There are several reasons why Philippines doesn't want to join the World Conference Meeting the times he was invited.

First, he doesn't really care about the meetings. He knows they were just formality of some sort, and he also knew that nothing comes off from it. Unless America starts suggesting non-fictional characters unto saving Earth, then he would come to the meeting. Maybe.

Second, it's not like he's the only one avoiding them. Heck, most of the micro nations are, but mostly because they were not invited.

Third, he doesn't like to deal with the countries himself. The country has a president for God's sake. Sure, he asks for his opinion or ideas sometimes, but most of the time he doesn't want to get involved. Strange, right?

Fourth, when one time Francis Bonnefoy had dared to send him an invitation letter complete with chocolates and flowers and stuff. But before he could ponder how the heck he managed to fit all those in an envelope, he saw a used condom.

Like, fucking hell.

Fifth, and the real reason why he doesn't want to go on World Meetings is because he doesn't know how would he react if he saw the countries that left deep and nasty scars on him, on his country. Sure, most see Philippines as friendly and hospitable and all that jazz things. But in reality, it's hard to deal with the feelings he had acquired and bottled up during the years of war, especially that he was used to them betraying him.

He's not a saint, but he knew sooner or later he has to deal with said feelings.

So when the President told him that they were holding the World Meeting for the fourth time in their country, he asked if he could join in. The president smiled and patted his shoulder.

And now here he is, standing awkwardly outside two giant oak doors, pondering what to say, or what face he should show them. Ah, nevermind, it's just a meeting right? What could go wrong?

He sighed and opened the door.

There are several reasons why Philippines doesn't want to join the World Conference Meeting the times he was invited.

But this was not one of them – and unfortunately topped his list instantly.

"Maybe wrong room..?"

He felt something landed on his shoulder. And much to his horror he recognized him immediately: the fucker. "Yo, mon ami. I am right about Anglaterre planning something, yeah? And no, I don't think you're in the wrong room. You're Philippines, correct?" he nodded and the kid started flailing its small limbs. "Look, my arms and legs are so small! How am I supposed to cook and win girls now? Onhonhonhonhon~ this is depressing~"

Philippines stared at him some more, trying to take the situation in his head. "You don't really look depressed to me."

"Non?"

Looking around the room, Philippines cringed at the bundle of clothes strewn everywhere, and he got to thank whatever magic gave the little kids whatever they were wearing (at least he won't deal at them being naked). He immediately recognized some of the faces, given that he has information about them. There was England (if his eyebrows were any indicator), America, China, Japan and.. was that Feliciano flying in the air?!

He was able to catch the little Italian before he hits the floor. "Uwaaaah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Feli! It's me, hey!"

"Ve~ Marcelo? Is that really you?!"

"Yeah." Feliciano visited Philippines several times with Romano before, and together they are the only few nations that knows his face-including Spain, Germany, China, America, Japan and England-but only the two Italian brothers know him personally. "Say, where's your brother?"

The kid shook his head, and that was France's cue to jump out from his shoulder and run around. Marcelo sighed and left the little boy in the chair, thinking how to shut the others up.

"BAAAAAASTAAAAAAARD!"

"Stop! Arthur said he's sorry!"

"Let go of me! I'm gonna kill-"

He immediately lifts up the raging kid. It was Romano. "Whoa, calm down."

"How the fuck I can calm- HOLY SHIT YOU'RE HUGE! WHY?! WHY AREN'T YOU AFFECTED, MANGO BASTARD?! YOU PLANNED THIS WITH HIM, DIDN'T YOU?! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS BASTAAAAARD!"

Marcelo cringed. It doesn't help that the other kids are shouting profanities, crying, whining, laughing and making strange noises at each other.

"I SAID SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!"

He saw a blonde kid with crystal blue eyes, and instantly recognized him as Germany. Thankfully, most of the nations did as the little blond told, and Marcelo took it as a chance to get their attention. "Uh, guys?" he fidgeted in his place, growing uncomfortably with the stares he's getting.

"Come on guys, don't be mean to him," said one kid with white hair and bloody red eyes. "Look, he's already wetting himself!"

Marcelo turned red. "Shut up! I never wet myself!"

"Oh? Pity. Alfred always does."

There was an indignant shout of 'Hey!' in the crowd but he ignored it. "Okay, listen up. I don't know what's going on because I just got here. Can someone explain what the hell is going on?"

Germany jumped into his arms. "England and his magic."

Ah, that explains everything. "I must be going then."

His pants were grabbed immediately before he could even move his legs. His gaze met the quivering, soft brown eyes of Feliciano, which is sporting very fat tears threatening to fall any second. He gave the nations a long look before he was sighing again.

It's official: World Conference Meeting sucks.