"Have you seen this man?"

"Do you recognize this face?"

"Do you know anyone named Feliciano Vargas?"

"My brother's missing. Have you seen him?"

"My name's Ludwig. You wouldn't happen to have seen this man, would you?"

"If you know where he is, tell us! Or I'll hit you with my frying pan!"

"Contact us if you see him, amigo."

"Have you seen Feliciano?"

It had been months. Almost a year now, and no one had seen him. They'd scoured the Italian peninsula up and down, and yet, though his brother could feel that he hadn't crossed the border, they hadn't seen a sign of him. Romano would never admit it, but the others knew that he cried himself to sleep every night. Hungary cried openly sometimes, after a long day of futile searching. And as for Germany, he wished he could cry. It would be so much better than this endless choked feeling, than the little part of him that died every time someone looked at the photograph and shook their heads. They were all grateful for Spain, who kept them together even while his own grief threatened to overwhelm him.

Today marked the seven-month anniversary of the day Feliciano had disappeared, leaving behind only a note saying not to worry and everyone who loved him. It was a bitter feeling for the four. They sat together on a park bench, eating lunch. Spain had bought them all ice cream cones, "to keep us smiling," he said. Because he was Spain.

Hungary sat upright, staring at the ground, while Romano was between Spain and Germany, leaning on them both equally. Germany didn't mind, although it was still a little strange to have the Italian not screaming curses at him.

Finally the German sighed and unzipped his briefcase, pulling out his laptop. "We should call," he said.

The others nodded. Prussia and Austria had made them promise to call every day. The four nations gathered around as Germany pulled up Skype and called home.

"West! You called! Finally! It is unawesome to worry me this way, Bruder!" Prussia's face scolded. Germany resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd never known how much of a mother hen his brother could be. "You should have called hours ago, West! I thought something had happened to you and you'd left me to run your unawesome country forever!"

"Where's Austria?" Germany asked, ignoring Prussia's insult. He had volunteered to take care of things while Germany was gone, nobody had forced him.

Prussia huffed. "Austria! Get your unawesome self over here! West's calling!" he yelled over his shoulder. Austria appeared in an apron, holding a dish and washcloth; his hands were sudsy. The aristocratic nation opened his mouth to shout back, when he was bowled over by a very overwrought France. The emotional nation rushed towards them, purple robes flapping, and shoved Prussia out of the way, his face filling the whole screen. "Mes amis! Did you find him? Where are you? Are you all alright? Oh, you have worried moi!"

Spain calmed France down, as Hungary and Romano were still staring dully into space, and Germany was too choked up to speak. There had been no progress, the Iberian nation explained, but they knew he was alive and that he was still in his own country, and that was good news.

Romano was barely listening. He stared at the sky, at the ground, anywhere but at the other nations. At his friends. He hated to admit it, but since his fratello disappeared, he had become close to all of them. He could even stand to be around the potato eaters.

But none of it mattered without Feliciano. The tingling, aching emptiness in his whole body had become unbearable. He and Feli were more than brothers, they were a singular country. They may have had two separate bodies, but their minds and souls were completely connected. To be away from each other was to be incomplete, and not to have some sort of physical contact with the other for too long was physically painful and messed with their minds. There were times when Romano could no longer focus his eyes, when his hands would shake uncontrollably, when he would lose the ability to speak. He knew his brother must be experiencing the same things, and the idea that Feliciano would cut himself off for so long, would endure the pain for this long, worried him more than he could express.

Romano lifted his eyes to the sky, blue and sunny as if mocking him. Where are you, fratello?