It's your 16th birthday, and you actually can't sit still. You, Hungary and Ukraine are going out to an underage nightclub party to celebrate. You take one last look at your miniskirt, heels and tee, then grab your bag and head downstairs. DING DONG! You're met with the sound of the doorbell. Surprised that anyone could be at the door at this time, you open it. There stand your loveable best friends, Spain, France and Prussia. "Hey guys! I'm really sorry, I was just going-" You start, but France interrupts. "Oui, oui, bien sur!" He exclaims, sweeping back his hair. Yes, yes, of course. You translate in your head, angry with yourself for finding them all so hot. "You were just coming vith us!" Continues Prussia, grinning all over his pale face. You start to protest, but Spain grabs your wrist and chucks you over his shoulder. "Come on, mi amor!" You shriek at them-something about molesting and paedophilia-but they already have you in the car.

Later on during the drive, you finally calm down enough to ask "Where are we going?" "Oh, just somevhere." Gilbert winks. Francis turns around in his seat-Spain's driving. "Somwhere zhat is almost as wonderful as us." He adds slyly. You cross your arms and legs, and ignore them all. You're so angry that they're wrecking your birthday, you can hardly think straight. Finally, you pull up at- "Francis' place? Really?" You say. Spain grabs your hand. "Trust us, chica." You unwillingly allow yourself to be dragged along, and wait as Francis unlocks the door. "Voila." He says, sweeping it open. You gasp. In front of you is the best scene you could have hoped for. The room is taken up by flashing lights and loud music. There are ribbons and glitter everywhere, and best of all, in the middle of the dancefloor are Hungary and Ukraine. "Zhere you are!" Elizaveta runs up to you. "Vhelcome to your birthday party!"

The night passes in a blur of excitement, dancing and drinking away the hours with your friends. The tables in the corners are groaning with international food and drink, and the music is a mix of all the different cultures. You're everywhere, chatting with Japan, dancing with Italy, having drinking contests with England. (You lose.) And you're so caught up in the excitement of it all, you barely notice when America turns down the volume of the music. "Okay, folks!" He yells into a random microphone. "It's time for the highlight of the evening, the Seven Minutes in Heaven!" There are cheers from everywhere, except for England, Austria, Japan... well, there are a few who don't look so happy. America grabs Canada and Russia onto the stage, and shoves a baseball cap, pen and paper at Canada. "Okay, Canadia! You get everyone's names into a hat, and Russia, you can... be creepy at people if they refuse!" Russia nods happily, and you have to stifle a grin. China's face looks murderous.

A few minutes later, the congregation quiets down and you find yourself being pushed into line next to Germany and Romano. They both nod at you, scowl at each other, and look away. You are suddenly nervous. What if you get France? Or worse- Your train of thought is interrupted by America's shouting. "Guys, it's time! Who wants to pick first?" You're not surprised when France volunteers. He reaches a hand into the cap, and pulls out a scrap of paper. "Canada!" He shouts. "Canada buries his head in his hands, but Francis grins evilly. The closet door closes. Not seven but nine minutes later, they come out again-well, Francis walks, Canada looks like he can't stand up. He may be crying. Next to get chosen is Hungary, who helps Canada into the closet with her. (Austria and Prussia both look mutinous). You hear a lot of talking from inside, a sign that it's probably not heaven for them.

Hungary picks Russia, who then picks China. The game continues smoothly (albeit with a lot of laughter) until Francis picks you. You just about die inside. You, and HIM! Why him?

You catch England giving you an encouraging smile (A small part of your brain wonders how he can still be upright after all the vodka he's drunk) as the closet door closes. Your heart starts thumping wildly. Francis is your friend. He is not-his face is coming closer. You start to hyperventilate. "Je t'aime..." He whispers. Suddenly, you snap out of it. "Francis, I really like you, but I haven't made my decision yet. I can't..." He cuts you off with his lips.

Seven and a half minutes later, you are finally let out, a little lightheaded but fully clothed. You are just about to sit down in relief when you realise you still have to pick a person. Prussia waves the cap at you menacingly, and Hungary smiles at you from behind him. Some friends. You think grumpily. You reach into the cap and pull out a piece of paper. Your heart is racing again as you unfold the scrap and read...

Prussia- Ch.2

Spain-3

France-4

UK-5

US-6

China-7

Japan-8

Canada-9

Austria-10

Germany-11

Italy-12

Romano-13

Russia-14