You sighed as you cleaned up after the
Allies once again. You didn’t really hate working for them, but
something about your job just sucked the life out of you. Truly, only
America paid any attention to you, but that was because you worked
for him directly. Working for the others was more of a formality.

They seemed to sense this, but took it
as you being cold and distant. As a result, they ignored you. Well,
almost. France constantly flirted with you, most of the time ending
with him whacked with whatever you had on hand. England was polite,
but he never really carried out a conversation with you. China gave
you food occasionally, but ignored you most of the time.

Russia was the worst, though. He would
always stalk you with that creepy smile of his whenever you were
cooking or cleaning. It really freaked you out, but when you asked
him to stop, the only reply you got was a smack on the back from his
metal pipe. When you told America, he just laughed it off and told
you that that was just how Russia was and not to let it bother you.

Your days went on like this, and you
seriously considered just deserting and leaving the Allies to their
own devices. Something (usually Russia or France) was always there to
stop you, and you were once again trapped.

However, a few days after your most
recent escape attempt, you heard a new voice among the allies.

“Please don’t hit me! I’ll
tell you whatever you want to know!” a voice scream-sobbed at
who you assumed was America. You heard several sighs of boredom.

“This dude is lame. Maybe we
should make him work,” came the voice of America. Your heart
leapt at the thought of someone to work with. You had to resist
squealing when all of the Allies grumbled in agreement.

About two minutes later, America and
England dragged in a brown-haired young man who had tears in his eyes
and an odd curl on the left side of his head. You glanced at the two
Allies for confirmation that this person was who you were to work
with. England spoke up.

“________, this is Italy. He’s
our prisoner of war, so we’re making him work. Show him what to
do and don’t make a huge mess of it,” he stated bluntly.

You rolled your eyes at England’s
bluntness and gave Italy a sweet smile, which he gratefully returned.
The two Allies left you to get to know each other. Italy pulled you
into a tight hug immediately and let out a sigh of relief.

“Ve~ I was really scared when
they brought me here, but I never expected them to have a pretty
ragazza!”

You giggle and rub his back. “How
did you get here Italy?”

At this, he lets you go, and a frighten
expression crosses his features. He begins to tear up again, too.

“Mr. America offered to treat me
to a fancy dinner, but when I went with him to get the pasta, it
turned out he only had hamburgers the whole time!”

You blinked in confusion. “Did
you know it was America who invited you?” you ask. Italy
vigorously shook his head. The two of you were silent for a moment
before Italy seemed to get an idea.

“Oh! I got it! Bella, can I
borrow a phone, pretty please?”

You nod and hand him the nearest phone,
curious of who he would call in the middle of America. He thanks you
warmly and punches in a number quickly. When another person picks up,
Italy loudly bawls out the story he just told you. You hear a sigh on
the other end and the click of disconnection. Italy hangs up as well
and smiles at you again.

“Who was that, Italy?” you
ask curiously.

“Ve~ That was my best friend
Germany!”

You nod, not quite understanding. You
shrug it off and show Italy what he was supposed to do to work. In
the meantime, he teaches you some basic Italian, which you were happy
to learn. During your (fairly short) time with Italy, you learned
several things about him. He told you about his older brother Romano
and his friends Japan and Germany. He liked to cook and paint, but
didn’t like to work too much.

You became fully aware of that last
fact when he broke almost all of the plates in less than ten minutes.
Hearing the noise, England stormed in and lectured you both. After
catching his breath, he violently yanks Italy by his arm and shoves
him into a box, labeling it ‘FUCK.’

Italy had disappeared within the hour.

You were despondent for the next week,
thoroughly confusing the Allies. You were back to being alone and
bossed around. All you could do was worry about Italy. Where did that
jerk England send him? Was he okay? Would he ever come back?

You felt your face redden at that last
thought. Yes, you wanted him to come back and talk with you again. He
was so sweet and cute, and his accent was absolutely adorable. You
face reddens further.

“Ohonhonhon~ What’s wrong,
ma belle~? Do you miss little Italy?”

You flinch at France’s sudden
appearance. You quickly turn your head and nod, not feeling like
keeping up with a lie. France laughs at your behavior and wraps his
arms around your waist, enticing a squeak of shock out of you.

“Don’t worry, mon cher~ I
have the perfect plan!”

Before you could question him or
refuse, he let go and disappeared in some unknown direction.

About three days later, France
reappears, holding a sleepy looking Italy.

All of the Allies look up in shock, but
go with it as America pulls out an old dog house and paints Italy’s
name on it. Thinking it was a game, Italy cheerfully rushes into the
house and barks like a dog. As America muses over the fact that Italy
is next you useless, England attempts to feed him while petting his
head like a dog.

One bite, and all hell breaks loose.

Italy’s frantic crying reaches
even you, who was in the back of the meeting house. Having a good
idea of what happened, you grabbed the pasta dish you made with the
help of a recipe Italy gave you last time.

Entering the meeting room with your
dish, you weren’t surprised to see England sulking in the
corner, and the other Allies looking on with amused expressions. You
approach the sobbing Italy and stroke his hair gently. He stops
crying for a moment and looks down to your pasta dish.

“Is that for me?” he asked
innocently.

“Yes it is. I’m sorry if
it’s not good, this is my first time making something like
this.”

Italy nods in understanding, and slowly
eats your pasta with a content smile.

“It’s very good,” he
states, “Are you sure this is your first try?”

You nod with flushed cheeks, too
embarrassed to say anything. Italy pulls you into a warm hug. You
sigh happily and hug him back, not wanting him to let go ever.

“Well, isn’t that cute,”
America teases. “Too bad it’s time for Italy to leave
now.”

You both flinch at his voice, but Italy
refuses to let you go.

“Si, I will leave,” he says
calmly. He surprises everyone by pulling you into his arms bridal
style. “But she’s coming with me.”

Before any of the Allies could protest,
Italy dashes out of the building with you in his arms. He ran with
incredible speed, and before you knew it, you were laying on your
back in a grassy field.

“Sorry for scaring you _________,
but I really wanted you to come with me,” Italy tells you with
a small smile and a light blush painting his face. You smile back.

“I don’t mind. I didn’t
like working for them anyway. But why did you take me anyway? I mean,
it’s not like we had a whole lot of time to talk before…”

Italy nods. “That’s why I
took you. I wanted to talk to you more. A-And…” his
blush deepens as he gently pulls you into his lap and gently rests
his forehead on yours.

“Ti amo…” he
whispers before he gives you a quick kiss. You grin before you give
him a kiss of your own. “Ti amo troppo.”

Finally, you were with someone who paid
attention to you.