Note: Sorry guys... Fast update but a short chapter. Next chapter will be longer, I promise.
"What's bothering you, West?"
Germany didn't look up. "Nothing is bothering me, Gilbert. I'm trying to work."
"Bullshit. You've been staring at that page for the past hour." The former nation of Prussia leaned on the desk, putting a hand directly on top of the paper that Germany had claimed to be reading. "Did you have a fight with your boyfriend or something?" the albino asked, grinning.
"Italy is not my boyfriend. We are only-" Germany cut himself off. What right did he have to call himself Italy's friend? Friends were supposed to trust each other, not hide whatever was bothering them to the point where…
Germany repressed a shudder at the memory. The way Italy turned away from him, not even sparing a glance. Italy's body lying limp underneath the falling water, as his blood slipped down the drain. If Germany really was Italy's friend, Italy would have been able to talk to Germany about whatever was bothering him. Italy would have at least spoken to him afterward. It wouldn't have come to this.
Prussia studied his brother for a moment. It wasn't very easy for most people to read the younger nation's emotions, but most people hadn't raised said nation since childhood. And Prussia hadn't seen Germany this bothered since World War II. "Hey," he said, poking his brother. Germany looked up, snapped out of his thoughts, to see Prussia looking at him with a much more concerned expression. "Don't ignore your awesome brother. What is it?"
Germany gave his brother a hard stare for a moment, before looking away again. He couldn't tell Gilbert what had happened. If he told Gilbert, then it would only be a matter of time before Spain and France found out. France was probably one of the biggest gossips in the world. Spain would tell Romano, who Germany just knew would find a way to blame him for it.
Either way, it would turn out badly. Germany was sure of it.
---
Italy paced impatiently around his house. He wanted to get away. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to see other people, but he wanted to be alone. He wanted peace and quiet. He wanted a distraction. Conflicting ideas and emotions raged in his head, creating a turmoil that was almost too much to bear. As his wanderings brought him to the kitchen, Italy's gaze slid over to the knife set. It would be so easy, a traitorous voice in his mind told him. You could escape from it all, even if it's just for a few hours…
No. Italy stopped himself, striding away from the knives, from the temptation. He couldn't do that, not so soon after the last time. He had to hold out, for the sake of his people. His most recent attack on himself had caused a train wreck. Over thirty of his people had died, and for what? Nothing, nothing but a selfish, temporary reprieve from the inescapable. He hated himself for the weakness.
Italy sighed into the empty room. He was used to this guilt. It was part of a cycle that had been repeating for… how long, now? Even he wasn't sure. Italy would continue through his life, pretending that he didn't hear the comments and insults that tore at his very heart. He would hide his misery, his fury from the rest of the world, until it would become too much. And then he would break down. Of course, as a nation, Italy couldn't be killed that easily. He couldn't escape with such pathetic attempts. So he would recover, and learn what his temporary death had caused among his people. And he would hate himself for being so weak. The hate would be the first part of the growing burden that would eventually trigger his next attack on himself.
Except… this time was different. The guilt and hatred was still there, but there was another component now. Fear. Germany had come; Germany had seen Italy at his weakest moment. Germany had thrown sand into the gears. Now the machine was broken, wobbling, and even Italy had no idea what would happen next.
He had no idea what Germany would do. Would he tell the other nations? Would he keep it a secret? Would he return to Italy's house, or would he cut off all communication?
Pacing around the house wasn't helping. Italy had to get away.
