Holy shit! MoonClaimed (best beta ever!) told me this story was going to be a hit, but 10 reviews for a single chapter? You blew me away! I might have almost been in tears at some point. You guys are the best.

And now to make you hate me. I haven't exactly written chapter 3 yet, so it might take a bit of time before the next chapter is posted...Don't kill me!

I own nothing.

"America, are you ready to go?" Lovino yelled impatiently.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" America's voice drifted down the stairs.

"Ve~ I'm so excited to take our boy to an Italian opera!" Feliciano chirped.

The sound of a door opening and closing rang through the house before America ran down the stairs, throwing on his bomber jacket. "Ok, dudes, let's go."

Lovino and Feliciano stared at America.

"America," Lovino complained, "I thought we told you to dress nice."

"I am dressed nice. Look, I'm not wearing my ripped jeans."

"But you're still in jeans. And a T-shirt. And fucking sneakers! We can't take you to the opera dressed like that! You'll bring shame to the Vargas name!"

Willfully ignoring the last part of that sentence, America frowned. "But...this is what I always wear."

Feliciano whimpered. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope! I don't really do dress clothes. They're so uncomfortable."

"Well you can't go out like that!" Romano waved his hand at America's ensemble. "Where's your room? We'll find you something to wear. If there's something Italians know, it's fashion."

"Umm...ok...Follow me, I guess..." America led them up the stairs and opened the door to his room.

Lovino and Feliciano made a bee-line for America's closet.

"I really don't think that you'll find much, though. I never wear suits or anything. I used to have one England gave me, but that was like 300 years ago..."

"T-shirt, T-shirt, T-shirt..." Lovino paused as he found a solitary blue button up shirt, wrinkled and lightly stained. "What the fuck kind of closet is this?"

"Ve, what are we going to do, fratello?" Feliciano said, biting his lip. "We can't go to the opera unless America is dressed properly!"

America crossed his arms over his chest, cheeks puffed out in a pout. "I really don't get what's wrong with the clothes I'm wearing..."

Lovino slapped him. "Don't you ever say that again! Fucking England teaching our boy it's alright not to care about his appearance..." Lovino sighed. "We have no choice. We'll have to go the night after tomorrow instead."

America frowned, not even bothering to rub his cheek-the Italies really were weak. "I don't think I'm going to have a chance to go shopping before we go..."

"Ve, don't worry, we'll take care of it!"

"Man, what a long day," America sighed, walking though through the door and throwing his jacket on the couch.

"America? Is that you?" Romano asked, moving into America's view.

"Romano? What are you – why are you – how did you get in my house?"

Romano stared blankly at America. "I'm South Italy. I know people."

"People?"

"People."

"What kind of people?"

"…Seriously?"

"Yeah," America asked innocently. "Are they like a locksmith or something?"

"Sure…let's go with that. Anyway, Feli and I have a present for you."

"A present?" the younger Nation cheered, all but bouncing. "Really? That's so cool! What is it?"

Lovino smirked. "I can't tell you that, it would ruin the surprise!"

"But…but present…" America pouted.

"It's right upstairs. Come with me and I'll show you," Lovino said.

America smiled widely, practically pushing Lovino out of the way to race up the stairs. Once on top, he quickly threw his door open.

And stared.

"…Who are you?"

"Oh, Alfredo, you're back, ve! This is Mr. Russo. He's going to make you a nice suit!" Feliciano beamed.

"A suit? But why do I need – Did you just call me Alfredo?"

"Si! Alfredo is so much better than Alfred! It's Italian."

"Damn straight it is," Lovino huffed, finally making it into the room.

"But my name's Alfred…And I'm not Italian."

Feliciano gently took America's hand. "I know this is a difficult time for you, but it's ok; we're here for you. We'll get you through this."

"And what better way than with a nice Italian suit? Now come here Alfredo. I need to measure you," Mr. Russo said.

America stared dumfounded at the tailor. "I really don't see how a suit fixes anything."

Lovino gasped. "Alfredo! How could you say such a thing? A good Italian suit can save the world! Now go get measured!" He pushed America to the tailor.

Mr. Russo whipped out a tape measure. "Ok, now hold out your arms."

America did as he was told. "So…where am I supposed to wear this thing?"

"Well you're going to break it in at the opera, but it can be used at many other places," Lovino answered.

"Such as…?"the blond asked skeptically.

"The theater," Lovino said.

"The ballet," Feliciano chimed in.

"Dinner."

"Meetings."

"Church."

"A walk in the park."

"Dates."

"The mall."

"Concerts."

"Dancing."

"Weddings."

"Funerals."

"Basketball games."

"The office."

"The doctor's office."

"Picnics."

"The post office."

"College classes."

"Interviews."

"Uh-huh," America said slowly, looking from one to the other. "…Is there ever a time you don't wear suits?"

"Plenty. Cooking, cleaning, tomato harvesting, beating up Spain…"

"But I'm not going to have to wear suits all the time, right?"

Feliciano frowned. "Of course you are! You're West Italy!"

"West…Italy?"

"Si, you're one of us! And you're across the sea. West Italy," Lovino nodded.

"I think you're a little confused." He gestured to his chest. "I'm America. You know, the hero?"

Feliciano's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Exactly, you're America. And you're our America."

America turned his attention back to Mr. Russo in desperation. "You don't think I'm Italian…do you?"

"You've been misraised, that's for sure," the man muttered before smiling encouragingly, "but I'm sure in time we can straighten you out."

"Now I know how Canada feels…" America sighed.

The Italies watched, tissues in their hands, as Mr. Russo worked on America. "Our little boy is getting his first custom Italian suit…This may be the proudest day in my life," Feliciano sniffled.

"They grow up so fast!" Lovino cried, throwing his face into his brother's chest.

"Ve, are you ready yet, Alfredo?" Feliciano asked.

"I just need a minute to tie my shoes!"

"I wish he'd hurry up," Lovino grumbled. "This is like waiting to see your kid come out in their prom dress…"

"Except Alfredo's not a girl!" He considered that for a moment. "Although I'm sure he would look very pretty in a dress if he wanted to wear one!"

"Ok, I'm coming!" America stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him and slowly descending the stairs. "So…how do I look?"

Feliciano and Lovino gaped at him.

"That bad, huh?" America laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I'll just go and take it off..."

"NO!" The Italies shouted in unison.

"You look magnifico, ve!"

"Handsome."

"Dashing."

"Mature."

"Sophisticated."

"But most of all…"

"You look Italian!" they cried together.

"Uh…thanks, I guess…" America said confusedly.

"Are we ready to go? I don't want to be late," Lovino hummed, eyes still shining proudly.

"I left my phone in my room. Let me just go grab it." America spun on his heel and ran up the stairs.

Or tired to, anyway.

About halfway up he collided into something. Or rather, someone. Lovino and Feliciano froze.

"Hallo America," the silver-haired giant smiled, eyes closed, at his friend.

"Oh, hey Russia! What are you doing here? And can you please start using the front door? You know it freaks me out when you come in from…actually, how did you get in today?" America asked, puzzled.

"Silly America, the front door is no fun. I came in through the window of your second floor bathroom!"

"Oh, ok. Well as long as it was a normal way this time."

"Da! But where do you think you're going? You know we had a…a…" Russia's eyes widened as he opened them for the first time, taking in America in all of his suit porn glory.

"Yeah, sorry about that, dude. The Italies are dragging me to some opera. It was really last minute. I was actually just about to call you. …Is something wrong? You haven't blinked in like 5 minutes."

"D-da," Russia stuttered. "You...you look good," he whispered, blushing.

Lovino's eyes narrowed and he stomped up the stairs, pushing past America and standing on the step below Russia.

"What do you think you're doing, you commie bastard?"

Russia blinked. Was Romano willingly speaking to him? A new friend!

"Hallo little Italies! I am here to see America. We're supposed to go ice skating tonight before you rudely made plans without informing me."

"Don't lie to me." Lovino raged. "You're trying to make a move on my boy. I won't allow it!"

Russia stared in confusion. "Your boy? You mean…" Russia turned to face America, tears welling in his eyes. "You already became one with them?"

"Wha-no! Dude, I would never-"

"That's right you would never, mister." Feliciano raced up the stairs and poked his finger into America's chest several times. "My little Alfredo is not going to go sleeping around."

The Superpower blinked down at the tiny man poking his chest. "I'm not?"

"That's right, you're not. And you," Feliciano seethed, the courage of being an angry big brother bulldozing over his usual fear, "you're trying to corrupt him! But you're not good enough for him. No one is good enough for Alfredo."

"But…we are just going ice-" Russia blinked as he suddenly found himself on America's front porch with the door slammer in his face. "Skating…What just happened?"