Hetalia: Zipper

"...And so, I think we'll be able to rebuild Haiti's capital if we gather all of the duct tape in the world and..."

Germany tapped his pencil on the table in front of him. He wasn't even listening to America as he rambled on, not that it made much of a difference. Seventy-five percent of the things that came out of that nation's mouth was nonsense, anyway. Kind of like a certain someone...

The German turned his head to the Italian seated next to him. Veneziano didn't look like he was paying much attention, either, focused more on the page full of doodles in front of him. Most of them were of plates of pasta, some of little blobs that somewhat resembled him, Japan, and Germany. He was humming a happy little tune as he did so.

Jeez, the least he could do is pretend to pay attention like the rest of us, Germany thought. He did a quick look over at Italy's attire. And why is he wearing a hoodie here, of all places?! This isn't casual Friday, dummkopf! And sit up straight! You look like some kind of juvenile delinquent--

Ziiiiiiip.

Ludwig was broken from his chain of nagging. Italy, now complete with no more space on his paper for more doodles, had begun to unzip his green hoodie absentmindedly. When it reached the bottom, Feli pulled it back up to the collar.

Ziiiiiiiip.

Germany turned back to his front and tried his best to ignore it. Probably just adjusting it. Don't worry ab--

Ziiiiiiiip.

Ignore it, Ludwig.

Ziiiiiiiip.

Your first priority is to get through this world meeting!

Ziiiiiiiip.

Don't think of the zipper, don't think of the zipper, don't thi--

Zipzipzipzipzipzipzipzipzip--

"That's IT!" He hissed not-so-quietly. He reached over and grabbed the hand Italy was using to zip and unzip his hoodie.

"Oh hi, Germany," the Italian greeted, failing once again to read the atmosphere of the situation.

"Did you want something?"

"Your zipper."

"Ve?"

"Stop zipping and unzipping it every two seconds!"

"But I'm bored~!" He whined. "And I don't have any more paper to draw with!"

"Ugh, you're hopeless!" Germany growled, and handed his friend a clean sheet of paper of his own. "Here. Entertain yourself. But I don't want to hear that zipper again, understood?"

"Yessir!" Italy whispered calmly, saluting with his left hand. He zipped his hoodie back up and continued drawing.

Germany wasn't in the mood to correct his saluting for the 700th time, so he said nothing and returned to his daydreams.

The next ten minutes went by peacefully without a sound. Italy was finishing up a drawing of Germany's cat when he began to feel a tad warm.

They must've turned the heater on, thank goodness! he thought. Being as quiet as possible so he wouldn't make Germany mad again, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie and slowly pulled down.

It didn't budge.

Huh? That's weird, he thought. He gave the zipper another downwards tug. It didn't even move a micrometer.

Crap.

"G-germany!"

Ludwig sighed. "What now?" he asked angrily.

"M-my zipper!" the boy whimpered. "It's stuck! And I'm warm! Too warm! Help!"

The German huffed and motioned for Feliciano to come closer. His large fingers gripped the zipper and tugged down as hard as he knew how.

"Dammit! What did you do?" Germany hissed.

"I don't know! I zipped it up like you said and now it's stuck!"

Germany tried several more times, each ending with failure.

"Verdammt!" He cursed before giving such a strong pull that the zipper itself popped off!

"Mein Gott!"

"W-what are we going to do now!?" Italy asked fearfully. "I don't wanna be trapped in here, Germany! I don't!"

Ludwig had lost all patience at this point. "Dammit, you stubborn, sorry excuse for a jacket, open!"

He grabbed both sides of the front of the jacket and pulled with all of his might.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP.

"Aah~!"

Germany had pulled so hard that not only had the hoodie been pulled open, but the shirt that Feli had been wearing underneath had been ripped as well. This wouldn't have been so much of a problem had the force caused both nations to go overboard and fall on the floor, the German landing right on top of the Italian with a grunt.

"Sacre bleu!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Aiyaah!"

Now all the nations' eyes were on the two, most of them either holding back snickers, some hiding their red faces, while another proceeded to take a few snapshots for her camera.

"Man, Germany!" America said, cutting his speech short to take a gander at the ruckus. "I knew you were a horndog, but I didn't know you wanted Italy that bad!"

"Oui, you should have told me! I would have gladly joined you!" France said, huffing like an animal.

"You shut up, fop!" Germany yelled at him, face red as one of Spain's tomatoes. "This is clearly a misunderstanding. I-I was helping Italy remove his hood--well not like that! He was warm and the zipper was stuck and--oh, Verdammit."

Germany stood up, gathered what was left of his dignity, and began walking out the door. Italy, who was still rather red in the face himself stood up and followed him, trying to pull the ends up his hoodie around his chest for modesty.

The rest of the conference just stood there until they exited out the door. When they were gone America continued with his speech like nothing even happened.

"...now maybe instead of duct tape, we should use hot glue..."