When Prussia finally told Germany about Canada, he was surprised. Shocked. Furious, even, mostly because it felt like his brother hadn't trusted him before- it had been months since they'd gotten together and he had not been informed. He had locked himself in his room in his fury and resentment and self-doubt, refusing to put a single hair out of the area for three days, spending his time meticulously scrubbing and dusting and straightening until there wasn't so much as a dust particle out of place.
He would have stayed longer, too, but Italy (Apparently just coming for a visit) had somehow managed to get into the house and then into his bed. Prussia hadn't noticed, Austria hadn't noticed, even Hungary- who was staying over to help with the matter at hand- claimed to have seen nothing the day he emerged (Though she'd had a suspicious gleam in her eye when she'd made the claim, so he didn't put much belief in it- this was Hungary, after all).
Feliciano convinced him to come out, partially with numerous and very floor-staining tears (Germany loudly told off the nation for questioning his need to lock himself in the room, which by obligation meant crying would ensue) and partially because if he stayed any longer it would mean several days alone with one of the most annoying, cowardly countries on the planet and nigh-endless teasing from his brother. Italy was his friend, nothing more. Prussia was just love-blind.
Dinner that first night was rough- Canada visited, and Ludwig couldn't look at the pair, focusing nervously on his plate of pancakes. Austria, seemingly disgusted, opted to eat in the living room, which the aristocratic country had never even considered before. Italy chatted on happily to anyone who would listen, namely Elizabeta, who seemed somehow awkward and excited at the same time, carefully watching every action they made like some kind of a starving vulture.
Soon he found a week had passed, and Canada came for dinner on Saturday night once more. Ludwig gave things a month to settle down and every single day ended up being an awkward mess, made worse because Roderich had taken to skulking around in the music room with the doors locked (Much like Germany had, but nobody bothered to mess with the aristocrat) and Hungary and Italy had gone home. That meant it was generally just Prussia and himself in the house, sometimes with the addition of Matthew, who made it over every Saturday for dinner no matter how cold Germany acted.
How could mein älterer Bruder hide this from me? Does he really not trust me?
One lonely Sunday about two months after his brother had first brought Matthew to officially meet him, Germany found himself alone in their house. Prussia was out with Canada at the time, probably on some kind of a date that would likely last for several hours, and Austria, as per usual this past month, was playing his stress-filled Mozart song expression in the music room. They lived a good distance out in the country, so he figured he would finally have some time to think without interruption.
He was just considering making himself lunch when the doorbell rang. He got up with a groan, sure it was either his boss with a surprise inspection or some lost human dummkopf coming to ask for directions- again (So maybe their house wasn't on the autobahn, but they had road signs, stupid citizens!).
Walking stiffly to the door, Germany swung it open with a bang. He leered over the figure and yelled something violently in German, fully prepared to grab the gun hanging decoratively by the door (he kept it loaded with the safety on, but nobody needed to know that).
With a screech and a cry of "Veeee~" Italy scrambled back into the last dregs of winter snow, cowering under the shadow of the German man.
A small part of Germany's mind remembered the days when many nations did as such, back during the World War when Poland and the Sudetenland and even- briefly- France had knelt to him. An even smaller part revelled in it now, and the feeling reminded him of some of the evil he still bore scars of; he pushed it back and knelt beside his friend.
"Ah, Italy. I... did not know it was you."
"Oh! Germany!" Italy suddenly broke into a big grin, propping himself up into a sitting position in the pile of snow he was currently occupying. "You know, this is just like when I brought my friend over that one time! Prussia was here but you weren't, and he opened the door and started yelling, and I was scared! But then he stopped and I was happy and we showed my friend the house~"
Germany frowned, confused. "Vhen vas this?"
"Oh, not long ago~ A year or two, maybe?"
The larger nation sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "...Alright. Let's go inside."
"But Germany, I'm stuuuuck~ Veeeee~"
"Vhat?! You're stuck?!"
The auburn-haired nation nodded his head wildly, lip quivering. Desperate to avoid another fit of sobbing, Ludwig grabbed his friend and slung him over his shoulder, a great muddy sucking noise mixing in with the other, more natural spring sounds he was accustomed to.
He carried the Italian inside and setting him down on the couch, mentally flinching as he realized he'd have to clean the inevitable mud stain he was sure to leave, and sat down in his favorite chair, clasping his hands. "Vhy are you here, Italy?"
"Well, I know you've been upset recently because of Prussia, and I thought you'd be lonely because it's usually only you and him and Austria, so I decided to make you some pasta~" Italy smiled cheerfully and held out a small plastic container. "It got a little cold but pasta is pasta and I thought Germany could use his microwave to warm it up again~"
"Oh... Ah..." Germany felt a red tinge come to his cheeks and mentally cursed himself. "Thank you." He accepted the outstretched offering, peeking inside and seeing a mess of noodles and vegetables.
"I made one for myself, too, so we could eat together~" Italy chirped. "I also made some for Prussia and Austria, but I guess they aren't here~"
"Actually, Austria is in the music room." Germany said. "Ve can varm it up and give it to him later. He is eating... less than usual."
Italy nodded happily. "Okay~"
A few especially angry notes of piano music bashed through the walls like some kind of an emphasis, driving the two to silence.
"...Well, I suppose it's time to eat." Germany said, turning away.
As they waited for the dishes to finish cooking in the microwave, Italy rambled on- something about Japan going to visit Romano at France's house. The story was strange and Germany was only half paying attention so he didn't understand a lot of what was going on, but he got the idea that Italy was confused, too.
Finally, the microwave let off a loud beeping noise, signalling the end of the twisted conversation. They removed the boxes of pasta and took their respective places at the German's long, accommodating, exceptionally clean table.
"Pasta~" Italy sighed in happiness. Germany sighed for a very different reason- that country was far too obsessed with the food for his own good.
He couldn't bring himself to say so out loud, though, and opted instead to just eat- his stomach was growling, and he hadn't been eating very well recently due to stress. It was nice to cut back for a while with a friend- his best friend, actually.
Of course, cutting back for Deutschland meant paranoia and silence. But no matter how small, relaxation was relaxation, and he needed a lot of that.
"...Germany." Italy said after a while. His voice was oddly quiet, serious even, and he was looking down at his mostly-finished noodles with a faint frown. "I think you need to accept Canada. He makes Prussia very happy, you know?"
Germany sighed, putting down his fork and holding his head in his hands. "It's... not Canada." He mumbled, half-hoping the nation wouldn't hear him. "I am fine vith him. It is... mein bruder didn't tell me about it. Ve used ro share everything. I'm vorried he doesn't trust me anymore."
"But Germany~" Italy protested. "He told you first~ Maybe he just wasn't sure before?"
Ludwig closed his eyes and groaned. "I... suppose." He glanced at his friend with a small smile. "I... vill ask him tonight. Are you staying?"
"Yes, if that's all right with you~" Italy chirped, happiness returning to his voice. "Veee Germany I am so happy~"
"...Indeed." Germany took another bite of his pasta, the flavor suddenly gaining intensity as his mood lifted. Yes. He would talk to his brother and apologize for being rude, and he would be forgiven (With any luck), and everything would go back to normal (with the exception of Austria, who would be sulking). He silently and deeply thanked Italy for giving him advice on the topic (albeit advice he should have realized himself).
Shortly after that, the nation started babbling on pointlessly about England and the other former Allies. Germany caught every word.
"...Vell..." Prussia's face was rather red, and he was almost stammering out the words- completely out of character for the former nation. "It vas kind of a... strange thing. I vasn't sure vhat to think, so I didn't mention it, and vhen ve finally sorted it all out, I forgot to tell you until I invited him to dinner." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced at Canada, who was standing next to him.
"I thought he told you." Canada said, his voice whispery and quiet. "I think we agreed to only tell family, which means only you. America probably won't react well to this; he can be very protective, and I don't think France or England could keep a secret- so that means you were supposed to be it, although when Prussia mentioned Austria was living with you and Hungary was staying over, we thought it would be fine if they knew..."
"But in no vay vas it because I didn't trust you." Prussia concluded, folding his arms. "The only person to know before you vas Cuba, because I had to stop him from beating up Birdie."
Germany sighed (again; he was doing a lot of that lately, wasn't he?) and closed his eyes. "...Ja, I believe you. And... I am sorry for my initial reaction, but vas it really necessary to be so blunt?"
"Blunt?" Prussia looked confused and a little indignant. "I am too awesome to be blunt!"
Germany looked at him and gritted his teeth to stop himself from yelling. "You said, I quote- 'Oh, yeah, bro, we've been together for the past six awesome months!'" He imitated his brother's voice and accompanied it with a glare.
"...That's blunt, brother?" Prussia laughed.
"Um, but it is blunt." Canada said.
Prussia gave his significant other a traitorous look and turned back to his brother, his eyes growing serious. "Seriously, mein Bruder. I vould never have hidden it from you on purpose. I am sorry."
And as Germany looked at the albino man, he remembered suddenly that Prussia was. indeed, older than he was, and that he had, indeed, gone through a lot more- and a lot worse. The thought took him by surprise- Gilbert was usually so immature, he always felt like the parent, but there were times he would be reminded that once upon a time the former nation had been the one to raise him.
Ludwig could do absolutely nothing but hug the man.
Prussia stiffened (much as he'd never admit it, Germany knew his brother wasn't much one for physical contact after a few incidents involving Hungary far beyond his memory) briefly before wrapping his arms around his sibling. "I see you are finally embracing the awesome me?" He chuckled. "Vell, ve all knew it vas inevitable."
"Shut up, you dummkopf." Germany pulled out of the hug and reached to shake Matthew's hand. "I see you have been a... good influence on mein Bruder." He said uneasily. "It vould be an honor to have you over for dinner as much as you vish." He glanced at Italy, who had been remaining silent for the entire apology scene. "Ve already have guests most of the time. Another vouldn't do us harm."
Canada smiled shyly and nodded his thanks. Prussia gave him a massive grin, and he saw relief shining in his eyes- the situation had been putting a lot of stress on his brother, too.
It made him feel a lot better about the conversation.
"Vell, I guess dinner is over." Prussia sighed, putting his arms behind his head. "Vill you be visiting next veekend as vell, Birdie?"
Canada glanced at the ground, still smiling. "I-if you'll have me."
Germany nodded his approval, and watched the two hug. He had to force back a smile as the New World nation and his brother waved goodbye, preparing to leave for the airport so Matthew could go home.
The stress and the dread and the anger were gone.
"See? That was a good idea, wasn't it, Germany? Veee~"
Germany turned and smiled at Italy- kindly, loosely, a smile he reserved only for his closest friends and family. "Yes, that vas a good idea. Danke."
Italy (who had, indeed, picked up a little German during the war) smiled back. "You're welcome, Germany~"
Germany gave a nod, and they stood there in blissful silence for a few moments before Feliciano spoke again.
"Ve! I forgot~" Italy's face went down in panic. "We still need to give Austria his pasta~"
Germany sighed, heading for the kitchen. "Vell, if you insist, let's heat it up for him. But don't expect any thanks; he's being very... prissy right now."
Several notes from Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star hammered their way into the kitchen, and Germany realized that if his 'housemate' was playing something so basic it could only mean one of two things: he was too angry to think straight, or he'd run out of most of his material. He guessed it was probably both.
The pasta took a few minutes to heat in the microwave, during which Germany began meticulously cleaning his kitchen. Italy watched on, his expression one of exasperation at his friend's antics, but after so many years (almost a hundred since he'd first been captured by the nation) he knew better than to interrupt the man. The only four parts of Germany's house that weren't regularly cleaned were Prussia's bedroom, Prussia's bathroom, the music room, and the dungeons.
For obvious reasons.
When they reached the door to the music room, Italy pushed it wide (It was closed tightly but lacked a lock) and shouted a hello. "Veee~ Austria, we have brought you pastaaaa~"
The room was dark, and Germany could just barely see the man's figure hunched over the long, broad shape of a piano in the far corner of the room. As they watched, the piano music cut off suddenly, and the drop from Mary Had a Little Lamb to dead silence was astonishing.
Of course, Germany had been forced to live with the aristocrat for many years and knew exactly what to expect. Italy, however, was terrified out of his wits as the figure stiffly stood up, the wooden piano bench screeching against the floor.
Hunched over, the figure came into the light.
Austria's fingers were covered in fresh wounds from constantly playing instruments. His eyes were half-shut against the light, the white streaked through with bloodred veins. He looked more emaciated than usual, somehow grimy even though the room was generally clean; his fingernails were ragged and his shoes were worn. Except for the little bit that constantly twisted upwards, his hair was greasy and disgusting.
Italy screeched, running to hide behind Germany, who just rolled his eyes.
"This isn't good for you, Austria."
"B-" The aristocrat coughed roughly, his voice rusty with disuse. "Be quiet about that. Vhat do you vant from me now?"
"Italy made you pasta." Ludwig said flatly.
Austria's eyes took in the cowering figure behind his host, who squeaked, jumped out, and thrust the pasta at him. "Wahhh! Take it! Don't eat me! Veeeeeee~"
Fingers gripping the warm container, Austria's eyes bore into Germany. "I don't look that bad, do I?"
"You could make Russia cry." Germany shot him a look. "Take a shower, Roderich."
And with that, he let the door swing shut behind him as he took off in search of his friend.
"You... vant me to announce it?" Germany gave the pair a baffled look, setting down his fork.
"It's a great idea, but you must admit it is a little strange and all~" Italy said, smiling at them.
Prussia frowned. "I guess, but I think the vorld needs to know about the awesome me and my Birdie! And since the G8 meeting is smaller and has America, it's the perfect place to start."
"Vell, yes, but if America is told by anyone but you he might be angry." Germany cast a glance at Canada, who nodded his agreement.
"I know. I'm a part of the G8, too. I'll be there to help him out of it."
"Ve?!"
"You are part of the G8?" Ludwig looked at the shy nation, baffled. "But... I have never seen you there before."
"Most people don't notice me." Canada flushed slightly and shrank down in his chair. "That's why we want you to make the announcement."
Germany and Italy looked at each other, unsure as to which course of action was best.
Then Feliciano smiled wide. "Sure we will announce it! Or Germany will, probably, because they listen to him better than me~"
And that was how that was decided.
The meeting.
"Mein Gott." Germany muttered under his breath, unlocking the door to his hotel room. "The meeting."
That had been worse than usual.
He'd announced Prussia and Canada's relationship first, hoping to get it over with quickly, but it had the exact opposite effect. America had stormed out in a huff, looking murderous. England had fallen asleep. Italy had thrown the cat he always somehow managed to bring to meetings onto France's lap, and had then been chased around the room by a very angry Bonnefoy. Japan had somehow gotten into an argument with Russia about China. And Canada... well, part of the way through the meeting, America had reappeared and dragged the nation out, narrowly dodging the pipe Russia was aiming at Japan's head.
He was ready, he was willing, he was absolutely desperate to just collapse on the bed without a second thought and sleep all the stress off. There was nothing he'd rather do. Even a shower seemed unappetizing.
Ludwig groaned and let himself fall face-first onto the sheets. Even though half of his body was hanging off of the mattress, even though he was still in full uniform, even though he was actually very hungry, he fell asleep without a second thought.
"...Germany?" The voice penetrated his sleep, a small and scared voice, a voice he knew. He pulled himself into a standing position, grimacing as his back popped.
"Vhat is it, Italy?" He groaned, looking at the digital clock typical of hotel rooms. "And vhy so late? It's three in the morning..."
"I had a nightmare." The smaller nation whimpered. Germany noticed how he was clutching a pillow, his face cherry-red in the faint light pouring through the open door to the hallway (he didn't expend much effort wondering how, exactly, he'd gotten in; it happened often enough at home).
Germany sighed, knowing full well where this was going. He nodded stiffly and moved to shut the door. "You can stay vith me tonight, if you vant."
Feliciano's face lightened slightly. "Veee! Thank you, Germany! Grazie!"
"Just give me a minute to put on night clothes." Germany grumped, glaring at his uniform, now rumpled beyond comprehension. He grabbed his suitcase and dragged the entire thing into the bathroom with him.
A few minutes later, he emerged to find the Italian already curled up in bed, and very much asleep. The pillow, assumingly from his own room, had come to rest on the floor nearby.
Awkwardly, Germany slipped into the bed next to his friend. Italy shifted slightly, humming contentedly in his sleep, and the larger man turned on his side so he could at least attempt to ignore him.
That attempt proved futile when Italy himself turned over, throwing an arm over Germany's shoulders and snuggling into his back.
Ludwig tensed. A part of him wanted to move away, but another part was telling him that it would be cruel to wake the Italian.
Laying as still as possible, he closed his eyes and desperately tried to ignore the nation; despite his best efforts, it still took an entire half-hour for him to drift off again.
It was nighttime in the forest.
It was nighttime in the forest, and the wolf was on the prowl.
Like shadows, it moved- slick through the night, oil on a pond of blackness, owl through soft pine trees that swept upwards like a prayer. Though it was always silent, the padding of snow dulled its faint footfalls as it trotted.
The full moon above howled to the wolf, and the wolf below howled to the moon. The eerie noise echoed through the night, sending shivers up the spines of all who listened; everything grew still in the forest, fled from its nose.
But these rabbits and foxes were not to be its prey tonight.
Far in the distance, fires twinkled. A town, not large in size, a single patch of light in this endless darkness where the wolf prowled.
Its eye glinted threateningly.
Everyone knew of the wolf. The wolf came more than once a week, taking its pickings of the townsfolk; it was a massive, vicious beast who left only smears of blood on the walls and the dirt roads for morning's light, and whose presence was only told through dark shapes glimpsed through windows and piercing screams that cut off before they could finish.
Tonight was no different.
The victim this time was the blacksmith's fair daughter, caught stupidly watering the garden one last time before turning in for the night. The wolf took her by surprise, sharp teeth on a slim, pale neck, and the shrill cries turned into a terrible gurgling that slowly faded as the wolf dragged her broken body back into the deep, dark forest of the night. She was one of many, one of too many.
She was one too many.
Three nights later, the wolf returned and found well-guarded houses and pikes awaiting it. It turned and ate the livestock they had foolishly left unprotected, leaving them meatless in the hard winter months ahead. Glistening white bones lay among the snow the next morning.
A week later, the horns sounded. A hunting party had assembled, and the wolf did not show itself.
Many months passed, and all of the party gave up as spring returned. The corpses of those starved used to bait the beast always vanished- it was there, it was alive, but they could never catch it. They decided that the villagers would have to fend for themselves.
One boy from the village- orphaned by the wolf and the famine- stood up, though, and demanded they give him their weapons so he could hunt the beast. Laughing, one particularly cruel hunter threw the boy meager supplies before the company left.
And then, all alone, the boy set off to kill the wolf. He bore with him a ragged knife and the line from an old bow, as well as some rotten apples and old leather armor.
He went, and he fought, and he killed the wolf, and the villagers were happy. But as they praised his name to the skies, the boy let out a piercing scream- something was burning- his arm- pain- run- door slamming- Italy-
Germany let out a small scream of his own, flailing desperately out of the covers. Disoriented, he glanced wildly around the room, realizing he was on the floor.
As his heart rate slowed, he grimaced and grasped his arm. Five deep red marks slashed their way across his flesh, blood pooling around them.
I didn't do that to myself, did I...?
He thought back to his dream and sighed in defeat. Maybe I did.
That dream...
Germany's eyes closed, and sobs began to tear through his form. ...I vas the volf. I vas a monster. I am a monster. I vas the volf, and Italy vas the boy. Italy is the good guy, he's the hero, and he has to destroy the monsters. That's vhy I can't tell him how I feel.
Italy is a good guy, and I am a monster. I vill just end up hurting him.
He took several deep, gasping breaths, sucking all of his tears back inside. He wiped his eyes off and stood, looking down at his bed.
Italy was not there.
Germany's brow furrowed in worry. "But... he never leaves before sunrise." He muttered to himself, touching the splatters of blood on the sheets- undoubtedly from his own, still oozing wounds.
Something is wrong.
He glanced towards the door, saw a thin trail of droplets leading towards it. His heart went cold.
D-did I...? He gulped, looking at the marks on his arm. Had he hurt Italy?
Without a thought to clothes or shoes, Germany dashed out the door. The drops led straight to the stairwell and down- down all ten flights, down to the streets and alleys of below.
It was harder to find the trail down here, but his persistence and training were never for naught; the man picked out the blood on the cement and traced it like a hawk, never faltering, never pausing.
Except when he reached the destination.
The bar was bright and colorful, a very American building for a British pub; the large, bored man at the front even spoke in that annoying accent as he asked for Germany's ID.
The man was also likely drunk, because Germany was fairly sure it was illegal to punch him in the mouth for trying to enter with no ID (it was still in the pocket of his uniform) and no shoes (he'd run out so fast, they had escaped his attention).
Granted- it was also illegal to punch him back, dash into the bar, and scream "FELICIANO! IT'S LUDWIG! WE NEED TO TALK!" At the top of his lungs while being dragged out by several guards, but he was desperate. It was a miracle they hadn't called the actual cops on him.
Only seconds later, a familiar figure slumped out of the bar. Italy walked up to him with his head bent, looking at the ground.
"Feliciano..." Germany muttered, grasping the man's shoulders. "Tell me, did I hurt you?"
"What?" Italy looked up into his friend's face, confused, and then the expression quickly switched to guilt as he responded sorrowfully. "No, Germany, you didn't hurt me. I hurt you."
"...Vhat?" As Ludwig watched, the Italian reached a hand out and brushed it against the claw marks on his arm.
"I did that." He muttered. "I hurt myself, too."
Germany's eyes widened as he realized exactly how red one of Italy's long sleeves was. The smaller man rolled it back, revealing an even deeper set of five marks on his own arm. Unlike his own, which had begun to crust over on his way down the stairs, these were still very red and very much bleeding.
"Vhy?" Germany muttered, looking at Italy earnestly.
"I-I had another nightmare, where I killed you." Italy stammered. "And you were begging me not to but I did anyways and... and..." He shuddered.
Without another word, Germany pulled his friend into a hug. The nation didn't return it, hanging there limply, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
"Don't hug me. I'm a monster, Germany, I shouldn't be hugged." The Italian pushed out of his grip, tears now freely falling.
Germany shook his head. "Nein. If anyone is a monster, I am." Now tears were coming to his eyes, too, and he clenched his teeth. "You could never be a monster."
"B-but... Germany... you're not a monster. You're a good person."
"Nein, I'm not. Millions of people died in my country, Italy, millions that I helped kill. I did nothing to stop it." His voice was broken now, empty, just like those millions. Dead.
"But you have a good heart! A monster wouldn't think that was bad." Italy protested, looking up into his face earnestly now.
"Vell then, you can't be a monster, either." Germany muttered, looking at Italy sadly.
"I killed you in my dream, Germany!" Now it was the smaller nation's turn to hug his friend, wrapping his arms desperately around his body and sobbing hopelessly into his chest.
"But you didn't in reality." Ludwig whispered. "I've killed so many. I vish that could be a dream."
Germany was prepared for many things, especially concerning Italy, but in no way was he prepared for what was coming next.
"You're not a monster, Germany, I could never love a monster~" Italy sobbed, clinging to him as he spoke.
For a few moments, time stood still around them. Germany went from pity to shock to realization in an instant, a faint glint of hope growing in the far reaches of his mind.
"Italy, do you mean that?" He asked quietly.
"Ve~ Of course I do, Germany. I love you more than anyone in the world... like, romantically, too. I never said anything because you never seemed to like me back in that way." Italy's voice faltered, and he glanced at Germany fearfully. "Y-you do, right?"
Germany opened his mouth, and closed it again. He spent several long moments sorting through the messy pile that was his current state of mind, looking for the appropriate response, all the while staring blankly at Italy's face.
"O-oh. I'm sorry." Italy pulled away with a blush. "I guess you don't... um... I-I'll go away now..." He turned to walk away, but Ludwig caught his arm.
"Vait."
Germany stared at Italy for a few more seconds before beginning to stammer out a response. "I-I... I... I..." He gulped. "Ich liebe dich."
"...What?" Italy asked, his voice a mixture of sorrow and confusion.
"I love you, too." Germany muttered, pulling the Italian into yet another hug. "I love you, too." He repeated, louder.
And then they were crying together, two monsters in the night- not because they hated themselves, but because they loved each other, and they had only just realized it.
Yayyyy moar author's notttteeee
…So, yeah. Lookit that. 5.1k now, although a lot of that is Germany worrying over Prussia and Canada. I think the flow of this chapter was probably off, because it started off kinda depressing and then it just got kinda angsty IMO, but please review and share your own opinions.
Ich Liebe Dich- I love you (German)
Grazie- Thank you (Italian)
Deutschland- Germany (German)
If I missed any other words, please tell me~
Austria. He cracks me up. I'm sorry. And yes, he'll probably have his own one-shot thing in this, near the end if there ever is one- could be next chapter, could be twenty chapters from now, who the heck knows? I do warn you, that pairing's probably gonna be completely crack, though.
I still own nuthin'. I'm sorry if you were hoping or something~
Oh! I almost forgot~ Austria's home situation thing in this story is a little odd. He still lives with Germany because his government just doesn't want to deal with him. In the first chapter, when Prussia's stalking him, he's staying with Hungary for a while (probably to get away from his housemates). Prussia thought it would be easier to attack him without his brother watching- clearly not. America and Canada were there for political reasons.
This part takes place before the meeting last chapter and the night after.
If anything else needs to be clarified, please tell me~
AF-DS, over and out~
