Could This be Love? - A GerAme Fanfic [REPOST] [PLEASE READ THE DESCRIPTION]

-1-

It's been too long. Too long since Germany has gotten a good night sleep. Too long since he was called by his actual name and not "bastard" or "kraut." Too fucking long since he was treated like a decent being. The teasing and mocking seems to be getting worse as the years go by. Whenever Germany was walking down the hallway, nations from abroad purposely bumped into him; some even escalated to shoving. They would laugh and point fingers as he scrambled to collect his belongings (especially Romano, France, and England). They would kick and spit on him. Germany was nothing but a rat to the rest of the world. Hell, he even receives death threats in the mail, which are mainly from Romano. France and England are "too proper" for that kind of impropriety. He should be used to it at this point, but it still gets to him. 

As of on cue, England, who was walking down the same corridor, trips Germany as he's walking by.

This causes the German to fall flat on his face and drop all of his folders. The papers inside the folders either spill all over the floor or flutter to the ground like feathers.

England smirked. "Oops," says the Brit, "have fun picking up all of those papers, you kraut." Before England left, he kicked Germany in the side and walked away with a prideful strut.

Germany clutches his side with gritting teeth, gets off the ground, and glares at the "gentleman" leaving the corridor and entering the meeting. I wish I had it my way with you, lotzbrocken. Yet what was even the point of fighting back? Germany raises his hand to his face and feels blood dripping from his nose. Wiping the blood away with his handkerchief, he began to collect his papers as fast as he could, shoving them into their correct folders. They crumple under the pressure of his hand like his hope and happiness, but that was hardly a concern at this point. Who cares about a few crinkly pages anyway?

America was heading to the Meeting Hall when he saw the German scrambling for papers. "Hey Ger, you need help?" the American asked, rushing over to the bleach blond and helping him pick up his papers anyways. 

Germany, frustrated and tired, snatches the remaining pieces of paper from the dirty blond and states, "Nein, I'm perfectly fine, but thank you." After putting his work in order, he walks away from the American and begins to wander in his thoughts. America... confused him, and for many reasons. Excluding his culture, lifestyle, and personality, America was the only Allied Power (and the only nation, for that matter) that was genuinely nice to him. There was no hate, no malice, and no grudges. There was just... kindness. And it confused the hell out of him! Shouldn't America hate his guts? He wouldn't blame him if he was secretly loathing him on the inside.

"Uh, Germany, where are you going? The Meeting Hall is this way," America points with his thumb to the room at the end of the corridor.

Germany, confused at first, soon realizes that he was walking in the completely wrong direction. "Ah, so it is," he mutters. He turns around and follows the American to their destination.

America skips down the hallway and whistles a lovely tune alongside Germany. "So what's buzzin', cousin? You don't seem too enthusiastic for these gatherings anymore," America asks. His ocean blue eyes, wide with curiosity, wait for an answer. 

Germany clears his throat and answers, "Oh, the usual. Work, more work, and walking the dogs.  Everything is relativity normal." Germany bites the inside of his cheek. Please don't see that I'm lying. Please don't see that I'm lying. PLEASE don't see that I'm lying! 

America cocks his head and replies, "Really, because you seem really antsy right now. Is something wrong?"

Germany didn't know how to respond. Should he tell him? He doesn't seem to have ill intentions. Yet again, he could be playing with his emotions. Oh, fuck it, he thought to himself and admits with a sigh, "Well, everyone seems to hate me. Nations are heckling me everywhere I go, especially England, France, and, of course, Romano. I feel like I can't do anything right, no matter how hard I try." Sweat starts to form around his hairline. Did he reveal too much? Did he make the young man uncomfortable with his personal soap opera? Oh Lord, did he mess up on his last chance at friendship?!

America scoffs and responds, "Oh, come on! You gotta stop listening to those punks and their bum raps. Not everyone hates you! What about Italy and Japan? I'm sure they still keep in touch with you." 

Germany almost falters in his steps at the mention of Italy and Japan.

America sees this, stops skipping, and motions to catch him. "Hey, are you alright?" he asks, concern in his tone of voice.

Germany stabilizes himself and says, "Ja, I'm fine. It's just... Italy is now terrified of me. He has been since his official surrender in 1942. He won't respond to any of my letters -Romano claims it's because Italy thinks they are laced with poison. With Japan... I don't know what you put in those bombs, but he acts so weird now. He's not the same person I knew during the war. Always talking about 'manga' or 'anime' or what not. And don't get me started on his 'special collection'. Gott, he scares me nowadays."

The dirty blond snorts at the last comment, but quickly stifles it by covering his mouth. "Aw man, that sucks." They walk in silence for a few more seconds before America chirps, "Well, I don't hate you, so at least you have me!" He gives him a pat on the arm before skipping the rest of the way to the Meeting Hall.

Germany stares at the American before saying to himself, "Yeah... if you say so." He makes his way to the door that America is holding for him and enters the room.