Memories: Rewritten

Chapter 2: Cafe Spain

 Talking to Italy about his feelings was a major step out of Germany's comfort zone. Exercising was his foremost way of working through any difficult emotions, but without the possibility of training, Germany knew that his next best option was to attempt to discuss it, and who better than Italy? Italy's strong suit was acting as a sounding board to throw ideas at; he knew his place in the conversation, and especially in a conversation with Germany, he knew to not overstep. Germany did not want to talk to someone who would psychologically pick him apart as Austria had tried to do in the morning, or brush him off as Prussia had always done– with Italy, Germany knew that he had a safe space to speak without interjection or avoidance of the subject. Perhaps he would feel more open to talking about his thoughts if his family seemed more open to the idea as well, but Prussia shied away and Austria never knew what to say. He was slightly more open than Prussia, but Austria's gaze made you feel as if one slip of the tongue or one moment of weakness would give him an unknown advantage over you in the future. Italy was safe.

"Vee~," Italy cooed, practically bouncing in the booth, "thank you for taking me to lunch, Germany! I like spending time with you."

Germany nodded and pulled his water closer to him. Another disappointing aspect of the dream dilemma was that his head now hurt every day. He often awoke in extreme pain and remained that way for hours before the headache eventually died down to a dull throb, yet no matter what he did, the pain never completely subsided. It was most likely a headache from the constant stress he was under, yet he resolved to drink more water in the hopes that it would keep the unbearable pain at bay.

"I'm glad you're okay," Italy said as he swirled a spoon in his coffee, "I was worried. You always text me at the same time every morning, so when I talked to Prussia before I talked to you, it made me nervous."

"I'm sorry, Italy, I know it's out of character for me. I have a lot happening right now."

Germany sighed and moved his hands under the table, wringing them in his lap so Italy could not see how vulnerable he truly felt.

"That's...actually why I wanted to take you to lunch," Germany muttered, bowing his head down to avoid eye contact, "I don't often say this, but I...want to talk to you about something that has been bothering me, which I don't normally do, but...I don't have anyone else."

"I'm honored, Germany," Italy smiled, "It makes me happy that you feel like you can talk to me."

Germany nodded once more, the lump in his throat keeping him from speaking. This act felt so foreign to him, always feeling the need to keep his emotions close to his chest. Growing up in a culture where questions weren't answered meant that questions shouldn't be asked. He had to continuously remind himself that not everyone responded in the same manner as his family, especially not Italy.

As Germany opened his mouth to speak, the waitress came to the table and delivered their meals. Italy settled on a breakfast platter with all the staples: eggs, bacon, pancakes, hash browns, fruit, toast, anything he could have wanted. Italy wanted to try everything, a lifestyle perfectly represented in the eclectic smorgasbord of food. Germany, the opposite end of the spectrum, settled for a toasted sesame bagel. His headache came accompanied with a stomach ache and nearly non-existent appetite.

"The truth is, I don't have anyone else I can talk to," he said as he watched Italy drizzle syrup on his pancakes, "Austria and Prussia have this way of...I don't know, walling you off from being able to talk about anything. It's like their own Iron Curtain, if you will."

Italy kept his eyes fixated on his plate, dedicating his attention to mopping up a pool of syrup with one perfect swipe of his pancake-filled fork. "You're like that too, Germany."