Here it is! Special request from DinosaurAttack! And I'm amazed I got it finished... After writing this, I think that it's actually a rather interesting couple... Not that I'm going to delve much further into it. (Not a Germano fan. Purely. A. Request. d(◎▾◎)b)

By the way... Quoting the words from my first-uploaded story... "Fail title is fail." It is! I could not think of anything for this story. *sad panda*

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia... Ja, ja, ja.

Couple(s): Germany/Romano

Warnings: Inferiority Complex, Romano's mouth, and a sexually harrassing France

Well... Enjoy! I do hope you people like it... And I hope I didn't suck at writing this rather obscure couple... *hides*

Berlin, Germany.

The personified nations had once again gathered for the World Conference. Germany was currently in the middle of a speech about Europe's current economic situation. And since it was Germany speaking, the attending nations were unusually quiet. It was one of the few times when the conference was going as pla—. Scratch that. Out of nowhere, the personification of Northern Italy stumbled through the doors and slumped against a standing Germany.

The blonde was forced to cut his speech short and picked up the Italian, carrying him over to his seat. He tried to put him down, but Italy held his hands around Germany's neck and cried out, "Don't leave me, Germany!"

The German looked at a loss of what to do. The surrounding nations stared at the two, and America took this interruption of the conference and said some statement to England in whispers which made the Brit stand suddenly, his chair toppling to the floor as he yelled out, "Take that back, you damned brat!" And so the order of the conference was effectively turned to chaos.

Romano watched all of this go on from his spot at the table. Spain was sitting beside him, chatting animatedly to France, every now and again glancing at Italy. Romano had gotten used to such things for a while now. It was no secret that the Spaniard pined for the cheery Italian. It seemed most knew except the more oblivious nations, namely America and Italy himself. He felt sorry for the poor tomato bastard. After all, his little brother only had eyes for the German.

Still, it always brought up unpleasant emotions. Everyone loved Veneziano more than him. He was always second best. Even when it came to his grandfather, even when it came to his previous caretaker… He was always overshadowed by his younger brother. Romano didn't want to admit it, but such rejection from those he cared about (albeit in a familial way) made his complex only grow.

He didn't hate Veneziano for it, though. Just the opposite, he loved his brother dearly. But sometimes… He wanted so desperately to hate him. He wanted him to feel the pain of rejection for once in his life. Thoughts such as those made him feel like a horrible big brother, but they came to the surface of his mind nonetheless.

He watched his brother fawn over the larger German. That was another matter of annoyance for him. Veneziano always hung over Germany. He cared more for the blonde than his own brother. That, he knew, was a fact. They didn't seem to be going out, a fact that relieved Romano, but it was obvious that his fratello had a lot of love for the German. And Germany never seemed to mind it. He always took it in stride. He never seriously yelled at him, he never full-heartedly tried to pry the Italian off. Romano knew all of this, because he was always observant, not that anyone else would see that.

He continued watching, the sound of England's yelling and America's laughter only just reaching his ear, the conversation between France and Spain beside him muted. He could only focus on his little brother with Germany. Why? Why was it that his brother held such affection for him? There were other people that were a better match. Like Spain. But why that damned potato bastard? It was a mystery to Romano. Sure, the German was reliable, and strong, and could cook, but all of that was beside the point.

He let out an inaudible sigh, tearing his gaze away from the pair and quietly standing from his chair. Spain looked over at him, and with his head cocked to the side, he asked, "Where are you going, Romano? It's not lunch yet."

Romano rolled his eyes, "If you haven't noticed, tomato bastard, nothing is getting done right now so there is no point in staying. I'm going to get some damned pasta." And with that, he walked out of the conference room, suit jacket thrown over one shoulder, held in place by a few fingers, and his other hand in the pocket of his slacks.

The halls were quiet as Romano walked to the lunchroom. A few people passed him by, but otherwise it was empty. He supposed that most people weren't stuck inside in the afternoon when the sun shined and the breeze cooled the air.

Soon, his feet were at the entrance to the lunchroom, and the aroma of various foods came to him through the door. He opened it and was glad to see that the room was empty. He made his way over to one of the tables topped with an array of dishes. To his annoyance, there didn't seem to be any pasta around, or any Italian food for that matter. The German probably forgot to order it because it seemed that Veneziano wasn't going to show up. But he did. And he'd be pitching a fit over his pasta and asking the potato bastard why there was none.

He huffed in annoyance, kicking the leg of a table next to him. Looking around, most of the dishes had some sort of potato ingredient. Yuck. This was why he always hated having the conferences in Germany. Not only was Germany the head of the conference, the food was always terrible. He grumbled and made his way over to a table that appeared to have salads laid out, free of potatoes. He picked up the leafy entrée and sat down at a table, grabbing a bottle of wine that was fortunately laid out along with the damned German beer before he started eating.

Around 15 minutes passed by, and the other nations were starting to file in for the lunch break. Romano had just finished off his salad and proceeded to take small mouthfuls of the liquid that tasted suspiciously like a French product. He'd know, of course, because he always made sure to stay away from any and all French cuisine, but anything was better than the German liquor.

Soon, Veneziano and Germany made their way through the doors, and the object of the Italian's annoyance was before his eyes once more. His fratello had an arm wrapped around one of the German's, and as Romano had suspected, Veneziano started looking around at the tables with a heartbroken expression, which soon turned to Germany, and again the potato bastard didn't know what to do.

Romano took his eyes from the pair and focused solely on emptying the bottle of wine in his hands. If he was fortunate enough, it would help him endure the rest of the conference. Just when he was about to take another mouthful, an annoying voice sounded from beside him.

"Romano, mon cher, you're supposed to share the wine~." France drawled, leaning toward the Italian with a smile on his face.

Romano paled at the voice and scooted his chair away from France, "Fuck off, froggy!" he growled, though he didn't feel nearly as confident as his voice entailed. He just wanted to get this perverted Frenchie away from him.

"Aw, now Romano, is that any way to speak to your darling older brother?" France purred, leering at him. He got up from his seat and took a few steps towards the Italian, "Do you want me to teach you how to share?"

"G-g-get the fuck away from me, damn it!" Romano stuttered, getting up from his seat and taking a few steps back. Unfortunately, his back hit the wall and France advanced again.

Once he was a few inches from Romano's position, France leaned in, one hand on the wall and the other reaching for the bottle in the Italian's hand. Romano desperately wished he could meld into the wall, but it was in vain. The hand advanced and took the bottle from his grasp. The blonde put the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back, letting the wine flow into his mouth. But instead of swallowing, he held it there and started leaning down further, his lips aiming for the ones of the trapped Italian.

"CHIIGIIIII!" Romano screamed, trying to back away from the frog, but he was trapped in between the wall and the pervert in front of him. He gulped, swallowing his pride and yelling out, "SPAIN, YOU BASTARD! HELP ME, DAMN IT!"

He tried to see over the Frenchmen to spot the Spaniard, and once he did, he was almost sorry that he tried. Spain was too occupied with Veneziano to come to his rescue at the moment. Romano grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, and just when France's lips were about to touch his own, the blonde slumped down on him and slid to the floor.

He opened one eye, only to find Germany in front of him with his hand outstretched in a chopping motion. He relaxed his shoulders and opened both eyes, looking at the unconscious Frenchmen before turning his gaze to the potato bastard. He glared at him and his cheeks reddened as he bit out, "I-I didn't need your help."

Germany, in turn, just sighed and lowered his hand, "Ja, ja."

The two stood awkwardly for a moment, sapphire locked with hazel. They seemed in a trance, staring into each other's eyes, but Romano abruptly snapped out of it, gritting his teeth and stomping away, embarrassed and agitated. He went over to the table where the drinks sat and grabbed two beer bottles in one hand; anything to get the taste of that French crap out of his mouth. Opening one, he took a long swig before lowering the bottle from his lips and storming out of the room.

Bottles scattered the floor of the hotel room Romano shared with Veneziano. The Italian was currently reclined back against the side of the bed, downing yet another bottle of liquor. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and with a jerk of the hand, he sent to bottle flying across the floor to collide with the wall. He sighed heavily and looked up at the white ceiling.

The conference had ended hours ago. It was now night time and the city came to life, night clubs opening and people looking to have a good time. He assumed his brother was at the hotel bar along with the other nations, though he didn't know, nor did he care at the moment. Romano continued staring at the ceiling for a while longer before abruptly getting up and throwing on a jacket, exiting the room with a slam of the door.

He took the elevator down to the lobby and strode swiftly out of the hotel and out onto the streets of the city lit in the night. He didn't know where he was going; he was just hoping to find a random bar. Despite all of the beer he had downed in his room, he only felt more pissed off. He wanted to get smashed, drunk out of his wits. And he was hoping to find a place to get to that point.

Soon enough, he found his destination in the way of a small pub. He walked in and was met with pleasant music and a welcoming interior. The strings of a guitar were being plucked away in the background, a sound that soothed his rather hazed yet irritated mind. He stalked over to the bar and sat down on a stool, waving the bartender over.

"What may I get you, sir?" the German man inquired, giving the Italian a smile.

Romano restrained his reaction to grimace at the obvious accent and blonde locks. Why did it seem that all the Germans he met had similar traits to the one he hated the most? He shook those thoughts away and muttered, "Something not French, and strong." The bartender nodded and set about readying his drink. Romano took this chance to look over the man. Despite his initial look-over, it seemed that one trait common to German that he was lacking was the light eye color. The man's eyes were a soft hazel color, similar to his own, and his hair had some brown in it. He found it odd to see a German without the trademark blonde hair and blue eyes, but it was a bit refreshing. At least it wouldn't make him think of that damn potato bastard.

The man set the drink down in front of him, along with the bottle, and smiled, "Enjoy." And then the man was off to attend other customers.

Romano downed the shot quickly, and instead of pouring another, he picked up the bottle and cradled it, taking gulps as thoughts of lunch came racing back into his mind. Damned Frenchie, he thought irritably. Why did he have to be sexually harassed? What did he ever do to that damned bastard?

And what was worse was the fact that he was saved by Germany, his sworn enemy. Of course, he was slightly grateful, but he was still pissed off that even the potato bastard could pay attention to him when his own former-caretaker couldn't.

"Fucking Spaniard…" he muttered under his breath before taking another mouthful of the liquor in hand. Once again, Veneziano had come before him. Once again, his fratello was more important than him. "Damn it!" he cursed, kicking at the stool next to him.

With such thoughts in mind, he quickly finished off the bottle, slamming it down on the counter and waving the bartender over for another. The man uneasily set another one before him, and before he could inquire on the customer's wellbeing, Romano had popped the top off and was drinking again.

He cradled the bottle like a child. To him, it was his only comfort right now. After being harassed by France and ignored by Spain and put behind Veneziano, he was fed up with it. With everything. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He barked out to no one in particular. Somehow, he felt in need of a gun and a target, preferably someone blonde with blue eyes and stubble on the jaw.

And as he drank more, the idea was becoming more appealing. He was just about to get up when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Romano?"

…Now where the fuck was a gun when you needed one? The Italian turned around to face none other than Germany. He scowled at the man and growled out, "What the hell are you doing here, potato bastard?"

Germany rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and stood there awkwardly, "I'm a regular here… I didn't expect to see anyone else here."

Romano let out a sigh, "Whatever… What the fuck ever… Go ahead and drink, I don't care anymore." He was getting rather tired of everything today. What was one more annoyance to add to the day?

The German nodded slightly and took a seat beside Romano, calling the bartender over and ordering his usual drink. Once he was given his beer, he took a sip before turning slightly to face the Italian. "This might be a bit nosy, but why are you here, drowning yourself in liquor?"

After another swig from the bottle, Romano raised a brow at the potato bastard and let out a harsh laugh, "Ha! Why am I drowning myself in liquor, you ask? That should be obvious, you damn blonde!" He glared at Germany before resuming his drinking.

Germany grimaced, thinking back to lunchtime, "So… You're still upset about the France incident?"

"Of course I am, you potato bastard! How would you like to be sexually harassed by that fucking froggy, and on top of that, have your former-caretaker ignore you in favor of your fucking brother? And not only that, but be rescued instead by someone you really fucking hate!" Romano growled out. Seriously, why were they even conversing? The only commonality they had was Veneziano, and Romano sure as hell didn't want to be talking to the German.

Germany seemed at a loss for words in light of his bout of irritation. He just took another gulp of the beer in front of him. Romano glared at him as he finished off his second bottle. Finally, he was feeling the effects of the liquor, but he wasn't about to stop there. The bartender brought another over, seemingly relieved by the appearance of Germany beside him, and Romano wasted no time starting on that bottle.

The two drank in silence for a while, and soon Romano was slumping over, his cheeks reddened from the ingested liquor and his eyes tiredly glaring at the potato bastard beside him. He finished off his third bottle, but before he could get another, Germany intervened. "I think you've had enough, Romano…" he said cautiously.

"What do you know? I am absolutely fine!" Romano barked. But immediately after those words left his mouth, he began sliding off the stool.

Germany quickly set his beer down and grabbed Romano's arms, hefting him back onto the stool. "See? You can't even sit properly."

"Get off me, potato bastard!" Romano slurred, hitting Germany's chest with his fists, though there was absolutely no power behind the punches, and Germany continued to hold on. Suddenly, Romano locked eyes with Germany and glared fiercely at him. "It's all your fault!" he yelled, "It's all your fault! What's so good about you? Why does Veneziano fawn over you so much? It's fucking annoying!"

"Eh…" Germany started, but before he could form a reply, Romano started yelling again.

"Why is it always Veneziano? 'Oh, Veneziano can draw so well!' 'Oh, Veneziano can clean so well!' 'Oh, Veneziano is so cute!' Grandpa Rome, Spain, even you! Everybody loves him so much! But what do I get? I get shit! I always get pushed aside for Veneziano! I try my hardest to do something, and naturally he does it better! God fucking damn it, why him?" Romano breathed out, ending his rant and grinding his teeth together as he looked away from Germany.

"Romano…"

"What, potato bastard?" he growled irritably.

The German turned Romano's body to face him fully, his hands on the smaller shoulders of the Italian. "Listen carefully, Romano. Even though you hate me, I'm speaking the truth here. Veneziano is good in his way, and you are good in your own way as well. You're persistent, you speak your mind, and you're honest. Those are all very good traits."

Romano crossed his arms, keeping his face turning to the side as he muttered, "Yeah, right… And why would I believe your words, you potato bastard?"

"You really have no reason to, but they are the truth. You may be able to observe others well, but you're slightly less observant when it comes to your own traits." Germany stated, trying to get his point across.

"…" Romano pursed his lips, grateful that the liquor had already reddened his cheeks so he had an excuse to be as red as a tomato. He wasn't used to any praise, even if it was from Germany. "Let go of me…" he muttered, jerking his shoulders from the German's grasp.

The blonde sighed and surrendered, hoping that the Italian could hold himself up. His hope was in vain. Soon after he let go, Romano began slipping from the stool again. Before he could fall to the ground, though, Germany caught him once more. Romano barely fought his grasp this time, half-conscious and drunk.

Germany let out another sigh and situated Romano onto his back. He let go of one leg and put an amount of cash on the counter that he hoped would suffice for the drinks. With that done, he pocketed his wallet and walked out of the bar, going in the direction of the hotel.

Romano had his eyes closed, and through his drunken haze he could tell he was being carried, but he couldn't tell by whom. Deciding to enjoy the warmth of the person's back, he laid his head down against the shoulder blade of the person and let himself drift off to sleep.

Germany almost jumped from the curious action of the Italian, but just brushed it off as some half-conscious behavior. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he bent over further and let go of one leg again to get it out. He flipped it open and put it between his ear and his shoulder, grabbing hold of Romano's leg again and resuming walking. "Germany speaking," he spoke into the phone.

"Veee~, where are you, Germany?" A cheery voice came from the other end.

"Italy? I'm, uh…" He hesitated in saying what he was doing. It wouldn't do for Italy to worry about Romano; that'd probably get the Italian even more annoyed. So, instead, he just said, "I'm taking care of some business."

"Oh…" Italy said quietly, "So we can't sleep together tonight?"

"No. I'm sorry, Italy. You should see if Japan will let you sleep in his room for tonight." Germany hoped he didn't upset the cheery Italian too much, but it couldn't be helped. He was worried about Romano.

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

"Gute nacht."

"Buananotte, Germany."

And with that, their conversation ended. The German took a moment to pocket his phone and walked, all the while making sure Romano wasn't slipping down. Soon, he reached the hotel. Luckily for him, most of the other nations were asleep or in their rooms by now, and he didn't run into anyone he knew. He inquired at the front desk the Italian's room number, and went to the elevator with Romano.

After reaching the correct floor, he headed to Romano's room and was surprised to see the door open a crack. Germany shook his head at Romano's carelessness, and nudged the door open with a foot. Upon entering, he grimaced at the sight before his eyes. More than a dozen empty beer bottles were scattered over the carpet, and another six pack of beer was sitting on the bed.

He sighed and carefully set the sleeping Italian down on the bed. The drunken nation shifted a bit, seemingly upset with the loss of the warm body. Germany then turned and looked at the room. He rolled up his sleeves and began cleaning up the room, setting the bottles carefully to one side for later disposal and sliding the six pack under the bed, out of reach.

He was about to leave the room to find a recycle bin, but he suddenly heard coughing coming from the sleeping Italian. Germany quickly rushed over to him and saw that he was vomiting. He hung his head. Those stains would be a pain to get out of the sheets. He sat the Italian up and, with the trash can held under Romano's mouth, dragged him to the bathroom where he placed his head over the toilet. He held the Italian in place and looked away as Romano heaved up the contents of his stomach, which were mostly bile and liquor.

Some minutes passed, and the Italian was finally finished with emptying his stomach. Germany dragged him back to the bed and frowned at the state of the Italian's clothes. He doubted Romano would want to wake up in clothes he vomited on. But on the other hand, he also doubted that the Italian would want him to undress him. He bit his lip and looked at Romano for a moment before his cleanly nature got the better of him.

He slid off the suit jacket and set it to the side before working on the buttons of his dress shirt. He slid that off as well and put it with the jacket. He slid of the shoes and socks and set them by the wall before working on the slacks. His fingers were hesitant, working the waistband down. It was strange. While he was used to having to undress Italy, undressing his older brother seemed to be another matter entirely. He felt his face redden, but he shook his head to clear his thoughts and slid the slacks down, leaving the Italian bare in only his shorts.

Germany tentatively lifted Romano's body and pulled the sheets back. He slid Romano under the sheets and went about flipping the comforter around so that the stain was on the foot end. The Italian shifted around before settling down, his breathing leveling out once more. Germany set the trashcan beside the bed in case of emergency, and dragged a chair from the other side of the room to the side of the bed.

He sat down and just watched Romano as he slept. Briefly, he wished he had thought to go get a book, but it was too late. He sighed and shifted in the chair, getting ready for a long night.

Throb. Throb. Throb.

Romano groaned, clenching his head with both hands, trying in vain to stop the pounding in his head. He felt like his head had been hit by a sludge hammer. He cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it. The morning sun only added to his massive migraine. He brought the covers up over his head in an attempt to block out the light. That's when he realized that he had no idea where he was.

He instantly sat up, one hand clenching his head as his eyes looked around the room. He sighed with relief when he realized that he was in his hotel room. But… How did he get there? The last thing he remembered was being carried on someone's back…

The sound of soft breathing came to his ears, and he realized he wasn't alone. As he turned his head, he found none other than Germany sleeping in a chair, his arms folded across his chest and dark circles under his eyes. He shrieked, "CHIIIGIII!"

Germany's head shot up, looking around frantically. He relaxed when he saw Romano. "Guten morgen, Romano. How are you feeling?"

"W-w-why are you in my room?" Romano yelled, and as he realized the state of his body, he added, "And why am I unclothed?"

Sighing, Germany brought a hand up to his head and massaged his temple with his index and middle finger, "You passed out at the bar so I brought you back. And you vomited on your suit so I had to set it out so it could be cleaned. Also, please take that pill over there and drink the water. It'll help with your hangover."

Romano glared, his migraine making him even more irritable. He reluctantly took the pill and gulped down the water, setting down the glass back down violently on the nightstand. "So, if that's it, then why are you still here? Why didn't you just drop me off and leave? Don't you usually sleep with Veneziano? He's probably not too happy with you."

Germany shrugged, "Taking care of you was more important than being with Veneziano. It'd be bad if you choked on your vomit while sleeping."

The Italian opened his mouth to retort, but found that he had nothing to say, and slumped, looking down at the sheets with warm cheeks as he mumbled quietly, "Grazie."

"Mm." Germany rubbed his eyes and looked down at Romano, "If you're still feeling unwell by the time of the conference, you can skip it if you'd like. Just… Don't get dead drunk again."

Romano crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, "Hmph. I don't need you telling me what to do, you potato bastard."

The two sat in since for a few minutes. The clock ticked quietly on the nightstand, and soon the silence became uncomfortable. Germany stood up and put the chair back in its original place. Romano just sat, refusing to look at the German out of embarrassment.

"Don't forget to call a maid to wash to sheets." Germany commented.

"Eh?" Romano looked down at the sheets, and saw a stain at the foot end. He huffed again and turned his head away.

Germany rolled his eyes, "Well, I'm going back to my room to change."

Silence. Romano didn't respond, and the blonde raised a brow before smiling. He walked up to the bed and set a knee down on the bed so his face was level with Romano's. "Romano."

The Italian jumped, not realizing that the German was so close. "Wh-what?" he stuttered.

Germany leaned in, his lips close to Romano's ear as he whispered, "Not everyone favors Veneziano over you." And with that said, he took Romano's chin in hand and turned his head, not hesitating as he placed his lips down on the Italian's.

Romano's eyes widened at the contact, and the shock left him helpless and unable to do anything. Germany pulled away and gave him a smile that seemed more like a smirk before turning and walking out the door.

Outside the room, Germany leaned against the door for a moment, sliding a hand over his face and letting it rest over his lips. A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he started walking to the elevator.

For a few hazy moments, Romano just sat there, but as what just happened registered in his mind, his cheeks started to burn fiercely and he covered his mouth with both hands and screamed.

"CHIIIIIGIIIIIIIII!"

Soooooo! Did you like it? Did you love it? Do you want to throw rotten tomatoes at me?

Either way... Please review! They be much appreciated!

...

*slowly walks away*