A/N: Now with a completely re-written ending! I think I like this better than the old one, but I'm still not sure I did it quite right…

The den was cold. Germany shivered and moved closer to the fire, bringing himself so close to the hearth that if he moved forward even an inch more, he'd burn himself on the glass that kept the smoke from flowing into the room. It didn't help; a fire's warmth wasn't what he was longing for. He shivered again and tried to focus once more in vain on the book he was trying to read. Germany had been staring at the same page for forty-five minutes. He always read before turning in for the night. Why was his normal routine so difficult tonight?

The words drifted in and out of focus before his distracted gaze, their meanings evading him. His antique grandfather clock ticked quietly in the corner and he felt tormented by each little noise it made, wondering if it was his imagination or some malfunction of the old clock that made the seconds pass so slowly. The old stuffed chair in which he sat, his favorite chair which he must have repaired so many times over the years as time wore on it that few of the original parts remained, was uncomfortable for the first time tonight. He shifted in it restlessly, wondering if it too was broken. Even his clothing irritated him tonight. Why didn't anything feel right?

Actually, he knew exactly why he felt this way; he was just loath to admit it, even to himself. The truth was that he was pining for Italy. How utterly ridiculous, he thought. I'm not some adolescent experiencing his first crush. I'm a grown man, perfectly capable of rational thought and standing on my own two feet. I know that as soon as the elections are over, we'll be able to see each other. This is the last night. Just one more night alone and everything will be back to normal. It was a country's duty to attend the speeches and political debates of his candidates during election time. This required extensive traveling within their country and prevented them from spending much time with anyone who wasn't involved in the campaign.

It had been a month since Germany had seen Italy face to face. Though Italy called him frequently, the physical distance between them made Germany's heart ache. He missed Italy's warmth, his scent, his touch. He longed for his hugs and smiles and kisses. Normally it irritated him, but right now he would give anything to have Italy come bounding into his study to interrupt his reading, requesting hugs and asking if he'd be done reading soon so they could cuddle in bed for a while before they went to sleep.

The ache in his chest worsened as he dwelled on the subject. He would feel so much better if he could even just hear Italy's voice right now. Calling was out of the question; he didn't want to interrupt if Italy was in the middle of something important. He knew how distractible Italy was; if he called now, there was a good chance Italy wouldn't go back to what he was supposed to be doing for the rest of the night even after they hung up. He could see only one option available to him. Germany got up from his chair, went to his desk and dug his MP3 player out of the drawer. He pushed the headphones into his ears as he went back to his place in front of the fire, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Hey, will you listen to how I feel? I'm so, so in love… with pasta! I love pasta so much. You say you can see that without me telling you? But I want to say it over and over again, because I just love it so much. The world is made of precious flour and water!"

Germany let out a little breath, an expression of mild amusement for how well this song suited his lover, dulled by the pain of longing for him. But with his eyes closed this way and Italy's sweet voice singing clearly in his ears, he could almost fool himself into thinking that Italy would be there if he just opened his eyes. He kept them closed in order to maintain that illusion, rubbing his hands on his upper arms to simulate the warmth of Italy's touch. Germany willed himself to imagine the comforting weight of his lover in his lap where he belonged, wrapped safely in his arms, nice and close so that Germany could kiss him and whisper that he loved him at any time he chose.

"If I gaze vacantly at the sky, I can see lightly floating macaroni. I'm happy when I can savor it slowly, so let's go boil some water!"

Germany's brows furrowed as he told himself that Italy was in the kitchen right now making a post-dinner snack, pots and pans clinking together as he cooked, and that he could catch the tantalizing scent of thick, rich tomato sauce and fresh garlic bread baking. There it was, he could smell it clearly. Then came the energetic footsteps as Italy hurried into the study to invite Germany to join him in the kitchen and share his pasta. If he opened his eyes, he was certain that Italy's smiling face would greet him, a soft kiss would be touched to the tip of his nose and warm, artistic hands would take his and lead him into the dining area.

The images were so clear and sharp in his mind that he actually managed to fool himself for just the briefest moment that these things were really happening. Germany's eyes snapped open eagerly, but the only thing that greeted him was the sight of one of his dogs, Aster, lazing near the fire. Aster yawned, oblivious to his master's heartache. Germany sighed and turned his vacant, distracted gaze back to the dancing flames in the fireplace, crushed. It felt as though some invisible hand had closed around his heart and was squeezing. He gritted his teeth against the pain and closed his eyes again, willing the song to soothe him.

"The tomato box fairy will (hey, I'm the tomato box fairy!) transform your tears into sauce! Let's meet up when the sun comes out; that thought is piling up in my head like ravioli. I want to see your smile, so let's boil some water!"

He echoed those sentiments in his own head, hoping that by some miracle they would reach Italy and compel him to pick up the phone and give his poor lonely boyfriend a call.

Italy let himself in through the front door, sighing wearily. After all the hard work and traveling he'd had to do this month, running from his house to Germany's had really taken it out of him. He kind of hoped that Germany was already in bed. That way he could just fall in beside him and finally get a decent night's sleep, snuggled in Germany's embrace the way he was used to doing. The house was quiet; that was a good sign. Italy removed his shoes in the entryway and moved deeper into the house, heading for the bedroom. That was when he noticed the light on in Germany's study. He entered quietly, his bare feet padding softly on the carpet.

His heart leapt a little when he spied Germany reclining in the chair before the fire. His real, live Germany was there in the room with him; not a dream or some random citizen who happened to resemble him just enough to make Italy's heart ache. He hadn't yet noticed that Italy was there because his eyes were closed but if Italy just announced his presence, Germany would look at him and smile in that way that made Italy weak in the knees. Italy opened his mouth to call out to him but his voice caught in his throat when he looked more closely at his lover's face. Germany looked like he was in anguish. He wasn't crying, but he almost looked like he was thinking about it. Italy couldn't remember the last time he had seen Germany looking so sad. It broke his heart.

He approached him silently and reached out, touching his cheeks softly. Germany started violently at the unexpected touch, his eyes flying open. Italy, surprised by the sudden jerk, pulled his hands away reflexively. The two of them stared at each other a moment in stunned silence. Germany reached out and touched Italy's arm hesitantly, checking to make sure that he wasn't just seeing things. When he found that Italy was indeed real, a spectacular blush erupted on Germany's face. He jerked the headphones out of his ears, fumbled to turn of the music and stuffed the MP3 player hastily behind his back.

"I-Italy!" he stammered. "When did you… ! Aren't you supposed to be…! Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't stand to be away from Germany anymore so I came to see you," Italy breathed. "I know I'm not supposed to but I needed to be with Germany…"

Germany got up from his chair and threw his arms around Italy, hugging him tightly. Italy mimicked him, breathing a sigh of relief. Like an addict who had been going through withdrawal and was finally getting his fix, he felt as though his previously incurable restlessness was fading and he was returning to himself. Germany's warm, solid form filled the space between his arms, his face buried in his muscular chest, the light scent of Germany's cologne and skin filling his nostrils… there was nowhere else he'd rather be. He let out a happy little hum and kissed Germany's neck. Germany's thick fingers were threaded in his hair, stroking it reverently. After a moment, he scooped Italy into his arms and sat back down in the chair with him in his lap.

"Why did Germany look so sad?" Italy asked softly. "Were you listening to a sad song?"

Germany's cheeks reddened again. "It's nothing. I'm just glad you're back."

"If Germany is upset, I want to know why so I can help," Italy explained. "When Germany is sad, it makes me sad, too."

Italy's fingers met with the plastic of the MP3 player behind Germany's back and he fished it out. Germany made to snatch it away before Italy could see what song he'd been listening to, but Italy dodged his grasp with surprising agility.

"This… this is my song," Italy said in quiet awe. He lifted his stunned gaze to meet Germany's. "Germany was listening to my song…"

"I couldn't call," Germany mumbled, his face burning. "I might have interrupted you when you were in the middle of something important."

"Germany… Germany wanted to hear my voice so he…"

Italy stared at him for just a second more before leaning in and engaging his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. He pulled away slightly and moved in again, nibbling softly at his lover's mouth. God, how he'd missed this. Italy could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, so he broke the kiss and hid his face in the crook of Germany's neck.

"I listened to Germany's song, too," he sniffled. "I wondered if Germany really felt that way, if he was feeling that way right then… I… I always cried when I listened to it, but I c-couldn't turn it off… I missed Germany so much…"

Germany blushed brilliantly again; Italy, who had a voice like an angel, had heard his crappy amateur squawking. He supposed it had been silly of him to think it wouldn't reach Italy sooner or later when he'd allowed Japan to record it. Germany decided not to say anything. He was too relieved to have Italy back in his arms to be too upset by it. Germany rubbed Italy's back soothingly and kissed the top of his head as Italy's warm tears dampened his shirt where Italy was hiding his face.

"Are you ready to go to bed?" Germany asked after a while.

"Mm… I just wanna stay like this a little longer," Italy mumbled. "I'm so glad I can be with Germany. Let's never be apart again, ok?"

"It would be nice if that was possible," Germany admitted.

He looked down at the warm figure curled up in his arms and couldn't help smiling ever so slightly. It was funny how the world, in which everything had seemed so wrong only minutes ago, suddenly seemed so wonderful, just because this one silly, cheerful, affectionate crybaby was with him now. He kissed the rim of Italy's ear.

"I…I love you," he mumbled shyly, his cheeks warming again. Those words were still difficult for him to say, and even more difficult when he had to say them first, but for Italy he was willing to swallow his pride a little.

Italy turned his head so that he could return the kiss on Germany's lips. The gentle, sweet smile on his face made Germany's breath catch in his chest.

"I love Germany, too."