"All right, so I'm guessing it wasn't England," America started, an eager gleam in his eyes. He liked mysteries, and this riddle was one they had never solved. Not even England had an answer, and he knew France from when they were both children fighting it out during the Middle Ages. So it was up to him, the hero, to find out once and for all who made France the pervert he is today.

France laughed and shook his head in denial. "Non, mon cher, though I did take his virginity," here he ducked as a teacup came flying towards his head at deadly velocity, "England did not take mine."

"I wouldn't have wanted to, either, thank you very much!"

America regarded their expressions carefully as England angrily poured himself a new cup of tea all the while giving France a glare that would have peeled paint off of the walls, and decided that they were not lying, at least not about this subject.

"If not England… then Spain?" America guessed. Certainly, France and Spain grew up together, as near brothers as possible, and since everyone knew Spain as the country of passion, it would make sense for France's first time to have been with him.

"Alas, I wish it was Spain, but he was as clueless back then as he is now. Keep going, America," France said, clearly amused by this game.

Getting trickier now… "Could it be Prussia?"

England spat out his tea in shock, and France laughed again. "If that were true, he would have rubbed it into everyone's faces."

"Yeah, he would." America rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mentally reviewing what he knew of France's history, which obviously wasn't much. But hey, besides Prussia, there was another country that bordered France, and who had invaded him at least twice already.

"How about Germany?"

France snorted dismissively. "Hardly so. Can you even imagine that? I am quite certain he is still a virgin, despite my best efforts."

"I guess that would eliminate Romano and Veneziano as well…" Drumming his fingers on the sofa armrest, America pursed his lips in concentration. "Now Austria on the other hand, that guy's a closet pervert, ain't that right, Canada? Oh, oh, maybe it was Hungary? Or Belgium?"

Canada, who had been ignored by the other three for the past half-hour during this impromptu family gathering, elbowed America hard enough in his side to be felt even through the jacket and whispered something to his brother.

"Ah, I've got it!" Canada rolled his eyes, but said nothing as America continued. "It has to be Rome! I mean, you were part of the ancient Roman Empire once, right? And that guy was a total perv, even I know that!"

At this, France closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, a strange smile on his lips. "True, Rome had taught me much about the art of love. But it was not his custom to treat his acquisitions so, and remember, I was very young at the time." He opened his eyes and shrugged, still smiling. "No, Rome was not my first. You have made some very good guesses, America, but I think you will never know the answer."

"And why is that?" America huffed, a little insulted.

"Because I do not know who he was," France replied simply.

All three of them gaped at him, stunned into silence for about thirty seconds.

"You mean he wasn't one of us? He was just some random fellow who fucked you and then went along on his jolly way?" England eventually burst out, utterly horrified.

"I would have probably used a different choice of words, England, but yes, that more or less describes it. It was love at first sight for the both of us, but he had to return home soon afterwards, to his own people. And I never saw him again, though I searched for him for years."

"Does he have a name?" This was unbelievable coming from France, who always referred to his extensive notes or photographs or videos of past romantic exploits, every single one of them, human or nation or… well, let's just keep it at human or nation.

"He gave me a fake name, I can tell you that," France mused. "He did not want me to know his true identity, and I respected his wish, for his safety."

There was another brief silence, broken when Canada finally spoke up.

"I think that's actually kind of romantic, France… Is there any way you can, uh, maybe describe him to us? Do you remember anything at all?"

Eyes glinting mischievously, France started to say something possibly very perverted before England stomped on his foot to stop him from doing so. "Anything besides that, you wanker…"

"Ah, I do not remember much else, mon chou, it was so long ago. I was younger than America when I first took his virginity," England punched him in the kidneys in righteous fury, but France barely batted an eyelash, so used to the physical abuse by now, "but older than England when I took his…" Another punch, though he dodged this one, a dreamy, far-off smile on his face.

"Hmm, I remember he was tall, but I was rather short back then. And he had blond or light-brown hair that came to his shoulders. Gorgeous blue eyes. A strange yet seductive way of speaking, flawless manners… Oh, and he was definitely French. In every way." The last sentence was accompanied with a lewd wink.

"That sounds very wonderful, Papa, if a bit vague," Canada said as politely as he could.

"Sounds to me like you're describing yourself," England muttered sourly. "Maybe you were having a hallucination from eating rotten grains?"

France chuckled and patted England on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Oh Angleterre, generous as always with your praise! Though it makes sense, only I would be able to please myself, non? Of course, it couldn't possibly have been me, but perhaps someone very much like me, whose affection and skill have yet to be matched from that day onward. My inspiration, if you will."

England gave his eternal enemy a half-hearted jab in the arm, and only Canada noticed the flicker of genuine jealousy in those green eyes. On the other side of the table, America's face had gone an unnatural shade of white, as if he had seen a ghost.

"America, are you all right, darling? You look quite ill!"

America shook his head as if to clear his mind, then grinned weakly back at his, for lack of a better word, family. "Oh, I'm fine, I'm fine. I was just… this milk is not agreeing with me, that's all."

Except that Canada knew his brother had not been drinking any milk at all that day.

Later, after they had left France's quarters and made their way back to their own hotel accommodations, America pulled Canada into his room and slammed the door shut.

"Canada!" he hissed, clutching his brother's shoulders with hysterical ferocity. "You're not gonna believe this, but I think France's first love is… himself. Himself!"

"…What? What in the world are you talking about?" Sure, America came up with some crazy theories, conspiracies and aliens and what not, but this was frankly unfeasible… unlike the other theories, most of which turned out to be partly true.

"Okay, remember last year's New Year's party at France's place, when you found me and France in the fountain even though we were heading to the second floor?"

All right, stories that began this way almost always meant that America was not lying. For one thing, he was not quite practiced enough to keep up an elaborate lie for long.

"I think I may need to sit down for this, America," Canada said in all seriousness.

"You bet your britches you need to sit down, this is gonna fuck up your mind. Forever."

At that warning, Canada sat down on the mattress and mentally prepared his brain for a good and thorough fucking. "Okay, I'm ready. Now what exactly happened?"

The explanation was simple enough, if one believed in magic and time travel and all that. Some time after midnight that fateful start of a new year, America dragged a rather inebriated France up the stairs to get him a clean shirt not covered in British vomit. He had found a wardrobe in an empty bedroom, and in his experience, wardrobes generally contained clothes, so he opened it and had a look inside.

"God, America, didn't you watch the Chronicles of Narnia? Wardrobes equal portals into another world!"

"Yeah, I know, but I wasn't thinking clearly, okay?"

Still drunk, France had insisted on picking out a shirt himself, not trusting America's hideous fashion sense, but instead he passed out and fell into the wardrobe, and America had to step in and drag him out. Unfortunately, he got a little distracted by this strange golden light shining from the back of the wardrobe, and well, Bob's your uncle.

"Let me get this straight. You're telling me you walked into a magic wardrobe that time-traveled several hundred years back to the Middle Ages, where France then took his own virginity without him realizing it?" Even knowing that America was not a liar, this was still hard to believe, and Canada tried desperately to convince himself that America was secretly taking some hallucinogens despite his clean image.

"I kid you not, Canada. I didn't know it was the Middle Ages of our world! I didn't know that girly kid was his younger self at the time. I thought I was in, I dunno, Narnia, or an alternate dimension. You gotta believe me, bro, almost five months passed in that wardrobe, France had wandered off before I ever got there, then I was wearing armor and saving princesses, way better than Medieval Times by the way, and when I finally found him and we returned to the standing stones, it must have somehow moved because we ended up in the fountain five minutes later in our time." America took a deep breath to steady his nerves, but he still looked quite disturbed, as disturbed as Canada felt.

"I later chalked it up to a really wicked dream due to the funky European cheese they were serving. I don't believe that magic stuff like England does, you know that. But… it felt really real," America said unhappily, rubbing his arms as if he felt cold. "And now that I think about it, I bet France doesn't remember a thing from that night. He was completely unconscious when we came back, and he just never spoke about it again."

"You're sure about that, America?" Canada asked quietly, still trying to process what he had just been told. "France doesn't suspect anything?" Somehow, Canada felt a surge of pity for his other father-figure, who had kept fond memories of his mystery lover all these years, when that person was actually himself. Though he had no way of predicting what France would think of such an outrageous revelation, the truth would at the least upset him, if not drive him insane, and he was already a bit… unhinged, to put it politely.

"Canada, you don't think we should tell him, do you? It might tear a hole in the space-time continuum, if it hasn't already, him, uh, meeting himself."

"Yeah, we should keep it to ourselves for now."

"We're not telling England either, right?"

"Definitely no."

"Hey Canada… do you think I did a very bad thing?"

Canada sighed. "Something bad happened, yes, but none of us could help it. It was meant to happen, if my limited understanding of time paradoxes is correct. I'm just glad you both got home safely, America."

"Yeah…"