Love Letters and Ships

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Italy swung open the door, throwing his coat onto the coat rack by the door. Germany and Japan came in behind them, putting up their coats. Germany pushed a box into Italy's face. "Somebody sent this for you." Italy took the box from him cautiously and skimmed his finger over the small white sticker on it. "It's from Miss Hungary. How did she get this box here before we got here?" He looked up from the box. "I don't know. Anyways, I'm going to get dinner ready. It's pretty late." Germany said, heading to the kitchen. "It better be pasta." Italy mumbled before turning. "I'm just going to put this up." He disappeared into one of the many hallways in the house. Luther didn't care much for pasta, but he wasn't completely indifferent to it like Italy was to potatoes and wurst. He was fine with having pasta since it was somewhat easy to make and he didn't exactly want Luciano angry with him. He had seen his glares. Looks didn't need to kill when Luciano was glaring at you. And he had seen the strange Italian cutting something up one night (he hadn't gotten close enough to tell) and he seemed very skilled with it. He didn't want that hand turning on him. Although, that was the only time he had seen him holding a knife.

He looked in the pantry and saw that it was empty and devoid of pasta. He turned to see Italy standing outside of the kitchen. He quickly forgot about the problem and turned to Italy, who seemed more red in the face than usual. "So did you see what was in the box?" Lutz asked curiously. "Yes. It's not something that I want nor need though." Italy answered and looked past Germany into the kitchen. "What was it?" Luther asked. "None of your damn business, bastard." Luciano answered, moving past him and going toward the pantry. "Oh, and we are also out of pasta, Luci. You can go to the store quickly to get some if you want?" Italy growled at him.

"My name isn't Luci. I'll go get some. Just don't burn down the house while I'm gone." He rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, the sound of a door slamming shortly thereafter.

Germany smiled slightly. Perfect opportunity to get Italy out of the house so he could snoop through the Italian's things. It was just curiosity. He knew the saying that curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. He was sure that if Luciano came early and caught him, curiosity would kill the German and satisfaction would not bring him back. He doubted there was anything interesting in Italy's room anyways. He just wanted to know. He looked around the small room. It was much neater than Germany had left it when he let Italy stay there. He looked at the shelf leaning against the wall. It was stacked with books and papers and on the top shelf was the box. The box was messily thrown onto the shelf and wasn't completely closed, a small bit of red cloth hanging out of it. He took it off the shelf and held it open. He pulled the cloth completely out of the box, finding it to actually be multiple colors of cloth sewn together to make a red and white dress. It looked like something a maid would wear.

He may or may not have pictured Italy in the dress and laughed just a little bit at the thought as he put it back into the box and onto the shelf. He saw a crumpled up peice of paper on the floor and picked it up when he heard the door slam again. He shoved the paper into his pocket and quickly left the guest room. He went out into the front room and looked around to see Italy once again in the house with a few paper bags in his hands. "That was fast." Germany commented. "You're just slow." Luciano answered, walking quickly past him and into the kitchen. Germany sat on the couch in the room next door, knowing that as soon as Italy was in the kitchen he was going to take complete control over the cooking. He wouldn't even notice him doing nothing and being lazy as usual. He found Japan sitting comfortably on the couch in a kimono with a tiny cup of tea. He wondered where in the hell Japan had gotten that cup from because he knew he didn't own any cups that looked like that. 

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