Notes/Details: Ita is too cute to exist, I swear. I'm still not very confident writing these two, but I'm trying to get better. Reviews are appreciated, loved, even. Profile has disclaimer and the rest of my fic if you end up liking this one.

Red Flowers Found:

Italy is a distraction Germany may be able to afford. Sometimes.

He and war are not so good together, and so Italy makes it his mission to distract himself and Germany from war as often as possible, because Italy would much rather be picking flowers in the sun than going over battle plans. He gathers them up carefully, stringing together white ones and red ones with their green leaves until it resembles his flag.

He doesn't have any blue flowers, but the colours still look pretty together. He runs back to where Germany is standing, arms crossed over his chest and frowning, and tugs impatiently at his hand, the movement laced with familiarity. "Germany!" He laughs. "Look at all the pretty flowers."

Germany stares dispassionately across the fields. "We should be getting back to headquarters."

Italy tugs his hand more firmly and practically sinks into his side, staring up at him pleadingly.

"But I've picked them for you," Italy tells him, holding up the bouquet.

"Hm. I." He plucks with trepid fingers at one of the flowers, a red one that matches the red of battle, the red of Germany's flag, and Italy sighs softly. "Thank you, Italy."

He straighten up, shocked at the words, and smiling brilliantly in the sun. "You like them?!"

"Your land is very beautiful, Italy," Germany tells him, and it doesn't matter much that he's staring at it now like perhaps in another five years it will belong to him.

Italy merely continues to beam, saying after a bit, "I want gelato, Germany~! Let's go."

"Food again? We just ate!" Germany protests. "Our next meeting starts in half an hour!"

"We can stop on the way!"

"We're ten miles from headquarters. We'll barely make it back on time as it is," Germany continues to protest, and so Italy picks out one of the red flowers and tucks it behind Germany's ear.

"We will if I drive," Italy tells him with a pat on the shoulder, before he starts to run down the field toward their car, calling back over his shoulder, "Germany, we'll be late~!"

End.

End Notes: Just a silly drabble, really. But hopefully an enjoyable one. Please review and tell me what you thought!