germany couldn't see it now. "He didn't want me to tell you, but if it helps you make him stop acting like a bitch, I don't care. I'm tired of this shit, already."

"What happened on Valentine's Day?" Spain asked, not remembering it. Back then, he'd heard that Germany was acting weird, but that insignificant memory had been long ago lost in the flow of time. Romano raised an eyebrow toward Germany.

"Tell him. I don't care; it was a long time ago." Germany permitted through gritted teeth. He was more interested in his friend's welfare, at the moment. "I'm going to go find Italy."

He found him quickly, on a hunch. Italy was just outside of the mall, hands in pockets, slumped back on a bench to Germany's right when he exited. He was staring up at the night sky; not many stars were visible, as it wasn't completely dark yet, but there were enough to satisfy the eyes of someone who was lost in thought. Eyes… Italy's eyes were open. He never opened his eyes when anyone could see his face. The only exception to this was the time they were about to part ways for a long time. Germany wasn't sure what to make of this fact, but he knew it only added to the abnormality of the situation.

"Italy," he started, towering above his friend.

"I'm sorry," Italy chuckled lightly, then sniffled. He didn't appear to be crying, but he was blinking a bit more than a normal person would. "I'm just being weird."

"Italy, will you please tell me what's wrong?" He wanted to cut straight to the chase.

"I'll be fine in a little bit. You can go back inside with the others."

If he kept trying to get Italy to reveal whatever was bothering him on his own, they were going to be there for the next two years. So he teleported to the chase. "I know you know about Valentine's Day."

"My fratello told you?" Italy's eyes closed and he made the normal face he made when he felt betrayed, and his voice was high-pitched and panicked, as usual.

"Ja. He said he didn't know what it has to do with how you're acting now, but that you started behaving this way after telling him, so does that have something to do with it?"

Italy didn't reply; instead he looked sheepishly down at his feet, re-opening his eyes. Germany incorrectly took this as his way of saying "yes"

"I'm sorry…" Germany said, blushing as the humiliation he'd received came back to mind. "In Germany, the custom for Valentine's Day is-"

"I know," Italy cut him off. "I know everything.

{Ten days prior…}

Italy and Pookie VI were not getting along.

She swatted at his hand as he tried to reach and pull her out from under Germany's bed. The owner of said bed was in his office, working, while Italy played around the house.

"I'm sorry, Pookie; I promise I'll share my wurst with you next time; I swear!"

His wrist bone bumped painfully against a stack of books. "Ohi!" he yelled out, pulling his arm out to rub the sore nub. When the pain died down, he went back under. He'd accidentally shifted the stack of books, so now their spines were visible, and he was drawn to read the titles.

"Best Dating Advice Book… Dating for Germans… Woah, Germany has dating books? I didn't think he was interested in a thing like that!"

Forgetting about his annoyed cat, he pulled out the stack of books instead. They all had bookmarks partway through, and Italy opened up the first to see the subject.

"If the person you are dating is very romantic, and you are afraid of being 'inferior,' don't be." The book went on to talk about the subject, and Italy agreed with what it said, but quickly got bored with it. Next he went with the Dating for Germans book.

"If you are interested in dating an Italian, here's what you should know:"

"Ooh~ What's this?" Italy's curiosity was peaked. Opening up a few more titles, he saw that they all, where applicable, had pages bookmarked that dealt with dating Italians, or similar persons.

"How could he!" Italy huffed to himself. "Germany's interested in an Italian girl, and he didn't even ask for my help! These books are old and outdated, anyway! Romance must be even more embarrassing to Germans than I thought."

He'd opened a book and placed it on his lap absent-mindedly.

"Sometimes men in a homosexual relationship may have a hard time-"

Italy stopped, confused, and skimmed the rest of the page, then glanced at the page before. The bookmark was well into the section about gay relationships. 'What book is this?' he pondered in his head, flipping to the front cover.

A Guide to Homosexual Relationships

'So, Germany is interested in… a guy? Maybe he was interested in a guy at one point and a girl at another time? Or maybe it's one person, but an Italian guy? Maybe that's why he felt like he had to hide it. Silly Germany; I'd still like him the same even if he liked men."

Italy suddenly realized something. It was just a memory, a thought, and a question, in rapid succession. The entire realization lasted less than a fifth of a second. But it was powerful. Powerful enough to make Italy go and seek out someone who could give him an answer to that question.

"Prussia?"

He was lazing in front of the couch, munching on a cookie he'd bought from some store. "Hm?" he replied through his nose, cookie still in mouth.

"What does a Valentine's Day present of red roses mean in Germany?"

"Hm… Well, here, Valentine's Day has always really been a holiday between just lovers, but I guess you could get away with it in modern times, if you made sure to elaborate that it was just a friendly thing."

"Thanks," Italy said, and left back toward Germany's room. He figured he should put the books away before Germany found out he'd seen them.

'So then, that time… that year…' As he put the books away, he checked the copyright date inside of one of them. No mistake. These books were from that time. 'No wonder he was acting so weird! He thought I was asking- he thought I wanted to- And he accepted it…?' The Italian's heard let out a single long, slow thump.'And then he tried to propose to me… does that mean that he… Germany fell in love with me?' Thump. 'He fell in love with someone like me…?'

By now, the hormones were also kicking in. Germany had always been there for him, and no matter how useless he was, no matter how many times he messed up, no matter how much he rambled about pointless stuff. Germany always picked up the slack, fixed it all, and listened. But not without trying to drive him to better himself. Italy seldom did get better, but Germany still loved him for the pathetic excuse of a person he was, and would never stop trying to drive him to places he never thought he could go.

'Germany, I…' Italy smiled to himself, hugging a few of the books tightly to his chest. 'I never thought about it, because I never thought it could happen, but… if you still wanted to be by my side, I'd… I think I'd really like that…'

Italy sighed as he thought again. All of that happened a long time ago. And since Germany had returned to his normal self, he'd never given a single other hint that would suggest that he had any of the same feelings for his friend. And after scores of years to meditate on exactly how worthless his friend was…

'And there was that really big fight…' Italy painfully remembered the decades after he'd switched sides in World War II. He'd been annoyed with Germany then, but those were admittedly the worst years of his life, having the guy who was once his best friend be furious at him.

With all of that, there was no way Germany could even have a modicum of romantic feelings left for him. Italy depressedly put the books away, and this time Pookie came out on her own free will, comfortingly rubbing up against her person.

"Thanks, Pookie," Italy murmured, scratching her back gently. He had a lot to think about.

*Since I didn't explain it in the fic: "Gotochi" is a Japanese term for things that originated or can usually only be found in a certain place, but are brought to another place. For example, an antenna grocery store in Tokyo might have things you could normally only find somewhere in Hokkaido.*