Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Unexpected People

After an uneventful flight, train and ferry to Mr. UK's island estate, I had a little jetlag, but most of it was ebbing away, eaten by my adrenaline and excitement. I didn't even have to ask anyone for directions, since there were signs that showed where the IUUP was, which was great, since I wasn't the best at talking to people and strangers in general. I felt it was rude and I personally had no courage to approach a bustling crowd or a lone smoker. The sky was grey on this morning, and only some of the strongest rays of sunlight could penetrate the thick numbers clouds. It still looked like it was going to rain, and I walked with a purpose, and soon I saw an old gothic building with a small plaque reading-IUUP.

"Great," I heard somebody behind me, and I almost jumped half a metre in the air. The person behind me laughed warmly, and I whirled around to see the person behind me. The person looked very familiar, but I couldn't name him. He had a green stripe on the left, white in the middle, and red at the right. He wore a three quarter sleeved that was a light ivory, khaki Capri slacks and a brown rucksack. He tipped his light brown hat to me politely.

"Hey Germany!"

He seemed to see no hint of recognition on my face, and looked momentarily offended, as if I should have remembered him from somewhere.

"Who are you, again?" I said sheepishly, embarrassed at not remembering him.

"It's your friend, Italy, remember? We were the best childhood friends." He smiled again, and put his hand out for me to shake. I took it timidly, and as soon as I did, he pulled me in for a tight hug. I suddenly felt how cold my skin was, against his warm and sunny one. "I missed you, Germany! How's life?"

"Um, good," I said, since I didn't know how to go on. He did indeed look like the Italy I was friends with when I was little. His cheeks had a rosy colour to them, along with little freckles, which also adorned his forearms. He had a little cheek about him.

"Really? With you and family and all?" He cocked his head to the left, and his mouth moved to a frown. He seems to choose his words, like he didn't want to offend me.

"Well, for me it was, well, alright, not the best, but you know, I lived," I said simply, not elaborating the details. Italy was quiet for a moment and then shook his head vigorously, and looked at me. His eyes reclaimed the exited sparkle of when we started the conversation.

"Sure, I mean if you're happy and all," he finished. "But more importantly, what school are you going to? I mean, inside IUUP?"

"Economics, or you know math,"

"Ah, then I won't really see you," he smirked. "I kind of thought you would do something with numbers,"

"How about you? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the Music School. My father wanted and then so did I." He gestured to the tattered green leather covered case. "I've had to do millions of auditions, scale memorization, harmony and melody theories, as well as sit-down paper exams, and these interviews too. How horrible."

"How were your interviews?"

"Horrible too. Really, I had to beg my father to come to the interview, even though he point blank refused to go on a plane, so we got a ship to come here."

"Well, I can't believe were here though," I tried to change the subject, before Italy could talk his head off. I was starting to remember his personality, his talking manner, and even though we were children back then, Italy hadn't changed as drastically as I would have thought. Now I could remember his childish manners, sunny view of life, and ambitious plans for the future in his welcoming and friendly warm firelit brownish-orange gaze.