"Germany~ Germany~ Will you hold my hand?"

The man stared at the brunet next to him as if he had just uttered a declaration of World War III.

"Hold your…hand?"

"Mmhmm! Just until we get home, please~?" Big brown eye stared up at him expectantly, a surge of fidgets seemingly overtaking the Italian. "Please, please, please, please, Germany?"

The pair stood outside one of the nicest Italian restaurants that could be found in Berlin (chosen on the Italian's request—he really could never get enough pasta), the sun setting on their Valentine's Day. Which, the German noted with a bit of relief, had been much more successful than the last Valentine's Day they had spent together; a day he had been desperately trying to forget for a year. The dinner had been blessedly uneventful, and even quite…enjoyable. Once he got over the embarrassed paranoia that everyone's eyes had to be glued on the couple (really, he would have to admit that two men eating dinner alone on Valentine's Day had to be suspicious), he found listening to Italy chatter on about everything and anything that popped into his mind was actually quite relaxing.

It wasn't that he didn't…like the Italian (he couldn't even mentally bring himself to say the word "love" without a wall of flustered static erasing any thoughts he might have), and that he didn't enjoy eating out with him, or spending time with him, or even sleeping together in the same bed (which also caused white noise to echo in his ears when he thought about it).

He just wasn't used to being…romantically interested in someone. Before Italy, his mind was filled with work; battle strategies, names he should remember, jobs that had to be finished, economic troubles that needed to be solved, and endless upon endless piles of statistics cluttered his mind. And he could deal with that. Sure, it wasn't what one would consider "fun," but with work, he knew what he had to do. He could plan, he could study, and he would be prepared, composure allowing no emotions to betray him.

But when—with only a single glance—a certain brunet could clear his mind of all of that, could make him want to forget the work he should be attending to…it was a little unnerving. No plans could be made against the Italian's invasion of his thoughts, no matter how many books he poured over just for some clue of what to expect from the man.

And without a plan, Germany felt completely…vulnerable. Italy made him lose the sense of control he had over himself. No longer was he the stern man of discipline; suddenly, he was a stuttering idiot, making a fool of himself at every turn. And he was sure everyone could read it on his face.

"Germany? I-I'm sorry, don't be mad! It was silly to ask, wasn't it? I'm sorry, forget about it!"

The blond had almost forgotten he was still standing in front of that restaurant with the other man, and was greeted with a completely heartbroken expression when he snapped back to reality.

"N-no, I'm the one who should be sorry, Italy. I just…was distracted."

"Oh, okay!" The smile instantly returned to the brunet's face, making Germany's stomach twist in that sickeningly-sweet way it often did around the Italian. "So…can I hold Germany's hand?" The fidgets had returned with the smile, eyes still fixated on him.

Holding hands…why did the mere thought of it bring that telltale heat to his cheeks?

Germany glanced around, paranoia building in him again. Holding hands…holding hands…No matter how many times he thought about it, he couldn't foresee something like holding hands to be an…easy experience.

"Do you…do you really want to hold hands?"

The Italian nodded so fervently in response Germany feared his head would bounce right from his shoulders. "Please, Germany?"

He didn't think he could resist the stare Italy was giving him for much longer—he was always so easily defeated when it came down to those bright eyes. Almost on impulse did his hand start inching toward the Italian's, and even quicker than his mind could process were his fingers wrapping smaller ones, the sensation adding butterflies to the knot in his stomach.

Germany swore the look Italy gave him could light up a cave.

With a giggle, the smaller hand slide from his, only to intertwine their fingers together. "Grazie, Germany~"

This…this had to be one of the most embarrassing things he had ever done. He could even feel his ears burning at this point, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole for a few days until he could sort out these new feelings budding inside of him.

"Come on, Germany~ Let's go!" The Italian tugged him along happily down the streets of Berlin on their way back to Germany's house, winding through the bustling nighttime crowd.

…Gottverdammt, this was completely embarrassing. Even when he tried to reason out that his paranoia was nothing but, every laugh and giggle that flitted through the air was surely aimed at him. The urge to break away was so strong; but one glance at Italy's face—completely bathed in bliss—was enough to keep the connection, even if it was a bit stiff. He could feel his palms sweating, and he breathed deeply through his nose to try to keep his emotions under control

But…this was so much different than any other time he had the Italian hanging from him. Italy never hid his affection for him (or for anyone, for that matter). Many times he had the smaller nation on his arm; clinging to him amidst smiles and "I love you"s.

The hugs were bad, and the kisses even worse, yet this handholding was in a league of its own. All of the times before he was but a passive participant in Italy's silly habits. Sure, it was still embarrassing when the Italian insisted on saying those words in public, and he always took the hugs and kisses grudgingly (although his cheeks would always turn traitorous), but he could always hope that people would just see those instances as Italy being…well, Italy.

Now, however…now was not like before. Holding hand was like an admission of his affection. One could not passively hold hands, not like this. And this realization only made him even more flustered.

"Hey, hey! Germany, I'm really, really happy!" Once again, the sing-song voice snapped him out of his thoughts; he looked down at the brunet, almost surprised.

"…happy?"

"Mmhmm!" Italy swing their clasped hands back and forth, full of giggles. "I mean, I didn't know if Germany was going to ask me out this year! You never wanted to talk about Valentine's Day." The German cleared his throat in discomfort, but the Italian seemed not to notice. "And now we're holding hands! Eh heh, it just makes me really happy, Germany!"

Germany could feel his back straightening as the Italian's words melted away his tension, the awkward shuffle slowly reverting back to his normal gait.

Really, he was being selfish and fickle, and that wasn't fair to Italy. He shouldn't be so focused on what the others around him were thinking…he should be focused on what was between them.

Between them…What was between them?

"…I'm glad."

"Ve, and your city is really pretty at night, too! So many cute couples walking around on Valentine's Day—"

He knew the catcalls were definitely aimed at them now, but as he turned the Italian to him, wrapping his arms around that thin waist and pressing his lips against lips, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Because he could only deny his feelings for so long.

"Glücklicher Valentinstag, Italien."

A/N: Wow, this echos Maybe sooooo much. OTL -creativity faaaaaail, sobs in hands- A more developed version, but stiiiiiill.

Whatev, I wanted to write something for these two for Valentine's Day. =w= Enjoy~