Author's Note: It's so cute how Italy's just ALWAYS around Germany. Hearts x 100. Edit: Used an antonym of something. (How embarrassing!) Thanks for pointing it out~
"I-Italy!" Germany's shout startled the pasta cooking Italy and caused him to knock over the jar of sauce he had just prepared. Being the clean-environment forcing man he was, Germany already began to wet a rag with hot water and scrubbing meticulously at the area.
Italy watched Germany clean the mess with a natural, clueless look before shrugging it off and continuing to stir the pasta in the pot of boiling water. "Germany~ I'm making pasta for lunch, do you want some?" To quell any argument from Germany, Italy took the wooden spatula that still sat inside the spilled pasta jar and pressed it to Germany's lips. "I made the sauce today! Do you like it?"
He had not opened his mouth, but a little bit of the sauce made its way into his firm lined mouth. Germany tasted the sauce with a nonchalant look of sternness on his face. "Ah, yeah, it taste good," he murmured. He threw the now pasta stained rag into the sink to be washed and fetched another one to wet down the counter to clear the surface of any residue. "But -- that's not what I'm here for."
"Ne? Then what are you here for, Germany~?" Italy was fixing sprigs of fresh basil onto the sauce-bathed pasta as he casually regarded Germany's insistence.
"Eh..." Why was it always so hard to talk about these kinds of things with Italy!? Either Germany would use a tone far too soft to be heard, or he would use a tone far too loud to sound kind. "Why do you spend so much time in my house...?" This time Germany went with a soft tone, and his blush was all the same but lacked the red intensity it would hold when he yelled his inquiries. He turned away from Italy's gaze; afraid he would stare into that abyss of slightly opened brown hues and not hear whatever Italy had to say.
The pasta's aroma wafted around the kitchen, embedding itself in Italy's clothes for the day and teasing Germany with its lovely scent. Italy inhaled deeply, letting out a pleased, "Mm~" before answering his ally's question with a simple easiness. "I like to be around you~ You make me feel happy, and grandpa Rome always told me to do things that make me happy, ve!" He smiled in his sheepish little way at Germany, oblivious to the flustered state of his ally's face.
"Happy?" That was a word Germany could not truly understand, but the adoring sparkle in Italy's eyes made him question if he had been 'happy' with Italy around. Sure, he went to bed grumpy, only to have Italy magically in his bed the next day, or if not that, making breakfast (namely a light pasta), or even appearing in his shower if not his bed. Was there ever a day he was not around Italy? Those days named themselves as lonely ones when he worked on papers needing to be tended to, but they would all ultimately end with his phone ringing and a wailing Italy on the other end of the line.
Everyday just seemed to have Italy in it.
A naive hum reverberated in Italy's throat as he changed the pitch of said hum to an affirmative one. "I like to spend my time with Germany~! You're my best friend, Germany." Italy's smile changed into a rare look of countenance. "Whom else would I spend my time with?"
Germany was caught in Italy's handsome brown eyes. Someone enjoyed his company. Italy enjoyed his company.
Germany cleared his throat with a cough, but his blush still loomed over his cheeks. "Um, thanks for cooking lunch." He hovered over to Italy and leaned over hesitantly to kiss him on the cheek. Italy jumped from the sudden show of affection, and from Germany of all people.
"G-Germany...?" Italy rubbed the just kissed area of skin as if it had been in his imagination.
"I'm glad I make you feel happy. Italy, you make me feel..." Germany fumbled with his words, but soon quieted down as Italy stood on his toes to return the kiss, but being much shorter than Germany, could only press a kiss to his jaw.
"Now we can eat lunch~!" Italy seemed to have been whisked away from Germany by the beckoning plate of pasta.
With a sigh, Germany started to pull out the appropriate table wear for their lunch, a fading hue of red in his cheeks; why did that Italy have to be so come-and-go with his so-called Italian gestures?