(A/N) LOLOL Writer's block isn't funny D:

And I thank my dad for speaking car, 'cause god knows I wouldn't have been able to pick one suitable for this fanfic by myself XD


Chapter Three

Diosma (Your simple elegance charms me)

Ludwig sat in the driver's seat of a white 1939 BMW 328, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel in impatience as he waited for Feliciano. It still made the German a little nervous about leaving the said Italian unattended in HIS house, and good lord knows what could happen, even if Gilbert wasn't home today… but when Italy arrived, he said he would only take a minute to finish what he couldn't at his own home.

"… Well, at first I couldn't find the wrapping paper, then I almost broke it, and, and, after that Lovino got mad at me for getting you something, and we ran out of tape…" Italy's apologies and explanations continued on until Germany calmed him down long enough to say he could borrow some of his supplies. The Italian smiled brightly as he bounced up the stairway and into the building. It wasn't uncommon for Italy to take a long time to finish a simple task, he could spend hours just trying to tie a single shoe's laces together.

At times, like this moment, Germany would wonder how he even puts up with the dim brunet. He wasn't useful in battle, always getting himself captured… The only two things he could make on his own were pasta and white flags… He doesn't make an effort to work at all, and only dances, sings, paints and sleeps all day…

"Germany, Germany!" Italy's voice broke his thread of concentration. "I'm done! I'm ready!" The next thing Ludwig knew, Feliciano's brown eyes were in his face, blocking his view. In his arms was a present, wrapped up in brightly colored paper and tied with curled ribbons. His clothing was casual for today, a simple white button-up shirt and creamy-tan pants. "Ve, I thought I was gonna drive."

Germany sat up straight, smoothing out his black cotton shirt. "I'm sure you don't want us to die in a car crash on such an important date." Truth be told, he wasn't as enthusiastic of the trip as Italy, but might as well amuse him.

"But your driving is way too slow!" The Italian whined. "It could take us forever to get there, and I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"You can tell me the directions there – a simple left or right will suffice. I know the land better than you do-"

"But I really really wanted to-!"

"Italy." The German hushed his comrade with a stern tone. "Please, just do this one thing for me."

Feliciano pouted, but nodded in agreement. He sighed as he walked to the opposite side of the car and jumped into the passenger seat, carefully placing his gift to Ludwig between the two of them.

The blond raised an eyebrow at the gift. While it looked like Italy had gone a little overboard with the curled ribbons, he had to admit it was beautifully wrapped…

Actually, Italy could do almost anything with arts or crafts to the point of near perfection.

"What's the present for?"

Italy gave a small, playfully coy smile. "Ve, it's a special gift for Germany, but he can't open it until later." He giggled.

Germany decided that was good enough of an answer, turning the key in the ignition and making the car's engine roar to life. "Which way first?" He shouted over the thunder of the BMW.



"Ne, ne! Germany! Isn't it nice today?" Feliciano sang to his partner.

Ludwig leaned against the sports car, watching his partner dance across the field of lush, tall green grass they pulled up next to. In response to Italy's question, he glanced up at the bright, blue sky. It was nearly cloudless, and only a few small, puffy white clouds rolled across it.

"The weather is fair." He answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I need to ask, Italy. Of all places, why did you want to come here?" he gestured with his head towards the general area – rolling hills, some trees planted here or there, but mostly on the mountains that stood proudly as their peaks touched the heavens – it was none other than the German countryside. His countryside. "Aren't you always saying your countryside areas are better?"

"Mm, yeah…" The Italian twirled up to his taller partner, stopping a few inches away and looking up at him. "But, Germany is always working. Even when he takes a break, he's busy doing something. And when he goes on vacation, he likes to go to Italy to do sightseeing." He wrapped his arms around Germany, giving him a soft hug. "I don't mind that he likes my land, of course… but I thought, maybe since today is special, we could do something a bit different. So, I decided to go to Germany's countryside!" He released his hold on his partner and began twirling again. "It's beautiful here, too! Not as pretty as mine, but still pretty enough!"

Germany's cheeks ever so slightly glowed with the tiniest hint of red from the compliment, as the Italian continued to dance around in circles until becoming so exhausted that he fell onto his back, breathing deeply, staring at the sky in a dreamlike state. While his partner was hidden beneath the grass, Germany opened the trunk of the vehicle, pulled out a wicker basket, and strode over to where the brunet rested. "I didn't know how long we would be out…" Germany placed the basket on the ground, nearby Italy's head. "…So I had this prepared, just in case."

The Italian sat up, staring at the basket with large, curious eyes. "Hmm? What is it?" But as soon as the question passed his lips, a familiar and delicious scent drifted from the basket. The scent of a special dish, consisting dough made from flour and eggs…

The blond laid out a checkered blanket, and then proceeded to take ceramic dishes filled with food out of the basket. One dish had a light salad, another wursts, and the third dish – before Germany even set the wursts down, Italy had grabbed the dish and stared into it, his mouth watering – was filled with warm, steamy pasta.

"Hey, settle down." Ludwig scolded lightly.

"G-Germany! You made pasta?!" The Italian's voice reached a high pitch.

"Well…" He pulled out two glasses, a jug of beer and a bottle of wine. "I had one of my cooks learn from a chef of yours how to prepare it, to suit your taste." 'You pretty much live in my house as a second home anyway, so I have to be prepared…'

Feliciano smiled. Not in the normal, silly way, but in a soft, affectionate way that was uncommon (but not unseen) to Ludwig. Feliciano was happy. He was so very happy. Germany, his greatest friend, had prepared his favorite food for him, and for that he was grateful.

Ludwig poured the wine into one of the glasses, handing it to Italy. He wouldn't hurt himself with glass, he knew.

Italy had incredible, almost elegant table manners.

After pouring beer into his own glass, he raised it to eyelevel. "Beifall." He grinned ever so slightly.

"Cin cin!" Italy raised his own glass, tapping it against Germany's with a soft klink. "To 73 years of Friendship!"

Alliance instead of friendship would've sounded more accurate in the German's mind, but for now, he didn't care. There was something about the Italian that made him less serious the longer he was with him, able to just relax… and he had no clue what it was.

The next thing he knew, the said brunet was stretched across Germany's lap, resting his head at the base of his neck and arms wrapped around his torso, in some form of a "cuddle hug".

"I-Italy? What are you-?!"

Italy rubbed his head against Germany, whose face was getting redder and redder each second. Just exactly how long did he plan to stay like this? In this embarrassing and uncomfortable position, even if no one was around to see? Not for much longer, he hoped.

"I love you, Germany." Feliciano sighed. It was light and airy, and due to the cotton shirt he was wearing, Germany could feel his breath drift across and tickle his chest.

"I, uh…" His face flushed, as he looked for the words to reply with to the younger man. He awkwardly embraced Italy with an open arm, supporting himself with the other, and mumbled, "…oveyoutoo."

"Hmm? I didn't hear you, Germany~"

"I said… I… love you too…"

Feliciano smiled to himself, before sitting up again and turning his attention to the pasta, as if nothing happened.

It was then, as Italy ate away at his pasta, that Germany thought maybe he did have a reason he put up with the brown-haired dunce. Even if he wasn't a great fighter, or a useful assistant… what he was, was an honest, truthful friend that you could rely on to make you feel better when you're depressed.

He shrugged to himself, and bit into a wurst.



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