The sky was a baby blue, and the grass was minty green. There was a light breeze that blew the smell of both German and Italian cuisine through the air.

There was a hill. You take small steps- your legs are not as long as you remembered.

You reached the crest of the hill. Before you lay sprawling fields of long grass. The field was peaceful until you saw something sticking up from the blades of grass. The end of a broom. A light and tinkling laugh was carried upon the air, reaching your ears and making your heart soar. Your black cape fluttered around you as the wind picked up greatly. It whistled through the grass as the broom neared. Then someone stumbled out of the blades, their pastel green dress blowing in the wind. There were tears streaming down their face. The dress seemed to burn up and blow from the figures body in the wind. They were left in a blue, military inform. Your own back cape burned up around you and joined the other ashes in the air. You lifted your hands, your sleeves turning from jet black to green.

"Never leave me again!" Cried the figure, their voice distraught and needy.

And that's when Germany woke up. He had been having the same dream night after night for an entire week. He didn't know what it meant, but when he woke from it he felt empty, dead, and like he had left something behind. Like he had been somewhere, and there was something important that he needed to go back for, but he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on it.

He looked beside him. Italy was not there, for once. Germany wondered where he could be, and so he stood up out of his bed and made his way to the kitchen. Italy was not making a mess there. Nor was he drinking wine in the lounge. Germany rubbed his eyes, trying to remember if Italy had even visited in the past few days.

It was around lunch when Germany called Italy.

"Ciao, Germany~! What are you up to, veh~?" Chirped Italy's voice on the other end of the line. Germany sighed. "Nothing. I was just wondering if you were okay."

"Si, I'm fine, veh~" Replied Italy. Germany could almost hear his smile.

"Could I come over?" Germany asked, playing with a button on his shirt as he waited for the swiftly delivered answer. "Veh~ Of course you can, Germany! But, oh, you'll have to forgive me. I'm doing some cleaning, veh~"

"Cleaning? You… you actually know how to do that?" Germany asked with disbelief. Italy hummed in an upset manner. "Of course I do, veh~ It's more sorting, really. The storage room. I need some more space. You could help me if you liked, veh~"

"Oh. Well I suppose I could help a little bit. I'll see you soon."

When Germany got to Italy's house, he invited himself in and then headed to the storage room. Sure enough, Italy was sitting down cross legged before it, looking through old pieces of paper. He looked up when he heard footsteps and upon seeing Germany, he grinned and leapt up to glomp him. Germany remained stoic as ever, staring behind Italy at the closet.

Italy let him go and then said happily, "Veh~ I've cleaned a lot, haven't I?"

"Ja, but there is still a long way to go. Here, I will help." Germany said, walking over to the crammed room. He leaned down and picked up a long box. Italy took it from him and then opened it up. Inside were pastels. Italy grinned.

"Wow! I haven't seen these in forever, veh~! Come, Germany, let's go test them out!" He grabbed Germany's calloused hand and dragged him to the open and light filled kitchen. Sitting at the dining table, Germany stared at the pastels. It was ridiculous, but he felt as though he had held them before. Felt them crumble between his fingers, staining his skin. Italy brought paper, and encouraged Germany to draw whatever he wanted.

Ten minutes of silent drawing passed. Italy exclaimed that he was done, and he showed Germany his drawing. It was a portrait of Germany, sitting, looking down at the paper before him with a look of concentration. It was almost photo-accurate, and Germany frowned. How could he have drawn something so good in only ten minutes? And all I've managed is half of a stupid rabbit! And the feet look all wrong!

Italy looked over to Germany's work, and suddenly the soft pastel Italy had been holding snapped in his hand. His smile had faded, and his brow had furrowed. Germany sighed. "It's not that bad, alright? I'm not an artist like you…"

"No, it's… it's good, veh~" Italy told him, his voice sounding reminiscent. He stood up abruptly, "Well, we should go finish cleaning, veh~"

Germany followed Italy out to the storage room, where they both delved inside. There was a lot of rubbish. Old things that were no longer needed. Sometimes Italy stopped to look at something longingly; a painting, or a letter. Germany ignored him when he stopped, knowing that it was probably hard for Italy to throw his things out, given how clingy the boy was.

Germany lifted a painting to look at it (It was Austria, with a mustache painted on his snooty face), but his eyes were drawn to something the painting had been hiding. He placed the painting on a crate and reached down, picking up the soft fabric. It was light green in colour, and when Germany unfolded it, he saw that it was a dress with a little white apron.

The same dress from his dream.

"Veh~ That dress… Hungary gave it to me when I was a little child. I used to wear it all the time. Holy Rome loved it-" Italy cut his sentence off, and a sob shook his small frame. Germany felt something inside of him; a spark, perhaps. It certainly felt as though he had been electrocuted.

The Holy Roman Empire…

Then suddenly there were memories overflowing through his mind.

Germany wrapped Italy in a spontaneous hug, pulling him close against him, gripping his blue jacket tightly in his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

Don't you understand what I'm saying? I like you the way you are right now, Holy Rome. You don't have to change…

Germany clutched Italy to him tighter, as the Italian continued to sob hopelessly into his chest.

Oh no, don't go! Please! What will I do without you?! Don't leave me! No~!

And then it all made sense. Why Germany hadn't killed Italy the first day he had met him. Why he had tried so hard to protect him, to cheer him up. Why He had always had a weak spot for him. Why… why he loved him.

He had loved him for a very long time, after all.

It's been since at least the tenth century…