Alstroemeria

Chapter 19

I almost cried while writing this (and the last one, tbh). I hope you guys do too, lmao.

-Marzia

Sniffling, you stood up and wiped your eyes, you went to the kitchen sink--which was relatively small--and washed your face off.

'Knock, knock, knock...'

You walked to the door, the throw blanket still wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You opened the door, one kind northern italian standing at your doorway with a small bag.

You were quite the sight to see, as Italy heard the door unlock and saw you open it, his heart broke.

Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks rosy and slightly wet--with tears or water he wasn't sure. You had snot dripping from your nose and your lips trembled, your eyes looked pained and horrifyingly sad. You weren't near beautiful like this, but to him you always would be.

He was so upset to see you like this. Yes, he only had known you for a day, but he'd be lying to say you weren't important to him. He felt like you had never known friendship when he met you. He wanted to become your friend, and seeing as you seemed a bit anti-social, he was determined to break you out of your shell.

The poor italian had grown quite attached to you in the short 24 hours he had known you, and the fact you seemed so broken hurt him to no end.

"Oh bella..." The italian's eyes were wide open, honey orbs looking heartbroken at the sight of you. Do I hurt you too? He dropped his bag, wincing a bit at a small clinking noise, and engulfed you into a hug.

"What's-a wrong, bella?" He asked, leading you towards the small loveseat

"I ruined everything. I-*hic*-hurt so many p-people I care about.." your voice was shaking, you stumbled on your words. "I'm a horrible person."

"Y/n, don't-a say that, penso che tu sia la ragazza più adorabile." He stroked your back.

[Italian: I think you're the loveliest girl]

His words--while you might not understand them perfectly--struck a chord deep inside you, and you crumbled in his arms. You cried, and cried, you gasped for air, and cried more. You clutched him tightly, having him here was comforting; he held you gently, whispering reassuring things in your ear--in both Italian and English.

As you finally calmed down, he stroked your hair and pulled back to look at you. He wiped your tears away.

"Bella, would you-a like some pasta? I brought some ingredients." He glanced at the bag sitting in the open doorway.

"Yes please."

As the Italian finished the pasta and handed you a bowl, he sat next to you on the couch. You still had the throw blanket around your shoulders. You took a bite and you felt just a bit happier. The italian looked at you expectantly.

"Do you-a like it?"

"Yes, Feliciano, it's very good." You mustered up a small smile for him, his face lit up.

"Good-a, have as much as you want, y/n!"

You both sat in comfortable silence as you watched the T.V., N. Italy had turned on an italian show, one which you didn't know the name of.

Suddenly you both heard footsteps--two pairs--running up to the still open door. You both looked at eachother, and then at the door. Two men appeared in the doorway.

"Hey!"

Translations

Italian

I think you're the loveliest girl