Weary Minds and Warm Hearts

Tired blue eyes scanned the tumultuous world conference room. The usual shouting matches, punctuated with scuffling chairs and rustling paper, carried across the crowded chamber, drilling into Germany's skull. The meeting room was lit far too brightly at the end of a long week and it was starting to make his head spin. He massaged his temple, wishing he had a beer.

Distantly, the German registered a thud to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw France slump forward, unconscious. His immaculate locks splayed over the table, revealing a large bump forming at the top of his head. A blackened scone bounced unnaturally away from the passed out Frenchman, leaving little doubt who the culprit was.

An exasperated sigh escaped Germany as he pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.

Turning to his right, Germany's eyes softened as they fell upon the sleeping face of Italy Veneziano. His familiar mop of brown hair was resting on the table, nestled in the crook of his arm. Germany felt his headache subside just watching the peaceful rise and fall of Italy's back as he snored softly.

A curious smile flickered across the normally stern man's face. Suddenly, the lights seemed much more bearable, if only because of the way they illuminated the Italian's skin and emphasized how long his eyelashes were.

Without thinking, Germany reached over to brush aside a stray strand of copper hair, letting his fingers linger affectionately on the other man's cheek. Italy began to stir at the touch, letting out a drowsy, "Ve…"

Germany hurriedly pulled his hand back, mentally kicking himself for disturbing the Mediterranean nation's obviously much-needed siesta.

"Shh, I'm sorry, go back to sleep!" he whispered. A part of him wondered if he should treat Italy to pasta later to make up for it.

The North Italian slowly raised his head, blinking owlishly at the lights. Half his hair stuck out at odd angles, and even Germany had to admit that it was rather endearing. Then he yawned and, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, "Ti amo Germania," he scooted closer to bury his face against the larger man's chest.

Confused, and unsure what to do with an Italian snuggling up against him, Germany awkwardly petted Italy's hair. A quick glance around the room told him that everyone was too preoccupied with their own problems to notice them. Then he settled for gently wrapping an arm around the brunet's lower back.

Something pleasantly warm unfurled in his chest as he listened to Italy's breathing even out. He leaned his cheek against the shorter man's head, inhaling the faint scent of salt and flour in his hair. Tuning out the commotion around them, he focused on the feeling of Italy's steady heartbeat. A soft snore told him that Italy had already fallen back asleep. Letting his eyes slip shut, Germany felt his tension melt away into Italy's warmth, slowly lulling him to sleep.

In the middle of international chaos, two nations dozed peacefully in each other's arms, their hearts beating in unison.

(It only lasted half an hour before Romano found them.)

Author's Note: Written at the end of a long tiresome day. Not the best writing, so constructive criticism is welcome!