(Check out the Inspo/Ambience Playlist at /playlist?list=PL7238DO0bdOUZo3hb9Ox8ZnQhutq_xPx6)

When he felt the smooth wood against his hands once again, Germany knew to focus. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself gripping the small pushbroom. He twirled it in his hands, desperately searching for signs of familiarity before the pain set in. The headache set in, an excruciating pain that forced his hands to move towards his head, the forgotten pushbroom clattering to the ground. His weak heartbeat fluttered in his chest and head. An unknown voice cooed in his ear, Don't worry...you'll be okay…, and they mumbled a name that escaped his memory.

The name, Germany thought, I have to get the name, the name, what is the name? Ask him, ask him for the name, the name, the-

"Name!" he gasped. He sat up quickly, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. As his breathing began slowing to its normal pace, he glanced around the room. It was morning.

The same dream. He rubbed his bleary eyes.

Germany had been experiencing this dream every night for the past week. Its significance was unknown, but its recurring nature meant that Germany realized it must be important. The dream started innocently enough with a sensation in his hands, a smooth object spinning between his fingers. The next night, he focused more on this sensation, realizing that it was a piece of wood; two nights later, it revealed itself to be a small pushbroom. These miniscule details revealed themselves with great concentration, but the meaning of the dream eluded him and he was determined to fix that. Something about this strange dream cut deep into his soul and he found himself unnecessarily disturbed that the name escaped his knowledge; perhaps it was the simple fact of not knowing who this person was, or perhaps it was the dehumanizing nature of not knowing a name, or perhaps his feelings on the matter were, too, a mystery.

Germany pushed the covers back and stepped out of bed, stretching as he grew accustomed to being conscious again. Recognizing that he needed coffee to kick his senses into gear, he left his bedroom and made sure to close the door behind him, always meticulous to the small details. This was a habit he had picked up from Austria.

He descended the wooden staircase, the floorboards creaking beneath him as he made his way to the first floor. The bottom of the staircase opened to the living room, bright with morning sun that made the dark floorboards spar. Though Austria's extravagance sometimes irked him, Germany couldn't deny that the Turdor-style house was stunning in both location and decor. Sharing a home with Austria and Prussia proved to be an interesting experience, to say the least, but Germany often reminded himself of how lucky they were to live in a place like this.

Germany stepped into the kitchen, the sunlight glistening even brighter across the white countertops. The counters lining the wall housed a large window that provided a beautiful view for the boys to see as they made their morning coffee, and ironically, at the center island sat Austria sipping a cup of Earl Grey. Germany felt unkempt next to Austria, wearing his black tank top and boxers as Austria donned his typical white dress shirt, white jabot, and black dress pants. As he entered the room, Austria quickly glanced up at him, then looked back into his tea cup. The steam from the fresh cup of tea slightly fogged his glasses.

"I thought you would never get out of bed," Austria said, "very unlike you."

"It's still early," Germany responded. He made his way to the coffee maker and opened the cabinet above it, revealing the coffee grounds and paper filters.

"True," Austria nodded, "you're better than your brother. I typically don't see him until lunchtime."

Germany laid the filter in the coffee maker, carefully scooping the grounds into the machine. "Should I make a full pot?"

"I won't be having any," Austria said as he gently swirled his cup, "I'm content with my tea."

"Fair enough."

Germany fell silent as he moved towards the refrigerator. He opened it and quickly grabbed the milk, thankful that Austria kept everything consistently organized. On a typical day, he would ask Austria about his plans for the day, but the abrupt awakening and dull headache from the dream kept him pondering what it could all mean.

"Are you alright, Germany?"

Germany turned to Austria. Their eyes locked onto one another. Germany knew Austria long enough to analyze his emotions from the way his eyes looked, and from the focused expression, Germany knew that Austria, concerned, was about to initiate a conversation that he wanted no part in.

"Yes," he lied, "I'm fine. I didn't sleep very well, that's all."

"You and me both," Austria said, his gaze unwavering, "your brother came home late last night. You know how he slams the doors-I assume that kept you up, as well." Austria scanned Germany's eyes, attempting to read his emotions, but Germany had a way of concealing his feelings that made him unreadable.

Looking to escape the all-knowing eye, Germany turned back to the coffee maker and prepared his cup. He slipped the milk back into the fridge and kept his head slightly lowered as he left the room. Germany made his way to the couch and looked towards the window, the leaves of the trees slightly swaying in the breeze. He felt slightly guilty for evading Austria, but talking was not a coping strategy he was particularly familiar with. The three men tended to keep their emotions to themselves, so when his mind felt heavy, Germany found himself eager to exercise–unfortunately for him, training was not held on the weekends. Though he knew he needed to rest his body, Germany considered what the consequences may be if he went on a short run. The dream both confused and angered him, confusing in its significance and angering that he could not stop it, nor glean any useful information from it. After three successive nights of the dream, he debated going to Austria or Prussia for help, but resolved to keep it to himself. It would be fuel for the fire, ammunition for an awkward conversation, and would likely lead to more headache than resolution.

The front door suddenly burst open, and though the view of the foyer was partially obscured in the living room, Germany could tell by the door's swing and the entrant's heavy footsteps that it was his brother. His annoyance at the usual stomping was trumped by the bewilderment that Prussia was awake earlier than 11am.

Prussia waltzed into sight, kicking his boots into the foyer before fully entering the living room. Germany's older brother was dressed a bit differently than usual, sporting a white t-shirt and black jeans with his now-kicked-off combat boots. He cast his usual devilish grin towards Germany. "Don't want Austria to lecture me on cleanliness."

Germany glanced to the boots laying on the floor haphazardly, then back to Prussia. "Oh, I'm sure he still will," he said. He couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips as he took a sip of his coffee. The dichotomy of Austria of Prussia made life amusing, but thankfully, Germany's personality acted as a bridge between the two. Germany's organization, cleanliness, and manners were more akin to Austria, but Prussia always knew exactly what to say and do to connect with Germany both endearingly and offensively; this time, thankfully, it was endearingly. Prussia usually made him chuckle, a sight seldom achievable by the other countries.

"Your boyfriend and I bumped into each other this morning," Prussia exhaled as he plopped down next to Germany.

Now, Germany felt the flip side of their connection burning him worse than the hot coffee. "He's not my boyfriend and you know it."

Prussia laughed and slammed his hand against Germany's back, making him cough with the sheer amount of force. "You say that every day, and then I ask you, 'What about tomorrow, will you be official tomorrow?', and then you say-"

Germany coughed in response, trying to regain his breath. Prussia continued, "but, anyways, he was wondering why you didn't text him yet."

The bothersome dream caused his mind to be elsewhere, and with that, Germany completely forgot to check his phone. His morning routine consisted of texting Italy at 7:30 sharp and this routine was crumbling under his newfound stress, starting with waking up late.

"Shit," Germany sighed, "Thanks for reminding me."

"You're a bad boyfriend, Westie."

"This coffee in my hands is sparing you from a pillow to the face."

"Thank God for that," Austria's voice boomed sharply.

Prussia and Germany turned towards the voice in shock. Austria moved towards them and stood on the opposite end of the living room with his arms crossed.

"Throw pillows aren't supposed to be taken literally," Austria said.

"And you can thank God for that, too," Prussia responded. He squinted both eyes and stuck a tongue out at Austria.

This dissolved into the typical bickering and Germany watched the show as he sipped his coffee. Austria's crossed arms got increasingly tense and his brow furrowed while Prussia chuckled and bared funny faces towards his opposer. Their relationship appeared to Germany like that in a stereotypical sitcom, a love-hate brotherly love that all returned to that central idea: brothers. Austria was not related by blood, but his place in their family practically rendered him as such. The three of them had been together since the beginning, the only family that each man had. Germany could not remember a time when Austria was not there and looked to him as an older-brother, pseudo-father figure, to some dismay by Prussia, though Prussia refrained from talking about the past. Germany learned long ago to not pry about their childhoods and other family members, as it upset both Prussia and Austria for some unknown reason. There were many unspoken ideologies that loomed over them, but Germany learned to not ask questions while Prussia and Austria learned to not bring up situations that would result in questions. Nonetheless, Germany felt content with his life up until the arrival of the dream. Some quality of that dream kept Germany's mind in constant turmoil and he struggled to push it out of his thoughts. What was that broom? The name? A part of him wanted to ask questions while the other part knew that questions meant conversation, and conversation meant awkward interactions between his brothers that he did not want to get into. He couldn't shake his mind from this dilemma and the meaning of this relentless dream.

"What's up with you?" Prussia jeered, calling Germany's mind back to reality.

Germany realized that the conversation was over and Austria was disappearing into another room. Even the back of his head was readable to Germany: Austria, frustrated, had lost the battle and retreated to his drawing room.

"What?"

"I asked what's up with you."

"Nothing," Germany said unconvincingly.

Prussia sighed and rose from the couch. "I'll leave you be, then," he resolved. He ruffled Germany's hair as he had always done. Prussia was halfway to the kitchen when Germany spoke up.

"What if I had a question for you? About where we came from?"

Prussia abruptly stopped moving. He did not turn to face his brother and Germany watched the hairs on the back of Prussia's neck prickle.

In any other situation, Germany would charge forward with zero hesitation, yet this type of conversation made his instincts tell him to retreat.

"What is it?" Prussia said.

Germany neglected to think about what he would say after the initial question. "...I don't know," he stammered, "I've been thinking about our origins recently. I feel like I barely know who we are, who our family is, where we came from."

Prussia did not move for a few moments and Germany's mind raced with worry, wondering what would happen next. When Prussia pivoted to face Germany, his expression wore a soft smile. He moved back towards Germany and, when they were next to one another once more, Prussia gave him a quick hug. Germany could not hug back, only hold his coffee in one outstretched arm and use his free arm to reciprocate the affection.

"We always have been and always will be family," Prussia spoke quietly in Germany's ear, "and that's all you need to know. Do you understand?"

Germany paused before speaking. "Yes," he said slowly, "I understand."

Prussia pulled away from him and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before moving towards the kitchen once more. Germany watched him slip into the next room, feeling unsatisfied with the answer he received. Not wanting to continue that conversation, he quickly finished the rest of his coffee and left the mug on the table. He made his way back up the stairs, tuning out the creaking as he contemplated what he wanted to do. He wanted to run more than anything, but knowing that he should give his body a break, Germany returned to his bedroom and found his phone.

A missed call and two texts from Italy, he sighed, I'd better return those.

Germany's mind swirled with the dream, Austria's eyes searching for the problem, and Prussia's avoidance of the question. He realized that if he couldn't carry a deep conversation with his family, his first choice of support system would be Italy. His approachable personality made it easy for someone as reserved as Germany to discuss his thoughts, though these discussions were more akin to venting sessions than advice. Whether it was the guilt of not texting him, the weakness of his typically-guarded heart, or simply craving an answer to even something simple, Germany gave into his idea.

TEXT THREAD: ITALY

G: Good morning, Italy. I'm sorry for texting you so late in the morning.

I: Ciao, Germany, hello hello! I missed you!

G: I missed you, too. What are your plans for the day?

I: I'm just going to see what happens! Why? Did you want to see me? :3

G: Yes, actually. Can I pick you up in an hour for lunch?

I: YES :3

Germany prepared to get dressed and pick up Italy, all the while pondering the strange and frustrating nature of the morning.