evakameda - Tumblr blog

evakameda · 6 months

Text

"Pass me some flour, please!"

Germany has tried making pizza before. Although he's very shy about telling people, he loves getting his hands in the dough, even if it's just to make simple as Christmas cookies, so pizza is nothing in comparison to something more challenging as rye bread. Veneziano knows this, but being the little shit that he is, he keeps telling him that Germany needs to learn how to make a good pizza, because what he has been making so far is definitely not what he claims it is. When Veneziano acts like this, Germany wants to remind him that he isn't the best pizza chef either (everyone knows that’s Romano), and he also wants to tell him that while he's always complaining about Germany (and the US) ruining Italian pizza, he once caught him eating one with frankfurters and potatoes, so there’s that.

Still, it's physically impossible for him to be so blunt with Veneziano. Especially when he smiles so happily and rolls up his sleeves with an elegance that Germany finds enviable. Germany has begged him to wear an apron, but Veneziano has refused - probably just to annoy him, despite the fact he’s also wearing a black sweater.

Well, too bad for him.

He, on the other hand, being the sensible nation that he is, has put on the apron, and because he is also good in the kitchen, he has arranged all their materials beforehand in order of importance on the kitchen counter, instead of taking things as they came and when they were needed, right at the last moment, as Veneziano always does.

Completely ignoring Germany's efforts to be an organized cook, Veneziano grabs and puts everything astray, those lips that never seem to lose their cheerfulness quirking just so (and yet how many times has Ludwig seen him truly miserable? Angry? Disappointed, but always ready to forgive? Too many to count. Sadly, sometimes because of him). His nose twitching just so as the flour comes too close to it, Veneziano begins to mix flour and water, adding the small amount of yeast they had prepared some time before. Germany wants to help, he really does, but he finds himself hypnotized by the way Veneziano's arms tense with every movement. He isn't muscular, far from it, but it's always a surprise to see the masculine outline of his arms, to see the soft skin, the bluish veins on his forearm stretching over his muscles as he kneads into the dough. Germany's eyes follow Veneziano's hand with something akin to devotion as he pauses just long enough to brush away a tuft of auburn hair before resuming his kneading, eyebrows drawn together in the eagerness to do a good job, a line of flour in the middle of his forehead.

"It needs more flour, Lud."

Veneziano's voice snaps him out of his reverie. Germany leans in to take the flour he has dutifully measured and placed in a bowl, and finds himself very close to that soft skin, that hair that smells of some kind of flower scented shampoo. Germany has no idea which shampoo Veneziano used this time. He changes shampoo brands like he changes shoes, as if he wants to try them all in search of the perfect one. Just like with clothes, Veneziano tries on all kinds of styles, as if he still doesn't know what suits him best, and always ends up picking something that’s just Veneziano. But maybe that's the point. Veneziano is still looking for something that he already is, never happy with himself, never sure that he's doing the right thing, always sure that others are more right about him than he is.

Germany hands him the flour and lets out a not so angry "hey!" as Veneziano runs a dough-covered finger over his nose and then, not satisfied, over his right cheek too. His amber eyes sparkle with mischief as they wait for his reaction. Suddenly inspired, Germany wipes the dough from his cheek and cleans his hand on Veneziano's shoulder. Veneziano's eyes follow him in horror, his lips momentarily losing their smile as he yells a semiserious "Hey!" at the sight of his now dirty sweater. It only lasts a moment, the disgust disappearing in the blink of an eye because (Germany knows) it's all an act, immediately replaced by delight as Veneziano once again brushes his dirty finger across Germany's nose.

"You still have something on your nose!"

"So do you."

Germany holds back a snort when Veneziano lifts his hand to his face, looking for a stain that isn't there. His nose is smeared with dough, but Veneziano realizes his mistake too late. "Oh, come on."

Germany smiles. This is Veneziano, always ready to play tricks on people, but always wary when someone plays them on him instead. Veneziano, playing the fool only to be afraid of not being taken seriously immediately afterwards. But he's laughing now, so Germany knows Veneziano’s gladly playing along.

With the back of his hand, Germany wipes the dough off his nose. Veneziano watches him, and in the mood to give him a little taste of his own sweet, funny, adorable medicine, Germany dips his fingers in some more flour and strokes his hand over Veneziano's (soft, why is it so soft?) cheek.

"Hey!" Veneziano slaps him playfully away.

"There, now you look beautiful," Germany says, stroking Veneziano's other cheek for good measure.

"Can I join Mr. Universe now?"

Veneziano's eyes fix him to his place. The eyebrows cast shadows on now white cheeks. Germany looks at him, unable to tear his gaze away. He imprints his features on his mind, pockets the memory for later. Few know how often Veneziano looks at himself in the mirror and sees someone he is not. He's easily mistaken for a vain. He thought so too until he realized that it's not the virtues that Veneziano sees in the mirror, but the flaws.

"Mr. Flour, more likely,” Germany says.

Veneziano grins, his eyes creaking with his smile. Big eyes that slowly lose their mischievous sparkle the more Germany looks at him, becoming more and more frightened, searching Germany's face for something that Germany can’t pinpoint. Even the smile takes on a frightened twist, and Germany suddenly moves away, out of Veneziano's personal bubble.

For a moment, Germany thinks he sees Veneziano's shoulders slump in disappointment. It's a blink, and you miss it second. Then the crooked smile is back on his face.

"Now it’s your turn.”

"Haven't you kneaded the dough long enough?"

Veneziano shakes his head.

"Your turn, Lud. How else will you learn?"

Germany sighs and Veneziano steps aside to make room for him. Their arms brush for a second, and Germany appreciates Veneziano's warmth once more. He thinks no more of it, however, actually he thinks no more of anything as he digs his hands into the dough still warm from Veneziano's work, those amber eyes not leaving him for a second.

37 notes · View notes

evakameda · 6 months

Text