"Wha—"

"Aw!" Italy trilled. "Aren't they cute?"

"Oh my God," said Germany. He spun back around in the chair, feeling as if his jaw had malfunctioned. "Oh my God, they're—they're really—but he's supposed to be—what about being Catholic?"

Italy blinked at him, puzzled.

"Catholic?"

"You know—the Catholic—" Germany dug the heels of his palms into his eyeballs as if to try to assure they would never betray him like this ever again. "I just thought—after all Romano's been saying about us—"

"Oh, that's not a Catholic thing," said Italy, shaking his head. "That's more of a Romano hating you thing. Don't worry about it. Are you worrying about it?"

"I'm not—I'm not saying I'm against it," Germany said. He felt like he was trying more to reason with himself than anyone else. "I'm just—God. I thought maybe Spain—or Romano—I thought they must have—I don't—my coherency. I just realized. It's gone. Forever."

"Well just calm down first and try again. It'll come back, Germany, it always does."

"Why am I so traumatized over this?" Germany resumed holding his head in his hands and groaned. "I knew. I knew they had to be—something, I didn't know what, but seeing it in front of me—why are you still watching them? Are they still going?"

"Yup, still going." Italy bounced a little in Germany's lap as he stretched to see better. "You looked away right when Spain started kissing him back. They're just kind of cuddly right now but I think Spain's just about to—ooh, yup, Spain pushed Romano down so I can't see them anymore, but I'd bet they're still kissing."

Germany felt his throat going very dry. It took every ounce of his self control not to turn back around and see for himself.

"And is this a normal thing to see around here?"

"Well." Italy laughed a little sheepishly. "I only found them out 'cause I walked in on them making out once, so I guess you could say it's normal. Romano was really embarrassed about it but Spain was okay with having me know—he had to tell Romano it wouldn't do him any good to try drowning himself in the bathtub or anything—"

"I think I can deal with pretending I never saw this for Romano's sake, then," said Germany. "In fact I think I will do just that. Italy, we are leaving right now and we're not coming back until this weekend is over if we have—oh my god whatareyoudoing?"

"What?" Italy didn't even look at him because he was busy waving into the house now. "Spain gave me a thumbs-up so I gave him one back."

All joking aside, Germany could be just as good as Italy at retreating if he wanted to. He had Italy by the wrist and was dragging him down the lawn before he could even remember to breathe again.

Tomatoes, in Germany's opinion, were the sort of food that a person would not want to eat just on their own. He liked them in things, like in soups and on sandwiches, but he'd never thought of a tomato as something he'd like to just bite into and eat raw. Certain people did, apparently, but Germany was just not one of them.

"Oh, look at these pretty ones! I think I recognize them too, Spain said they were supposed to be extra sweet!" Italy pulled one straight off the vine and bit into it, juice dribbling down his chin. "Dhey are! C'mon, try a fhew, you'll like 'em!"

"I don't think it's very polite to just take them like that."

Italy swallowed and shook his head, reaching toward a new tomato plant. There was just enough light left to see that most of the tomatoes around them were still yellow or orange, but just a few here and there looked ripe enough to eat.

"Don't worry about it, Germany! Some tomatoes just get ripe before the others do and if no one takes them they'll end up rotted or eaten by bugs." He passed a handful to Germany, smiling. "And even if we take a bunch I don't think Spain will mind, he lets the neighbors come and pick some to take home with them if they want. It's not like he can eat all of these himself, you know?"

Germany didn't doubt that for a moment. It was small field, relatively speaking, but each plant bore dozens of tomatoes that would eventually need to be harvested and stored. Germany could definitely appreciate the sort of dedication that it must take to care for all of these plants—fewer and fewer people seemed to have the patience for it these last hundred years, but it seemed like exactly the sort of hobby Spain would have.

"Spain tries to get as many types of tomatoes growing as he can just for the heck of it," Italy said, knowledgeably. "Those ones over there—" He pointed to a larger, plump tomato variety growing on the left. "Those are the ones you usually think are what tomatoes look like, right? Big and round and red? Tomatoes are really a lot more different than that—they can have all kinds of differences to them!"

Italy carefully stepped in between another row of plants with much smaller tomatoes on them that grew in clumps.

"Look over here, Germany, this kind is a lot smaller, right? And a little further down—the ones that look kinda long? Those get made into sauce usually, or a lot of the time they get canned for later. I've also seen tomatoes that look like strawberries or grapes or like hearts and there's ugly tomatoes and there's pretty tomatoes! They also come in all kinds of different colors other than red and some of them even have zebra stripes!"

So maybe some of these tomatoes weren't just unripe. Germany looked down at the ones in his hands and thought perhaps he should go ahead and try one: weren't fresh picked fruits and vegetables supposed to be better than the ones you bought from the store? It'd be so long since he'd had some he'd forgotten the taste of homegrown food, so maybe he was missing out here. Maybe he just didn't know the joyous wonders of a tomato straight from the vine.

"Italy?" Germany looked up again, realizing with a jolt that Italy had completely vanished without him knowing it—and only once he'd turned around a few times in a panic did he realize how stupidly ironic his reaction was. Hadn't he just witnessed Romano panicking over a missing Spain a few hours ago? Hadn't he been the one thinking to himself at the time how utterly ridiculous it was?

But that had been before Germany knew. Now that he did, he almost found it understandable.

"Italy!" said Germany, louder. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm right here! Sorry!"

The vines and leaves in front of Germany shook as Italy made his way back through, holding a new variety of tomato in his hands.

"Sorry!" Italy said again, a little out of breath. "I went because I remembered Spain has this kind of tomato right here! But they take a long time to make fruit so this one was the only one I found that was ripe." He held it up so Germany could see it more clearly. "I wanted to show it to you since I think it's kind of like you in a way!"

Germany gave him a doubtful look. The tomato was quite large for what it was, but it was also shaped like a very small, very red pumpkin.

"Would this count as one of the tomatoes you'd call ugly?"

"Well maybe," said Italy, considering for a moment. "But that's not the point! See, this is a beefsteak tomato, and it's the biggest kind of tomato you can grow."

"Oh," said Germany. He had no idea why he felt disappointed. "Because it's big. I get it."

"Agh, that's not the point either! It's not just because it's big, it's because of other stuff too! See, beefsteak tomatoes have a thin skin to them, and they also have a short shelf-life, so that's why you see the round ones at the big stores more, because those tomatoes won't get bruised up so easy. But people still like this kind because they've got some of the most flavor on the inside! And they're also good on sandwiches!"

"I don't understand how that's anything like me," Germany informed him. "You're telling me I'd be good on a sandwich?"

"I don't know, you do seem like the good-on-a-sandwich type." Italy gave Germany the beefsteak tomato to hold and went to pluck one of the little tomatoes he'd pointed out earlier off the vine. He held it between his finger and thumb and showed it off to him. "I'm probably more of a cherry tomato. I think I'd go better on a salad, don't you think?"

Germany stared at him, baffled.

"I don't think I understand your metaphor here."

"I'm not talking about metaphors, I'm talking about tomatoes," said Italy. He popped the tomato into his mouth and seemed mystified that Germany wasn't understanding. "How come you're being all weird tonight, Germany? Is it about Spain and Romano still?"

"Uh, well—it's still on my mind, if that's what you mean." It wasn't very often that Germany felt this uncertain, but now that he knew exactly what those two felt about each other, now that he knew what they sometimes did together, what they were probably doing right now—no, no, he really shouldn't be thinking about it if he wanted to be able to sleep tonight. He shook his head to rattle the thought back out of his brain. "It's fine. If I'm acting strange then I'm sorry to worry you, though."

Italy shook his head at him.

"Don't be sorry about it. Do you want to come sit down with me, Germany?"

Italy led him to a weather-worn bench under a tree and sat, putting all of their tomatoes between them. He began dividing them up pile, making sure each of them would have exactly half, and he seemed to be working so diligently at it that Germany couldn't bring himself to say he really only wanted to try one or two.

"I have an idea," Italy announced, breaking the silence at last. "I think we should try talking about it."

Germany grimaced.

"You think so?"

"I think we really should." Italy bit into a new tomato, nodding. "Talking is good for you, you know? Grandpa always used to say you should talk about stuff when you're upset and punching the problem isn't going to work. And see, Romano doesn't take getting punched very well so I think we should just skip that step and you can go ahead and talk all mushy to me about your feelings, and I'll listen, and then I'll tell you what I think about it and try to make it better. How does that sound?"

Germany had to admit this plan of his did sound helpful, but if he was supposed to just start talking about it—Italy's eyes were already on him and yet he truly had no idea where to begin. It was as if there were a million little things bothering him now, had been bothering him ever since he'd arrived, but he didn't think he knew how to say them, or at least not very tactfully. If Germany had learned anything so far today, it was that people didn't often appreciate being told the things they'd always done were strange or wrong. He'd come here to learn, not enforce his own rules, so even if he was uncomfortable, even if his stomach was doing backflips, he still had to try to adapt.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment?" Italy asked, a little more timidly now. "On purpose, I mean? Are you mad at me? I told you already Germany, Spain was the only one who saw, and I don't think he would've given me a thumbs-up if he was upset. And if Romano knew you knew he'd have already—"

"I'm not mad," said Germany. He was pretty sure he'd said this already some time today. "I was never mad at you, and I'm glad that nothing bad happened, actually. But—Italy, please just try to understand that I'm not very good with—processing emotional stuff like this. I think you're right about talking being the best thing to do, and I think I need to talk about it, eventually, but not right now. If that makes any sense."

Italy pursed his lips for a moment before speaking.

"Was seeing them kiss really that bad?"

"No," Germany admitted. He said this even though there was a very small, very bitter and unreasonable part of him which he normally did not allow to see the light of day, a part which did not want to accept in any way whatsoever that Romano could have feelings for another person. Because if that were the case then that meant Romano probably had other feelings too, and he wasn't in fact just the embodiment of the most insufferable sort of person on the planet, and then Germany wouldn't have his usual excuses for wanting nothing to do with him. "No, it wasn't really that bad, I'm just upset." Germany sighed. "I'm upset but I don't exactly know why. Maybe I don't want to admit why. Either way, if I don't know what the problem is I can't fix it, and that makes it worse. If I can't fix things then I never know what to do."

"So what'll happen?" asked Italy. He seemed genuinely concerned even though he was still eating. "What happens when you get upset over something that you can't fix? Or when you get upset for no reason at all?"

Germany looked at him.

"Does that actually happen to people?"

"It does to me." Italy didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that. "Some of the time."

Germany stood up. He didn't really know why, he wasn't going anywhere, but it helped to feel like he could go somewhere, if only he could just figure all this out.

"I just." Germany mussed up his hair as he raked his fingers through it; it was hours past neatly combed anyway. "I'm starting to I think what's bothering me doesn't even have anything to do with what they did, it's more—something else. Which doesn't make sense, and I hate it. I shouldn't even be thinking it."

He looked back at Italy. It was almost completely dark now, so it was difficult to tell what sort of expression he was making.

"I know I'm not very good at giving advice," Italy said, slowly, "but I think maybe you should say it anyway, Germany. Feelings always count for something, don't they? Even when they're stupid?"

"It's—no. I really shouldn't." He almost got him there. The sweetness of Italy's concern almost had him wanting to admit everything to him, but then his sense of self-preservation kicked in and froze his tongue on the spot. "I'll tell you when I figure it out for myself first."

"Oh. Well, that's okay too! But you can still talk to me about it if you ever want to, okay? I want to be able to help Germany like Germany helps me. That's what we promised each other, right?"

Germany chanced another look behind him and discovered that Italy had gotten up and come to stand beside him without him noticing. Germany might have reacted with somewhat of an unflattering noise, but he managed to cover most of it up with a cough.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Italy said, looking guilty. "I didn't mean to but I ate all the rest! I was listening so hard I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. Do you want this one still?"

Italy put a particularly oblong tomato into his hand, and Germany almost laughed upon realizing that he wasn't apologizing for scaring him. Somehow it made him feel like all was right with the world.

"Don't worry. It's not like this is the very last one that's ripe, is it?"

"I could go look, but it's probably too dark to find a good one now. You don't want it?"

"No, no, I'll try it." Germany shook his head and turned the tomato over a couple times before bringing it to his mouth. He bit in and chewed, telling himself that no matter what he really thought about it, he was going to smile and nod and act gracious.

"Good?"

"It's—" Germany blinked. Well, it certainly was not as bad as he'd feared it could be. "It's good. I probably couldn't eat a bunch of them like you just did but—what's this kind called?"

This time he could see the curve of Italy's mouth as he grinned.

"I like those too. It's called a Roma tomato. But I wouldn't say it's a very Romano-like tomato."

"Oh God, not this again," Germany groaned. He took a second bite—he'd always eaten cold tomatoes, never one that was still warm from the sun, but the taste wasn't bad. It was just different. "Why? Because it's not very squishy on the insides?"

"Romano's very squishy in the middle," Italy agreed. "But also I think he'd have more seeds in him, too."

Germany shuddered.

"Please, let's not talk about Romano's seeds."

"I meant it as in something you'd have to spit out!" Italy rolled his eyes and smiled. "Don't be gross, Germany. Anyway, I bet they're probably done by now. I think we should start heading back, seeing how dark it got and how I'm almost blind now."

Germany finished his tomato and swallowed but still couldn't get rid of the sudden lump in his throat.

"This is going to be incredibly awkward," he sighed. Maybe he was just imagining it but it looked like storm clouds were forming on the horizon and that seemed to set the mood a little too well. "What am I supposed to say to them, exactly? 'Sorry I accidentally saw something that no creature should ever bear witness to?'"

"It's their business." Italy took his hands and squeezed them. "You don't have to say anything at all if you don't want to. And don't worry, I'll be right next to you the whole rest of the weekend so I'll protect you from Romano! And any more trauma, of course."

Germany sighed, and he smiled, and he wondered if maybe he should say it after all. He wanted to pull his hands away and he didn't. He wanted to act like an adult and talk about it, for Christ's sake. He wanted to know why the world required so many tomatoes and why he didn't just start covering himself in a layer of plastic wrap whenever Italy was around, because if Romano could do what he could not then he was doomed, doomed to live the rest of his life an arms' length from one of the few things he'd ever really wanted.

"Italy," Germany said, very seriously, "do you actually want to know what I think you smell like?"

Italy gave him a bewildered look that lasted for several seconds.

"Are you serious?" Now the grin was spreading all over his face. "Germany, I was joking before."

"Well thank goodness." Germany let out a snort that he couldn't help. "If you'd really like to know, Italy, the answer is that I really don't know. I didn't say this before because it's a stupid question in the first place but also because you don't smell like anything, I think, though maybe I've just been around you too long. And you probably won't believe this but I don't always have all the answers, you know, and sometimes I pretend just as much as everyone else. But if you do smell like something it's probably something good, and I'm not just saying that because I think it would hurt your feelings to hear otherwise. That's what I really think."

Italy blinked at him.

"I think that might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"What?" It was Germany's turn to look bewildered. "No it's not. Is it? No. Not even that I love you?"

"Oh!" Italy's eyes sparkled a little. How they did that, with minimal lighting, would forever be a mystery. "That's the most romantic thing you've said to me! I love you too, Germany!"

"Oh my God. I've said that before! I swear I have!"

"No you haven't!" Italy bounced up and down, excited. "That was the very first time! I was waiting for it! See, it was just kind of implied all along and I knew and everything but you hadn't ever actually said it! But now you did! I'm so happy!"

Germany made a pained sort of nose, and he knew there was nothing else he could at that moment, after hearing all that, but lean forward and kiss him. So he did, and Italy made a delighted little noise against his mouth.

"Wow," said Italy, and threw himself at him with a laugh. Germany hugged—held—him back. "You need to be traumatized more often. I love you, Germany!"

"I—love you too," Germany tried. "Italy, I'm sorry for being so incompetent at this. This is not an area where I excel."

"Incompetency where it counts is our middle names!" Italy told him, which wasn't helpful, exactly, but he was smiling so that made it a little easier to hear at least. "And don't worry, I'm used to it so it's okay! Even if it took a long time I knew you'd get around to it eventually."

"Incompetency?" Spain asked, out of nowhere. "Ita, you're not talking about me, are you?"

Germany very near to literally leapt out of his skin, but at least he wasn't the only one. He felt Italy jump, too.

"Oh! Hi Spain!" He seemed to recover quickly enough because the very next thing he did was skipp over to him for a hug, which Spain gladly gave him. "No, of course I wasn't talking about you! Did you come out to find us?"

"Well it is getting awfully dark if you hadn't noticed," said Spain. "So I thought I should come find you since even Romano was wondering why you'd been gone so long. I'm guessing you helping yourselves to some tomatoes?"

"Yup, we ate a whole bunch of them! Well, actually I was the one who ate a whole bunch of them and Germany tried just one. But they were just as good as always!"

"That's good to hear." Spain gave Italy an extra tight squeeze and laughed a little. "I'm so sorry about running you both off, I hope you're not mad. I was just trying to cheer Romano up and he doesn't normally act so affectionate so I ended up getting carried away. Well, not as carried away as we could have, but—" He trailed off somewhat wistfully.

"I understand," said Italy, with a wink so obnoxiously big Germany could see it even in the dark. "I'm sure it makes you happy when he finally shows you how much he likes you."

"Speaking of," Germany mumbled. "How much did you see just now? How incriminating was it?"

"What?" Spain looked confused. "I can't see any better than you two can. Was I supposed to see something?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about," said Italy. Germany glanced at him, but Italy just nodded at him and seemed to understand. It was their own business too, after all.

Culture Notes

*Tomatoes come in many more varieties than the round ones you might typically think of (called globe or slicing tomatoes), all of them grown for their unique flavors and uses. I can't link it here, but try looking up tomatoes on Wikipedia to see what I mean.