Sweet Nothing: Germany x Reader

Chapter Six: Goodnight

When I entered my room, I took a deep breath before closing the door with a click. I listened closely as I sat back in my seat. I wanted to know when Germany was out of the kitchen so I wouldn't have to face him. It took a while but once I heard his door shut, I dared to open mine very slightly.

I stuck my head through the small opening and could see the dining room on the other side of the house on the first floor. I quickly-and stealthily-walked passed Germany's door and headed for the dining room through which I could access the kitchen

"_________!" Italy sang. "Your food's ready."

"Really," I stepped out of my room and walked down the hall to the kitchen. When I took my seat, Italy put a plate of steaming hot pasta and sauce in front of me. "Thank you, Italy."

"No problem." He returned to the sink and continued washing--probably by order of Germany.

"Has Germany eaten already?" I asked nervously.

"Yep," Italy said scrubbing the pot vigorously. "He went back to his office, probably won't come out for the rest of the day." My shoulders fell and I let out a long sigh of relief.

"That's good." I quickly finished up my food and told Italy I would do the dishes and that he should wipe the counters. There was a momentary pause in our conversation as Italy got to work. There was nothing but the swishing of water and the scraping of the broom against the floor to fill the void.

"I don't know why Germany insisted on driving us all the way here." I began breaking the silence. "I mean the train would have been faster."

"Oh, that." He kept on sweeping. "There's too many people on the train. Germany doesn't like it, too many people would notice him." Something in the pacing of Italy's words and the tone he said them with didn't fit right with me. He usually spoke with elongated vowels, exaggerating the final syllable of his sentences. But he spoke quietly without expression; the words fell colorlessly from his mouth.

"Oh," I decided not to press any further. Something in the innocent inquiry had become unpleasant for Italy and I thought it was best to end the conversation there.

We finished the rest of the cleaning in silence. I dried my hands off and Italy placed the broom back in it's corner.

Since I wasn't tired due to the nap I had earlier, I asked Italy if there was anything I could do to kill them time.

"Oh, there's a library ," he said as he removed his apron and placed folded it on the shelf. "Most of the books are in German, but there should be some English ones."

"Thanks," I walked back into the dining hall and leaving Italy in the kitchen by himself.

Just as I was about to enter the library a passing thought occurred to me; Germany thought me and Italy were together. I mentally slapped myself. Why did it matter if he thought that, it was his opinion. But still, I felt the urge to make him see that it wasn't Italy I like, it was him. I sighed at my thoughts and walked around the volumes in annoyance of myself. What would my father say?  World War One and the Great Depression had America on edge, and as far as I was concerned, tensions were boiling over. Germany was the one the Treaty of Versailles deemed responsible for all of the horrible things the world had to endure. It was his fault that the whole entire world has suffered from war and I offered the man military support. What was I thinking? That's the point, I wasn't. I just offered, without thinking about who it would hurt. I'm so selfish. So selfish.

There was a window on the far side of the library. I wandered over to it and perused the volumes on that side of the room. As Italy was right about the numerous German titles, finding a decent English book was near impossible. It took some time, but eventually I found a paperback translation of the German book Mein Kampf. The twilight sky caused a blue light to shine darkly into the library. The cream colored pages were etched with fine, black handwritten print; someone had gone through great lengths to translate it. I took a seat in the plush sofa by the window and let my mind be carried off by the deep blue, twilight flooding through the window. My father was probably worried sick about me. To think, he'd raised me well, but instead I was a love-struck child with no sense of morality. A trader, giving away my nationality, just for one man. Germany. And what has it been a day, two days and I already couldn't control myself. I was already taken by him. I couldn't stop them, the tears trickled down my face and onto the cream colored pages of Mein Kampf. What's wrong with me? He's the enemy.