92. A Quiet Smile

Date Written: November 9, 2020

Date Posted: December 9, 2020

Characters: Veneziano, Germany, Japan

Summary: Italy may not have been a master of poetry, but it seemed like Germany was.

Notes:


Veneziano loved poetry. He wasn't necessarily the best at composing words, but he could definitely try. His lovers, often, would attest that he could practically sweep them off their feet with just a flick of his silver tongue or a well worded piece of parchment paper filled with loving words of adoration and similes.

Not everyone could definitely see the point in poetry.

Germany, the blessed Nation that he was, definitely did not see the poetry or the beauty in words.

The blond could definitely tell you the meter of the poem, the influences and the structure, but he could not see the point in producing his own. He was adept at prose and nonfictional works, but it took a definite stretch for his imagination to try and produce written art of his own.

Drawings, on the other hand, Veneziano could recently attest to was actually quite good. (Just a little more practice, but Veneziano was hopeful that one day, the German's art would one day rival his own).

So, in the aftermath of an unproductive meeting, the former members of the Axis decided to take it upon themselves to find a secluded corner of the room to relax. Unlike his presence in the meeting, Veneziano opted to relax and recharge because he had used up his social quota for the day. On the other hand, Germany was keen on questioning his two comrades if there was any part of the meeting that they had missed and if they would like to have a hand in filling the gaps in their notes.

Veneziano clumsily declined as he doodled in the margins of a tattered sketchbook that he brought along to meetings. Japan, on the other hand, decided to judge for himself if Germany was a worthy source for that day's meeting concerning fuel emissions and educational standards across the globe. (How those two were related, no one knew and no one actually cared enough to question it).

As Japan and Germany compared notes together, Veneziano began to fill in the underbelly of a cat that he had taken notice of that morning. It was a painstaking process given that he was using one of his more expensive, fine tipped pens so that he could achieve the desired effect of that of fine, downy fur. While most would have scoffed at the thought of creating art in the midst of the meeting, probably scolding the Italian for not paying attention, Veneziano paid them no mind.

For some odd reason, he found it easier to take notes and to listen to the discussion while he was drawing. It was just that easier for him to calm and relax enough for the presentation if his hands were preoccupied instead of lying flat on his lap or causing a ruckus by clicking his pen open and close.

After almost half an hour of perfecting his tabby cat, Veneziano happened to glance up and saw that his comrades were still in the throes of political passion. Right now, they were arguing if one of the stray comments in Russia's presentation should be retained or discarded given the context of said comment. North Italy watched fondly, as if he were a gentle older sibling who happened to attend to those who were younger than him. As he did so, he managed to catch sight of a yellow sticky note that was haphazardly attached to one Germany's professionally laminated binder. Intrigued that Germany would allow such a thing to be not be anchored on the inside or at the very least firmly attached to the cover, Veneziano took it upon himself to make sure that the note remained steady lest it should fall.

It was then that he realized, as his calloused fingers (because of years of handling instruments and swords), brushed against the paper, that the contents of the short note wasn't really meant for the meeting. In fact, if his Germany hadn't rusted over the past few interactions he had with the younger Nation, he could have sworn that—

"I-italy!" Germany nearly shrieked when he saw that his southern neighbor pawing at his note with a scrutinizing look in his dark brown eyes. "What are you doing? That could be sensitive information!"

Veneziano scoffed, almost offended that Germany thought that such a paltry, transparent lie would hold water against the former Venetian Republic. It took a lot more than friendship to stop Veneziano from digging a little deeper into matters that weren't supposed to be concerning him, but it was addicting to know that Germany was like putty in his hands.

Japan, who had been busy rectifying Germany's notes with a highlighter and a ruler, glanced at them in interest. Like Italy, Japan knew the instant Germany was lying. It was a talent that younger Nations needed time to master. For China, Italy, and many others, it was a tool of the trade that they had picked up a long time ago.

"If I didn't know any better," Italy drawled as he tapped a well manicured finger over the contents of the note, "I would say that you were writing poetry." His dark brown eyes narrowed. "However, I have a question."

Germany, slightly rising to the bait, gulped before answering, "What kind of question?"

"The Germany I know doesn't knowingly engage in art unless there was something he wanted to get out of it, pragmatism and all. So either you wanted to practice your hand at poetry or—" Here, Veneziano poked him hard in the chest. "—you've been writing this for someone special."

Japan, quiet until then, immediately began rising from his seat so that he could scrutinize the note as well. Germany, seeing this, tried to stop Japan, but he had unknowingly struck against the wrong Nation. Using this chance, Veneziano ripped the note away from the binder, hid it in his hand, and surreptitiously passed it to a slightly smirking Japan.

When Germany had realized that the handoff had occurred it was too late: Japan had began reading it and in slightly gratuitous German, began reading it aloud.

Who knew that Japan had a streak of mischief? Or perhaps Italy had been rubbing off on him.

When Japan finished, both of the elder Nations stared down at their younger cohort, their eyes filled with mirth and their smiles just a tad too wide to be considered normal.

"A beaming face like that of a moon in the midst of a dark night sky?"

"As flighty and spry like the fae of old?"

"With eyes that speak of secrets and a quiet smile?"

Both Nations couldn't help it. They had to ask, "Who are you and what have you done with Germany?"

Beside himself with irritation and embarrassment, Germany hid his burning cheeks behind his binder as he mumbled, "He… He likes poetry so I thought that I could try as well."

Veneziano couldn't help but coo as he reached over and ruffled his friend's hair while Japan set to work in giving sage advice in wooing people.

Ah, young love and the joys of what one would do to attain that level of admiration from their object of their affections!

Truly, it was like watching a much younger version of himself finally grow up.