-August 5th, 2006. World Meeting in London, England-

The personification of France was a man who was hard to miss. He had medium length blonde hair that was certain to be tangle-free, he had bright and charming blue eyes, and his smiling face could sweep any lady (and sometimes man) off of their feet. He was constantly flirting and England was sure that he had a god complex by now.

Today, everyone was sure that he was not at the mandatory world meeting. England was not bickering with him, the maids were not blushing as much, and the two remaining members of the Bad Touch Trio were not causing as much trouble with of their usual antics.

England rested his head on his arms as he thought to himself. Even if France was irresponsible, It was not usual that he played hooky during the world meetings. England found himself looking around to see if any other countries were missing. Only France. Even Sealand was there, although England had told him to go home. Like France, Sealand never listened. France was irresponsible. France was foolish. France was innapropriate. France was the top thing on his mind.

He looked over to the two members of the Bad Touch Trio by the large enterance door. Prussia was talking to America while Spain was teasing Romano with an armful of tomatos. Everything seemed okay. A desire to be social pulled him over there.

He stood from his chair, and walked over to them while trying to be casual. He wasn't afraid to admit that he was awkward in social situations.

"How has Germany's basement been treating you, Prussia?" England asked. He had been trying to think of something that would get back at Prussia for days. Yes, it had been days.

Prussia looked at him with his deep red eyes and gave his trademark laugh. "Better than living on the streets, I suppose."

"So," England continued casually. "Are you letting France get up to his mischief alone today, then?" Usually they would do something like put a bucket of water above the door just before England or Austria came in. Neither of them were soaked today.

"Nope! He is just at home," he replied.

"Why?" England asked.

Prussia looked around in a suspicious and very cliche way. He turned his attention back to England. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"And why would you wanna know that? What interest might you have in my Parisian friend?" Prussia poked the cheek of the taken back Brit. "You're blushing," he whispered. He blew into England's ear causing the blush to deepen.

England swatted Prussia away from his face. "I am not you git." The familiar frown appeared on his face. Forest green eyes narrowed into a glare.

"Oh well," Prussia said. "Maybe you will come to your senses. If it's information you want, it will only cost you a little." He held out his hand expectantly. Curling and uncurling his fingers in the 'give it to me' gesture.

"I am not going to pay you, idiot!" He began to make his way back to his chair. "I don't even care that much," he mumbled to himself. "Can't I get a decent conversation these days?"

Prussia called back to him. "Wait! I was just kidding, 'kay?"

England turned back to him. "Don't so 'kay'. Saying 'kay' isn't proper grammar."

"'kay."

England's migraine was growing worse. "Are you going to embarass me this time?" Prussia shook his head although it was hardly believable. "Now, why is France not here?"

"He is just a bit sick," chimed in Spain from the door. Romano glared at him angrily. America might have been a handful, England thought, but Romano must have been a whole different story. At least young America had his cute moments.

"France will be fine in a couple of days," Spain said.

Prussia nodded. "Yep." Prussia turned to America, ending the conversation between them.

"Are you sure he is okay?" England asked. "There is a saying about how idiots don't catch colds." As far as he knew, France's economy was currently very strong. Bad economy was usually the main cause of a nation getting a cold. That and particularly long wars, anyways.

"Sí. I am absolutely sure mi amigo will be fine," Spain said. "I am just a little worried about Italy."

"What did you say about me?" Italy Romano interjected. "If it was anything about yesterday then I swear-"

"Necesitas estar mas tranquilo, mi tomate petite. I was talking about Italia Veneziano."

"You better have been," South Italy said with a scowl. He sat against the wall and huffed.

"What is wrong with Veneziano?" England asked. He searched the room for the familiar copper curl. He found it where he expected, by Germany and Japan. They seemed to be talking, but he couldn't exactly tell from his position.

"He seems a bit depressed due to his big brother being sick."

"What?" Romano began again.

Spain turned and gave Romano a soft smile. "Veneziano considers France his big brother too, tomate," he cut him off. England was grateful that he only called Romano "tomato". He imagined it would be awkward if your nickname was a fruit.

"Anyways, you should go talk to him, England."

"Hmm... You know our relationship really isn't the best, right?" They rarely talked other than greeting eachother.

"You are his big brother's friend. I am sure any sort of support from you would be great," Spain said. "If something is wrong with Italy, then we know it must be serious."

England nodded his head. "That's true, but me and France aren't really friends either," England said. He had been fighting France to death since birth. What about that made them seem like friends? It was completely normal to have the name of your enemy to be echoing endlessly through your head, always wanting to form into spoken words.

Spain frowned. "France seems to be quite friendly to you. Maybe if we all just came together and ate some tomatos then we could all come to understand each other." He then proceeded to beam happily. He snatched a tomato out of the angry Italian's arms and handed it to England. "Go."

Spain pushed England toward Italy Veneziano's direction then turned to deal with Romano's yelling. England stumbled forward before catching himself.

He walked up to Italy. Veneziano had his head down as he was looking through a magazine. He pulled himself up as he noticed England's shadow falling over the pages.

"Hello, Italy," England said with a nervous smile.

"Oh, Ciao. Were you needing something?" Italy looked a bit confused as to why England would address him.

"I just wanted to see... umm... So what is that magazine about? Is it a cooking magazine?" Italy always seemed to be talking about food whenever they did have that rare conversation.

"No. It is a gardening magazine that Mrs. Leichtenstien sent to me. It was kind of hard for her to do with Switzerland watching her 24/7, but it all worked out." Italy held the magazine up to England for him to see. On the cover there was a picture of the Keukenhof garden in Netherlands. England laughed at the thought of Netherlands gardening.

"Is something funny?" Italy asked him. He opened his honey brown eyes just a little.

"No. Nothing at all," England said. The only word that he could think of when he saw that glimpse of honey brown was 'drained'.

"Okay." He said calmly. The Italy he knew would start a riot before being calm.

"Do you like gardening?"

"Not particularly," Italy replied.

"Then why did Mrs. Leichtenstien go through the trouble of getting that to you? Isn't that just a little... well, too troublesome?"

Italy flinched at the last word and looked down. "Well, I don't really know. I was thinking of gardening tomorrow to relax before the festivities of this month start. There's always a lot happening this month, you know."

"My country also celebrates alot this month. The Great British Beer Festival will be in a couple of days. How about I help you out tommorow?" Oh god, the social anxiety was killing him.

Italy looked a bit unsure. "It's a sunday. I will have church tomorrow morning."

"My boss wants me to attend church too. Can I come afterwards?"

"Well, it's the first sunday... and umm... Tomorrow is kind of..." Italy trailed off and looked back down to a picture mixed zinnia in his magazine.

"Is something wrong?" England asked him.

"No. I think tomorrow might be okay. Come over at two pm. Just remember the time change."

"If you don't want me to come over, I won't."

"No. I really do want you to come over." Italy looked up at him. "Okay?"

Author Note: Other than Italy, I hope none of the characters were too OOC. Italy's OOCness is related to the plot, so just go along with it. Oh- and a hint: the date is important. Please review!