A/N: I love rairpairs / crackpairs so much. So. much. Hngggfffffff. Therefore, I declare Germano needs more fics. And if no one is gonna write them, then I will! *starts typing rapidly*
GerMano, fluff, awkward comfort-cuddling, minor OOC? (idk)
It was cold, it was dark, it was dusty. He didn't like it. Romano didn't like it at all. He didn't even know where he was, except that he was in a corner of a room, a dark, dark, empty corner of a room, curled up because.. because... just because. Panic was seeping through his skin and into his bones, and when he tried to scream, he heard nothing. His eyes widened, tears gathering, as he screamed again, his non-existent voice shredding his throat to shreds, though all that came out were silent shrieks.
And suddenly, light began to glow in the middle of the room, and amber eyes looked up, his throat stopped screeching, in the hopes of something... anything. And he saw people. A lot of people. The nations, actually. All gathered in a circle.
And in the center of the circle stood a very cheerful Veneziano.
"Is it true? It's going to happen?" Romano heard a very excited voice amongst the crowd.
"Ve~, I lied." Veneziano replied, and the room quietened. "It already happened!" The room burst into laughter and cheer. Romano desperately wanted to crawl out of his corner, which was still hopelessly dark, but his limbs felt like lead and he couldn't even choke out a whimper. The other nations didn't seem to notice him either. Panic, panic, fear, again, settling inside his veins..
He saw Hungary pat Veneziano's shoulder. "Well then, this makes life so much easier. Without Romano, we don't need to deal with two Italies running around in different directions." she laughed. "No offense, but you Italians can be such energetic things."
Veneziano just laughed. "Hehe~ It's okay, Hungary~"
Romano froze. What did she mean, without Romano?
"Wasn't he kind of an asshole anyway? Cussing, temper tantrums.." Netherlands snorted. "Such a brat."
"Haha~ Roma was always like that. Quite lazy too. I'll kind of miss him, but it doesn't matter, we still have our cute little Feli~" Spain cooed, patting the Italian's head.
"Well then, it's all one Italy now! Then again, we've always been calling 'Veneziano' Italy anyway." Belgium laughed.
Prussia kesesese'd. "Yeah, Italy! You're officially awesome! Like a bird!" Gilbird chirped in approval.
Romano began to choke. He didn't know on what. Disappointment? Shock? Self-hatred? Tears? He didn't know, but he was choking, and he couldn't breathe. It happened. It finally happened. No one loved him, needed him, and he dissolved and now... now, there was just one Italy. One Italy being the personification of the whole land, not two. And of course, of COURSE, they chose the happy one, the more tolerable one, the endless ball of sunshine who obviously -,better,BETTER- and left Romano to die in the dust, rotting in his little corner.
Of course. He should've known. Should've known should've known should've kno-
Romano suddenly froze again, and slowly looked down at himself.
He was fading.
Well, more like dissolving. He was slowly, slowly dissolving into a pile of ash, creeping up his leg -onlygoodatrunningaway- and now his arm -withfingersthatweren'tskilledatanything- and now his shoulder and his neck and now his mouth -hecouldn'tscreamanyway- and his nose -airdoesn'tflowwherehe'sgoing- and then his ears -allheheardwasthemthemTHEM- and then his eyes -goldenorbsfadinglikeasunset- and then-
Romano shot up, pupils dilated, tear tracks fresh down his cheeks, his shirt drenched in cold sweat. A nightmare. That was all it was. Just a stupid, stupid, all too real nightmare..
But then he looked around him and he almost panicked again. It was dark. It was really, really dark. The clock read two-thirty AM and he really shouldn't be up but it was dark just like the little corner in his little dream and the next thing he knew, he was out of bed, in only his shirt, tears pouring down his face, screaming at the top of his lungs.
It was only when he was outside the door when he realized whose house he was in, and who was behind that door. That alone screeched him to a halt. What would he do? Risk embarrassment and possibly get some comfort, or keep his pride and sob himself to sleep on the floor?
It's Romano. Obviously, he chose the latter.
And so he leaned against the wall with a thump, slid down to the floor, and began to cry as quietly as he could, since he decided that walking back to bed was a big no when he was crying and weak-feeling. And besides, even if he was outside his door, if he slid down in the darkness and cried quietly, he could still save his pride by the time his tears stopped...
Yeah. Good plan.
Germany was still awake. Still hopelessly awake. The German man sighed, ran a hand through his slightly messed up hair, and shuffled the papers in his hands.
He was used to being woken up at anywhere between two-to-three in the morning. Whenever Veneziano came around (which was ridiculously often) he'd go to sleep only to be jolted awake by a pile of shrieking naked Italian jumping dangerously close to his vital regions. So he eventually got into a habit of waking up at that time everyday, to be ready for his door to be slammed open and a scream of "GERMANYYYYYY" butchering all hope of peace and silence in the air, and then the Italian would start blabbering on either about dreams, nightmares, or the sudden craving for pasta.
But Veneziano was away today, he remembered. Veneziano had to go back to his home in Italy for a last-minute emergency meeting with his Boss, so he took the nearest flight from here to there and left Romano, who insisted on coming along to keep an eye on him and 'the potato bastard', asleep in his place. But routine was routine, and Germany was wide awake, so he figured he might as well get something accomplished while he was awake, and started to do some paperwork he had put in a drawer by his bedside. Using his tableside lamp, the room was filled with just enough light to hit the paper, barely touching the door. He was just about to add the finishing details to his paper when he heard familiar footsteps hitting rapidly across the floor, as well as a loud scream.
He automatically slid the paper back onto the bedside table, not wanting it to be ruined by the impact, and braced himself for a screaming Italian.
But nothing came.
The footsteps seemed to stop outside his door, as well as the scream, before a small thud sound was heard. And then, soft, soft whimpers. Germany frowned.
The walls to his home were thinner than most would think. It was so that he could hear if any intruders came into his home . And partially so he could hear when Veneziano was approaching, but that was besides the point. Germany slowly got to his feet, and tread softly to the door, trying not to make too much noise, scaring off whoever it was. And then he slowly opened said door, and his eyes widened when he saw who it was.
He was curled up on the floor, resting his head on his knees, softly sobbing, desperately trying not to break out into wails, trembling slightly. Germany would've thought it was Veneziano, if it weren't for the fact he knew he was away, and that the curl was on the wrong side. Germany's eyebrows furrowed.
The Italian jolted, and stared up at the blonde man, shocked and looking alarmingly vulnerable for a minute or two, before he (TRIED) to scowl and frown and generally look pissed (and failing horrendously).
"W-What do you want, potato sucker?" Romano tried to snap, but only succeeded in sounding like a lost puppy.
Germany sighed. "One, you are the one who is in my house and is outside my bedroom crying. I should be asking you that, but I won't." he answered.
Romano's mouth opened, as if he was about to retort something sharply, but he stopped abruptly. This is exactly why nobody likes you. Why people would be happy if you just disappeared and let Veneziano be one Italy. His mouth closed, and he looked downwards again, tears flowing once more. Meanwhile, Germany was feeling rather confused. What was he supposed to do, now? He wasn't very into the whole comfort-thing. It was easy to comfort Veneziano; all it took was hot water and pasta. And the last upset person he had comforted was Prussia, after his dissolution, who just insisted on some quiet brotherly TV time and a lot of beer, which Germany gladly provided.
But Romano, he didn't know. This wasn't the type of crying Veneziano did, the type to be cured by making pasta, nor was Romano Prussia, Prussia who preferred to suck it all up and deal with it on his own and let his own steam out through beer and simply being in quiet company of others. Romano, he was a whole different deal. What was he supposed to do? After a while of thinking, he decided to just do the first thing that came to his mind, something he did whenever Veneziano had a bad dream and wouldn't shut up in bed until he got what he wanted.
He squatted down, and put a large, buff arm around Romano's shoulders, and pulled him close. Romano squawked, surprised, but surprisingly didn't move. Instead, Germany began to feel more wetness seep through his shirt, and before he knew it, there was a wailing Italian sobbing into his broad chest, clenching onto his shirt. Germany felt very much awkward in that position, but he didn't move, just blushed slightly and let Romano cry.
He didn't know how long it was until things got quiet again, but it did. Romano's wails died down to quiet sniffles, and then even breathing, and when Germany looked down, he saw Romano fast asleep on his chest, drops of tears still stuck to his eyelashes, lips slightly parted. The blonde wiped those away with his thumb, and deciding that hey, why not, his room was all the way at the other side of the house, and he did it with Veneziano enough times anyway, he could risk a few punches, lifted the sleeping Italian up, and brought him to his own bed.
He lay him down on the mattress, and put the blanket up to his chin. Germany grunted, not knowing whether to sleep on the same bed, or take out a sleeping bag, when suddenly he heard a small, pitiful voice call up from beneath the sheets. He looked down to see Romano had covered his face completely with the blanket, leaving only a mess of dark chocolate brown hair visible, and a curl.
"...don't leave me alone..." came a small, Italian-accented voice. "...stay."
Germany blushed, and judging by the way the little curl turned jagged and twisted, he knew that Romano was probably about to jump into a large shout of fine go on then potato bastard don't make me say it twice you potato sucker. So, convincing himself that he was used to doing this with Veneziano anyway, he coughed awkwardly, and lay down on the bed as well, beneath the sheets, and clicked the light off. He lay awkwardly stiff for a moment, until he felt movement, and suddenly, Romano was curled up right next to him, nuzzling into his arm shyly.
Germany's face turned redder, and after a minute, awkwardly put his arm around Romano. He was pretty sure now, that either Romano's mind was currently exhausted and didn't care with anything, or a nightmare had shaken him up very badly, because normally, Romano wouldn't even dare approach Germany without cussing twenty times a minute and not even touching him. The German man eventually decided it a mixture of both, and decided to just stop thinking and enjoy the moment, because he was tired too, and for some reason or another, he knew cuddling up with Romano was a rare treasure, and he felt warmer next to him. A different kind of warmth than when he slept next to Prussia or Veneziano. Just, a happy, content sort of warmth.
He eventually decided that, yeah, ask questions tomorrow, deal with consequences tomorrow, enjoy now. He figured it was best to just let things be. And he let himself bring Romano closer to him, and allowed a small smile to his lips as he fell asleep, and if only he looked very hard into the darkness, he would've noticed the smaller nation's curl curve into an affectionate heart shape as they both drifted into sweet slumber.