Hetabang time!
So, it’s finally te time to upload this! I’ve been waiting for this moment lmao
I wrote this and my amazing partner did a drawing of the last scene, but they haven’t posted it yet so imma wait till they do and tag them!
Edit: Here is the artwork!
The meeting ended sooner that day. Thank God.
Gilbert grabbed his laptop and his briefcase, stretching his neck until it popped. It was Friday, finally, and that meant a lot of things. It meant beer, a nice dinner, some of that leftover cake, and the best part:
He could invite him for dinner. He could finally invite Italy for dinner and ask him that thing.
"Hey, little Italy! Guten morgen!” He smiled, his heart almost doing a cartwheel when Feliciano kissed his cheeks. “What are you doing here? You’re going to miss your flight.” Even after saying that, Feliciano sat on the table, and Gilbert did the same, not interested If he missed his own.
“I was looking for you.” Said the Italian, and God, if he didn’t die at that moment, he really had to be a tough one. His pale face took a very slight shade of pink, invisible to Italy.
“Oh, so you were searching for me?” Gilbert said, his speech still perfect, his tone normal, but his face warming. Slow but steady.
“Yes, I wanted to ask you something.” Gilbert arched an eyebrow, blinking once or twice.
«Keep it cool.» He thought, panicking internally. “Oh, yeah, whatever you want, little Italy. I’m all ears.” And, to be honest, he didn’t expect that much, but surely he didn’t see that one coming.
“Can you help me with my paperwork?"
Oh God, Italy was lucky he liked him. He wouldn’t waste his weekend explaining paperwork to anybody, but him. He was the only exception.
But now, he surely was going to be talking about boring numbers, when they could be having a delicious dinner and a delicious dessert. Amazing.
"Come with me. We can stay together at my house and I can explain to you how I do my paperwork.” He smiled, petting the Italian’s head. “Then, we can have dinner together. I’ll make some homemade pasta for you and we can have cake at the end.” And that was the exact way to convince Italy. Gilbert smiled softly, seeing Italy jump from one place to another while he sang some song. “Okay, okay. Chill, Kleine. Don’t hurt yourself.” Italy stopped and grabbed his hand, tangling his fingers with his own.
“I would love that, Gilbert!” He smiled widely, so beautifully. “Oh, Gil, you’re red. Is something wrong?"
They were kneading the dough, and Gilbert was amazed at the way Italy did it. His movements were perfectly fluent, his voice hummed a soft song, his eyes half-open. He stopped for a second, pinching the dough slightly.
“It’s ready to stretch and cut.” Prussia nodded, and then, they began to stretch the dough, making it thinner. Over, and over, and over again, until Feliciano felt like it was perfect. Then, they passed it through the cutter, making perfect spaghetti.
“Perfect.” Said Prussia, bringing a tray with flour. “It’s ready to cook.” Italy nodded, looking incredibly happy. They both went to the kitchen, where the water in the pot was already boiling. Italy added some salt, and then, the pasta.
“It should be ready in two or three minutes. Could you check the sauce?” Gilbert nodded, and went to another pot, opening it and grabbing some sauce with a spoon. He tasted it, the flavor lingering in his mouth. It was absolutely…
“Delicious.” He said, smiling widely. “It’s delicious.” Feliciano smiled, looking at him, small little face so adorable. He wanted to take a picture, no jokes. Gilbert covered the pot, seeing how his hand trembled, feeling his throat tightening. «Everything is going to be okay.» He had to say to himself.
And he really hoped it would be.
“Well, I think it’s ready to drain.” He nodded, getting closer. Italy was holding a fork, where one string of pasta sat. “Could you taste it, Gil?” And he extended his hand, offering him not the fork, but the food. He had to stop a second, trying to gain control of his face, to avoid that God damned red. He got even closer, eating the spaghetti from his hand.
“It’s ready.” He said, tasting it. It had the right amount of salt, and it wasn’t incredibly soft, but a little bit chewy. It was perfect.
Italy drained it and put it in the same pot with the sauce. he moved it around with a pair of tweezers, and then, it was perfectly ready to eat.
“Let’s go. I’m hungry.” Italy smiled, grabbing a bottle of wine and a bottle of beer. Prussia nodded, grabbing the pot.
“So, did you understand that thing about your paperwork?” Italy nodded, smiling and grabbing his glass of wine.
“Yes, thanks.” He smiled, taking a sip of wine. “You’re a very good teacher, Gil."
"Oh, ask West or America, they’ll probably have something else to say.” He laughed. “I am a good teacher, indeed,” he started, grabbing his bottle. “but I am not going soft on anyone. You’re just a special case. Usually, I would be more strict and rude with any other. Only for you.” And Gilbert smiled softly, booping the Italian’s nose, making him laugh.
“I like you a lot, Gil!” He smiled, and Gilbert definitely felt something jump in his chest.
“Ah, yea, ja.” He mumbled, looking away. “Actually, little Italy… Feliciano” He whispered, taking a big breath. “I like you too. I like you a lot.” And Italy didn’t even flinch.
“Yeah! Me too, Gil! You’re an amazing friend!” Oh, no.
“No, dearest. I mean, uh, I like you, like, more than a friend. I like you a lot more."
"Like a best friend, then! You’re my best friend!” And Gilbert rolled his eyes, but Italy kept talking before he could explain himself. “I wouldn’t change you as my best friend for anything in the world! You’ll always be the best friend I could ever have, and I hope nothing ruins our friendship!” For God’s sake, Gilbert thought, almost speaking again.
“You… Wouldn’t want me to be anything more than… Your best friend? Only… That?” He said, his voice normal, but something was cracking. “Not even-”
“Always friends!” Italy interrupted him.
Then, he understood. Italy was understanding what he really wanted to say, but he surely didn’t want to reject him. He just wanted him to… Catch the cue. He only wanted him as a friend.
He only wanted him as a friend.
“O-oh, yeah. Always… F-friends.” He whispered, forcing that painful sensation at the back of his throat. Not yet. “I should take you to the airport so you can go back, Italy. You’re going to miss your flight.” He said, getting up and grabbing his keys and his helmet. He went to the garage, putting the key at the contact on his motorcycle. “Move, Italy! We don’t have all the time in the world!” His words sounded a lot ruder and mean, like if he was tired or angry. Obviously, Italy got scared, and just followed the orders. The garage door opened with the controller, and they went out. Suddenly, Italy had to hold himself again Gilbert, because hell, they were going 100 kph, and it was just rising. They arrived at the airport in 3 minutes, when usually it would take 15.
“Let’s go.” And as soon as they were on the ground they were running. Or well, he was almost running. Gilbert was just walking. Incredibly quickly. Gilbert had to buy the tickets for him because obviously, the people spoke German.
“Here. Have this.” Italy grabbed the tickets with one hand, while he grabbed his document and passport from his briefcase with the other.
“Is everything alright, Gil?” He literally had to take a step back when Prussia looked at him. His eyes were glowing.
“I don’t allow my own brother to call me by my name, Italy. You don’t have that privilege either.” He deadpanned.
But… Italy wasn’t dumb. At least, not when it came to feelings. Even if Prussia was “angry”, he saw sadness. In his face, those eyes were not glowing, they were shining.
“Gilbert…” He whispered, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, but at that second, his flight was announced. Prussia didn’t even say goodbye, he just left.
His eyes were shining, yes. And he swore, he saw a tear leaving his left eye.
Gilbert went back to his house calmly. He entered and started washing the dishes. The leftover spaghetti was poured in a container and stored in the fridge, with the forgotten cake. Then, he went to the table, grabbing his bottle of beer. It was half full, but in a second, he drank the rest. The wine was stored in the fridge, and the glass… He literally spent half an hour looking at it, trying to go back in time, when he bought that glassware, the moment when he grabbed it from the counter, just some hours ago. That moment, when they were still friends.
His knuckles turned white, and in a quick movement, he threw the glass against the floor, turning it to just useless shards. Panting, he kneeled at its side, slowly picking up the pieces, just hissing when one of them cut his finger.
Wine stung, but the tears falling were even more painful.
The meeting was in Berlin that day. Ironically.
"He didn’t come today…” Whispered Italy, looking at the German’s seat, unoccupied. In his place, Germany entered, even when he was, technically, on vacation. Apparently, though, he was not there for the meeting, because he wore just civilian clothes.
“Italy.” He said, looking at him. “Can we talk? Please?” Italy nodded, concerned. He looked slightly sad but he looked mad too. Something surely had to be going around the Germanic countries. “What happened last Sunday, Italy? When I came back, Prussia was devastated. And I mean, really, sad.”
“I knew he was sad. We were just talking, and in a second he was suddenly really mad but really sad. I swear I saw him crying.”
“What were you two talking about? Do you remember what you said or what he said the moment when he changed?"
"We were talking about our friendship! I told him I liked him, and he told me he liked me too, but, like, more than a friend! Then I thought, well he wants to be my best friend, and then it went down really quick and he was like that in a second."
Germany observed him for a second, and then he arched an eyebrow.
I mean. He thought he was the clueless one, but even he would have understood that.
"So. Let’s set things clear. You said something like ‘I like you’, then he said 'I like you too.’ Then you started talking about friends, but he said 'I like you more than a friend.’ Then you started talking about best friends. Then, he was suddenly angry. Is that what happened?”
"¡Si Capitano!” Said Italy, smiling widely. And oh God, he thought he was the clueless one.
“Italy, my dear friend.” He started, taking a deep breath. He needed France. “Let’s say, a man and a woman are together. And he says 'I like you more than a friend.’ What would you think he’s meaning?”
“He loves her!” Italy said, smiling. And he smiled and smiled until he didn’t. “He… He loves… Her.” Slowly, he whispered.
“And what if he does things for her he wouldn’t do in normal situations? Like, cooking for her, or allowing her to call him by his name, or taking the time to explain to her something slowly, when everyone would say he’s a devil when he’s teaching. Or calling her with endearments, when he doesn’t do that. What would you think? Does he want to be her friend?” And Italy slowly came into realization.
“Oh my God, I messed it up. I ruined everything. I wasted his time. I fell really low. I-” And Germany had to touch his arm, to prevent him from missing the line. “I have to go and talk to him.” And he almost ran away, just in the for Ludwig to grab him and bring him back.
“Do you have any idea of what you’re going to say, at least?” Italy arched his eyebrow, opening his mouth, but Ludwig spoke first. “He liked you even when we were dating, but he never said anything. He liked you since the beginning. And I can’t risk you going there and messing it up even more because I haven’t seen him this sad since 1945. He doesn’t deserve so much pain, and I won’t let you go there unless you know exactly what to say.” He took a deep breath. “Do you like him? Not like a friend. Not like a best friend.” And Italy, slowly, nodded, making him smile. “Give me a pen. I have to give you the address. He’s not in Berlin, so you’ll have to go now unless you want to miss the train that goes to Hamburg.” Italy grabbed a pen, and Germany didn’t even waste time on paper, writing it directly onto his skin. “Do you understand it?” Italy nodded, and flew, running to the train station, buying a ticket to Hamburg, and getting on the train in record time. He just hoped that there was still time for him.
He made it to Hamburg, and then, he started going around, trying to remember each street. He reached a big building of apartments and looked at the key in his hand. The door opened, incredibly, and then he started walking, trying to reach the apartment number 19. The door made a little sound when unlocked, and then he went in.
«It has to be Ludwig’s private department.» He thought to himself. Some books were easy to recognize for him because he saw them in his library. A jacket was on the sofa, he recognized it as Gilbert’s. And there was a bed for a dog on the floor.
He walked to the bedroom, and entered, finding him sleeping peacefully.
«He’s here…» He thought, slowly getting closer to him. He sat down on the bed, and at that moment, he woke up.
“What the fuck, Italy?” He almost screamed, going back. “What are you doing here? Get out!” Now he was screaming.
“No!” Italy responded, but Gilbert didn’t listen. He grabbed his arm, dragging him to the door, without paying attention to anything he would say. And when they were almost out, he stopped for a second.
"I’m sorry,” Italy whispered, squirming in his place. “Prussia, my hand hurts…” And he left him to go. He dragged some tears left In his eyes, saying that again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I didn’t understand at that moment. Please, forgive me.” And his face was suddenly red, his eyes shiny again.
“It’s not fair, I try to get out, and you drag me back, you probably don’t even mean what I think you’re meaning. And I thought West was bad when it came to feelings.” Italy grabbed his hand, pressing it.
“I like you too.” He said, feeling Prussia’s hand tremble. “I like you. Not like a friend. Not like a best friend. I like you a lot. I just thought you weren’t meaning it like that, or I was just a little tipsy and I wasn’t thinking, but I’m sorry. For making you cry and for hurting you.” And when he looked at his face, he was crying. “I’m sorry…” He whispered one last time, slowly touching his nose, and kissing him.
It was something slow. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring him. He was suddenly so weak, so small. For a second he was a child again.
His hands just hung at his sides at the beginning, but then he slid them, right to his shoulders. They separated, looking at each other for a second. Then, Gilbert spoke.
"Me too, Prussia.” Italy smiled.
“Call me by my name. Please.” But Italy didn’t, because, of course, he had to kiss him again.
