(Reader x Aph Japan and Gerita) The Gerita Project

Chapter 8

Silence reined. The faint soundtrack of the forest- rodents scurrying, owls swooping to devour them, the like- played thoughtlessly in the seemingly distant background. The evening sun had dived behind the horizon, leaving the impossibly distant stars to illuminate the earth. Judging by the fact that Germany could only just make out a thin, navy blue outline of the trees and shrubs, they weren't doing too excellent of a job.

A constant stream of words where, as usual, pouring from a certain Italian' s mouth, however this time, Germany had no excuse not to tune into what he was saying. The fact that he could somehow keep a steady partially one-sided conversation revolving around the subject of pasta, switch it to cars, then flip it back to pasta again was a concept that Germany, unfortunately, struggled to grasp.

Casting aside common belief, the pair did, in fact, have a lot to converse about, however it was rare to see them participate in a casual debate- but not for a lack of topic substance. Simply because the Italian was well-versed in the (self-proclaimed) art of self expression, and the German still seemed to be the same callous and straight- laced stick-in-the-mud as he presented himself as, before his 'realisation'.

Maybe if I didn't have this aura of anger, I wouldn't be in this... dilemma...

It took longer that Germany would have preferred to realise that Italy was asleep. Sprawled out on his side, his monologue had descended into quiet mutterings of "ve...Oh, ciao Bella! My house is the...ve..." causing an unnoticed grin to form on the German' s stiff features. As if it was the most natural thing to do, Germany curled up close to his side- tentatively, without touching him, in fear that he might disturb his slumber. Against the pale moonlight, the milky flesh of Italy's face were bathed in a pale blue sheen, accentuating his doll-like features.

An unattainable scenario played in his head.

Today will be the day...today will be the day? Today WILL be the day! Wait...

After a lengthy mental argument on wether he should make a move, he rolled onto his other side, cheeks flaring red, and simply let his eyelids descend.
TOMORROW will be the day.

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

Chugging down a drawn-out sip of sake, Japan turned to face the blindly optimistic Spaniard. "Would you care to tell us of the situation, then? Why has France decided to arrange this for us?"

"But it's obvious, right? Even so, I get the impression I'm not supposed to tell you."

(Y/n)'s eyes closed as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, reaching for her already half empty glass.

"Alright! I'll spell it out for you!" Spain exclaimed, raising his hands to the air in a mock gesture of surrender, "you called France to ask for his help to get Germany and Ita-Chan together, si?" Japan nodded, "and he certainly ships Gerita, too." Spain shuffled in his awkwardly positioned seat- he had stolen a chair from a reserved table nearby, and had to endure deathly cold glances shot at him from the couple lacking one vital seat. "You see, France also...ships

(y/n)pan...! Or Jap(y/n)?"

With a majestic motor-boat like sound, a glorious ark of regurgitated liquid and spittle soared from (y/n)'s mouth. Like a fountain, the witch's broth of revolting solution continued to fly through the air and pour onto the creamy table top and on an unflinching Japan's oversized Attack on Titan t-shirt, until (y/n) run short of liquids to spray. Her half lidded eyes, still fixed onto something unidentified in the distance, failed to waver until her brief interval from sanity concluded, and she turned back to face Spain, "I see. So he sent Germany and Italy elsewhere, got us worried for them, lured us here and set us up for a date. Am I right?"

His face still carved into an expression of mild disgust, Spain confirmed, "sì, that's the size of it." Barging into the couple behind him, Spain spun away from his seat and directed a mischievous wink at the silent and uncomfortable pair, "and please don't disappoint, okay?"

And as the Spaniard exited, so did all traces of relaxation.

I suppose this could be a good thing, right? Japan pondered, eyes glued to the apparently intriguing reflection of the vibrant restaurant in the mirror adjacent to their table. If Germany San and Italy Kun came here, Germany San would have malfunctioned by now. He sneaked a side long glance at (y/n): the dim, tinted light reflections in her (e/c) eyes, and her glossy (h/c) hair blended almost perfectly with the atmosphere of the room, almost making up for the monstrosity of style sins that she threw on mere minutes prior to their arrival here.

Besides...