Just something I found myself writing after Part 2 of Animated Buon San Valentino. Hope you like fluff, and I guess a bit of angst~

Italy didn't why he decided to actually clean up his room, which he never really used mind you, and organize but he just felt like he should. Germany had been gone a few days, and he was out of options to amuse himself while he was gone. If he remembered right, he would be home tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, if he cleaned up just a bit Germany would notice and he would get praised! Maybe he could hug him, without any leading on! He could get close, and looked deep into his eyes, and start to lean in closer, dropping everything to just do this, and those lips he can't stop staring at finally connect to his own…

"Stop, stop!" He willed himself to keep calm, to fight away the daydreams that seemed to plaque him every time Germany leaves. They can be real innocent, like a date or something equally cute, to some really…..REALLY inappropriate. Some things that big brother France might even question, and those were getting more frequent, but the kissing one….that was the repeat offender today. He knew that he liked Germany, really like him, but he knew it would be one-sided. Germany was always annoyed by him and his antics. He sighed, finally banishing his thoughts, and started to comb through his room.

Through his first sweep on his room, he was able to clean out some old drawers and wipe clean his dirty, weathered desk which he didn't even know existed until he started the project. He found a lot of trash, junk objects that didn't have value or meant nothing now, old papers with some random stuff on it, scribbles and drawings he saved, and…..

…A black velvet box.

The task at hand stopped as the box was given daylight. It had been so long ago, but yet it felt like yesterday. The box held so many awkward moments and misinterpretation. Confusion, and mistakes, rejection…..

He had rejected the proposal when it was first offered. He was so scared. The flowers he gave him, Heliotropes, they struck everything in him. Those were the flowers his first love gave him one day. He realized there that Germany must have mistaken the roses he gave him. He loved the flowers, a symbol of love and devotion, he really did, but when he pulled out the box, and opened it to reveal the tomato ring, he feared that things were going too fast. He didn't know what to do, and add on the pressure of everyone around him freaking out over the events, he couldn't DO anything else.

He lifted the dusty box from its hiding spot on his desk, lightly blowing on it to knock away the offending dust settled onto it. He brushed the rest off, and just stared at the tiny box. He didn't really know what to do with it. He could open it, and try to control his thoughts when he saw the ring, or throw he box away.

"Ve, I could never get rid of it" Italy said silently. He really couldn't. Even now, just holding and staring at it, he could feel his chest tighten, his heart beating a mile a minute. His hands shook as his finger fumbled to open the lid, to see the ring still tucked inside. As the lid snapped open, he found himself holding back tears, sitting down on his bed.

The ring still looked perfect. No dust, no residue, just the shining beauty of the tomato-shaped jewel. He understood why he decided on a tomato, but he would have been fine with just a diamond. Tomatoes were Romano's thing, his was pasta, but he understood the significance of it. If he ever said yes, he wouldn't mind wearing it. Though, somewhere in his mind, he had an idea. An idea that may just get him somewhere with Germany.

He understood now that he didn't care if things went too fast, or if it was just a miscommunication thing; he loved this man, and he didn't care if he married him. He wanted him to himself, and nothing would get in the way of it.

He would however need France's help on this one if he was going to make it work.

Germany had no clue how it ended up in his hand when he woke up in the morning. The box still haunted him in his dreams, his nightmares. The box and Italy's confused face seemed to make sure he never forgot the mistake he made.

The velvet box, and the ring inside, he tried to propose with to Italy was now resting in his hand, with a note lying on his hotel bedside table.

He carefully took the note, and opened it, keeping the velvet box in his palm. It seemed to weigh heavy like his heart.

'I suggest you try again. This time, go down on the one knee. Don't worry, my good friend, it will not fail –France'

How the hell did France know?! Germany shook his head. Would he really fall for this? His own book pushed him to proposing, to making Italy look at him with such sadness, to saying no.

He did NOT want the answer to be no again. How would France know it would work?

Love seemed to be bitter for him. He couldn't, no wouldn't, accept that he loved the little Italian for a long time. But now, after the time that passed, and things seemed to clear for the better, he could. He loved him, but the fear of him finding the box, and of reminding him of his rejection, kept his love tied down like all his feelings. The box held so much, and now it held the m again. The question now though was what was resting in it now? He slowly opened it, worried that the ring would be there to mock him, and was met with a brilliant sight, a perfect, beautiful one.

It was basically the same ring, the tomato the main focus of it, except it was smaller, without the emerald top. The ring now had small, delicate curling lines around the top, like fresh pasta on a plate, cupping the red jewel and its small green companions in gold beauty. It looked way better than the first ring, dull to bright gold, and the jewels perfectly arranged in balance. Whoever made this one knew of Italy. He really did wonder if France wanted to help him. For once, he had to agree with France; if he was sure it would work, he was going for it.

He closed the box with a sharp snap, and jolted out of bed, grabbing for his suitcase, looking for something familiar, something Italy would recognize. He could just feel the fabric brush his fingers.

He wouldn't make old mistakes this time. He loved him too much to hurt him again. He made sure he could reach it again, threw on some clothes, packed up, and started to head out of the hotel. He needed to get home fast.

Italy found himself humming a soft tune from his childhood as he cooked his usual dinner, though this time he found himself driving away from his usual spaghetti to stuffed shells. Something about them called out to him this time, and so he would make them! He finished stuffing the last shell with his ricotta mix and set it inside his pan, quickly topping off the dish with what was left of his sauce. It wasn't even cooked, but it looked and smelled delicious. He set it in the oven, and wondered out, seeing that he had a good chunk of time until it was done.

It has been two days since he talked to France about his situation and his hopes with the ring. France said he would take care of it, and now all he's gotten was winks from him, and a late Germany. He was never late, and now he sat at the lone dinner table, waiting for his dinner, hoping that Germany would be home soon. He was getting bored again, but he couldn't put up enough will to go clean the room. He could find something to throw him into an entire fit, and that would not be good.

He looked at the clock warily. 7:35. It would take another 30 minutes for dinner to be finished. He got up, and wandered upstairs, of all places. He needed fresh air, so where did he go?

To the balcony of Germany's room, facing out into the backyard.

He let the doors stay open, the breeze pushing at his loose clothes like small sails. It was a pretty sunset slowly sailing down the horizon, the sky already turning shades of dark blue and purple, the lighter brighter colors fading into the distance. His chest tightened suddenly.

He really did miss him. He hoped that France did it right, and got Germany's cold cage around his heart and the event to break. He knew his did. He wanted to be with him, no matter if things went fast or at a snail's pace. They had forever to figure out how to make it work. A curse and a blessing. It was being more of a blessing for now, because forever with Germany sounded like Heaven to him. If he really got to be married to him, to be officially his and forever his, until death do them part…..?

"My dreams…would become true"

He did not hear though Germany's car pull up as he spoke to the wind, or notice that he wore something deep from their history. He wouldn't notice Germany's arrival back home until he found him at the doors that lead to the balcony. It was like God answered him when he did see him however.

Germany was wearing his old, old army attire from World War 1, the one he wore when he found him in the old tomato crate. It looked almost brand new, the colors and the seam work. It all looked perfect, framing him like a perfect picture. He held back the urge to run at him, and hug him for all he was worth, because there Germany beat him to the punch, pressing him ever closer. Italy found himself in a rare position: speechless. His dream…was this a dream? Was he asleep, his mind playing games?

"This is no dream, Italy"

Oh my god, it wasn't. Italy found himself tearing up as Germany leaned away, smiling. Actually smiling at him, this was no smirk. He wiped away his happy tears, but found himself crying harder as his love, who looked like he barely held back tears himself, went down on one knee before him, and held out a square velvet box. One hand grabbed Italy's shaking right hand, while the other opened the box with some difficultly.

The ring, his ring, the design he drew up for France to use for the new one, now reflected in his tear-filled eyes.

"Italy, I'm sorry for my mistakes earlier with this, and I hope you understand this time but….Feliciano Vargas, will you marry me?"

Germany was doing it. He was proposing, again, this time with utter relaxation, with real intent, he could see it floating in his eyes, and he meant it. He meant it with everything he felt. Italy stood there shaking, crying and pressing his left hand to his mouth for a several heartbeats. He swore he could hear Germany's beat as hard and as loud as his as he kept that rare, unforgetful smile on his face, waiting for his answer. Italy squeezed his right hand, moving his hand to uncover his smile.

"Yes…"

Germany's eyes widened, the tears finally falling.

"Yes I will"

Germany broke out into a full grin, not caring about his tears. He stood up, and took the ring out of its velvet cushion. He held Italy's hand like a dove, fearful of the fragile beauty he held, and slipped the ring onto his ring finger, giving it a soft squeeze as he lifted his hand away. He had done it right this time, and he didn't care if he hadn't kissed him, or even dated him. He had the love of his life tied to him, now and for forever. They pressed themselves into a tight, tearful hug, not willing to let go until Italy pushed him back just a step away, and gave his second kiss to the love of his life, winding his arms now around Germany's neck. The kiss was given back, his muscley, welcoming arms wrapping around his waist.

The ring glistened in the sunset as they celebrated the last and final time Germany and Italy would have to wait for this moment, to make up for their mistakes. Both of them let the first proposal leave with heavy burdens, and fought against the affection they felt. It slowly relaxed again, but they still felt the weight of their decisions, the awkwardness they left in their relationship. Now, they didn't need to worry about it.

Because finally, they got it right.

Blame Buon San Valentino and my OTP feels for this one, but I just needed to write something out for my feels!