Germany hadn't slept at all that night, despite finding comfort, even if just a small amount, in Italy's presence. The entire time he just lay looking at the face of the man laying next to him, sleeping contentedly. If Germany hadn't have been so glad to see him finally get some peace he might have been jealous of Italy's comfortable, peaceful rest.

Germany eventually sat up, feeling restless. The Italian shuddered on the far edge of the bed, and began to sleepily scoot his way to his German friend, needing warmth. Germany's face grew red as a sleeping hand reached up and grabbed a hold of his arm. Italy muttered something too heavy with rest to be deciphered, not to mention the only understandable syllables were in Italian.

The tall blond managed to dislodge Italy from his arm without waking him, it was actually a harder task than he first thought. Apparently when it came to sleep cuddling his friend had a fairly strong grip. Germany rose from the bed, being sure to gently reposition the covers over the sleeping nation so he wouldn't get cold. He saw a brief flash of amber between Italy's eyelids, and he muttered something in Italian, half asleep.

"È tiepido, come la pasta. Grazie"

All Germany managed to make out of that was the word 'pasta' and the word 'thank you.'

Italy's eyelids fluttered, as if deciding to wake up or not, half of Germany wished he wouldn't, wished for Italy to continue his peaceful rest while the taller nation found some sort of monotonous work to do to kill time. The other half wanted—no, needed—company and comfort. Germany repressed his selfish half and spoke softly, "Schlafen Sie gut, Italien."

It meant 'Sleep well, Italy.' He knew the auburn haired man wouldn't be able to understand what he had said, but it felt so much better to say in German. It made it more personal for him. Not that it mattered anyway, because Germany could have said it in perfect Italian and Italy would have been too asleep to even grasp the concept that he was being spoken to. Yet Italy must have somewhat heard what Germany said through his sleep, and though he didn't know what it meant, he made an effort to respond.

"Hehe...mi piace tedesco."

Germany didn't understand it, but it didn't matter much what he said. It just mattered that he'd even heard, and was even coherent enough to respond, even if only still in a dreamy state of mind. Italy smiled tiredly as Germany gently stroked his hair, before noticing the Italian's clothes on his floor. I'm honestly amazed he's even remembered to wear them on the way over here, even though he still took them off before sleeping. At least he's improving. Baby steps.

Germany folded the clothes and set them gingerly atop his dresser. His mind began to wander, Why is it that I like him so much? For all the trouble he causes me... Italy let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh in his sleep, ...he sure can be downright...adorable. Germany cringed at his own thoughts, adorable? Did he just call Italy adorable? Yes...yes he had.

Well, there's nothing wrong with a man finding his friend cute...is there? Oh who am I kidding, that's not normal. But...but...he's just so...Italy stirred a little and muttered more in Italian

Gott verdammt, I think I love him. Scheiße, I'm in love with a man? And that man is...Italy. The happy-go-lucky, pasta eating, white flag waving...Scheiße. Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße. I just can't...not, though. Something about him, Gott verdammt something about him just forces me...forces me to...love him. Scheiße.

Germany decided to get dressed, figuring he wouldn't get back to sleep anytime soon, though the bed looked so enticing. It looked so comfortable, and nice, and warm...not to mention Italy was in it, as well. But Germany fought back the urge to crawl back in and just lay there doing nothing. If he was going to be awake, he'd be using his time properly. Doing important things. Not just blatantly cuddling with his ally. He got fully dressed and went to his office, settling down for some important paperwork, his mind turning to what had to happen in the morning...He and Italy would be heading back out on the battlefield. Hopefully everything would go okay, as long as Italy didn't run around crazily with that white flag everything should work out fine. He didn't like going out to fight, though. He couldn't help but be a little nervous every time Italy joined him on the battlefield, as his fighting skills were extremely minimum at best. Germany sighed and returned to his work, mentally preparing for the day ahead.

Germany looked over at his clock, it read six thirty. I should probably wake up Italy, we have to leave soon. He pushed his chair out from his desk and stood slowly, stiff from the amount of time he'd spent sitting. He walked out to his room and creaked open the door.

"Wake up, Italy. We're heading out."

A head popped out from under the covers, "I'm already awake...ve, where are we going?"

Wait...he was already awake? He's never up this early. And he doesn't know where we're going... I know I told him at least twice everyday this week!

"To battle, you knew that." He said, cocking one eyebrow.

Italy's face paled to deathly white, and his eyes grew as round as saucers.

Was sie Hell? I know he doesn't like battles, but Gott. He looks horrified.

"Are you okay?" Germany asked, taking a step closer.

Italy seemed to almost snap back into reality, his whole face relaxing as he spoke nonchalantly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. About the battle thingy...can we postpone that a day or two?"

Is he an idiot? Does he even understand how important this is?

"Are you crazy? You can't just postpone a battle, it doesn't work like that!"

Italy paused for a second, looked around, obviously trying to find an excuse for not going. He finally pretended to cough into a balled up fist, "But I think I might be sick."

That might have been the worst attempt at faking illness I've ever seen.

"Get up and get dressed. You're going." He said, flatly.

Germany then turned and left to room, demonstrating that his mind was made up and no amount of convincing would get him to change it. They had to go.

Germany returned to the room a minute or two later after grabbing breakfast for the two. He felt a little bad about being so harsh with Italy, so he carried in a plate of pasta he'd reheated for the Italian.

"Italy?" He called as he entered the door, he looked around, suddenly realizing there was no one in the room.

"Where did he go?" Germany wondered aloud, bewildered as to how he could lose an entire country within the space of a minute. Then he noticed something...the open window. No...no way. He wouldn't dare...

Germany set down the pasta on his dresser and ran to peer out the window. Sure enough, when he looked down his gaze was met with wide, startled amber eyes.

"WAS SIE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" He screamed. Was is he thinking? Is he insane? He never tried to escape before, not even when he was mien prisoner!

Italy didn't respond, rather he attempted to climb down faster. Germany saw his foot slip an about had a heart attack when the little Italian tumbled off the wall. Thankfully he landed in a rose bush...Honestly not the softest place to land.

Germany was briefly relieved, until realizing Italy was still trying to escape for no apparent reason, he was thrown into a fit of rage, "ITALY! GET BACK HERE NOW! WAS ARE YOU DOING! WHERE ARE YOU GOING!"

Italy pulled himself from the bush, the thorns of all the roses sticking to his clothes. He had little scratches over his face and hands. Germany didn't wait around in the window to see him start running off, rather the large country bolted from the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the door. Ready to catch Italy and punish him, severely.

He spotted the latino running away, keeping his royal blue jacket always in his sights. Italy would never look back, rather keep running through the strangest places ever. Through allies, markets, under things, over things, he even ran right through someone's house at one point. When Germany lost him, he'd follow the soft 've' sound that sometimes came with Italy's panting. Then it would repeat, until finally, Italy ran into a large crowd of people. Upon seeing the larger man chasing someone around, people began to get angry. They yelled at him to stop and jumped in front of him, blocking his path. Some people even tried holding him back.

"No, no I need to get to him!"

"Shut up!" One man yelled, "What the Hell are you trying to do, chasing that poor man around town?"

"I'm trying to...he's running away...I-I need to get him!" Germany tried to form coherent phrases between pants. He'd failed miserably.

"Creep." "Asshole." "Thug."

Germany's mouth twitched as he tried to hold back boiling fury.

"Some people..." A woman loudly whispered to her friend.

Germany became blinded with rage. He violently pushed everyone in front of him to the side as he continued running. All the people that had been holding him back tossed over like rag dolls. It was no use though, he was too late. No matter where or how far he ran the escaped nation was nowhere to be seen. Germany bit back angry tears and yelled.

"ITALY!"