•Italy•
*****
Feliciano hummed as he prepared dinner, his hands gracefully moving along in tune to his little song. Tonight, the Italian male was about to cook something that wasn't pasta, like most might've expected. It was going to be special!
"I hope Alfred-a like it~!" The Italian giggled to himself as he continued, a little more upbeat at the thought of his blonde friend.
Alfred was currently sitting down on the couch a room over, staring outside the window. The male's glasses were set on the table, his carefully bandaged hand beside the object. Alfred managed to tear his eyes away from the dark sight outside and took a deep breath.
Don't even think about it... he thought to himself, his uninjured hand softly clenching. A small purr caught his attention. America turned to see that it was his cat, Hero. The animal peered up at him with blue eyes and meowed again, lightly pawing the pants of his upset owner.
"Hey, bud. Where have ya been?" Alfred softly chuckled, lifting the cat up to his lap. Hero purred and nuzzled him, his fluffy tail swishing side to side, tickling the blonde's tan skin. A hum left the personification's throat as he stroked the soft fur of his dear animal friend.
A very delicious smell whiffed past his nose. Alfred perked up, along with his cat, who had both not smelled something cooking in a while.
"You smell that, Hero?" America said, looking over to his cat, who purred back in a quite confused way. The smell was nothing like the tangy scent of pasta. It was more...rich and heavier. And damn, did it smell real good and from the looks of it, Italy was a very excellent chef.
Alfred grinned, excited to taste whatever that heavenly smell came from. But then he heard the small whisper from the back of his mind.
Fat.
The voice hissed venomously, making Alfred's spirits shrink and curl up into a tiny little ball. Even if the food did smell delicious, it would make America even fatter, and it would make others hate him more.
I'm already fat enough...If I ruined my diet, I would just go back to square one, and I'd be even fatter and more stupid than I already am.
Hero worriedly nuzzled his owner, wondering why his usual affectionate was suddenly so sad. The cat purred, trying to catch the male's attention but, it didn't work.
Alfred's ears were blocked by the insults that rang inside his head.
Feliciano's fingers tapped excitedly on the counter. He had a feeling America would love this dish! When the timer clicked, the Italian male bent over to take the food out of the oven, filling the kitchen with it's rich Italian scent.
Italy was a very proud chef and prided himself with the fact that he cooked much better than England, who never really was much of a cooker himself.
When he finished the dining table in less than a minute later (and perfectly of course), Feliciano called out for his friend, who was probably very hungry!
"Alfred-a~! Dinner is-a ready~!" He cheerily called. Italy heard no response. He must have slept. The brunette thought before taking off his apron and walking to the living room. A small smile spread on his face when he saw Alfred's figure slumped on the couch, hugging a pillow, a cute cat pawing at the male's pants.
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Product of The World (APH)
Random"You turned him into what he is now..." • • • • • America is imperfect. He is filled with many flaws. The world knows this, and they take advantage of such, forgetting the fact that the said nation was built of their influences and cultures. Ameri...
