Everyone finds love.

At least, everyone I know has. France loves Canada. England loves America. Belarus loves Russia—even if it is in a creepy way.

I sigh. Germany loves Italy.

Everyone, every nation, has found love. I can tell by the way they glance at each other across the huge table. We're at the World Conference. Usually I'm not allowed to come to these stupid things, but apparently there's something big coming, so every nation is here—including me, which makes no sense; Feliciano represents us.

But that's not important. My point is, every now and then one nation will glance at another. They'll smile, blush, their eyes will light up adoringly…

I recognize the look. It's the look Italy gets when he talks about Germany. It's love.

Something I'll never have.

As France and England argue about God knows what, I look at the faces of the nations. As stupid as they all are, everyone has something intriguing about them. I go down the table and point them out. Russia has really amazing dark purple eyes. England's eyebrows are weird, but original. France's hair curls in a way that only he could pull off. China's hair looks cool when it's pulled back, and the bangs fall. America's Nantucket and Canada's curl give them a youthful look.

China yells something to America about not being a Pokémon. I just roll my eyes stubbornly—what idiots—and turn to my left, towards the Axis. Japan's appearance makes him look very young when I know he's actually a lot older, so I think that's pretty neat. Prussia's red eyes are scary, I admit, but I envy them. And I hate to admit it, but Germany's blue eyes are very nice… and somewhat familiar.

And then there's Italy. He is small, cheerful, and absolutely adorable. People say we look alike and although I don't believe it, it's the greatest compliment a person could receive. His eyes shine brighter, his skin is lighter, and even his curl is cuter (could it have anything to do with it being on the left side of his head?). He's everything I'm not.

I sigh with envy and look to my right. Hungary is next to me, looking down at her lap, where her frying pan is hidden. Hungary is naturally very pretty; her long brown hair is always tucked under a green beret, and her green eyes are always filled with love and hope. Next to her is Austria, and he also has a signature hairstyle that is his and only his. He also has violet eyes like Russia—which, if you were paying attention, I already mentioned!

And next to him is Spain.

I can't say enough about Spain, and whatever I do say doesn't do him justice. His green eyes dart around the room, never losing their warmth or innocence. A few of his dark locks fall in his face, leaving a shadow on his smooth tanned skin. If Italy hadn't begged me to sit next to him, Austria and I would be switched and I'd be free to steal more glances of Spain. You can't really blame me. He's caring. He's fun. He's perfect.

I'm in love with him.

But I can never tell him that. It's just not who I am.

I hold back tears as France and England begin to argue. Again.

"Everybody, shut up!" Germany shouts as he stands and bangs his fists on the table, causing everyone to jump—and causing Spain to snap back to attention, which includes catching me staring at him. We lock eyes for a moment and he smiles. I glare back, feeling my face heat up, and turn back to Germany, who is now ranting.

"We will get nowhere if we continue to argue! We need to start discussing the matter at hand!" he screams, chopping the palm of his hand with the other to put emphasis on his words. "Anyone who wishes to speak about the situation, raise your hand. You will get five minutes and five minutes only, NO EXCEPTIONS! Do we understand each other?" He looks around the room, eyeing every single one of us. No one moves. "Good." Germany sits back down and looks around again. "Who would like to go first?"

Of course, Italy raises his hand and waves it around. I know he's going to say something stupid and embarrassing, so I pull his hand back down. But the potato bastard has already spotted it.

"Germany recognizes his friend Italy!"

Italy stands, looking serious for a moment, but then breaks into a wide, goofy grin as he shouts:

"…PAAASSSTTTAAAAAAAA~~~~!"

I groan and facepalm, yanking my idiot brother back into his chair with my free hand. A few of the nations shake their heads (like Austria…), a few of them look like they couldn't care less (like Greece, who has already started to fall asleep). But most of the nations smile. Hungary smiles, leans across me and pats Italy's head, careful not to touch his curl—believe me, you do NOT want to know what that thing does. Germany smiles a half-smile, which has got to be the rarest and craziest thing I've seen in my life.

I look past the corners of my eyes and see that Spain is laughing and smiling at Italy like he's the cutest thing in the world. Don't look at Feliciano like that, Spagna! That's the way you should be looking at me—

What. Am. I. Saying?!

…

You. Heard. Nothing.

I will sic my Mafia on your big, fat—

"This is going nowhere!" England cries, exasperated, throwing his arms into the air.

"This is going everywhere," France smirks.

England shakes his head. "Just… Just shut up."

"I agree," Japan says quietly. "I think we should all quiet down and listen to the real problem. Countries are disappearing," he says as he walks over to the large world map pinned to the wall. "Not disappearing literally, but fading, in a way."

"How can an entire land mass start to fade without any of us noticing, aru?" China asks.

"One of us noticed," Japan replies, looking down the table at… I'm not sure which country; there's too many of us here.

"Well, that still doesn't explain how and why the land is 'fading,'" England points out.

"I disagree," France says.

England groans. "Of course you do."

France shakes his head. "Non. I understand how it makes sense. See, we are our countries. If something were to happen to us, why shouldn't something happen to our land?"

"That's exactly what I thought, France," Japan continues. "We believe one of the European countries has been kidnapped and tortured, and that's why the land is fading."

Italy's eyes grow wide. "Ve… Which one?"

Japan looks down at his feet and doesn't answer, so we all look at the map. Sure enough, one of the countries near Russia is faded; the color it's shaded is light, and only the outline is still perfectly visible. It takes everyone a few minutes though, so when I finally figure it out, I turn and stare at Poland, feeling guilty. Everyone else does, too.

Poland looks down sadly. "I'm, like, really ashamed of you all. Especially you, Romano." He looks up at me and shoots daggers with his sad green eyes. "You looked at every person in this room, and you totally didn't even notice that Lithuania isn't here."