Germany's Military Journal

Germany leaned against the top of his desk and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation. "Find your happy place, find it!" he urged himself before an idea dawned on him. He pried open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a hardbound, leather notebook and flipped it open to the first page. He had read in one of his self-help and how-to books that writing was the best cure to stress and a wonderful alternative to a shooting rampage (which seemed so colorful at the moment).

He took up a fountain pen and pressed it to the page, letting the words flow from his head to the tip of the feather tip...

"Day XX, Month XX

Dear Diary,

Today, zhat damned Italy skipped out on his training. Lazy bastard...Und vhen I found him, he vas frolicking in zhe field like some teenage girl with a cat. So help me Gott, I am going to transform zhat carb-loading idiot into a solider..."

Just as he was beginning to feel a little better, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Germany heard a crash coming from his kitchen. With a groan, the German rose to his feet and found that Italy was cooking again and had made a war-zone of flour and tomatoes out of the room he had just spent all day cleaning (another outlet of venting for him).

That was the last straw! Germany was about to scold the Italian for what he had done, but before he could belt out one shout, his dogs-Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster- pawed their way past the German's legs and pounced on the surprised Italy, happily lapping at the tomato-sauce splatter on his cheek, making Italy giggle happily. "Ve~! It tickles so much! Hehe!" said Feliciano as he patted Berlitz's head.

The sight of it all warmed Germany's heart. He allowed himself a small smile before he hid it with a sigh. He cleared his throat, catching the Italian's attention. "Italy..." His voice was stern but relatively soft compared to the eruption that Italy had narrowly avoided, thanks to the dogs. "Clean up zhis mess, ja?"

Italy blinked blankly for a moment before breaking into a full grin. "Si, I got it..."

Germany returned the smile before he turned back to return to his office. Once there, he sat at his desk and finished the journal entry.

"...But, I'll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, I'll let him relax and slurp some pasta.

Cheers,
Germany"

Germany smiled to his friend, nodding, "Sure, Italy. Just give me a minute."

Once he saw the others head disappear around the threshold, the German heaved a sigh before closing his journal and slipping it into his desk's drawer. Look's like that book was right; writing was rather therapeutic.