Chapter 9: Coffee

They left the colosseum, Italy leading the way as he chattered. "Are you feeling hungry, Germany? I'm feeling hungry. I wonder where we should go! There's so many places we could go, too. And so much food to eat!"

Germany simply nodded, letting Italy continue.

"If you want somewhere nice, I know a great place to sit down. But we're not really dressed for nice places, are we? Let's try something new! Something unique! What do you say?"

Germany grunted. "Sounds good."

"Great! There's a place we can go – we'll have to drive, but still – It's only a few minutes' drive, and it's a park! There's lots of food vendors and stuff!"

"How much is a few minutes'?"

Italy hummed. "Around twenty, I think..."

Germany pulled out his phone and opened his map app. "Nineteen minutes." He clicked around for a moment later, looking up the various attractions they hoped to see.

"Excellent! That's a short drive, and then we can look at everything else we wanted to see!"

Germany hummed. "Excellent unless you consider the fact that everything we want to see is within ten minutes' walking distance." He slid his phone back in his pocket, facing Italy. "We may have to have a late lunch."

Italy perked up. "Oh, that's okay! I know a great little shop with delicious pastries! We could have a snack!"

"There's no need." Germany said, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it. "I brought snacks so we could save money."

Italy slumped a little. "Really? But the food here is so good!"

"Oranges are good, too." Germany protested, pulling one out. "I also have protein bars, trail mix, baby carr-"

"Ugh!" Italy interrupted, tilting his head back. "I can't believe you packed protein bars!"

"They're practical!" Said Germany.

"But so boring!" Italy took the orange and set it back in the bag. "Why eat oranges when we could have Pandoro! Canoli! There's even a place that makes Ricciarelli year-round, Germany. Ricciarelli! I haven't had it since last Christmas, and it's right around the corner!"

"Christmas is next month. Can't you have one then?" Germany pointed out. Despite this, however, he zipped up his bag and slung it on his shoulders. "But if you insist-" The things Italy could convince him to do…

"Oh, I do! Thank you, Germany!" Italy sprung forward and wrapped Germay in a hug.

Germany stiffened. "Ja, but after this we're eating the food I brought."

Italy released Germany, still smiling as he took his hand and pulled him along. "That's fine, the Ricciarelli place is right up here!"

Germany resigned himself, jogging to keep up with Italy as they turned the corner.

Italy pointed at a brown and tan striped awning. "That one!" They stopped and entered the shop, the smell of delicious baked goods hitting them like a wall. Italy took a long, deep sniff. "Mm…"

The shop was small and cozy, with a two glass cases on either side of a bored-looking employee sitting behind a cash register. The lighting was slightly dim, and the rays from a few windows bathed the round tables and chairs in a warm, golden light. All in all, a cute pastry shop. Germany sniffed as well, relenting that Italy probably made the right decision in turning down his protein bars.

Italy flounced right up to the employee, Germany following. "Posso per favore avere un Ricciarelli con un cappuccino?"

The bored looking teenage boy nodded. "Sì." He looked expectantly up at Germany.

Germany glanced at Italy, unsure of what to say.

"Just try." Italy said. "I'll translate for you if you need."

"I know hardly any Italian." Germany protested quietly.

Italy shrugged. "Still Italian!"

"Uhh…" Germany straightened, beginning to speak in his heavily accented Italian. "Per favore... what were those called again?"

"Ricciarelli."

"Ricciarelli." Germany finished, cringeing slightly as he botched the 'r's.

The boy nodded again, punching the price into the cash register. "Qualcos'altro che vuoi?"

"What did he say?" Germany muttered to Italy.

"He asked if there was anything else we wanted." Italy answered.

"Ask him for a plain, black coffee, please. I don't know how." Germany requested.

Italy smiled at him. "Sure!" He turned to the employee. "Posso per favore avere un canoli, un zeppole, due baicoli, una torta caprese, e un caffè semplice?"

Germany frowned, thinking that it was taking Italy an awfully long time to order a coffee. His suspicions were confirmed, however, as the price was rung up. "You didn't just order a coffee."

"Of course not!" Italy agreed, pulling euro out of his fanny pack. "The food here is incredible!"

Germany looked at the bills in Italy's hand. "Here, we can split the pay."

Italy grabbed Germany's hand as it started for his wallet. "No, no! You're a guest!" Before Germany could protest, Italy handed over the bills to the cashier.

Germany resolved to sneak the money to Italy later. "Danke."

Italy went and took a seat at the nearest table, sitting with his back to the sun. He hummed with satisfaction as it warmed his back.

Germany watched with a small smile, snapping out of it when the employee tapped him on the shoulder and offered him a small cup of black coffee. "Danke. Uh… Grazie." He said, accepting it.

The employee nodded, turning to gather the assorted pastries as Germany joined Italy at the table.

After they'd eaten their way through far too many desserts, they were back on the streets. "What all did you want to see, Italy?" Germany asked.

"Hmm..." He stopped in the shade of a tree. "I wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, the Pantheon... I think that's it."

Germany pulled out his phone and tapped around for a moment, on a quest to find how far away they were. "We may want to find the car and drive there. It's quite a long walk."

Italy hummed. "That's okay, I would love to go on a drive!"

"As long as you don't plan on singing..." Germany agreed.

"What are you talking about? I have a lovely singing voice!" Italy protested, the pair walking alongside each other back to the car.

"Not when you're screaming along to the songs."

Italy laughed. "Well I have to agree to that." There was a slight pause as he appeared to be thinking. "You have a lovely singing voice too, Germany!"

"This again?" Germany frowned at him. "You've never even heard it!"

"Of course I have!" Italy argued, now swinging his arms as he walked. "Sometimes when you come over and you think I'm sleeping or too focused on my painting, you sing quietly to yourself! Most of your songs are in German, so I can't understand, but it's still pretty..."

Germany felt an intense blush rise on his cheeks. "If I had known you were listening..."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of!" Italy said, grinning. "There's nothing wrong with having a pretty singing voice! Like have you ever heard America's? Or France's?"

Germany raised an eyebrow. "How do you know this?"

"Well if someone didn't stay home from karaoke night every year, you would know it too! Even Prussia goes!"

Germany looked ahead, turning into the street where his car was parked. "What did he sing?"

"Well, last year was Fergalicious." Italy answered, chuckling.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Mein Gott. That must have been entertaining, though... when's the next karaoke night?"

"Umm... next month, first weekend, I think." Italy gasped, rounding the front of the car to his door. "Does that mean you're going?!"

"I'm not committing to anything yet. Possibly." Germany answered.

Italy buckled in. "You sound like Japan."

"I suppose I do, don't I?" Germany "Does he go?"

"No." Italy shook his head. "I mostly hang out with Romano and Spain. Sometimes Ms. Hungary."

Germany pulled out into the street, considering the proposition. "Hmm... is singing mandatory?"

"Of course not! It's very relaxed." Italy answered, plugging the AUX chord in his phone. "Any requests?"

Germany shook his head. "You can control the music."

The two drove in relative silence, enjoying the music and warm weather. Germany was about five minutes' driving time away from the pantheon when Italy gasped.

"Germany, stop!" He sounded harried. Panicked, even.

"What? Why?" Germany asked urgently, already pulling over to the side of the street.

"You have to pull over now! Quick! Please!"

Germany pulled into a clumsy parallel park, facing Italy. "What? What is it? Are you okay?"

Italy smiled and pointed across Germany. "Look!"

Germany followed his finger. "What?"

"That building! There's something really cool in there!"

"What could possibly be so important as to panic me into parking here?"

"A mask!"

"A mask?"

"It's a really cool mask!"

Germany blinked, processing what just happened. "You made me park so suddenly. You scared me while I was driving. You impeded our progress and ruined our schedule. You panicked me into thinking you were hurt or in danger for a mask?!"

"It's a magic mask, though!" Italy protested.

Germany's forehead fell to the steering wheel with a loud thunk. "Oh, a magic mask. Perfect. Well that fixes everything." He looked over to Italy, still hunching his shoulders. "And I assume I need to see this mask right now?"

"You're mad at me." Italy said, his excitement fading.

"Very astute observation." Germany replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just don't do that to me while I'm driving. Okay?"

"Okay. Sorry, Germany."

Germany sighed, straightening and pushing himself against his seat. "It's okay... do you really want to see this mask?"

"Yes please!"

Germany unbuckled. "Fine. But only for a little."

"Yay! Thank you, Germany!" Hardly a second had passed before he had risen out of his seat and waiting outside of the car.

Germany left the car, waiting for the traffic to clear before crossing the street. "What's so special about this mask, anyway?"

"Well, it's magic."

"I remember." Germany stepped onto the opposite sidewalk. "I mean what's the magic?"

Italy hummed as they started toward the building. "There is an old legend."

"There's an old legend with everything in Italy." Germany observed, looking around. "You couldn't throw a rock around here without it landing on something with an intense history."

"Not here in Rome." Italy agreed, laughing. "But this one is interesting!" They turned into the building.

"Well, while we're walking to this mask, tell me this legend."

"Ooh! Good idea!" Italy quipped. "Well, back a long, long time ago... no one knows exactly when... there was a woman who was unfaithful to her husband. When he found out, he called a crowd of people and took his wife over here to see a mask."

"A crowd of people?" Germany asked as they walked through the twisting hallways. "To witness their private business?"

Italy nodded.

"Sounds like a decent fellow."

"Right? So anyway, they were sitting in front of this mask. It was gigantic! A river god with an open mouth. Everyone knew what made this mask so special. If a liar stuck their hand in its mouth, it would bite it clean off!"

"Oh, so the woman stuck her hand in the mask's mouth, then it got bitten off, then she was shunned for her crimes." Germany finished, fully confident that he had figured out the rest of the story.

Italy frowned, mouth agape. "What?! No, that's so grim! What happened was that the woman had a plan. She knew this would happen! Her lover came and kissed her in front of everybody, she pretended to be shocked, and he ran right off. When she was finally asked the question if she cheated, she answered: "The only men I have ever kissed was my husband, and that bastard that kissed me now."

Germany smirked. "And that's a direct quote?"

"Not exactly." Italy admitted sheepishly. "But anyway, then the lover was hunted down and brutally killed. And that's the end of the story!"

"And my version was grim?" Germany asked.

Italy stopped, and so did he. They were standing in a short line of about ten people, leading to a stone mask slightly taller than Italy carved into the wall.

"That's a mask?" Germany asked.

Italy shrugged. "I suppose so,"

They waited patiently in line, the two of them watching a group of teenagers as they took turns asking each other questions in Italian. Italy giggled at a couple of them, not bothering to translate them. Not that Germany minded.

When it was finally their turn, Italy pushed Germany forward, holding his phone up. "Okay, you go first!"

Germany looked back, noting that there was no line. Good. He wasn't sure he wanted them to hear whatever Italy had to say. "Okay..." He stuck his hand in the mask, not letting his hand touch the stone.

"Okay. Do you have a soft spot for America?" Italy asked, giggling.

"No." Germany answered.

Italy paused. "... huh. No hand-biting, I guess you're right!"

"Of course I am."

"Okay, okay, a couple more! Umm... Do you have a diary?"

"No." Germany lied, a slight blush dusting the tips of his ears.

Italy raised an eyebrow. "I don't need a stone mask to tell that you're lying, Germany."

Germany sighed. "Okay, yes! It's a habit I picked up from Prussia. Happy?"

Italy laughed. "Your reaction is funnier than the answer!"

"Are we done now?"

"No, no, one last question." Italy lowered his camera as his smile fell. "Are you... mad that I didn't tell you about Holy Rome before?"

Germany blinked. He had almost forgotton about it until Italy mentioned it. "Of course not." Germany said, surprised at the softness of his own voice. "I never was."

Italy gave him a small smile, which Germany returned. They sat there for a moment, smiling at each other before Italy lifted his phone again. "Okay, those are all my questions!"

Germany raised an eyebrow, recognizing that Italy was trying to act that the moment hadn't even happened. "Finally." He replied in a teasing tone. The two passed each other as Italy went over to the stone statue. Before he could think of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around Italy in a hug. He didn't know why. If anyone asked him, he would say he was rather uncomprehending of emotion and reading the atmosphere. He wasn't the first person you would go to for reassurance of any kind. And yet... he knew that this was the best thing to do for Italy at that moment.

Italy appeared to be frozen for a moment, shocked by this sudden display of affection. He quickly recovered, however, his hands desperately gripping the back of Germany's T-shirt as he buried his head in his collarbone.

They stood like that for a couple more seconds before Germany released his friend. "Okay, you can't put it off any longer. Get your hand in that statue."

Italy stepped back and looked up at Germany, his lips pulling into a close-mouthed smile of thanks.

Germany found himself returning it as Italy stepped forward and stuck his hand in the mask, an arm's length away from Germany as he waited. At the last minute, he remembered to start his phone's video and turned it to Germany.

"Okay!"

Germany smiled to himself as he was struck with a genius idea. "Do you really think that fanny pack isn't ugly?"

Still looking at Germany, Italy smiled. "Nope!"

"No," Germany shook his head. "You need to look the mask in the eyes and answer. Most evidence of dishonesty is in the eyes."

Italy raised an eyebrow, lowering his camera. "Really?"

"Yes." Germany lied. "Look at the statue."

Italy shrugged. "If it's that important to you." He raised the phone again, this time directed at the statue.

"Do you think your fanny pack is ugly?" As Germany talked, he took a silent half-step forward and raised his arms to Italy's height.

"No." Italy answered somewhat solemnly.

In the moment of silence that proceeded afterword, Germany brought his arms down onto Italy's shoulders. "Ah!"

Italy yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping his phone and fumbling around with it before barely catching it. "Germany!" he barked. "You scared me half to death!"

But Germany wasn't listening. He was too busy laughing. Full-bellied, gut-wrenching laughter. God, that was excellent! Even better than he had hoped!

Italy soon joined in, laughing along with him.

Germany straightened as he laughed, putting his palm to his forehead. After a couple more chuckles, the laughter subsided. Then, just as he remembered the little scream Italy did, it came back. "Oh, that noise you made." He said after he had relaxed a little.

"That was a cheap trick, Germany!" Italy said.

"Perhaps." Germany conceded, still smiling. "But it was impossible to resist. You just scare so easily."

"Okay, okay." Italy relented. "That's fair, I guess."

"Thank you for your approval." Germany teased. "Come on. If we want to be home with food for Japan, we have to see the Pantheon."

"The Pantheon!" Italy skipped ahead. "I love it there! Oh, Germany, it's so pretty!"

Germany followed Italy out to the car, listening to Italy's ramblings about the pantheon and how lovely it is, how the columns are all so large, how it's so clean, how it looks so beautiful on a sunny day, and how lucky are we that it's such a lovely day, Germany? By the time they finally made it out to the car, it was a little after two in the afternoon. Germany realized this as he turned on the car and looked at the car radio, cringeing. "We're cutting it close for sure."

Italy grimaced. "Ooh."

As they pulled out, Germany hummed. "We may only have time for one thing: Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel?"

"Pantheon." Italy answered. "No hesitation!"

They were driving to the pantheon, Italy humming along to the music as they drove the last ten minutes of the drive. As they passed the buildings, Germany hazarded quick glances out the window. It was so beautiful here, even in the city. Rome was a collision of all that was old, and all that was new. It was beautiful in a way that transcended history. Germany peered over at Italy, who was tapping his finger on the left armrest, his honey gold eyes half-closed and observing their surroundings.

As he faced frontward again, he realized that he was smiling to himself. He wondered what Italy was thinking. His mind flashed back to the giant mask. When his hand was inside and Italy asked if Germany was mad at him for not telling him about Holy Rome. He remembered Italy's look of vulnerability and nervousness. Germany was brought back to the present, wondering how long Italy had been sitting on that question. If he still had doubts. Furrowing his brows, Germany resolved to be a little more open. To perhaps be nicer to Italy. Maybe let him know through his actions that all was forgiven. That he was never mad in the first place. The GPS shocked him out of his thoughts, announcing their arrival.

"We're here, we're here!" Italy cheered, sitting forward in his seat.

"Wait, we have to find parking first." Germany said.

Italy groaned. "We always do!" he gasped. "Germany! Maybe we could take bikes next time!"

For just a moment, Germany's heart accelerated. Did that count as an invitation to do this again? For them to take another vacation together? "You would enjoy perhaps the first ten minutes. Then you would complain that we should have brought a car."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Italy laughed. "You know me too well, Germany."

Germany spotted an empty spot on the side of the road and effortlessly slid into it. "Ja. It's almost like we've been friends for 80 years." He unbuckled.

Italy's eyes widened as he too unbuckled. "Only 80 years? That's so short!"

Germany opened the door, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. He pulled the sunglasses off his face, noticing that the sun wasn't as bright in the late afternoon. "I forget that 80 years is short to many nations..."

"Yes, you're so young!" Italy laughed, waiting on the sidewalk. "You're practically a bambino!"

Germany glared as he rounded the car. "And yet here I am, taking care of you."

"And you do such a good job of it!" Italy laughed, latching onto Germany's arm. "I'm glad you took those sunglasses off, you don't look as scary now."

The two started walking, enjoying the sights and weather. Germany observed that the buildings here were more crowded together. There were less shops and more apartments. The buildings were brightly colored, painted in oranges, tans, and the occasional pale pastel blue.

"Germany, Germany!" Italy said suddenly, sounding extremely excited.

Germany looked over, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You've been my friend for over half your life!"

Germany looked ahead, taken aback. He'd never though of it like that. "I... suppose so."

"Yeah! You were in your 60's when you found me!"

"Mein Gott. It's hard to believe."

"Right?! It feels like so long ago!"

They lapsed into quiet again, Germany frowning. "Italy, I can't believe I've never asked this, but... how old are you, exactly?"

"Hmm..." Italy brought a hand to his chin. "Well... I don't remember exactly which year I was born, but... I remember it was around 700 B.C."

Germany stopped outright. "Wait, what?"

Italy rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm a bit of an old geezer, aren't I?"

"'Old Geezer'? You're around 2,600 years old!" Germany exclaimed.

Italy pulled him along. "Yes, I suppose so. Time is really weird, huh?"

"You could be my grandfather!" Germany continued.

Italy frowned. "Okay, okay, that's enough." He smiled. "I'm old, but I'm not ancient!"

Germany shook his head, dumbfounded. "You made America look like a toddler."

"And you look like a baby! You understand, now?"

"I wish I didn't, but ja."

They turned the corner, and there was the pantheon. It rested in the middle of what looked like a ginat cul-de-sak of grey brick road, surrounded by modern apartment buildings in assorted pastel colors. There was a small crowd milling about the area, but it was relatively empty. Perced in front of the Pantheon, a fish squirting water out of its mouth. The pantheon was a large, rectangular building with a triangular roof, the front supported by large stone columns. On the front was some Latin that Germany was unable to understand. Bathed in the golden sun, it was almost as if they had travelled back in time and was standing in front of a new pantheon. Given how well it had stayed together over the years, it was easy to slip into that frame of mind.

Leaping with excitement, Italy pulled Germany forward in a jog. "Come on!"