Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all, so please stop threatening to sue me because I'm just a broke student with nothing better to do with her time.

The Truth about Onions

He had an onion in his hand. An onion in his hand.

When he'd realized he'd woken up with something there he had at least expected something that made sense: the ornament on his stair railing perhaps, or even a light bulb, but an onion…just no. He knew that he had onions in his kitchen, but he was quite sure that he hadn't even been near his kitchen in a week because—


—Italy had decided to turn up.

The Italian nation dropped his house keys and ran from the doorway leaving Germany's front door wide open and trekking in twin trails of snow. His face was flushed red from the winters first snowstorm and his wool hat was pulled down securely over his ears, practically flattening his wayward curl into submission. Why Italy had been out there in the first place was beyond him; when he finally got time off from his boss the Italian nation was usually over at Germany's in less than two hours and rarely left his side once he got there. It didn't matter that Germany was usually still working, he showed up anyway. However many headaches it gave the more serious nation though, it was nice to have Italy around.

This newest headache was no one's fault but his own this time.

"Germany! Germany!" Italy cried dropping to his knees beside the fallen country. "Germany, are you alright? What happened? Did you fall? Have you lost any memory? Why is there an onion in your hand? How many fingers am I holding up?" Italy shoved three slender fingers in his line of vision so close to his face that he flinched back. "C'mon Germany, how many fingers?"

Germany pushed Italy's hand out of his way. "I'm fine Italy," he assured him gruffly. Just to prove how fine he was he sat up rubbing the side of his head as if it would ward off his headache.

It seemed he must have fallen down the stairs in his entryway. That was odd. He had never fallen down his stairs in his life, and all things considered that was a pretty impressive feat. Sure he'd fallen down his basement stairway plenty of times, but that was only because his idiot brother never picked up his messes (he wasn't too sure why he still let Prussia stay there anyway). He had never fallen down his own stairwell, not even when Italy left his shoes or umbrella at the bottom. So how had he managed it?

Eventually deciding that there was a first time for everything and not to worry about it, he began to pay more attention to Italy who was buzzing around him concernedly, checking him for scrapes and cuts, even going so far as to feel his forehead for a fever. With an irritated sigh, Germany dropped the onion and took Italy's hands. "Calm down Feliciano, I'm fine really."

Italy didn't look convinced. He placed his hands on sides of Germany's face, disregarding the fact that Germany was still holding them. "Are you sure? It's not like you to fall down the stairs and hurt yourself, but wait, you said you didn't hurt yourself right? But you still fell down the stairs and you don't normally do that like I do, and if you don't usually do something then that means it's unusual and that something must be wrong in order for you to do it. What's wrong Germany?"

Before the Italian could draw in another breath Germany released his hold on one of Italy's hands and covered his mouth gently. Italy's amber eyes widened and he stopped babbling instantly. The two countries stared at one another in silence.

When he was sure Italy wouldn't say anything more, Germany lowered his hand. Immediately Italy grabbed at it. Germany chuckled.

"Feliciano, I'm fine. I've been through worse."

He relaxed this time, leaning back on his boots, but taking the Germans hands with him. "I know; I just don't like seeing you like that. Germany's too strong to just…" he trailed off, instead leaning forward to press their foreheads together. "I worry."

Germany sighed but forced himself not to pull away. "I know, but there's nothing to worry about now." He paused, then amended: "Except a cold; shut the door Italy!"

The smaller man yelped in surprise then scrambled away from Germany. He had to kick away the snow that had started to build in the open doorway so that he could force the door closed, but he managed it quick enough. Germany couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight of his Italian sweeping out flurries with his hands and batting even more away as they continued to float inside.

Still smiling he picked up the onion and stood, going to meet Italy. The small Italian was smiling again as he took off his hat and gloves.

After tossing his coat and scarf into the tine hallway closet, Italy flung himself at Germany, latching his arms around the taller man's neck and burrowing into his chest. "Mmm," he sighed. "Germany's very warm." He felt Italy smile.

"That's because I've been inside all day." Awkwardly he placed his hands on Italy's back.

Italy sighed again and hugged Germany closer. This made the German roll his eyes. Italy was now practically welded to his side and while the Italian's warmth wasn't unwelcome—it was the dead of winter—he did want to put up this onion.

"Feliciano?" Germany felt a slight vibration of acknowledgement. "Italy, please let go."

Italy whined in protest as he tried to pull back from the hug, fingers tightening on the back of his shirt. They both looked at one another simultaneously, each about to voice arguments that died in their throats.

Neither moved first, nor were they even aware that they had moved at all so natural was the action. Germany had to duck down a bit, while Italy reached up on his on his toes but they found each other's lips smoothly without any of the awkward clashing that had occurred the first few times. By tacit agreement the kiss was kept slow, almost lazy, in nature. Germany kept Italy close, wrapping his arms loosely around Italy's waist, and humming into the kiss when Italy moved his hands to his hair.

The Italian grinned as Germany brought the kiss to a close, pecking him on the lips one last time before letting him go.

"Ti amo, Ludwig."

"Ich liebe dich, Feliciano."

"But um…Ludwig?"


"Why do you have an onion?"

He brought the onion up to his face and squinted at it contemplatively. "I honestly have no idea; probably my bruders idea of a joke. I don't even know how I fell in the first place."

Laughing Italy reached up and took the onion from him, rolling it between his hands. "Well, we can always use it for dinner tonight."

"What else would we use it for?"

Italy laughed.

A/N: Yea! I have finally finished another oneshot! Yes! I have been battling writers block for ages and I have finally been able to produce something worth posting. I love these two so much so I hope my attempt at adding more fluff wasn't a total bust. Special thanks to PinkMenace1227 for betaing this for me you are awesome!

Please drop a review and let me know what you think. It makes me a very happy author.