Leave a Message

Germany sighed and ran his fingers through his slicked back blond hair, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration.

Even though he had only left his phone for about an hour or so when he left to buy groceries, it now showed that he had three new messages in his voicemail. He recognized the number at once as belonging to his best (and possibly his only) friend Italy.

What on earth did Italy want now? Knowing the silly pasta lover, he probably was having trouble tying his shoelaces. Germany shook his head, feeling a mixture of annoyance and amusement. After a few decades, he had become used to Italy's…unique personality.

After pouring himself some beer, Germany sat down in his favorite chair and picked the phone back up to listen to his voicemail. Most likely Italy need help reaching the top shelf or had a cut on his knee that he wanted Germany to kiss better. A rare smile flickered across the German's face at the thought of a cute Italy begging him to kiss his wounds better.

He would never admit it to anyone, but Germany had a soft spot for the Italian that was the reason he kept eating the pasta Italy made for him (despite his preference for wurst), and saving him when he got captured by the enemy during war. Fortunately it was peaceful now, but he often still had to help out his friend when he got into trouble.

Germany pressed a button on his phone and then put it on speaker.

BEEP

"Ve, Germany? It's Italy. I just got out of the shower and I thought you might have called. Okay, I'll talk to you later, bye!"

He just wanted to talk? Italy loved talking, but he preferred to do it in person, not on the phone. If he wanted to talk, why didn't he just come over? Italy had no problems with going to Germany's house without calling ahead first. Germany simply shrugged to himself and listened to the next message.

BEEP

"Hey Germany! I was in the other room and I thought I heard the phone ring. Uh, guess not. Call me back when you get the chance! Okay, bye!"

What on earth did Italy want to tell him on the phone that he couldn't tell him in person? Confused, Germany played the last message.

BEEP

"Hey Germany! It's been a couple of minutes, I thought you might have checked your phone by now."

Germany could just see in his mind what Italy looked like. Italy would be speaking nervously into the phone, one hand running through his auburn hair, his wayward curl bouncing up and down. The other hand would be twirling the phone cord around his index finger as he talked and his eyes would be closed as always (how on earth did he see with both his eyes closed). The message wasn't over yet.

"Okay, well this is going to be a little bit awkward but…I love you."

Germany jerked his head up at the last part, which had been said hurriedly. Italy loved him? Italy's had always been over affectionate but Germany had just assumed that was how all Italians acted. And then there was the whole Valentines Day fiasco which Germany would much rather forget. The message continued.

"I want to make a pasta shaped like your anatomy."

What? Germany took a sip of beer in an attempt to calm himself…

"It's a BIIIIIIG pasta!"

…And promptly spat it back out in shock, immediately regretting it (he hated to waste anything, especially perfectly good beer).

"Call me back." Then was a pause as if Italy was listening to something, probably the phone asking if he wanted to rerecord the message. "OH NO! I DON'T KNOW WHICH BUTTON TO PRESS! G-g-goodbye Germany!"

It was unusual to see an astonished Germany (Despite the many years he had known Italy, who was a phenomenon in himself). His jaw had dropped and his normally expressionless eyes were wide.

Italy loved him? In that way? And did he love Italy back?

"Of course I don't." Germany told himself firmly. "He's annoying, and useless and cowardly. Besides, you're a soldier, you can't afford to get attached."

And yet…Germany remembered how he had felt the time that Italy had fitted Germany's Kübelwagen with an ejector seat that had launched the Italy far off into the distance. Germany recalled the ache in his chest when he believed that Italy had died and had cried for the first time he could remember. Him, a strong soldier, brought to tears by a weak crybaby! A rather adorable one but- oh damn it all!

Inhaling sharply, Germany ended his inner battle with the realization that he was in love with his enthusiastic pasta eating best friend. The problem was, although Germany was a handsome young man (being a country had its advantages, like not growing old over the centuries), he had little to no experience with relationships.

At least he had a vague idea of where to start. With shaky fingers, Germany picked the phone back up and began dialing Italy's number. He didn't have to wait long.

"Ve~ Germany you got my call!" Italy chirped when he answered.

"Ja, hello Italy…" Germany mumbled, suddenly unsure of himself. Then he remembered that the Italy was bad at reading people so he got up the courage to confess. "I got your message earlier. I wasn't going to say this Italy, but I uh, suppose I should tell you that… I love you… that way. I'll say it in my native tongue. Ich liebe dich."

Italy was quiet throughout Germany's whole confession, which confused him until Italy finally broke the silence.

"Really? That's great! I'll make us some pasta to celebrate!" Germany could tell that Italy had a big smile on his face.

"Celebrate…?" Germany asked, his brow furrowing.

"Celebrate us becoming boyfriends, silly! Oh by the way, can I sleep at your house tonight?"

Another smile made it's way onto Germany's face, but this one stayed there longer.

"Ja, of course."

Anything for his little Italian.