A/N While trying to write a NethCan, this popped into my head. Random, but it seemed like fun. So, have some RomaBel. Because I like Romano better than Spain. xD Oh, and I don't own countries. Or Hetalia, for that matter.

When Netherlands woke up that morning in May, he had been looking forward to a quiet, peaceful day off at home. He would do nothing - except for some cleaning, maybe - and just relax.
But it seemed that Fate had something different in mind. Or rather, a grumpy Italian did.

Netherlands had made himself and his rabbit breakfast, put on some comfortable clothes, debated over whether to fix his hair or not, decided not to, and was ready to read the morning paper when his phone rang.
He growled. That better not be prime minister, it's my day off. Without looking at the caller ID, the Dutchman answered the phone. 'Dit is Nederland, met wie spreek ik?'

'Bastard, don't speak Dutch, you know I can't understand it.'

Netherlands almost jumped upon hearing Romano, of all people, calling him out of the blue. Almost. 'Romano, is that you? What do you want?' He really wasn't in the mood for another "come rescue me from Spain he's creepy and you're the only one is afraid of – chigiiii!".

'Yes it's me, idiot. I, ah,' he hesitated, 'I have a favour to ask you.'

'What now? If Spain wants dance the tango with you again and is forcing you to wear a dress I'm not coming to h—'

'No! It's not that! I want to, ha...' Romano seemed to be afraid to continue, Netherlands mused. Surely he wasn't that creepy?
'Just spit it out, Romano, I won't eat you.' He heard the Italian mutter something that sounded suspiciously like 'I'm not so sure about that,' before he said: 'Okay. Ollanda, I – I want to learn Dutch, dammit!'

Well, that was a surprise. 'Wh- You want to learn Dutch?'

'Sì. And don't laugh, jerk.'

'I'm not laughing. But while I'm honoured that you want to learn my language, why didn't you ask Belgium? You're on better terms with her than you are with me, isn't it?'

Some incoherent spluttering was heard on Romano's end. Netherlands frowned. Whatever Romano's reason was for asking him, and not his sister, it wasn't something the grumpy man wanted him to know. He sighed, giving in. It was not every day that someone volunteered to learn his language, after all.

'Romano, hey. It's my day off. I wasn't planning anything, so I suppose I could teach you some basics. But you better be serious about it.'
'I am, dammit!'

'Okay, calm down. Come over here. You know where I live, right?'
'Sì, sì. I'll be right there.' And the Italian hung up the phone.

Netherlands put his down as well, wondering. Why would Romano ever want to learn Dutch? He'd never been very interested in anything but his own language. Even English had been a pain.

And Spanish... Well, that had surely had been something.
Netherlands grimaced, remembering how little Romano had only wanted to memorise 'bésame' and tried it on his sister. There was something he wouldn't teach him in Dutch.
Why did Spain teach him how to say 'kiss me' anyway? What purpose would that serve? It's probably something typically Spanish, he mused.

The breakfast table was quickly cleaned up and Netherlands was about to go to the bathroom to gel up his hair, when the doorbell rang. Already here? he thought. That was quick.

He opened the door, and sure enough, Romano was waiting impatiently on his doorstep.
The Italian briefly raised his eyebrows in wonder at Netherlands's appearance, but quickly recovered and changed back to his usual, grumpy self.
'You look different like that, Ollanda,' he commented, before letting himself in. Said nation pursed his lips, trying not to make a snide remark.

'So,' South Italy started, while he shrugged of his designer jacket and handed it to Netherlands, 'what do we do?'
The tall nation grunted as he threw the jacket on the stairs. This was going to be a long day.
'Well, just tell me,' he said, trying to be as polite as possible, 'what would you want to learn? Random sentences like Spain taught you or grammar and everything?'

Romano considered that for a bit before answering: 'I think sentences would be more useful.'

'And for what purpose? You're not a person that goes around learning other people's languages for fun.' It wasn't a question, it was merely a statement.

Romano huffed indignantly. 'Maybe I started to enjoy such things. Who knows, bastard?'

Netherlands sighed, wondering why he was so easily convinced when matters involved anything about his culture. He should know better, especially after that time France had almost started a war with him when he found out Netherlands had taken Canada for a tour of Amsterdam. And they got a little high... Just a little.
'I don't believe you Romano, but I won't ask just this once. Come, let's go outside, the weather's nice.'

The Dutchman's creatively named rabbit Nijntje hopped over as soon as the two men entered the backyard. Netherlands smiled at it as Romano looked impressed with his garden.
'I know you Dutch are known for your garden maintenance, but I have to say – while I sense a lack of tomatoes – this is pretty damn impressive, Ollanda.'

'Hm, thanks,' huffed Netherlands, feeling secretly proud. He spent a lot of time in this garden, and it paid off. The sunflowers in the back were of record-breaking height – oh, Russia would be jealous, but the man would never enter this place – and various flowers stood in nice rows, lining the neatly trimmed grass. In a greenhouse the nation grew a variety of – sometimes rare – plants, as well as cucumbers, Spanish peppers and some more vegetables. (And alright, one weed plant.) (But, that was legal.)

He gestured to the terrace, motioning for Romano to take a seat. After grabbing some paper and a pen from the living room, he joined the Italian.

'Right,' the Dutchman started, 'uh, how about I teach you how to introduce yourself first?' He pushed some hair out of his eyes, wishing he'd had the time to fix it properly.
Romano agreed, actually paying attention for once. There was something off about him, Netherlands mused. The Italian was never quite as friendly as now – still not very friendly, but like he had some vague respect for the Netherlands, while he normally seemed devoid of any respect at all.

'Ciao, Netherlands? Hellooo?' South Italy waved his hand in front of the Dutchman's face, wondering if he should slap him or not. It was probably better for his health if he didn't.
Soon enough, Netherlands snapped out of his thoughts.

'Hm, sorry. What were we- O yes, introductions. Good.' He jotted something down on the paper. 'In Dutch, hello is hallo. That shouldn't be all too difficu-'

'It's hallo in the stupid potato bastard's language!'
'Ja ja, Germany's and my language are related. Now if you want to learn something, I suggest you to be quiet, or I'll make sure you are.'

Romano gulped, trying to shake the vivid images that sentence gave him from his mind. 'D'accordo, hallo it is. What's next?'

The lesson continued for a while, and Netherlands was surprised to find that his Italian – friend? – was actually paying attention and writing things down. He appeared to be serious, but Netherlands couldn't help but think there had to be some ulterior move behind it. Romano rarely did anything when it didn't give him any profit, but for the life of him the Dutchman couldn't figure out how learning Dutch would be profiting.

After the two men had lunch, Romano said it was time for him to go. They had gotten as far as, "Hallo, mijn naam is Romano, hoe gaat het? Met mij gaat het goed. Ik woon in Italië en ik houd van tomaten. Ik hoop dat je in een kuil valt en doodgaat." Which probably wouldn't ever be useful, but was fun to learn either way.
The Italian wanted to know just one more thing before he left, though. 'Ollanda, you know, I can say my name now, I can say, how are you, I'm fine, I can even say I live in Italy, like tomatoes and I hope for you to fall in a hole and die, but how about something nice?'

Netherlands snickered. 'Like you would ever say something nice.'
'Hey, hey, bastard. I'm not a complete douche bag.'

'Sure you're not. Well, if you like someone and you want to tell them you can say, ik mag jou, or if you really like them, ik vind je leuk. But that's more something children say to one another when they're "in love".'

'Wh- What about, I love you?'

Netherlands looked at the Italian curiously. He was blushing a bit and trying not to look at the other nation. There was definitely something going on in that boy's mind. The Dutchman bent over, as if to peer inside it. His student backed up a little, scared of the taller man.

'I love you would be ik hou van je.'

Romano tried to say it, stumbling over the words. When he finally got it right, he was as red as a tomato. 'W- Well, ah, thanks, Ollanda. I really should be going now... I'm sure Veneziano is missing me- no wait he's over at that potato bastard's. Whatever, I'm going home, dammit.'

'Sure, I have nothing to say about that. Go home.'

Sure enough, Romano turned on his heel and left through the front door. Shaking his head, Netherlands watched him leave.

Maybe I could follow him, he thought. If he's going to put that Dutch to use, he would probably do it right away, before he forgets it. Or chickens out. He snickered and, grabbing his jacket, walkedout in pursue of the Italian.

Romano was headed for the train station, so it seemed. Netherlands followed him, and for the first time that day - for the first time ever, as a matter of fact – he was happy he hadn't gelled up his hair. He was much less noticeable like this. Upon arriving at the train station, the Italian went to a ticket booth. Netherlands crept closer so he could hear where Romano would go. He bought... A ticket to Brussels?
Hm.

That was where Belgium lived. Coincidence?
Netherlands got himself a ticket too. The train would arrive in a few minutes.

Netherlands made it to Brussels without getting noticed by Romano, who was telling everyone in close proximity to fall in a hole and die.
Maybe he shouldn't have taught him that.

When Romano got off the train, Netherlands followed close behind. He noticed the Italian was headed in the direction of his sister's apartment, which wasn't far from the station. Two things came to his mind.

One: How did Romano know where Belgium lived?
Two: What was he going to do?

The first question was easily answered, they were friends, after all.
He'd have to wait to find out the answer to the second one. At least he didn't teach him how to say kiss me in Dutch. But of course there was... Verdomme, I told him how to tell someone you love them!
What if...

Romano was nervous. He liked Belgium, but he wanted to tell her in a different way. And not in Spanish, mind you. So he'd taken up the plan of learning to say it in Dutch. The problem was that he couldn't ask Belgium herself. He'd briefly considered the idea of learning French instead, since she spoke that as well, but France crept South Italy out even more than Netherlands did.

And that was why he was standing at the girl's doorstep now, wondering if he maybe should've bought a bouquet for her. Or a card, or... Anything, really, to stop him from feeling so awkward. He breathed deeply and rang the doorbell. It wasn't long before the door opened, revealing Belgium, wearing her signature smile. Romano's knees went wobbly.

'Oh, hey Roma! It's nice to see you, I wasn't expecting you! Please, do come in!'

The Italian gave a watery smile and entered the apartment. While not as fancy as his own house, he had to say he liked the setting. Blue walls gave the living room a spacey appearance, and the large windows provided a nice view over the skyline of Brussels. A bouquet of tulips was placed on the coffee table.

'Say, Romano,' Belgium said, 'is there a particular reason you're here? Or did you just come to say hi? Somehow that seems very unlike you.' She laughed quietly, which made Romano's heart do a little jump.

'Hm, ah, well,' spluttered the Italian, trying to think of something clever to say. Suddenly his plan seemed a little lame. Wouldn't she think he was joking? Would she laugh?

Belgium's phone rang. 'Oh, wait a sec please.' She picked up. 'Belgique.' ... 'Oh! Hi Ned, why are you calling from a pay phone?'
Romano flinched. What if Netherlands told his sister about him? Moreover, why was he calling from a pay phone?
'Yes, he's here.' She looked at Romano. 'Would you like to speak to h- Alright, here he comes.' And she handed the phone to Romano with a shrug of, it's my brother.

Romano hesitantly brought the phone to his ear. 'S- Sì Ollanda?'
'Romano, if you're doing what I think you're doing...'
'What am I doing, dammit?' He might be afraid of the guy, but this wasn't the right moment to disturb his plans.
'Hitting on my sister, you creepy Italian!'
'Hey, hey, at least I'm not France.'

Belgium frowned, wondering what the two could be talking about to make Romano disclaim he was France.

'Besides,' the Italian continued, 'I have every right to do so, dammit!'
'No, you don't!'
'Neither do you have any say over it.'
'It- Alright! It's up to Belgium, I guess. Whatever, I don't care. Just know that if you hurt her, I'll be waiting outside her apartment door, and make you wish you had fallen in a hole and died.'

Romano gulped. 'S- sure Ollanda.'
'Right. Go ahead then. I won't bother you anymore. This stupid phone costs a lot of money.' And he hung up without another word.

Romano stared at the phone in his hand, while Belgium looked at him curiously, but smiling. He would never comprehend how on Earth these two were related, let alone siblings. And then you had Luxembourg...

'Roma? What did he say? Did he scare you? I'm going to kick his ass if he did.'
'N- no, Bel. I'm fine. I'm not that easily scared, ha.' He put down the phone.
'Sure you're not. Now tell me, what are you here for?'
'Well,' Romano rose from the couch, gathering confidence, 'I came here to, ah, tell you that, ah...' He looked her in the eyes. 'Ik- Ik hou van je.'

Belgium gasped softly. 'Roma, what did... What? Do you mean that?'
'Ah,' he tried to remember to correct word, 'ja. Ja, I meant that.'

She smiled at him. 'Where... When did you learn to speak Dutch?'
'Just this morning, actually. Your brother was nice enough to teach me.'
'Nederland? Really?'
'Really. But, Bel, you're avoiding what I said,' commented the Italian, trying not to feel all too disappointed.

'Sorry! But, it just came a little unexpected and I wanted to know if you even knew what you were saying and if you meant it before I told you that-' She halted herself and took a deep breath, locking eyes with him again. 'Before I told you that, I feel the same way.'

Now it was Romano's turn to gasp. 'You really do?'
'Mm-hm.'
'Mio dio,' the Italian commented. Belgium giggled and flung her arms around him. Romano smiled in her hair and hugged her back.

'Belgium,' he muttered.
'Hm?'
He distanced himself a bit, not letting go of her. 'Since we've established that, can I now do... This?'
'Wh-' Belgium's question was muffled as Romano softly placed his lips on hers. The kiss was short and chaste, but when he pulled back, Romano looked like a tomato once again.

Belgium smiled, happily. 'Of course you can.' And she pulled him down for another kiss, a little longer this time.

Netherlands sighed. With his sister preoccupied, that was one less person to spend time with.

He headed for the train station. When he got home he should call Canada to see if he was in for another tour of his capitol. If that pissed of France, it was even more worth it.

Everyone else could fall down a hole and die. And by everyone, I mean Spain.

For anyone wondering...

'Dit is Nederland, met wie spreek ik?' means 'This is Netherlands, who am I speaking with?'

"Hallo, mijn naam is Romano, hoe gaat het? Met mij gaat het goed. Ik woon in Italië en ik houd van tomaten .Ik hoop dat je in een kuil valt en doodgaat," Means, like Romano said, "Hello, my name is Romano, how are you? I'm fine. I live in Italy and love tomatoes. I hope you fall down a hole and die." And yes, that's random.