Germany x Reader (New Discoveries)

Konichiwa!  Turtle-chan has another part of  the story for you reader-sans!  Yay!  I kind of like this one, actually.  I don't really know why, but I do.  Oh, and I reference several songs in this part, so I'll tell you which ones they are: "I Don't Love You" by My Chemical Romance (<3), "Rosenrot" by Rammstein, "I Remember You" by Skid Row (much sap, such hair metal!), and "Vampiro" by Blind Fool Love.  The other song I reference is called "La Malaguena" (there should be a ~ over the letter "n" but I don't know how to do that on here...).  I won't be able to show you the exact version I was referring to because it's the version I composed myself (yes, I play guitar.  I sing as well.  Don't know if I've mentioned that) and I don't know how to put videos on here, but I'll give you a link to a traditional Malaguena.  It's a really fun and passionate traditional song from Spain and it is seriously difficult to play!  Here is a link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUHDOd4PQWE
He's a little flashier than I play it since I don't generally play flamenco and because I've only been playing for about a year and a half, but it sounds the most similar to what I play.  Notice how fast his fingers move.  I don't mean to harp on it, but this seriously takes skill to play like that and you also have to play fingerstyle which is pretty uncommon, as far as I've seen, among modern guitarists.  Basically, I am very impressed.  So yeah, on to the story!  Catch you guys later!


- Turtle-chan

You hear music drifting in from outside of your window and you glance out.  Italy is sitting in the garden playing on his guitar and you decide to go and join him.  He’s always so nice about letting you listen to him practicing and he often makes up funny little songs for you.  You slip out the front door and sit down on the steps next to him.  He glances over at you and smiles.

“Vee~!  Hi, (y/n)!  Are you here to listen to me play again?” he asks you cheerfully.

You nod.  “Yeah, if you don’t mind,” you respond.

“Of course not!” he exclaims and then starts playing again.  “I made up a new song.  Do you want to hear it?”

“Yeah!” you say enthusiastically.

“Alright, here it goes,” he says, changing his strumming pattern.  “Draw a circle, that’s the Earth!  Draw a circle, that’s the Earth!  Draw a circle, that’s the Earth!  I am Italy!  Ah, with a swipe of a paintbrush, a wonderful world can be seen!  With our boots let’s make a toast!  Italy!”

You giggle, mostly because you know that song all too well and partly because it’s amusing to watch Italy singing it.  “I like it, Italy,” you tell him smilingly.  “You should keep that one.”

“Really?  Thank you, (y/n)!” he chirps.  After a few moments of silence, he jolts upright.  “I just had an idea!  Do you play guitar, (y/n)?”

“Yeah, a little,” you respond, wondering where this is going.  Italy’s ideas are usually a little scary.

He shoves the guitar toward you.  “Okay, play something!  I want to hear it!” he exclaims.

You blush and try to refuse, but he won’t allow it, so you end up taking it from him.  “What do you want me to play?” you ask, mentally going down the list of songs you know.

“Anything!” he tells you unhelpfully.

So you decide to play it safe.  “Alright, well this is a song that doesn’t have singing in it,” you tell him as you assume the proper position for playing.  Then, your fingers start to move.  Slowly, you pluck the first few notes, testing the tuning and the resistance of the strings, but after that you start to gradually pick up speed.  By the time you reach what you only know to call the chorus, your fingers are flying and there’s a huge grin plastered over your face.  With the style of playing you use, you can go extremely fast because you can pick multiple strings at once by using each of your fingers.

When you’ve finished, you let out a sigh and look up.  You hear clapping, but not all of the sound is coming from beside you.  You turn around and see Germany leaning in the doorway, clapping politely and you blush deeply.

“That was good! “ Italy tells you happily.

“Ja.  Vat vas zat?” Germany inquires.

“Oh, it’s called ‘La Malagueña.’  It’s a song from Spain, but that’s just my simplified version of it,” you respond.  You had forgotten how much Germany likes to listen to music.  He always sits in the kitchen when Italy plays guitar so that he can listen and sometimes when Italy plays for everyone after dinner, Germany sits there gazing off into the distance and not moving, like he’s in a trance, until Italy stops playing.  Those are the rare times that he almost allows himself to look happy.

“Play something else for us!” Italy exclaims.  “I want to hear you sing this time!”

“A-are you sure?” you ask nervously.

“Yep!  I think you’ll have a really pretty voice~!” he responds.

You nod nervously and start to strum out chords.  You start out singing softly and you avoid looking at anything but your fingers moving across the frets of the guitar.  “Well when you go.  Don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay.  And maybe when you get back I’ll be off to find another way,” you sing, willing your voice to stop shaking.

After you get about halfway through the song, though, you reach the part that you love singing the most and you can’t help but let your voice grow powerful.  “Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading.  So sick and tired of all the needless beatings.  But baby when they knock you down and out is where you oughta stay.  And after all the blood that you still owe, another dollar’s just another blow.  So fix your eyes and get out.  Baby get out while you can.  And when you go would you even turn to say, ‘I don’t love you like I did yester day.’”

As you reach the end of the song, you’re feeling pretty good, so you decide to play with the volume again, this time dropping to almost a whisper.  “When you go would you have the guts to say,’ I don’t love you like I loved you yesterday?’”

You look up and let out a shaky breath, but everything is silent otherwise.  Oh no.  That was horrible, wasn’t it?  You tentatively look over and see Italy beaming.  You can practically see the little sparkles and flowers surrounding him.  “I knew you have a good voice, (y/n),” he tells you dreamily.

You feel your cheeks heat up a little and you glance away.  “Thanks, Italy,” you tell him.

“Vee~!  Look at that!  Germany is speechless,” Italy chuckles.

You look up at Germany and see that he is staring at you in amazement.  As soon as you make eye contact with him, his face turns pink and you can feel yourself heating up as well.  “Ah, zat vas… Fery nice,” he says, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“Th-thank you,” you tell him with a little embarrassment.

Italy taps you on the arm and leans over toward you.  “Hey, (y/n).  Do you know any German songs?  I think Germany would like that,” he whispers in your ear.

“Um, I know one, but I don’t know the guitar for it,” you reply quietly.

“Then just sing it.  It’s fine!” he exclaims.

“O-okay…  If you say so…,” you respond nervously.

Italy nods encouragingly at you and you start off, tapping your foot to keep you on beat.  “Sah ein Mädchen ein Röslein stehen, Blühte dort in lichten Höhen, Sprach sie ihren Liebsten an, ob er es ihr steigen kann.  Sie will es und so ist es fein.  So war es und so wird es immer sein.  Sie will es und so ist es Brauch.  Was sie will bekommt sie auch.  Tiefe Brunnen muss man graben wenn man klares Wasser will.  Rosenrot oh Rosenrot, Tiefe Wasser sind nicht still,”you sing, hoping desperately that you don’t mispronounce anything.

You make the mistake of peeking up at Germany while you sing and the two of you make eye contact.  As soon as your eyes meet his piercing blue ones, the words die in your throat.  All you can do is stare at him and his surprised face.  You open your mouth to speak or sing again, but then you shut it.  You can’t understand what’s happening to you, but it feels like your heart is going to flutter right out of your chest and you don’t know why.

“Vee~!  Germany, you scared her!” Italy exclaims, jerking you back to the real world.

Germany blushes slightly and looks away from both of you.  “I am sorry.  I neet to go train,” he says gruffly as he pushes past you and Italy.

“Yeah, I need to start cooking dinner,” you say, jumping up and running inside before giving Italy time to offer his help.

Once you’re inside, you take the ingredients for dinner out with shaking hands.  What’s happening to me?  You set on a pot of water to boil, using a chair from the table to get it down.  You jump when you hear a soft noise from behind you.

“Excuse me, (y/n)-san.  Do you require any assistance?” Japan asks you.

“Oh, no!  I’m perfectly alright, thanks!” you tell him a little too cheerfully.

He stares at you for several long seconds and you’re starting to feel extremely uncomfortable when he finally looks away.  “Alright.  I will be in my room should you need anything,” he says as he walks off.

You sigh and rest your forehead against the cool metal of the refrigerator while you wait for the water to boil.  In the meantime, you can’t help but think about Germany.  It seems he occupies the most space in your mind these days.  Sure you had had a silly, fangirly crush on him back at home when you thought he wasn’t real, but now that you are living with him and see him every day it’s gotten way more intense.  You get really self-conscious around him and your heart beats really fast.  You feel like you’re always blushing around him whereas you almost never blushed before and you feel like your stomach ties itself up in knots whenever he’s around.  It’s a strange, but it’s not altogether unpleasant.  You sigh again and straighten up to start cooking.

Last night Italy made pasta, so you want to do something a little different.  You really like Chinese food, so you decide you’re going to make some orange chicken for the guys to see if they like it.  It’s also really easy to make large portions of it, which is good because you’ve noticed that, while you and Japan usually eat lightly, Italy always eats a lot and Germany always makes sure everyone else has their fill before allowing himself to eat.

You smile to yourself and start to hum while you cook, though you start singing without really realizing it.  As usual, you get into the music and it all goes downhill from there.  From humming, you go to singing, and from singing to dancing, so soon you’re floating across the kitchen on nimble feet as you cook.

“Paint a picture of the days gone by, when love went blind and you would make me see,” you coo as you stir the chicken again.

“I’d stare a lifetime into your eyes so that I knew that you were there for me.   Time after time you were there for me!” as you close the oven door.

“We spent the summer with the top rolled down.  Wished ever after would be like this.  You said, ‘I love you babe,’ without a sound.  I said I’d give my life for just one ki-“ you belt out, but you stop abruptly when you spin into something warm and hard.

You look up and your eyes lock onto Germany’s clear blue ones and you look away and put some space between the two of you.  “Ah, I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly and awkwardly.

He chuckles nervously and says,” Nein.  It vas mein fault for beink in zee vay.”

“I should have been paying more attention,” you say with embarrassment.

You end up lapsing into an awkward silence, with neither of you making eye contact.  “Your…  Your foice is fery nice,” Germany says quietly and you look up at him.

“O-oh.  Thank you,” you respond, feeling surprised.

“U-um.  I voult like to hear you sink again.  Zat is, if you vant to,” he tells you, avoiding eye contact.

You back up to lean against the counter, nod slowly, and start your verse over again, singing quietly and gently this time.  “We spent the summer with the top rolled down.  Wished ever after would be like this.  You said,’I love you, babe,’ without a sound.  I said I’d give my life for just one kiss.  Live for your smile and die for your kiss.”  Germany is watching you with a very serious face, which is unusual and you wonder if he doesn’t like the song you’ve been singing, but you go on anyway.  It’s embarrassing to feel like you’re singing to Germany since it’s a love song, so you look at the ground instead.

“Remember yesterday—walking hand in hand.  Love letters in the sand—I remember you.  Through all the sleepless nights, through every endless day, I wanna hear you say,’ I remember you,’” you sing, trailing off because you know what is coming up and you’re too embarrassed to do it.

“Ve’fe hat our share of hart times, but zat’s zee price vee pait, und zrough it all ve kept zee promises vee mate.  I svear you’ll nefer be lonely,” Germany sings quietly.  His voice is very, very deep and slightly off key, but you kind of like it.  You look up at him and smile, joining in.

“Woke up to the sound of the pouring rain.  Washed away a dream of you, but nothing else could ever take you away ‘cause you’ll always be my dream come true,” you sing, harmonizing your voice to Germany’s.  You watch his face to try to see if he’s going to stop for the next line, but it looks like he’s going to keep going, so you go too.  “Oh my darling, I love you!”

Germany changes that line a little.  He sings,” Oh mein Liebling, Ich liebe dich!”

You notice that you both sang that line a little softer and you sort of stare at each other, trying to figure things out for a moment.  Germany walks slowly toward you until there is only about a half foot of space between you.  He looks at you questioningly and you continue to look up at him.  You start to lean toward each other, but you hear the door open and you turn away and Germany reaches up into the cabinets.

“Was that singing I just heard?” Italy asks as he comes in.

“Yes,” Japan answers and you jump.  You hadn’t realized he was there.

“Vee~!  Really?  It sounded really pretty!  Germany, were you singing with (y/n)?  It sounded like your voice!” Italy asks excitedly.

Germany’s cheeks turn pink and he glares at Italy.  “It is none of your business.  Prepare for your dinner,” he says, placing four plates on the counter near you before turning on his heel.  “I am goink to take a shover unt I vill be bak in a minute.”

You continue busily finishing up with the cooking and then you move on to set the table.  You catch Japan staring at you from the corner and you can almost hear the “jiiiiiii~” sound effect.  Italy bombards you with questions instead of trying to see into your soul.

“Was Germany singing?  How did you get him to sing?  He doesn’t do that usually!  He says he likes to just listen!  Germany is so nice, don’t you think, (y/n)?” he says, shooting off sentences like the spray of ammunition from an automatic rifle.

“Yeah, I guess he just liked the song,” you answer, looking away from Italy and hoping you don’t blush.  “He’s very nice.”

“Hee hee!  You’re nice too, (y/n)!  I think Germany likes having you live with us!” Italy tells you, beaming.  You feel Japan’s stare grow more intense.

“Oh, really?  I guess it’s refreshing to have a woman’s touch in a house full of men sometimes, then,” you chuckle.

“No, I mean, Germany likes having you here,” Italy says, opening his eyes for emphasis.

And that’s it.  You blush and you reach into the oven as quickly as you can to hide your face.  In the process, you accidentally burn your forearm on the inside of the oven.  You hiss quietly in pain, but try to ignore it as you pull the chicken out.  You set it down on the stove and close the oven door.  Then, you take the lid off of the pot of rice and give it a stir before stepping back and putting up the oven mitts.

“Alright, well I’m going to run upstairs and freshen up really quick.  You can go ahead and get your food if you want to, but it’s really hot, so be careful,” you say, looking at Italy pointedly at the end.  Then, you walk up the stairs as normally as possible, but once you’re out of sight, you move quickly to the bathroom.

As you approach the door, you remember that Germany was planning on showering and so you’ll have to wait.  You go to your room first and brush your hair out before examining your burn.  The burn itself is white and swollen and the area around it is red.  It hurts like the dickens and you walk slowly back to the bathroom, hoping Germany is done so that you can run cold water over it.

The door is shut when you get there, but a lot of the doors shut on their own in the house, so you go to knock on it to make sure no one is in there, but the door opens before your fist makes it to the door.  You freeze in place as you see a mostly naked Germany standing in front of you.  He has a towel wrapped around his waist and his hand is frozen with a towel draped over his head to dry his hair.  You stare at each other for a moment before you blush and turn away.

“I’m sorry,” you say with much embarrassment.

“Ah, no.  I-I am sorry,” he says with equal embarrassment.  “I vill just get out of your vay.”

“Uh, thanks,” you say, backing out of the doorway to let him past.  He goes quickly to his room and shuts the door behind him.  You go into the bathroom and immediately run cold water over your arm from the sink.  It hurts a lot, but you try to just muscle through it.  It’ll be better in the long run.

“(Y/n)~!  Germany~!  Where are you~?” Italy shouts up the steps.

Crap.  “Komink,” Germany bellows back from down the hall.

“Just a second!” you yell, turning off the water.  You dab at your arm gingerly with a hand towel, but you can’t hold in a hiss of pain as the fabric touches your skin.

You hear a quiet knocking near you and you look over to see Germany leaning against the doorframe.  “Is someskink zee matter?” he asks you.

“Oh, I’m fine.  I just burned myself a little bit.  It happens all the time,” you respond, keeping the burn covered.  It’s worse than you had thought it was and it looks really bad.

“May I see?” he asks, staring at the towel.

“Uh, I guess…” you respond and reluctantly lift the towel away from your arm.  The burn has blistered a little and it still looks red and angry.  Germany examines it for a moment and then straightens up again.

“I vill be bak,” he says, walking out of the room.  He returns a few minutes later with a small slice of… something.  “It is a potato.  My mutti uset to use zem ven she vould akcidentally burn herself.  It vorks fery vell.”

“O-oh.  I’ve never heard of that before,” you say.  You aren’t really sure why a potato would help anything, but you’re not going to argue it.  You know how Germany feels about his potatoes.

“Here.  I vill do it for you,” he says, reaching out toward you.

You lift your arm and he takes it, holding onto it near the elbow and balancing it with his arm.  His hand goes almost completely around your arm, surprisingly.  He takes the slice of potato and gently rubs it across the burn.  It stings at first, but you gradually feel the pain going away until all that’s left is a tolerable aching.  You look up at Germany in amazement.

“Wow, that really works,” you tell him.

He chuckles a little and says,” I tolt you it vould.”

You can’t help but smile at him, actually trying to joke for once.  He still hasn’t let go of your arm, but you don’t mind.  You feel reassured somehow when you’re near him and his hands are warm and comforting.  The bathroom is small, so you’re standing very close to each other.  When you breathe in, you can smell the soap that Germany used during his shower.  You also notice that his hair is not slicked back like it usually is and it’s still a little damp.  For some reason, you want to reach up and touch it.  Before you realize it, your hand has moved toward his face and your fingers are just inches away from his hair.  He has leaned down toward you and is just watching you with slightly pink cheeks. 

Your fingertips have just brushed the ends of his hair when Italy calls up the stairs,” Germany?  Is (y/n) okay?”

You and Germany look at each other for a moment and you move your hand away.  Germany lets go of your arm and you both pull back, but he brushes his fingers across the back of your hand along the way and you wonder if it was intentional.  “I’m fine, Italy!” you shout over Germany’s shoulder.  “I’m coming down now!”

“Okay~!” he says cheerfully.

“Ladies first,” Germany says, pressing himself against the counter and gesturing out the door.

You walk past him quietly, sure that the color of your face resembles that of a flamingo at this point.  He follows you out into the hallway and you walk down the stairs in silence.  As soon as your feet hit the kitchen floor, Italy comes running over to you with tears in his eyes.

“(Y/n)!  Are you okay?  Germany said you hurt yourself!” he sobs, hugging you so tightly that it is hard to breathe.

“Ah, please let go.  I’m fine,” you gasp, trying to free yourself from Italy’s grip.

“Are you sure?” he asks, holding you at an arm’s length.

“Yes, I’m sure.  It’s just a little burn,” you laugh.

“Oh good!  I was really worried!” he exclaims, letting you go.

“Have you two eaten yet?” you ask, looking at Japan and Italy.

Italy shakes his head.  “No, we were waiting so that everyone could eat together!” he tells you with a smile.

You laugh and say,” Well we’re all here now, so you guys can go ahead and get your food.”

“Yay~!” Italy says, running over to the stove to shovel rice and chicken onto his plate.

Japan follows him with more reserve and separates his rice and chicken into two different bowls.  Both of the boys go back to the table and sit in their usual spots to eat.  Germany gestures that you should get your food as he walks over to the refrigerator.  You make a small pile of rice and then place a few pieces of chicken on top of it, drizzling the orange sauce over the whole thing.  Germany steps up behind you with a beer in one hand and looks over your shoulder.

“Zat looks delicious,” he tells you.  “Vat is it?”

“Orange chicken.  It’s a Chinese recipe,” you tell him, smiling up at him.

He nods seriously and serves his own plate as you go to sit at the table with the others.  Italy looks up at you and exclaims,” (Y/n)!  This is good!  But it’s really spicy!”  You notice that his eyes are watering and his face is red.  He seems to be drinking a lot of water as well.  Japan looks as composed as ever, but you’re pretty sure you caught him smirking at Italy’s reaction.

“Kome now, Italy.  You must act more like a man,” Germany scolds as he sits at the table.

“You haven’t tried it yet!” Italy exclaims.  “You don’t eat a lot of spicy food either!”

“Fine!  Look, I am eatink it!” Germany declares as he takes a bite.

It doesn’t take long before you know that he’s tasted the heat.  At first, he looks triumphant, but as he continues to eat, his face starts to grow red and he seems uncomfortable, but he also looks determined.  You watch him eat, both amazed at his strength of will and in awe of the stupidity of men.  He eats all of it without drinking any of his beer and by the time he’s done, his face is flushed and he is sweating a little.

“Wow.  You’re really amazing, Germany!” Italy exclaims.  You can’t help but let a giggle escape your lips.  You quickly cover your mouth to hide your smile as Germany glances over at you.

“Vat?  Vhy do you alvays laugh at me?” he demands.  You know him well enough now to be able to tell that he’s just embarrassed, not actually angry.

“Because I like to laugh,” you respond with a smile.

“I see,” he says, turning away from you and taking a long sip of his beer.

“Hee hee~!  (Y/n) has a really pretty smile, doesn’t she?” Italy says and you wonder if he’s intentionally trying to tease Germany or if he does it without realizing.

“Yes,” he responds without looking up at anyone.  Japan is staring again.

“Vee~!  And she’s nice and good at cooking!” Italy adds.  You think you’re going to say that he’s doing it on purpose and you’re starting to feel embarrassed.

“Yes,” he says again, serious as usual.

“Oh, and she’s fun to be around!” he goes on.

“Yes,” Germany responds.  You’re starting to wonder what Italy is getting at, but you don’t have to wait much longer.

“And you love her!” he says with a devilish grin and his eyes wide open to catch Germany’s reaction.

“Ye- vait!  Italy!” Germany says angrily.  His face has suddenly turned very red and he looks very annoyed.

Italy has literally fallen out of his chair laughing and you can’t make eye contact with anyone.  If you were an anime character—which you might be—you would look like a tomato and would have steam pouring out of your ears because of how embarrassed you are.  Even Japan is chuckling over in the corner.  Germany stands up suddenly and takes his dishes over to the sink, finishes his beer, and throws the bottle away.

“I am goink to train,” he says before going outside and slamming the door behind him.

Italy is still dying on the floor, but Japan takes his dishes to the sink as well and you carry yours and Italy’s over.  Japan leaves and goes out to the garden with a book and Italy sits up as you start to wash the dishes.

“Sorry, (y/n).  It’s just too fun to embarrass Germany!  I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings!” he tells you.

“No, you’re fine,” you tell him with a benevolent smile.  “Why don’t you go and do something fun.  I can get everything cleaned up in here.”

“Okay~!” he says, getting up and running out of the room.  Not long after, you hear him singing and playing his guitar.

You sigh and continue cleaning up the kitchen.  What am I going to do with him?  You aren’t sure if you should be happy or upset.  You can’t tell if Germany was paying attention to what Italy was saying or not.  You also can’t tell if he was embarrassed because Italy guessed right or because he almost said something he didn’t mean.  You sigh, but decide to try to push the thoughts out of your mind.  You dry your hands on the dishtowel and turn on the radio.  Apparently Italy used it last because it’s all in Italian, but it sounds pretty so you leave it be.

You go around the kitchen, cleaning everything up and putting up the leftover food.  You’re surprised when a song you actually know comes on and you sing along with it as much as you can.

“Denso e caldo è il tuo sangue, rosso come l'orizzonte.  Candido e freddo è il tuo corpo, bianco come il mio volto storto.  Sei inutile..fragile.. disteso qui davanti a me,” you sing as you wipe down the table.  You realize this situation is familiar, but you don’t care.  People can walk in on you if they want to.

“Sei pallido, bianco in preda a una lunga morte lenta.  Io! Ti morderò ti succhierò il sangue, non ti risparmierò!!” you sing, allowing your voice to morph into something almost like a scream toward the end.  You’ve forgotten most of the words in the middle, so you just hum along happily as you continue moving about the kitchen.

“Ma! Forse sto delirando adesso che..  Il tuo viso mi sta lasciando qui.. davanti a te..  Ma forse è solo il rimpianto che non sento..  Io non ti risparmierò! Mai!!!” you sing.  The singer screams a little throughout, so you have to switch from singing to whispering angrily because you still haven’t quite figured out how to sing properly.  “Risparmiami..risparmiami..risparmiami..risparmiami !!
No! Risparmiami.. no! Risparmiami.. no! Risparmiami.. no! Risparmiami!!”

When you take your next turn around, you see Germany and Italy standing in the doorway.  Germany is still slick with sweat from his training, but he seems to be in a better mood.  He looks at you with wide eyes and you stop singing.  Italy is also staring at you, but he’s listening to the song, too.

“A-are you alright?” Germany asks you cautiously.

You flush, realizing they probably think you’re angry because of the music.  “I’m fine,” you say cheerfully.  “I was just cleaning and I wanted to listen to music while I did it.”

He nods slowly but doesn’t seem convinced.  “I didn’t know you liked vampires, (y/n),” Italy says, closing his eyes again.

“Oh, you know of that song, Italy?  Yeah, vampires are pretty cool and Italian is the best language to sing about them in.  It effortlessly displays all of the facets of vampires: the beauty, the darkness, the macabre, the sexuality.  It’s just so beautiful,” you respond before realizing that none of the guys had been aware of your dark side until now and you’re embarrassed that you let them see it.  Especially Germany.

The men are both silent for a little while until Germany speaks up.  “You like to see zee beauty in sings, do not you?  It is a goot sing,” he says.  When you look up, he’s almost smiling.

“Vee~!  That’s right!” Italy confirms.

You look at them in amazement for a moment before smiling broadly.  “Thanks,” you giggle, closing your eyes.

When you open your eyes again, you see Germany staring at you and Italy is laughing and running away.  “What?  Is there something on my face?” you tease and Germany blushes.

“Ah, no.  I vas just sinking zat you are fery beautiful is all,” he says, looking away from you.

Now you’re blushing, too.  “O-oh.  Th-thank you,” you stammer.

Germany looks back up at you and his stern expression softens.  He steps over closer to you and looks you in the eyes.  “Vould you kare to go on a date vis me?  U-um, zat is, only if you vant to unt if it is konvenient or…” he says, starting out with confidence, but quickly becoming nervous.

You smile up at him and laugh.  “I’d love to,” you tell him.

He blushes deeply but he looks happy.  “Is tomorrow efenink okay?” he asks you.

You nod, still smiling, and he nod sharply back.  “Right.  Vell.  It is time for bed, is it not?  I vill see you in zee mornink.  Sleep vell,” he says as he goes up the stairs.

You smile to yourself as you turn off the radio and go to your own room.  You’re excited already and you can’t stop blushing.  Little do you know that Japan was standing outside the door the whole time but was too embarrassed to interrupt!