(Reader x Aph Japan and Gerita) The Gerita Project

Chapter 10

The very words stole the air from his lungs. Paralyzed like a rabbit in the headlights, Italy stood in the constant drizzle, nothing other than moonlight highlighting Germany and Italy's outlines. Statue-like, Germany faced him in desperate search of how to continue- the last thing he would ever want to do was hurt him, and let him run away like he did, but this time, permanently. However, Italy was struggling just to maintain eye contact with him. Gazing at his sky-blue eyes was like reading from a tragic romance novel, but the more he looked, the more he realised what an important role he played in it, like the stories that the crowds of otakus busied themselves with. But these hypnotasing, baby blue eyes weren't the same as the eyes as that boy's- the boy who shouted in denial, ran from his overwhelming emotions, and had first showed him love. The boy who left his desire and, alongside the myriad of nameless soldiers, was killed.

"I know how important he was to you, I won't take that away from you. I've been told I resemble him...in multiple ways, but I'm not him, at all - this is all from me, Ludwig Beilshmit." Germany took a long, shaky breath. He had pretty much rehearsed what he was about to say about 50 times, but it didn't feel quite natural to pour out his emotions when Japan and (y/n) weren't watching with cameras. "I...I-I'm- you're...I know in terms of p-personality, we're pretty much polar opposites, but..." a perfect confession line sprang into his head, but weather or not it adapted to the situation, or if it was true, would take to much pondering. He had wasted enough time standing around, blushing. Not quite 'since the nine hundreds', but long enough.

"I made a promise to you, quite a while ago- that whenever you're in danger, I'd come to your rescue, and vice versa," the words 'and now, could YOU rescue ME? I'm falling for you too hard' spawned into his mind like the dreamy streams of roses in the Oran High School Host Club, but Germany dismissed them as soon as they appeared.

"I know." Those where the first words he had spoken since his uncharacteristic outburst. He turned like a sunflower to meet the sun, but lacking the flower' s vibrancy- the mask of a smile he wore couldn't fool someone as close to him as Germany; he could read him like a book. And that was part of the reason he was standing here, soaked to the bone and blushing like a Japanese schoolgirl in front of her heart-throb sempai. And Italy, being the charmer he was, knew this.

"I think...I understand what you want to say, Ludwig. But it's my problem, ever since...h-ho...He left, you know..."

Germany's expression softened as he watched Italy recover his memories of his childhood...friend? Is that really the right term? But as the tears crawled down his friend's unblemished cheeks, he remembered a certain paragraph in his beloved copy of Dating for Germans: They may start tearing up, so make sure you have a handkerchief ready. Wipe their face with the napkin until completely clean. "A-are you crying, Italy?" And so, he proceeded to produce a tissue from his pocket, reach forward and- see his hand be slapped away immediately.

"I-Italy?"

The bronze-haired Italian gasped, maybe at his own actions, and whipped his head around to look back at Germany: he looked as if Italy's swipe had the affect of a kamehameha. "Oh, G-G-Germany! I'm so sorry!" He leapt forward and clamped his limbs around Ludwig, who tentatively supported his position by bringing his callous hands to Italy's sides (but barley needing to apply any pressure, due to Italy's sheer strength). "I'm so sorry! I hurt your feelings and it's all my fault!" He threw his head back and forth, his sodden forehead thrashing against Germany's doubly sodden shoulder. "I know he's gone! But I'm just so blegh and I need to let him go, and-"

"Shut up!"

"Eh?" Inexplicably, Italy's waterfalls of tears sucked back into his auburn eyes as he stared back at Germany in confusion.

"Oh, I-I didn't mean t-to shou- mmph!"

For just one, he was silenced before he could make himself clear. Like a statue, he stood, involuntarily leaning back, with his Italian' s warm body latched onto his, a pair of cushiony, cloying lips colliding against his. The poor German' s mind melted into a burning puddle of mush, and his body acted without his remainders-of-a-brain's consent.

One palm ghosting over Italy's tear-stained cheek, the other acting as Italy's seat, Germany allowed his eyelids to slide closed and to savour this brief sample of the romance reserved for those in heavan. Time turned to treacle in their invisible bubble of solitude, and for the first time, they felt whole, as if the lost jigsaw piece had finally been found.

As Italy finally pulled away, watching Ludwig' s head tumble forwards slightly due to adorable and unfortunate inexperience, Italy was hit by a gut-wrenching stab of nostalgia as he saw his once combed-back fringe now plastered against his forehead. Germany's shocked expression soon transformed into a gentle, momentous smile as he gently stoked away Italy's fleeting tears.

And right now, they where all they needed. After centuries of consuming the nonchalant, empty doses of admiration from his peers, Italy finally had somebody that could really depend on. As for Germany: one certain person was resting in his arms, who was the only one of the 8 billion people on earth who helped him realise that the beauty of the world was before his very eyes. As Germany prepared to embarrass himself again with another soliloquy, Italy unwound his arms from around Germany's neck, pressed a hand onto the German' s lips, and murmured three beautiful words, that for a reason Germany still had to contrive as to why they made his heart flutter:

"Shut up, Doitsu."