Chapter 7: Singing

Germany faded into consciousness slowly, the light from the windows shining through his eyelids. Verdammt, he forgot to set his alarm. Guess a morning jog was off the table. The second thing he was aware of was the body curled into his. Of his arm around a soft waist. Italy's forehead lay a few inches from Germany's own, his clasped hands resting between their chests as they rose and fell. Germany squinted slightly from the bright light of the sun. For a few unguarded moments, he let them roam across Italy's relaxed face.

His long eyelashes cast thin, almost invisible shadows underneath his closed eyes. His hair was pushed away from his forehead, allowing the sunlight to spill across his face. Germany pondered on the fact that he had never noticed the light freckles that were peppered across the bridge of his nose. They were so light and small that they were probably impossible to see from further away.

Germany took a breath, carefully withdrawing his arm from Italy's waist. It was probably better that he leave now and make them breakfast than try to explain to Italy why he was awake and still in bed. His bare feet hit the carpet of the room as he stood, stretched, and scratched the back of his head before he looked back down at Italy. He noticed that the covers had settled on the dip of his waist. Before he could consider what he was doing, Germany bent over and pulled the covers to rest on Italy's shoulders. Italy stirred, but continued his slumber.

Germany's first order of business was to make something for breakfast. He rummaged around the kitchen, finding the few ingredients required to make German breakfast pancakes. Eggs, milk, flour, salt. Simple. This recipe was the taste of his childhood, as this was about the only thing Prussia was capable of making himself. As a result, he didn't even use a recipe as he mixed the ingredients together. He had memorized the consistency and taste. By the time the oven was preheated, the batter was already poured into a greased pan. He set the batter in the oven before pacing back to the guest room, being quiet as he strode across the carpet to the bathroom.

Before he went to bed the night before, he made sure to unpack all his stuff and set his toiletries in the bathroom. He turned on the water to brush his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. He lowered the toothbrush. Perhaps Italy could look at himself in the mirror and see who he was before Holy Rome fell. Maybe he could look back and reminisce on how much he had changed since then. But all Germany could remember as he looked in the mirror was when he was young Germany. Never Holy Rome. Sure, he could see that they were one and the same. But when he tried to visualize himself as Holy Rome, all he could see was when he was living at Prussia's house, trying to figure out paperwork designed for a full grown man.

He finished brushing his teeth, leaning against the bathroom counter. He sighed to himself, wondering just how long it would take to adjust to this revelation. He pulled his hair gel from the cabinet, and combed his hair. Did Holy Rome grease his hair back, or did he let it hang down? He squirted gel into his palms and rubbed them together, running them over his platinum blonde hair. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror before nodding with satisfaction and rinsing his hands off. He left the bathroom, looking over at Italy as he crossed over to the dresser. The wood drawer scraped against the body of the dresser, causing Germany to cringe. He gathered his clothes, his grimace deepening as the drawers continued to scrape. He finally finished gathering his clothes. He padded lightly across the carpeted floor back to the bathroom, stopping and turning as he heard rustling on the bed.

Italy stretched and yawned before opening his eyes. "Hmm... good morning, Germany. You're already up?"

Germany glanced down at the watch on top of the stack of clothes. "Of course. It's almost nine."

"Ooh! I got up early!" Italy cheered, sitting up.

"I don't know how you get anything done." Germany chastised, shaking his head. "Get dressed and set the table. Breakfast will be ready soon."

Italy stood from the bed. "I like it when you come over, Germany, I wake up to breakfast!"

"Ja Ja, It will be ready in about twenty minutes."

Italy walked out of the room, humming some song to himself.

Germany locked the door to the bedroom, and changed into his outfit for the day. He surveyed himself in the mirror. He was wearing a barely-blue dry fit T-shirt with a pair of khaki cargo pants. He had pulled some black military boots over them. He turned slightly to the side. Overall, he looked pretty good. He didn't look nearly as pasty with this shirt on. To finish off, he grabbed his pair of sunglasses off the dresser and left the room. He smelled the pancake in the oven as he walked in the kitchen, surprised to see that Italy had already gotten dressed and was sitting at the set table.

The circular table had been draped in a white tablecloth, with two plates set across from eachother. At the right of each plate there was a tall glass of orange juice and Italy had taken a long, narrow glass from the cupboard and stuck in a couple blue cornflowers from the garden. Italy was sitting there, folding forks and knives into fabric napkins. "Ciao, Germany! I set the table!"

"I see that. Looks nice." Germany said, setting his sunglasses on the counter and grabbing two potholders. He opened the oven door and pulled out the German breakfast pancake, nodding to himself as he noticed it had baked perfectly.

Italy was at his shoulder, sniffing. "Mm! Is that a breakfast casserole?"

"No. It's a German breakfast pancake. You eat it with syrup and butter."

"Mm! I'll go find them!" Italy volunteered, scampering off.

Germany carried the hot dish over to the table, placing it on the potholders. "We're ready."

Italy bounced over, carrying the butter and maple syrup. "Yay! I'm so hungry."

"You're always hungry." Germany said.

Italy nodded. "But this is something new! New food always makes me more hungry!"

Germany sat down, hoping Italy's expectations weren't too high. "It's really nothing. There are only five ingredients." He cut away a piece, offering a hand out for Italy's plate.

Italy passed it over. "You're a great cook, Germany! It'll be delicious!"

Germany passed the plate back, a piece of the bubbly pancake weighing it down. He was about to continue the conversation as Italy's phone rang in his back pocket, playing the Crystal Gems theme song. Gemany furrowed his brow. "Who calls during breakfast?"

Italy shrugged, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. As he looked down at it, Germany could read that the screen said il fratellino.

"Seborga." Germany said, unsurprised. If there was anyone he knew to call during a mealtime...

Italy swiped the screen.

Seborga's tinny breathing came through the speaker. "Che succede, stronza!"

"Speakerphone, Seborga!" Italy warned, sounding slightly harried.

"Oh, my bad. I'll translate: What's up, bitch?! and Germany and Japan, probably? Ciao, guys!" Seborga corrected.

"Just Germany and I!" Italy answered, leaning on his hand as he cut away a piece of the pancake.

"Where's Japan? I like that guy!"

Italy peered over at Germany across the table, gesturing toward the phone.

Germany cleared his throat awkwardly. "He had to go back home. Apparently his boss needed him."

"Aww, shame. How long are you staying, Germany?"

"Six days." He answered.

"Mm... lucky you, Veniciano, huh?" Seborga added coyly.

Italy raised an eyebrow. "What-?"

"-You get to spend all that time with your best friend!" Seborga finished.

Germany felt his cheeks heat up, well aware that according to Prussia, Seborga likely knew how he felt about Italy.

"Oh, yes!" Italy brightened up, looking excitedly at Germany. "We're touring Rome today!"

"Whoa, really? I love it there!" Seborga replied. "What are you going to see?"

"We've already decided on the Colluseum," Italy frowned, thinking. "We wanted to talk about what we would do today, but..."

"He fell asleep." Germany finished, shaking his head.

"Sounds like my brother." Seborga laughed. "You guys should stop by my neck of the woods sometime!"

"Ooh, I would love that! It's been too long!" Italy agreed. He turned to Germany. "Have you ever been, Germany?"

Germany hummed. "I can't say I have. Might be nice."

"Might?" Seborga asked. "It's the hidden jewel of Italy! Even better than Rome, if you ask me. I'd be glad to have you! Veniciano, could you take me off the speaker for a moment?"

Italy nodded, not looking surprised by the sudden change in subject. Apparently, this was behavior he was accustomed to. "Sure." He swiped the phone, holding it to his ear. He shoveled a final bite of the pancake into his mouth before he left the table. "Hmm?"

Germany picked at his food as he heard Italy's voice go down the hallway. "I'm fine. It was just a shock, you know?" There was a pause. Germany heard a door open. "Yes, but..." His sentence was cut off as the door shut.

After he finished his meal, Germany cleared away his dishes and put them in a dishwasher. The kitchen was clean by the time Italy had finished his phone call and had come back.

"I'm sorry that I left the mess to you, Germany." Italy apologized, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Germany slung the damp drying towel over his shoulder as he finished drying up the last dish. "You don't fool me for a second, Italy. You're glad you didn't have to clean up."

Italy giggled, picking up his glass. "You got me."

"You did bring up a fair point earlier, though. What did you want to see in Rome?" Germany asked, taking his seat at the table.

"The Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel... they're so pretty."

"That's it?"

"The Spanish Steps, probably."

"That isn't much." Said Germany.

"Well if we plan on walking and enjoying the weather, it's plenty! Plus if we stop for lunch, maybe dinner... plus if we want to come back and take a siesta..."

Germany considered this. "I suppose so... the only concern will be crowds."

Italy shook his head. "Actually, November is one of the least busy times! The only thing we would have to worry about would be rain, but this week is miraculously dry! And not too hot, either. You came at the perfect time!"

"Hmm... very convenient."

"Right? I'd guess that's fate telling you to take vacations more often." Italy replied.

"Should we go after breakfast?' Germany asked.

Italy nodded, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth. "Done!" He said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food.

"Gross. Take care of your dishes and I'll pack a backpack." Germany said.

Italy nodded, carrying his plate and glass back.

Germany shook his head as he went back to his room to grab a backpack. He threw in his wallet, ensuring that his I.D. was there. It was unique, showing both a front, and side photo. On the bottom right was an insignia showing that he was a personification of a nation. His eye color was described, as well as his height and age. 148 years old. In parentheses before the number, was a line of text that said: German Empire. Luckily, the section that detailed his name said Germany. He would have to remind Italy to grab his. He stopped in the kitchen to throw various snacks in the bag. Though his paycheck as a nation was generous, he didn't plan on wasting it frivolously.

"Italy?" He called through the house.

Thundering footsteps through the hall answered him. "Here!" He was donned in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Germany was taken aback as he noticed the Gucci fanny pack buckled around his waist.

"Italy, I don't think it's a good idea to wear that out."

"What, you mean this?" Italy pointed at the fanny pack.

Germany nodded. "It's going to be a target for pick-pockets. Not to mention it's ugly."

Italy gasped. "Ugly?! It's the height of fashion!"

Germany squinted. "Why did you even buy it?"

"Romano told me they were cool." Italy shrugged. "He has five at his house."

Germany sighed. He doubted he would ever understand Italy and his siblings. "If you're fine with being robbed..."

"I won't be!" Italy assured him, grabbing his keys out of the key bowl.

"No you don't, we're driving my car." Germany said, leaning over to grab his own keys. He tried not to notice just how close he was to Italy. His back was nearly touching his chest.

"Fine." Italy said, closing the space between him and leaning back against Germany. "You can drive."

Germany cleared his throat, stepping backward, catching Italy by the shoulders as he almost fell backwards. "Whoa." He pushed Italy back into a standing position. "I don't want to be stranded in Rome when your keys are stolen with your ugly fanny pack."

"But it won't be stolen!" Italy protested. He grabbed a sketchbook off the counter and shoved it into Germany's backpack as he followed Germany through a door in the hallway to the garage.

The air was several degrees hotter in there. Germany noticed junk in cardboard boxes stacked all around them, providing only a narrow path for them to walk toward the car. He needed to get Italy to organize the garage. "And you can guaruntee this?" He asked, opening the door to his black car.

"Well... no." Italy admitted, sliding in the passenger side. "But if it gets stolen, you can protect me and get it back from the thief!"

Germany started the car, rolling down the windows immediately. He wanted to enjoy the nice weather. "Unlikely." He backed the car out of the garage. "I would probably be doing you a favor by letting the thief take it." He teased, starting down the driveway. He looked out the side window. Italy's estate was perched on the top of a hill, with a spiral road encircling it to the bottom. Through the canopy of the trees, the city was sprawled beneath them in a crowd of matchbox buildings and little ant cars.

Italy harrumphed in his seat. "Well if you're going to be mean to me, I'm going to control the music."

Germany smiled to himself, directing his eyes back to the road. "That's fair." Germany wasn't a fan of Italy's music, but this trip was to comfort him. "Go ahead."

Italy raised his eyebrows and smiled, apparently not expecting Germany's consent. "Yay!" He pulled out his phone. "Now... what should I turn on? Ooh!"

Looking over briefly to Italy's phone, he saw a song called: 'Per un Milione'.

Italy looked out the window as the tones of the song rang through the car, his light voice joining in as the lyrics started with an accelerated beat. "Ti giuro che l'attesa aumenta il desiderio, È un conto alla rovescia…"

Though Germany couldn't understand what they were saying, he found his head subtly bouncing along with the beat of the music as they drove off the hill and onto the country roads. The song appeared to be a rap song of sorts, and it had a bit of a relaxed feel to it. As they drove closer to Rome, there was a mix of Italian and English songs, very few of which Germany knew of. And Italy sang to every single one. While this would have ordinarily annoyed him, Germany was initially too taken with the warmth, the sun, and the relaxation of driving that he couldn't find himself to clear. As they were on the edge of the city, though, he was quickly running out of patience.

"Ooh, I love this song!" Italy cheered as guitar tones came through. He turned up the music yet again. Bradley Cooper started singing, and Germany recognized the song immediately. America had been posting it on his Instagram story for weeks now.

Italy appeared to be content with just listening until Lady Gaga came on, during which Italy sang quietly. As they pulled up to a stoplight, Italy vibrated with excitement.

"Germany, listen to me hit this high note."

"Oh-"

"I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I'll never meet the ground..." Italy screeched, his voice cracking.

Germany winced. He noticed the other people parked around them were turning their heads and staring. "Italy, please stop."

"No- CRASH THROUGH THE SURFACE, WHERE THEY CAN'T HURT US," Italy scream-sang the song even louder, prompting Germany to roll up the windows with the hope that Italy's cracking voice wouldn't be heard by strangers. "It's not working."

"Obviously! You can't sing!" Germany barked over the bass rattling his speakers.

"My heart can!" Italy replied quickly, clearing his throat as Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper harmonized the next lyrics.

"Your heart sounds terrible..." Germany muttered to himself, resigning himself to his fate.

Italy ignored him, leaning forward as he prepared for the next part. As Lady Gaga began vocalizing, so did he. His absurdly high voice strained against the low notes, but followed as it launched into the high note. Italy spasmed excitedly as he held it, grabbing Germany's shoulder and shaking it frantically.

The light finally turned green, Germany batting his hand away as he drove. "Yes, good job, you can sing. Now can you please stop!"

Italy excitedly sang the chorus on pitch this time, excitedly punching the air with each beat of the drum. Too excited to care about singing properly with the rest of the song, he shouted out the last bit of the song as it grated on Germany's ears.

As the ending notes faded out, Germany found that he was somewhat impressed with how well Italy did singing the song. Granted, he would have rather gone without hearing Italy's pitchy singing during the beginning and ending, but it was still rather impressive.

Italy gasped as the next song came on. "Germany! We should sing that song together sometime!"

"What?" Germany asked, turning the corner. "No."

"Why not? I bet you could do it if you really tried!"

Germany shook his head. "I don't sing."

"Aww, but Germany, I bet you have a pretty voice! You do when you're not shouting at me."

Germany was starting to get irritated. "You're getting close to me shouting at you now."

Italy shrugged, knowing it was an empty threat. "Okay, but I'm just saying..."

Germany was about to reply when Italy sat forward in his seat, pointing.

"Look! The colosseum!"

Indeed, it was standing down the street. Germany was pleased to see that there were not too many people around it. Not that it would have mattered. A quick flash of the I.D. and him and Italy would be allowed first priority into any cultural or historical attraction for free. One of the perks of being a nation, he supposed. But it wasn't one he utilized often.

"It doesn't look busy!" Italy added, sitting back in his seat.

"Did you bring your I.D.?"

Italy unzipped the ugly fanny pack, withdrawing his wallett. "Yup!" He showed it to Germany, the photos having a hint of a smile.

"Good. We're going to need it."

Italy smiled, looking back out the window.