South Italy did not like it when anyone, especially fellow Nations, were to walk into his room of hopes and dreams without explicit permission. It was his sanctuary, the only place in the entire world where he could be himself and just laze about without running the risk of getting yelled at. If someone wanted to get into this specific room, his room, they would have to schedule an appointment, batter down his door, or—

Or walk into his room like they owned the place.

"What the—" Romano fell off his couch and scrambled into a standing position. The curls that were nestled close to his scalp appeared frazzled and frizzy due to inactivity and the heat of midday. It also gave the impression that he didn't keep himself well kept—a major faux pas considering that both personifications of Italy were playing host to some European Nations. "Who told you to come here? This is my room and I'm in the process of cleaning!"

"Ah." A slow blink and a torturously long yawn. "I can see…that you've been…very busy."

Greece, although he could be quite alert if he wanted, made a show of slowly stumbling forward. His destination was quite clear: Romano's worn couch.

Despite his apprehension, the Italian allowed his sleepy visitor to settle himself within the cushions. He may have been startled to the point of red-faced embarrassment, but he still had some modicum of politeness about him. If his brother downstairs was too busy to play host, then Romano would have to pick up the slack.

That didn't necessarily mean that he would have to enjoy it.

Romano crossed the room and sat in an adjacent chair, mindful of keeping himself a fair distance away from a marble bust of some old emperor that Rome had idolized.

"You must truly…appreciate—" another yawn "—the history…that has been left to you."

"Ah, really?" Romano leaned back in his chair and propped his chin against the back of his hand. His eyes were hidden under a half-lidded expression. Just what was his neighbor to the south getting at? "This is all some old stuff I had lying around."

Greece blinked. "Donating. Have you thought about donating some of these artifacts to a museum?"

Only younger Nations would have gaped at the sudden clarity in Greece's words and the quick lilt of his words. Instead of musing on the sudden interest, Romano really thought about the Nation's suggestion. It was true: Romano did have a lot of stuff and it would be considered prudent and practical to just dump the majority (or all) of his old belongings into some dusty museum out there. Someone would gain some kind of academic joy of observing the dusty old things in a glass case instead of tripping over it in his house.

Truthfully, Romano did think about donating in the past. Numerous times, in fact. However, there was just something holding him back. Perhaps it was sentiment—of losing something that was never his in the first place, but his grandfather's. Perhaps it was pride—who else but he could have the honor of holding onto his grandfather's legacy with such willingness and devotion? Or perhaps—

Romano shrugged. "I'm too lazy to lug anything around in this heat. Give me a few decades to clean things up. History curators can wait."

Greece, already in the throes of sleep, simply nodded his head.

"You're a...slob."

The Italian huffed; his cheeks blossomed a dusty rose before he turned his face away from the slumbering Greek.

"Whatever. No one invited you here anyway."