Everybody Loves Me, I See the Light, Lullaby, Wide Awake,

I just wanted some Happy!Mano, that's all I wanted, honest. It's not my fault he's my fandom bicycle and the greyface on Tumblr suggested Prumano.

I have NEVER written Prumano, otherwise this would have been nice and short. Instead it turned into 8 chapters of derpy love. It's a bit less polished than my usual work, but give it a go and leave a comment if you enjoy!

Black Cherry

Pt. 1: Paris

It starts with a drink.

But not sex.

It's just a drink in Vienna during one of the never-ending string of conferences. They're bored as hell and since their little brothers effectively handle the bulk of the policy, they've got the most free time and decide, screw it, they're not going to drink alone.

In the beginning Spain's there too, but France takes England back to the hotel before he can get too blitzed, and their little brothers didn't come anyway. By the time Spain falls asleep at their table Romano's head is light and Older Kraut's pale cheeks are flushed, and they're just talking.

Not much comes of it, no lusting gazes over the lip of the wine glass or raging boners hidden behind bar-brand napkins.

"Paris next month?"

Sure.

But in between Vienna and Paris Veneziano blows the daylights out of his laptop, because he's an idiot, and since he has to stay in Rome for a set of non-European nations they've invited for a small summit, Romano gets stuck with the task of going up to Berlin to figure out if anyone there knows how to save a hard-drive from the effects of balsamic vinegar.

As an aside, yes, they thought about asking Estonia or Japan, but Estonia swore off helping either of them with computers after the Tomato Virus of '07 and Japan's solution is always to pawn off the latest and smallest electronics instead of fixing what used to be a perfectly good notebook. Romano also refuses to fly to Tokyo for such a stupid reason.

Kraut-breath's first question is to ask Romano why he came to Berlin for such a stupid reason. He spends the rest of the day e-mailing and compacting and printing and whatever-ing as much of the information he and Veneziano share for Romano to take back with him. Sensitive documents can't just be e-mailed, and his brother was too wound up to accept the idea of just sending a human to do a human's job.

So while the stupid potato-eater is busy doing office stuff, Romano wanders into the kitchen and asks what that fucking nasty smell is. Older potato-eater is in charge of the frothing pot of ick and Romano is sure to stay a minimum of ten feet away for fear of vomitting out his inner organs.

"You think you could do better?" Yes. "You sure?" Fuck yes. "Well maybe next time we're in Rome you-" Get the fuck out of the way. "Hey, I just made that!"

"Well it smells like piss!"

As far as non-Italian kitchens go, the one here is surprisingly well stocked. There's a sore lack of fresh herbs and tomatoes, but after brow-beating Older-Kraut for a good twenty minutes that no nothing is supposed to smell that bad don't bring Scotland into this you bastard you're still wrong, a decent meal of stuffed chicken-breasts, alfredo sauce, and gross, nastymashed potatoes comes together just as Younger Kraut-breath comes downstairs with a sealed legal-sized envelope and a scolding for Romano to pass on to his own idiot brother.

Young Kraut leaves to answer the phone before Romano can get his ears to stop stinging, but Old Kraut is there with a mouthful of chicken and a cold beer before he's ready for him.

"You know, you're pretty good at cooking. It's hard to find someone who's better than me at something that isn't pastries." Idiot, cooking's simple. "Well what did you stuff in this then? It's good." None of your god-damned business. "You found it in my kitchen! Tell me!" He's such a child!

"God damn! Come to Rome if you want to know so badly!" Romano regrets the words almost as soon as they're out of his mouth. But he comes to regret them even more when he has to spend the next six hours travelling beside Old Kraut and brings him home to Veneziano, because Young Kraut lets his brother do whatever the hell he wants, and Old Kraut wants Romano to cook for him, and it's two weeks until the Paris conference.

It's... somehow... a very fun two weeks.

Veneziano likes gross mushy potatoes and nasty wurst shit, so he's happy to have Old Kraut stay with them with his smiles and his stupid laugh. Romano sticks to wine while his stupid brother tries some of the different beers that bleed across the border into his territory, and Romano shows the tall goof-ball that you can't mash the herbs, you have to grind them, stupid.

And Romano does not like the cakes the Prussian shows them. And he hates that chocolate torte with the semi-sweet whipped cream and candied cherries and dark chocolate shavings. It's terrible. Awful. Honestly he can't stand that gooey cherry preserve in the middle that's just tart enough for the cake. And no he doesn't want the recipe for those apple things but if Prussia's already written it down then fine and is that cherry wine?

"I thought you were the authority on wine?"

"That's France. I export the stuff." But Romano's pallet is better than Veneziano's, so after his brother's stuffed himself full of nasty German food and gone to bed one night, and Prussia and Romano are outside on the balcony in Rome, he sips the sweet drink and casts a longing look at the half-eaten torte on Prussia's plate.

"You like cherries, huh?"

"Grapes are better," is the conditioned response.

"Oh, nevermind then..." Wait, nevermind what? "Eh, just an idea." Idea to do what? What was he going to do? Don't eat cake, answer the god-damned question! "I was thinking gelato..."

"Gelato what?"

"Cherry gelato. Obviously German ice-cream is superior, but if you made a gelato then I think you could get more of the tart out of them." All ice-cream is shit compared to gelato because it's too sweet and sticky, but the idea of those royal black fruits with their burgundy juice churning away, that pallet-cleansing red washing over his tongue with the sharp tang of the ripe fruit- Romano's not drooling but that's probably because he has wine to drink.

"...That sounds okay."

"Tomorrow?"

Tomorrow comes with a big bag of black cherries and an ungodly amount of milk and cream. They don't quite know where to start since Romano is better with savoury dishes and Prussia's desserts are normally baked, but they think of a couple ways to combine the ingredients. All the little fruits need to lose their stems and pits first anyways, so they talk as they work.

Twenty minutes in, the Italian kitchen is a crime-scene of mangled fruits with Romano vainly trying to keep every last black drop of delicious in the bowls and pots surrounding them. He's laughing at some stupid German joke when the knife slips and instead of black, some very vibrant red begins running over his fingers.

"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT."

"Woah! What did you do?" FUCKING BLOOD GETTING IN THE FUCKING CHERRIES GOD-DAMN IT THAT'S NOT FUCKING OKAY. "Oi! Stop swearing and just-"

He doesn't lose a finger and the cut isn't that deep, but Prussia stains an old out-of-fashion handkerchief with cherry juice and Italian blood by wrapping the silk around his hand. The fact that his hands were wet with juice made the blood spread faster, but with a bit of water and a lot more swearing to direct Prussia to the first-aid-kit the crisis is handled neatly.

Unlike their cherries, which are now literally a bloody massacre. A few drops of blood won't kill a person, but it's unsanitary and unsightly and just plain not okay, so the lot of them get dumped out. All of this serves to leave the Italian and his cooking partner sulking with too many bottles of cream and not enough pitted cherries. Romano sulks his way through two more German jokes until he hears Prussia mumble something, looks up, and finds half a cherry shoved past his lips by a thick calloused thumb.

He doesn't even chew the firm sweet flesh, he just swallows and stares as heat bolts down his stomach and Prussia swipes his cherry-stained thumb over Romano's lips, painting them with the red juice.

"So we only have a couple left, can't let them go to waste, can we?" N-No, they can't. But it's not until Prussia pops another half-cherry in his own mouth that Romano works up the nerve to lick the thick flavour off his lips. "Do you like them?" Y-Yeah, whatever, they taste alright. "Good, now while I clean this up, you divide them evenly."

He means divide the remaining cherries so they can both snack on them, but as Prussia plunges his hands into hot soapy water and Romano takes over feeding them both the sweet red berries, the Prussian ends up eating almost all of them. He eats them because, uh, Romano doesn't really like cherries but- um, maybe if Prussia wouldn't... lick... his lips kind of... soft...

Romano's very happy when the two weeks are over and it's time to go to Paris, and he tries but he can't come up with an excuse not to attend the conference. It is, of all things, about agriculture and that means South Italy really actually definitely has to be there.

Prussia goes back home two days before, and misses the first day of four in Paris. Romano knows he's in town when room-service knocks on his door one evening with a German cherry-chocolate tart in a box, and there's a stupid bird and a ridiculous pun in the little card. He eats the dessert in the hall so he won't have to explain or (god-forbid) share with his little brother, and slips the card in his pocket to forget about.

He has a hell of a time sleeping with dreams of warm chocolate kisses on his lips, or memories of thick cherry wine on a summer balcony in Rome.

The next day has Romano get into a shouting match with France over cultivation methods and green house gas emissions tied to the wine industry. He's frustrated and exhausted by the time he hears a stupid laugh and feels a friendly arm clap him around the shoulders, so he leans right into the hold and whines about how much butter French people put in their food.

They spend the rest of the night drinking bitter French wine and talking about what kinds of olive oil are best for brazing, frying, searing, and dressing. Romano doesn't even mind that he's talked into giving a bottle of his best olive oil to Gilbert, he just gets to see those wine-stained lips stretch in an obnoxious grin and wonders what those long fingers would feel like caring for him the way they do cherry stems and pastry dough...

He's fallen so hard that when the next day has Gilbert and Spain get into a shouting match and brawl over something on their lunch break, Romano runs away so he won't have to pick a side. He's in ruins when his decision to hide in a Parisian farmer's market makes him choose inferior pink cherries over questionably yellow tomatoes to munch on.

Romano spends the rest of the conference willingly cloaking himself in Veneziano's shadow, whispering whatever has to be said to his baby brother so their industries and exports are protected for another year. Not only does Veneziano notice the change, but he mistakenly scolds Spain thinking he's the reason for it and turns down dinner with Young Kraut so the brothers can spend the night together quietly. They pack that night and Romano curls himself up in a love-sick ball on the bed, alternating between giddy and weepy because he doesn't take these kinds of emotions well. Veneziano stays and doesn't judge him, even when it's clear he's curious about who the culprit is after Romano explains that no, it isn't Spain.

"Italy!" THERE IS NO ESCAPE, but they almost make it out of the hotel the next morning before Young Kraut gets his brother's attention, and Romano should really stop calling him Young Kraut because Gilbert-

IS RIGHT THERE, SHIT.

But his little brother and Gilbert's little brother can't say goodbye in less than sixteen words, and that number swiftly increases until the two little brothers are drowning in words and the two older ones are standing there in awkward, extended silence.

"So, I was wondering..." OhGodOhGodOhGod. Romano wants to make a wise-crack about Gilbert not thinking because it's bad for his health, but the tease gets stuck in his throat because Gilbert's got that dumb stupid grin- "this time of year, the Rhine valley is-"

"No." Hell no! Romano's not falling into that trap, he's not going to spend a romantic however-long travelling along the Rhine in Germany. "Growing season, too busy, have to work." He's only half lying, because the real work comes with the harvest and that's a month or two off still, but he can't go. He has to go home and calm down and get over this stupid school-yard crush so him and Gilbert can go back to spending time together without stupid Gilbert's stupid cherry-red eyes slipping past him like he's not even... there... "Sorry."

"Naw, it's fine! Duty calls."

"I'll be in Naples, if you want to-" NO! What was the point of saying no if he was just going to offer and-!

"Right, that's your city isn't it?" Erm, yes. The two halves of Italy share Rome, but Veneziano keeps a special eye on Venice and Romano is attached to Naples. "Sounds like a plan." No! No plan! No coming! No-

"Yeah... I'll call you."

"You'd better."

Oh God…

Read and review guys! I'm not stomping on too many Prumano headcanons, am I?