Could This be Love? - A Gerame Fanfic

-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 "Kraut" or "Bastard". 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 Germamy 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 the rest of the world. Hell, he even received death threats in the mail (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 if 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." England kicked Germany in the side and walked away with a prideful strut.

Germany clutched his side with gritting teeth, got off the ground, and glared at the "gentleman" leaving the corridor and enter the meeting. I wish I had it my way with you, lotzbrocken. Yet what was even the point of fighting back? He felt 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 in their correct folders. They crumpled 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 rushed to the bleach blond, 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 hatred, no ill intensions, there was just...kindness. It confused the hell out of him! Shouldn't he hate his guts? He wouldn't blame him for it 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 off the corridor.

Germany was walking in the completely wrong direction. "Ah, so it is," he mutters. He turned around and followed the American to their destination.

America skips down the hallway and whistles a lovely tune along side Germany. "So what's buzzin', cousin? You don't seem to be too enthusiastic for these gatherings anymore," America asked. His sky blue eyes waited for his answer, wide with curiosity.

Germany cleared his voice and said, "Oh, the usual. Work, more work, walking the dogs. Everything is relatively normal." Germany bit 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 cocked his head and replied, "Really, because you look 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 and admitted 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."

The American scoffed and replied, "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 faltered in his steps at the mention of Italy and Japan.

America sees this and motions to catch him. "Hey, you alright?" He asks, concern in his eyes.

Germany stabilizes himself and says, "Ja, I'm fine. It's just... Italy is now terrified of me. He has been since his surrender in 1942. He won't respond to any of my letters -Romano claims that 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' and 'anime' or what not. And don't get me started on his 'special collection'. Gott, he scares me nowadays."

The dirty blond snorted at the last comment, but quickly stifled it. "Aw man, that sucks." They walk in silence for a few 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.