He thought he remembered something when their lips touched.

Lightly; very lightly at first. Germany's face is red beneath his fingers, lips soft but body tense. Blue eyes closed, breath trembling gently, very gently, as they near, as they touch, as they kiss.

And even though it's the first time, there is something familiar in Germany's movements.

Standing there, gazing intensely into his lover's quiet features, Italy remembers another time.

A little boy, with hair that was golden like sunshine and eyes as blue as the sky.

A crush, so innocent and young.

Days sitting in the flowers.

Words. Promises.

Love.

"I've liked you since the 900s," he'd said, and though his tone was shy, he'd looked into his eyes with such bright determination that Italy wanted to believe, wanted to think they would be able to stay, locked in that moment forever.

"I... I like you too," his own voice, so soft and very small, had sounded lost compared to his childish admirer. But he didn't seem to care. There had been a softening in his usual stern expression - a quiet smile, a tender hand, rubbing through his hair, before it fell, gently, into his palm. They were holding hands, two children, two nations, a master and a servant, or perhaps something else. Something more.

And Holy Roman Empire had stolen away his first innocent kiss.

The awkward little boy who had always lingered so hesitantly, wherever he worked, frowning seriously to himself. The little boy who had always had such drive and determination, yet flushed and fumbled so strangely whenever Italy tried to speak to him.

The little boy he had waited for, for so many centuries, to come back.

And now he returned in Germany's kiss.

The taller nation is looking down at him now, his expression concerned, if slightly worried. "Italy?" His voice is gentle though deep and resonant. "Are you alright?"

The shorter man simply shakes the curl out of his eyes and smiles, as cheerfully as he could. "I'm good," he answers, quietly. "I'm just happy, Germany."

"Ah, I-I... I see..." Here, Germany flushes, and his hands, holding tightly upon Italy's shoulders, seem to clench just that much tighter around him. He is looking away, his face burning all the way down to his neck. "Th-That's... ahem. I'm glad to hear that." Shyly, he sneaks a quick glance at the shorter nation. "I'm... happy too, Italy."

No, Germany does not know of what had happened before. Could not know of the memories coursing through Italy's mind; of sweet moments shared, of innocent laughter and a young love which had budded but never fully blossomed.

Yet it blossomed now, and Italy presses in another kiss which Germany, after a moment of initial surprise, returns tentatively. There, they hold on to each other; Italy with a ferocity akin to desperation, and Germany with a tenderness that does not seem to match the strength evident in his build.

It is then that Italy knows.

He's come back. Just like he said he would.

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you enjoyed that gooey, soppy, GerIta goodness. Merry Christmas to you all, and I hope you all have a fantastic 2015!

Edit: 4/1/16 Fixed a few odd tenses. Can't believe a year's gone by already!

Thank you for reading! Thoughts and reviews would be loved.