GerIta - A Familiar Feeling

Italy sat at his canvas, eyes screwed together tight and knuckles turning pale with the iron grip he had on his paintbrush as he tried to envision every last detail of what he wanted to paint. It was a blast from the past, the idea had come from nowhere, but it had been a good one to say the least and had tempted him to the small studio-corner of his bedroom. The memory had come from centuries ago, back when he was still just a child in Mr. Austria’s home with Hungary and Holy Roman-
His eyes snapped open wide, chestnut focused intently on white, and his hands began moving on their own. The young-looking country started with a solid background of a deep blue, focusing in on the little details afterwards. He could see it clearly now, his idea coming to light with the paintbrush and color. He worked swiftly, not letting himself rest until it was finished.
Veneziano pulled back from the painting and sighed, allowing a smile to cross his face. How he wished he could show Germany…
The brunette’s happiness died down as the idea crossed his mind. Germany…he didn’t remember, did he? To him, the boy on the canvas was just an old playmate of Italy. He had no idea his first kiss had been claimed by his current ally.
Italy sighed again, this time in sadness, and moved the painting to a new spot in his room, out of sight for it to dry. He eyed the color palette and paintbrush he held, knowing he should clean them off before he tried to do anything else. Germany would yell if he ruined his own expensive paintbrushes, as both knew the quality and price had been high upon purchase. He wiped his hands on his apron and left his room for the bathroom sink.

Germany huffed in annoyance. Italy had vanished conveniently on the morning of his personal training session. Perhaps he had wizened up and figured out that he would be forced into training sooner by practically running into his trainer’s arms every morning.
“Italy…Italy, vhere are you?” The tall man grumbled, opening a closet door as though expectant of the small Italian to be curled up in the bottom. When this wasn’t the case he just closed it and moved on. “You can’t hide forever!”
The next door he opened led to a bedroom, which was decorated simply with a few paintings of sunsets or flowers, a sketch of the Allies hanging here and there.
“Zhis must be Italy’s room…” Germany muttered to himself. The bed was made and the pillows fluffed, as though it had been made this morning. “Zhat isn’t like him. Zhere aren’t even any clothes on zhe floor…” Curiosity gaining his better interest he ducked inside the room, telling himself that there were a million hiding places for a small Italian boy to use. He at first checked under the bed, of course, but instead found stacks of old paintings.
He hesitated. Snooping wasn’t something a German should do, but…it was important for a leader to know about the lives of his teammates! He slid one from the top of its stack and looked it up and down. There was something strangely familiar about the boy in this picture…it was a portrait of a blonde child with striking blue eyes. Behind him was a woman whose face had not been painted; he could only see below the neck.
Deciding it must have been an Italian family (though he didn’t know how common blondes were) he pulled out another painting, this time from a different stack. This one was of Germany himself, though the way he had been painted...
The real Germany looked from the boy to the man. Why did they look so similar?
Urged on, he pulled out more and more, each one a different painting of Germany or that mysterious boy. The last one made his heart stop.
Italy sat holding that boy, smiling up at Germany, who was cradling a young boy (or was that a girl?) with Italy’s eyes, hair and smile.
He began to remember.

“Germany?” Italy peeked into his room, having heard his friend calling out for him. When he took full notice of the scene before him, he gasped. “Germany, you-” The words wouldn’t even come out. Scattered around the strict man were all of Italy’s secret paintings, the ones he had kept under the bed to look at only when he was feeling sad. Germany’s shoulders began shaking and he didn’t look up. Italy knew what was coming – humiliation. He was going to be laughed up. Or maybe Germany would be mad, mad that he had painted him so many times without his knowledge. The younger closed his eyes and braced for the worst.
“Italy…”
The voice couldn’t have belonged to the blonde. It was shaky, almost a gasp, and he would hear the tears before he saw them. Taking the risk, Italy slowly opened one eye to see Germany in tears, looking at him with eyes that he hadn’t seen in centuries.
“…Holy Rome?”
Before he could do anything, Italy found himself enveloped in strong but gentle arms, a voice husking sweetness into his ear, eyes weeping over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I left…I’ve finally found you…Italy…I remember you.”
Calmly the smaller returned the hug, letting his eyes slide closed once again, breathing slowly as to savor the scent of his beloved Germany.
Holy Rome, he thought, you’re back. Do you remember the day you left?
As though his thoughts were read, a warm forehead leaned on his, and both eyes opened again to meet. Germany’s were slightly red, raw from so many tears spilling out at a time. This time, however, he was smiling.
“Italy…do you remember the day I left for var?”
“I haven’t forgotten, Germany…”
And then they were kissing, both crying and clinging onto each other, neither about to let go, like the day they had been torn apart. This time, however, nothing could separate them.
Slowly they pulled apart, hugging once more, and Germany said the words Italy had been waiting to hear for a very long time.
“Italy…I’m back.”