A/N from Silverwindghost: Yeah, so...this story wasn't originally supposed to be anything but a one-shot. I wrote what is now the first chapter one day in history class out of boredom, and then my friend Muffinlover ended up writing this in her government class for similar reasons, after reading mine. She didn't realize she did it, but the two drabbles actually seem to place one right after the other, in the same setting and situation, so we decided to make a collab out of it and I'm currently writing the next part (which will probably be the ending). Even though it's a collab and fits together it will still probably have the air of a collection of short drabbles, yeah! Credit for this chapter goes to Muffinlover, and it's pretty much amazing. Thanks for all the favorites this story has recieved so far, they're greatly appreciated! But feel free to leave reviews as well!
I smiled despite myself as the little country-my little country-woke up slowly in his makeshift bed. Unfortunately, this makeshift bed happened to be me, and the small hands' grip on my waist was so strong that it made it difficult to breathe. This was a usual occurrence, though-I constantly found him buried under my sheets, as if he thought it was normal to crawl into another person's sleeping quarters whenever he pleased.
We were on board Sealand's fort-or ship, in this case-at the time. Our team of countries, World 8, had agreed to let Sealand take us home in order to shut the brat up. This wasn't our major problem, though: only hours before, the Earth had been overrun by extraterrestrials we nicknamed the Picts. It was hard to believe the whole situation had even went on. The world around us was quiet now, and...almost peaceful. The simple idea of peace seemed impossible until that moment, but then I took the time to scan the room and notice the sleeping creatures, including the one occupying my arms.
I quieted my thoughts as Italy, my best friend, the only being in the world I cared for, opened his eyes. I often found myself treasuring these rare moments, for the hyperactive nation preferred to keep his mesmerizing orbs closed most of the time. Sometimes I wondered if I should mention to him that he looked much more adorable when they were revealed to the world. I knew I'd never have the courage to say so-I was too cold-hearted to admit anything.
I took this time to hurriedly study his brown irises. I noted that if I looked hard enough, there were flecks of a brighter amber, appearing randomly in different areas. Italy gazed up into my face, blinked a couple of times, and then closed his eyes once more. As he contentedly muttered the phrase 've', burying his head back under my neck, I had the sudden urge to smack myself. So much for that. Much to my dismay, the country is just as annoying when he wakes up as when he falls asleep.
As if he heard my irritated thoughts, Italy raised his head again and looked at me-at least I think he did. "What's wrong, Germany?" he asked in a sleepy slur. He took a second to inspect the room, as if he didn't remember why we were all gathered there. He nodded to himself, pulled the blanket wrapped around him up to his chin, and returned his attention to me.
Caught off guard, I found myself sputtering. "I-Italy, how... how did you manage to defeat the Picts earlier?" was my logical response. After all, how could drawing strange expressions on the aliens' faces change their hearts? I didn't understand how a simple marker could drive aliens out of the planet, satisfied and no longer wanting to destroy our world.
Italy gave me a look that said, 'Are you really that ignorant?' Deciding to ignore the look, I raised an eyebrow as he grinned at me. "Isn't it obvious, Germany?" He snuggled back into my shoulder, and his next statement was muffled in my shirt's fabric.
"Speak up, idiot, I can't hear you," I hissed, pushing him out of his comfortable position. After I did so, though, I almost felt bad for speaking to my friend that harshly.
As usual, Italy remained oblivious of my tone and continued, "It's obvious. Art solves all our problems!"
"Art?" I repeated, as if the word was foreign to me.
"Yes!" The pasta-loving country fell back onto me again, ignoring what I done only a minute before. He sighed with content, as if the very thought of art brought him joy. "It wasn't just art that made them happy, Germany, it was the idea."
I merely stared down at Italy, dumbfounded by the fact that he was actually trying to explain something without the words 'pasta' or 've' included. Since when did Italy feel like making sense?
My favorite country suddenly frowned. "You don't understand?"
"Well," I started, clearing my throat to begin a long explanation, "I'm not really-"
"Here!" he interrupted, springing up from his cocoon of blankets. I quickly shushed him, hoping to remind the country that we weren't the only people in the room. Instead of giving me a sign that he understood, he smiled and put his arms out in front of him. Waving his fingers, he conjured up another marker and a blank piece of paper. Here's where our god-like powers became annoying-Italy was able to make anything appear in his hands at any given time, and unfortunately, pasta was the one item that he always pulled out of thin air.
I stared at him, unamused, silently wondering what insane thing he was about to do next.
"Let me draw a picture," Italy told me, settling himself back on the concrete floor. Even in the dark, Italy was a master artist, able to see exactly where he drew the lines. I squinted as the marker flew rapidly across the paper, producing an image ten times faster than a normal human could. After about ten seconds he stopped, studied his work, and the paper was suddenly thrust into my face. "See, Germany?"
"Not exactly," I said, prying Italy's hand and the artwork away from my head. "I can't see anything in this light."
"Oh!" With another flick of his wrist, a candle was present in the room, already lit and hovering over the drawing. "See now?"
I tilted my head to the side to see what he had drawn. Surprised, I saw that it was a detailed portrait of the both of us, standing side by side in a sunny atmosphere. Italy appeared happy and oblivious like always, clutching my hand, while I donned a bored expression, my arms folded and my gaze cast downward. Even though the picture was like an everyday representation of us, I found myself smiling at Italy's creation. As much as I hated to admit it, the artwork was... sweet.
Without warning, Italy stuck a finger in my face and started giggling like a moronic schoolgirl. "See, Germany, see? My drawing made you smile! You never smile!"
My cheeks grew hot and I decided that the nearest wall was very interesting to look at. "Your point being?" I asked, pretending to look annoyed.
"The aliens didn't have anything to smile about," Italy explained as if the Picts had told him themselves. "They were boring people who didn't have pasta or pretty colors to enjoy! When I drew funny faces for them, they laughed for the first time. Don't you see, Germany? Art gives people emotion. The aliens didn't know how to feel before I showed them the marker Grandpa Rome gave to me! They just wanted to be happy-The pretty girl I gave my marker to said so!"
I tried to ignore the fact that Italy had just called an alien girl 'pretty' and continued to listen.
"So now do you understand, Germany? They were trying to take away our happiness because they had none. By giving them the marker we allowed them to have fun!"
I stared blankly at him. He stared back.
"Art brings people together," he finished, much quieter than before. He suddenly appeared awkward, and picked at the blanket beside us.
Something changed at that moment. Was I just exhausted from all that had happened the previous day? Was I just moved by Italy's speech that actually made some sense? Was I being possessed by some demon that wanted to embarrass me for an eternity? Without figuring my new feelings out, I grabbed the innocent nation by the shoulders and pressed my lips to his. A moment later I pulled away, my face red and my eyes boring into his.
Wait, what?
Italy's eyes were actually open with shock. Blinking, he put a finger to his lips, as if by doing so he would figure out what had lured me to kiss him.
"You're right," I agreed, picking up the paper and admiring the scene sketched upon it. Smiling, I continued, "Art does bring people together."
Rather than turning away, disgusted, Italy beamed, and burrowed back in my arms. I gladly accepted his presence, and allowed him to suffocate me once more. "I made you smile," he murmured, as though that's all he cared about.
I smiled again.