This is my first fanfiction! So please be gentle with it O-O It features both 2P Italy (or at least, what I think 2P Italy's personality would be. If I'm not anywhere close, I apologize. I was just kind of introduced to this whole 1P/2P thing recently O.e) and regular Italy x Seychelles…As you'll be able to figure out soon. I'm not too sure where I'm going with this, but I should be able to figure it out as I go along o-e (never a good game plan, I know). I know this is a weird pairing and as far as I'm aware, the two countries don't actually have much to do with one another so this is kind of a "crack pairing", but oh well. I figured what the heck, I wanted to write it XD I hope you like it!

Chapter One

"It's not polite to stare you know," the foreign man whispered softly, a teasing edge to his voice. His words broke Seychelles from her trance and he watched appreciatively as a swarm of red crept up her face and to her ears. She fumbled with her outfit, suddenly feeling exposed for no good reason. She shook slightly, chastising herself mentally for it.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" she stuttered apologetically, blushing more as she realized just how flustered she sounded. "I was just…I guess I'm not used to getting anyone here other than the regulars. I was just a little startled that's all. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath to settle herself. "Is there anything I can get you, s-sir?" Damn it! She thought angrily. Get a hold of yourself, Chelles!

The man on the other side of the counter smirked slightly and she found herself unable to calm down as she took him in a second time. The newcomer had such unusual features, ones that made her question whether or not they were natural. His hair—a deep shade of reddish auburn—hung straight, falling down just past his ears, a few individual strands making it down to his chin; his eyes—a dark shade of violet—locked with hers, the most in question of all his features; he had a straight nose and his skin was creamy and light . "You're staring again," he accused, humored by her once again flushing face. He smiled tauntingly and loosened at the tie constricting him, until it was barely hanging around his neck. Her eyes fixated on his smooth skin and found something almost alluring about the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he talked. She blushed.

"I-I'm sorry. Wh-what can I get you?" She was so glad most of the tavern's crowd had cleared out. She was embarrassing herself horridly with her face turning a shade of red every five seconds.

"Hmm, would I be foolish to assume you carry wine here?" he leaned forward, raising one of his eyebrows slightly and sending a bunch of butterflies loose inside of her. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry, we don't carry wine here."

"Oh." He leaned back, obviously disappointed with her answer. He rested his face against his palm and looked at her. He paused briefly as if mulling something over and then continued, "Just give me what you will then. I don't care what you give me I just want something to drink."

"U-uh…sure. One second please, sir." The barista gave a faint smile to be polite, though none of it reached her eyes. She felt uneasy around this man and a good part of her wished that he would've left by now. She would give him a beer, he would drink it down maybe two or three swigs, and then he would pay and be off. She told herself this and sighed, returning with his drink and placing it before him.

He examined it with distaste, looking over it with a sickened expression. A second or two went by and then he brought the bitter liquid up to his lips and to Chelles' surprise, chugged it down all at once. He exhaled sharply, slamming the mug down on the counter and then looking up back up at the island girl behind the counter. "Hit me up again." He said flatly and heavily accented.

She did as told and watched as he did the same with this round as he had done with the first. She watched him and her curiosity got the better of her.

"Where are you from?" She'd never been to a world conference, so the only countries she knew of were England and France.

He looked at her, something that looked like a mixture of shock and disbelief burning in his eyes. "You don't know who I am?" his words sounded harsh and mad, but there was an edge of curiosity to them.

"Not to be rude, but no."

"I'm from North Italy." he said sharply.

"I-Italy…" she whispered to herself, throwing the name around in her head, trying to match it up to somewhere, something, but nothing came. She didn't want to make him angry and nodded at him slightly. "Oh. Italy."

He sighed and looked down at his empty mug. "More."

She nodded, hesitantly taking his cup and refilling it for the third time.

"What's your name?" he asked sultrily, staring at her. His eyes locked with hers and she could see him checking her out, undressing her with his eyes. She wondered if he was drunk and decided that he must be to be looking at her like that.

"I—I go by Chelles." She handed him his drink after filling it up.

"Chelles," he tried the name out on his tongue, staring down at the beer in front of him. He looked up. "I'm Feliciano." He purred, looking at her seductively. "You can call me Feli though, amore."

He didn't give her a second to reply before he had chugged down this round, too. Three rounds turned into four which turned into five and eventually led to six.

On his sixth round, Chelles noticed his face starting to flush. His hair had started to look slightly disheveled and his eyes—whether this was purely her imagination or not—had started to turn a light amber color.

"A-are you okay?" she asked nervously. No way was someone going to die—did random eye color changes signal dying? And could countries even die? Chelles didn't know—right here in her bar. She didn't want something like that on her hands.

"Veee, I feel fine!" the man spoke, startling Chelles with his sudden change in voice.

"Uh…um…If you say so… Don't push yourself drinking though, okay?" Her voice was laced with genuine concern now.

"Ahahaha, you're so funny, ve! Oh! I forgot to ask you! Do you serve pastaaaaaa here?" he smiled like a young school boy and Chelles was shocked to see one stray hair spring up from the rest of his head and curl in the air. She blinked twice at the changing man before her.

"How is that…?" she began, trailing off.

"It's a shame you don't come to any of the meetings, ve! You seem really nice Sey-chan!" The man was now sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the bar stool.

"S-Sey-chan?" Seychelles sputtered confused, wondering just what in the hell she was witnessing here. Who was this perpetual eight-year-old beaming at her with the same features as the woman killer who'd been making moves on her only minutes ago? …Not that she didn't prefer this to before, but it was a little disconcerting.

"Sì! You know, there are Germany, America, France, England, and all the others there and they are all very nice, ve!" "U-uh, yeah," Chelles smiled nervously, wincing at his sudden verbal tic. "I bet they would all be very happy to have a pretty girl like you there, ve!" She blushed lightly, embarrassed that he could cause this even in this…weird…state he was in now. He looked down at his empty cup—shocking her for the…what was it now? Third, fourth, fifth time?—by turning his mug over completely, looking for a drop. He found none. He looked up at her sadly, asking her sweetly, "C-can I have some more, ve? It's very good…well, no, it's not. It's kind of bitter. Wine tastes better. But I would like a refill of this." "Um…" was all the woman could say. Could she deny the customer what he ordered? But…this was turning out to be no ordinary customer. "Okay," she gave in finally, not immune to his puppy-dog face. He beamed up at her as she gave Feli his seventh glass. "You should probably stop after this…" This was starting to cross the line of weird and deeply concerning. She'd seen all different kinds of people drunk (some got mad and tried to start fights with one another, some started sobbing uncontrollably, some made passes at her…drunken passes, and England even startled rambling on about whether he was Catholic or Protestant…he honestly didn't even know…), but this…this was the first time she'd witnessed something like this. She'd never seen someone…just switch personalities like this. It was like she was looking and talking to and serving someone completely new. He nodded, bringing the drink up to his lips and taking a small sip. He was no longer aggressively gulping it down, but taking his time. "I," he paused, looking at Seychelles. "I—" The man got a hazy look to him as he fumbled around on his stool, trying to form the rest of his sentence. "I—" he tried, but failed once again, this time, though, tipping over his drink, and falling to the floor. "Oh merde! Are you okay?" Chelles demanded, running from behind the counter to the fallen customer. He lay, unconscious but breathing, on the ground. Chelles tried waking him up, looking around nervously at the now empty tavern. The bar would be closed here shortly. What was she to do with a drunken, unconscious Italian lying on her floor?

Welp, that was the first chapter! Thank you for reading! Please, please, please, please review! I want to stay motivated to write this story, but I can't get better nor can I stay motivated if no one reviews. ):