(Reader x Aph Japan and Gerita) The Gerita Project

Chapter 7

"Of course," Germany mused, piecing another accumulation of ravioli, "what did I expect...?"

"Heh hey!" Feliciano sung, discarding his plate which was recently made destitute of all scraps of food. "An Italian always comes prepared, after all!"

"With pasta and white flags?"

"Well, yeah!"

The thoughts of where they where, how they would get back, and where they where directed to go had been dissolved by the intoxicating flavours of the cold pasta they picknicked on, seated on what could have been a mahogany throne of a seat, with intricate engravings twisting around the legs, but ended up as a pitiful blanket sprawled on a forest floor.

"Hey, I heard you didn't get ANY votes in Eurovision this year!" Germany's eyebrow twitched at Italy's sudden remark.

"Well, it seems your entry was particularly popular this year, c-congratulations."
Where did that come from? Did that sound desperate?

On any other occasion, the orderly German would be marching in whatever direction that took his fancy, in hope to arrive back on his doorstep and disguise the fact that his beloved BMW was abandoned in a forest with a stream of beer. But, for whatever reason, today felt...different.

Perhaps it was the way the sun leaked through the canopy fresh new leaves of the sickamore trees, this particular evening?

Maybe he had no energy to spare after his morning training?

It could possibly be that he's invested soo much money in his car, and would seldom abandon it?

No. It was much more momentous than that, at least for someone.

However, for two other people, it was an evening of mental laceration.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"W-what? No, t-this is-"

"j-just a misunderstanding!"

"Y-y-yeah, that's right! I mean-" tossing a tanned hand in a sweeping motion before the red-faced pair, the Spaniard ignored their (valid) pleas and announced, "welcome, Japan and (y/n), to Le Château Rose!"

He spread out his arms, rolling back on his heels upon the crisp scarlet carpet beneath him. A matching scarlet theme was underlining most of the romantic-themed ornaments presented in the restaurant: cylindrical, crimson lanterns dangled from heart-shaped frames, fashioned from intertwined twigs, which hung from various arias of the ceiling. Each artistically presented table only displayed two available seats- implying that this was primarily reserved for romantic partners. Elaborate oil paintings hung from each wall, displaying portraits of vibrantly and sparingly clothed dancers and succubisses, dream-like, cloud enveloped scenes depicting various gods, goddesses, angels and cherubs, and some more shockingly detailed paintings that made the pair blush even more.

Through the lustrous (e/c) eyes of (y/n)'s, the building looked like a scene from the Moulin Rouge.

"Shall I show you to your seats?" Spain questioned, pulling (y/n) from her dazed state. "Germany and Ita-Chan are being taken care of elsewhere, ok?" He leaned closer, averting his gaze, "plus, France went through all the trouble of organising this for you, so..."

"For us? I thought France prepared this for Germany San and Italy Kun...?"

"Ah yeah, about that..." Spain chuckled, scratching a bronze patch of hair on the back of his head, "France had a little something for you, too, within the...Gerita project, was it? Two birds with one stone, if you will. I'll explain later."

"Ah, I s-suppose if he went through all that tr-"

"WHAT THE HOLY ROME, SPAIN?!?"