Hetalia Drabbles

Are you okay (GerIta)

Disclaimer:I do not own the following work of fiction.

Just what was wrong with Germany? He was acting so strangely towards Italy, more so than usual. Whenever Italy talked to him, Germany always avoided looking him in the eyes. When Italy came too close, Germany always found a subtle - but still noticeable - way of moving farther from Italy. The hugs had become completely one-sided, and the German's double-cheeked good-morning kisses became rare; only when Italy whimpered did he receive them. In short, Germany was distancing himself from an intensely confused Italy.

And now, Italy was confusing himself. He found his chest ache whenever Germany refused him body warmth in hugs, a soul connection in eye contact, and even the press of soft lips to his face. He began smelling wurst at his own house, hearing his brother speaking German, tasting German food when he ate Italian cuisine, seeing blonde hair where there was only a vase of brightly colored flowers, and the feeling of warm skin where there was only cool night air. All of this happened when Germany was elsewhere, and when Italy was in his own home.

All this made Italy so confused. Through his confusion he convinced himself that something was wrong with Germany. That's it, Germany is sick with some disease Italy couldn't recognize. Wait, Italy had changed too... Oh God, he was sick too, wasn't he? Oh dio, what was Italy going to do? He could call the doctor... No, then Germany would know there was something wrong. He could talk to big brother France... but France would probably tell him to do something embarrassing. Oh, what to do?

Italy sat in his living room, on the soft couch, thinking. Normally, sitting still, he would pick at the woven strings of the fabric, but this was different. Romano even came in at some point, trying to talk to his younger brother, but Italy hardly heard a word he said. After a while, Romano got frustrated and left Italy to his own devices. Italy stayed where he was for like what felt an hour before anything else happened.

He didn't really hear the front door open and close or two low, yet familiar voices, but he knew they were there. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of shiny, clean boots and two tanned bare feet, but he didn't acknowledge them. So lost was he in his thoughts and his worries, he only came back to reality when a pair of strong, black-leather-clad hands rested on his arms. His eyes shot up and locked with a beautifully piercing blue gaze. Germany was kneeling in front of him, staring into Italy's eyes.

"Italy, are you okay?" the blonde asked, eyebrows furrowed and eyes intent. Italy felt a nervous tinge in his stomach. Germany was so close, the small brunette could smell the mingling of beer, wurst, and some kind of cologne on the other man. The leather on Germany's hands was warm, even through the thick material and Italy's shirt. Italy could hear the soft breaths the German took, and he could almost taste the nervousness on his tongue. Italy's senses were going into overdrive. There had to be something wrong with him.

"Germany, are you sick?"

Italy had said the exact opposite of what he had wanted to.

"No, I don't think so, why?"

Deep breath, here it goes.

"You've... been acting strangely. Like... like you're avoiding me, and I don't like it, it makes me feel lonely, and I don't like to be lonely, Germany..." He said the last part while trying to keep his voice from cracking. "I - I just thought that maybe you were sick, or I did something to make you hate me. It hurts when you avoid me, Ludwig. It hurts like I miss you; it hurts in here." With this, Italy placed his hand on the German's smooth uniform, just above the place where the man's heart would be. Germany seemed startled at the sudden contact, but one look in Italy's stinging eyes, and he seemed to forgot why he wanted to pull away. That was another thing Italy didn't understand - how his blonde friend seemed to melt under a tear-stained chocolate-eyed gaze.

Germany sighed after a moment.

"Feliciano, I could never hate you."

"Ve? Then why have you been avoiding me, Ludwig?"

Germany sat next to Italy on the couch, turning towards him folding his fingers and looking away. "I thought that if I distanced myself from you, I could figure out what was wrong with me."

"So there is something wrong?" Italy half-exclaimed. Germany raised a hand to cease Italy's outburst.

"I talked to Austria, and we figured it out. This thing is the reason why I came over as quickly as I could when Romano called, blaming me for you being so out of it." Italy simply looked at Germany, a little confused. "Feliciano, where did it hurt when you thought I was avoiding you?" Italy obediently put his hand over his heart.

"Here," he said.

Germany gently put a hand over Italy's.

"H-how does this make you feel?" Italy thought for a moment.

"My heart pumps harder, and my stomach feels strange. Like it's dancing."

"Mein Gott," Germany muttered, "bitte, lass es liebe sein."

"What?" Italy asked.

Germany said nothing, just used his other gloved hand to brush the copper-brown bangs away from chocolate eyes, then stroke a softly tanned cheek. Involuntarily, Italy closed his eyes and gently placed his free hand upon the German's affectionate one, tilting his head to the touch. A few moments later, Feliciano felt warmth tickle at his lips.

Then, softly, he felt Ludwig press smooth lips to his own.

He didn't open his eyes - he didn't want to. If he opened his eyes, this moment would end, and he didn't want it to. His heart was overflowing with a strange feeling of happiness, and he wanted it to stay that way. He must really be sick.

But, as all wonderful things do, the kiss ended. Both Germany and Italy opened their eyes, only to gaze in the other's. Neither said anything, because neither could translate the language of the kiss - they simply knew what it had meant. Love is an international language everyone knows.