Disclaimer: Me? Own Hetalia? bwhahaha kesesesese ohonhonhon fusosososo kolkolkolkol, no.

Well I'll be damn if there ain't be 10 reviews for only 3 chapters. Seriously guys, big thank you for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and reads. Never expected to get over 1 review per chapter.

Warnings: Character death, vulgar humor, human and nation names used, fat piles of fluffy fluff, author joking about the first warning, language, historical inaccuracy, sight molestation

Notes: This chapter is even longer than the last one. O.O You guys are spoiiiiiiiiled~

Spain is not a child molester in this fic, Romano just thinks he is.

I use the French form of Matthew's name, Mathieu, because England has yet to change it from the French form to the English form when Canada became and English colony.

The flashbacks are completely in solid italics and are not in any particular point of view. Personal thoughts/ emphasized words within flash backs are bolded italics. The time period of the flashbacks is early 18th century. Before the 7 years war (1756-1763).

About the name usage, I believe that nations use their human names only if they are really close (such as siblings, close friends, or in a relationship) or if they are in public.

Yojne~

Chapter III, Part 2: Fluffy Cavity-Inducing Chibi Moments

Canada's Point of View

Canada's mind spiraled back through his long history of memories from the foggy beginnings of wearing pelts to the clear decisions of becoming an independent nation. He and Romano never were… Pause.

A very young boy, no older than 7, sat Indian-style on a love seat near a large window overlooking a vast rose garden, the sunlight streaming through the panes of glass highlighting the youth of his pudgy cheeks and blonde curls. The high-quality, French-made white cloth of his dress, because chibis are gender neutral and dresses are easier to make, pooled around his legs. Camouflaged with the cloth was a small, white polar bear gently releasing little Z's into the air.

This is not the first time you would find the boy at this location surrounded by tranquility. Come by anytime earlier in the week and there is a high chance that he would still be here. He is surprised no one has used him as a piece of furniture yet… Kumalupa does not count.

"Ahh, mon petit Mathieu, there you are. You had me worried for a second." A tall blonde, stubble included, flamboyantly waltzed into the sunroom and came to sit down next to his charge. "Although, I should have expected you to be here. You have been so for the past few days! I know my rose gardens are exquisite examples of beauty, but, mon petit, are you feeling well?" Francis placed his slender hand on Mathieu's forehead, checking for any signs of extra heat.

"Oui, papa, I am fine. Thank you for your concern. I simply… j-just like this room? And Kumasano does as well." The young nation scratched the polar bear behind his ear, earning a small noise from the Arctic animal, hoping that his caretaker takes no notice of his discomfort.

"Your temperature feels normal. Ah, if you insist. but, don't be afraid to tell papa if anything is amiss, oui?" Francis placed a plutonic kiss on Mathieu's forehead, as any doting father/older brother would. If they were as flamboyant as our favorite Frenchman.

"Of course, papa."

"Speaking of things that are wrong," he placed a finger on his lips, "would you happen to have seen mon Pierre anywhere? I have a message for him to deliver to Gilbert, but I can not find him anywhere." He turned to the younger, unaware of the nervousness jarring within the younger.

"Oh, u-um. N-N-Non, I ha-have not seen him anywhere." Quickly to change the subject, "don't you have to leave for a meeting soon, eh?"

Oceanic blue eyes lit up, and not from a beautiful woman (or man) like usual. "Ah, yes. I have to go to that silly Rosbif's place. Let us see how much I can annoy mon lapin before he attempts to kill me with his atrocious food, oui." Mathieu let out soft giggles. And because he is a chibi, this does not affect his already hanging masculinity.

"I really must be going, Mathieu. The carriage is already outside awaiting my departure, I believe. I shall be back in a little over weeks time, will you be ok on your own?" Concern for his charge was evident on the taller man's face and voice.

"Oui, you have left me for longer periods of time before, papa. And I am not like England in the kitchen, you did teach me after all." Mathieu gave his caretaker a soft-nerve calming smile along with a compliment and insult to the Frenchman's Northern neighbor.

It worked, as the narcissistic blonde feeds on praise, even if he has to give it to himself.

"But of course you are a fabulous chef; I did teach you the fine art that is French cuisine, non?" He finished his dramatic statement with a flirtatious wink and joints popping slightly as he stood. "Alas, it is time that we parted ways, but fret not. Come next Sunday, we once again can take strolls through the rose gardens. But as of right now, a certain stuffy Englishman beckons me, ohonhonhon."

A rosewood travel trunk packed with non-tacky uniforms waiting by the front door watched as its blonde owners entered the foyer. Francis ran his long fingers through Mathieu's pale hair. "Au revoir, mon petit."

"Au revoir papa." These words were heard by the taller as he, and one of his butlers whom was carrying the heavy trunk as Francis would not be seen doing something as degrading, filed out of the ornate, heavy set rosewood front doors.

Mathieu did not have much time to ponder his newfound freedom as a tapping noise echoed from the sunroom. Excitedly, Mathieu ran back into the sunroom, causing every dust particle to be subjected to his radiating glee. Pierre was at the window, a small scroll attached to his leg. Pierre was finally back after his usual routine trip to Spain, but with a different goal this time. Pierre was… pooping on the window. Eww. The colony sighed and opened the window, allowing the now-relieved white fuzz-ball to enter the airspace of the sunroom. He seated himself on the rosewood desk set against one of the walls of the room.

"Hello Pierre," the colony greeted the bird. Pierre gave his best interpretation of the hello back, coming out more of a 'cheep' instead of a 'hi'. He began to dig into the crackers and water that was pre-set on the desk, waiting to accomplish their life goal of being consumed by a white fluff-ball.

Mathieu carefully took the tiny scroll out of its metal pouch attached to the unknown species of bird's leg, but did not open it. This is it, the first of, hopefully, several. Oh maple, I can't believe we are doing this. If Spain and France found out…

Apprehension shot through Mathieu's nerves as he shakily unrolled the small cream-colored paper, slopping noise in the background via one Pierre, and scanned the small, scratchy, cursive black writing.

Mathieu (this part was crossed off and replaced with) Canada,

That dumb bird-face better have gotten this letter to you safely. But considering you are reading this, then that means one less birdy funeral. Give Pierre an extra cracker for me. To answer your questions, yeah, I am doing fine. However, I sometimes believe Spain is a pedophile considering how affectionate he is. I've heard France is rather affectionate as well. How the hell do you deal with that shit? Anyway, how are you? Other questions: favorite color, red. Favorite food, pizza. Favorite animal, wolf. Have I mentioned these are kind of stupid questions? Favorite activity, pissing Spain off. Favorite place to be, on the cliff seacoasts of Southern Italy. You said your favorite animal is a … polar bear? What the fuck are those? And I have never heard of pancakes either. About to run out of room. Damn it. Expecting your next letter whenever possible. Ciao. –Italia Romano AKA Lovino

P.S. Don't expect me to put 'Dear' or 'Sincerely'. And how the hell was I able to get all this text on this small piece of paper?

Thin, pale lips curved into the largest smile Mathieu has had on his face in sometime. Lovino's idea of 'putting France's bird to better use than just exchanging sex letters between Spain, France, and Prussia, damn it' was a success.

This flashback catalyzed an explosion of other memories. Letters. Tomatoes. Gardens. Thunderstorms. Pranks. Cooking. Human names. "We use to send letters to each other through Pierre, pretty sure Francis still doesn't know we did that. It is all… starting to come back now." The Arctic nation was astounded at how all of this could have fallen into the recesses of his mind. It was pretty ironic, too. Usually other people were the ones to forget him. Now the roles were reversed, with Canada being the forgetter.

"Yeah. And as much as I hate to admit it, that bird-face was really useful. Even if he is a creeper like his owner," Romano imputed, a small frown forming on his face.

Canada was use to the other nations thinking lowly of his first caretaker. You name it, he as heard creeper, dramatic frog, rapist, dumb frog, pervert (though that one is true), fucking frog, flamboyant ass, loose frog, permanently in heat, bastard frog, sleazy harlot, frog face, porn star, frog fucker, priss, floozy frog, pedophile, froggy git, manwhore. He has even heard bitch-tits before, making a jab at the time he stuffed his shirt with grapefruits to look like a woman for free entrance into a bar with the Bad Touch Trio. He pulled it off quite nicely, considering Canada was the one who had to fetch his drunken ass. And even if most of these things about Francis are true, he is not a bad person at heart. He just likes his dick a little too much. Canada does not like it when people judged Francis without seeing his tender moments of non-sex related conditions. Such as the ones they shared when he was Francis' colony, and Canada made a resolve to try to get Romano to see this light. Somebody get him a shooting star.

"What makes you say Pierre is a creeper?" Canada was quite curious about this.

There was a slight pause before he answered, "One time when I was younger, I left Spain's house to go see my fratello. That damn bird-chick thing followed me all the way from Madrid to the Spanish boarder. And we weren't even in fucking France!" The half nation used hand motions to exaggerate his point. He sighed and shook his head, wayward curl of chocolate brown sprouting from the right side of his head dancing.

The blonde had to admit that was a little… unusual (creepy). And one time he swore he saw Pierre sitting on the branch outside of the washroom window while we was using it to clean himself. Ok, I have to give Romano credit for this one. Pierre is a bit of a creeper. "Now that I think about it, Pierre is a little…"

"Fucker?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of sight molester, but that can work too."

He saw it. Canada actually just witnessed, in person, one of the rarest events on this planet. The lips of Romano curved upward slightly, and not in his general smirk, but a genuine smile. It was only a fraction of a second before it was replaced by his default slight-downwards curve-frown. Canada didn't understand why people put gemstones in jewelry when the smile of the man across from him can make any diamond run crying carbon back home to its volcano. It was beautiful. Simple. Not gaudy or obnoxious like Alfred's or Gilbert's, just simple and…Oh God. Canada's inner romantic French side was taking over as he felt blood rush to his cheeks flashing a positive sign he was embarrassed.

The man across from him coughed, a light fall of maple leaves dusting his cheeks. At least he was not the only one embarrassed, but what does he have to be embarrassed about? Please don't tell me he can read my mind… but this is not one of Alfred's movies.

"Sight molestation. I'll have to remember that one. So, how much more freedom do we have till we are once again subjected to the torture of piss-poor speeches at the meeting?"

Taking his actually useful for once iPhone out, the nation reported a little over an hour left. "But speaking of meetings, do you remember the time we first met?" the soft voice of Canada's vocalized his thoughts.

Romano evacuated his mouse of the coffee, excuse him, espresso taking residence there. Apparently questions are the new natural disaster. "Of course, it is not easy to forget seeing France and a little version of him on your doorstep."

"But Spain, you Tomato Bastard, why does it have to be FRANCE of all people? Why not just call the local penitentiary and invite all the convicts over for a party at the dumass' down the street? It is not like there will be a difference in rapeness level!" A lanky 9 or so year old in appearance seethed to the painfully oblivious man before him.

"Aww, Lovi, (don't call me that!) but if we invited the convicts over, then they would eat all the tomatoes!" 'Tomato Bastard' voiced as he placed the large wooden table of wine and other Spanish delicacies, such as churros, for their expected guests. "Besides, Francis is not the only one coming. He is bringing his little colony... umm… ha-ha, I can't seem to remember his… or her name." The sunny like his land, green eyed man sheepishly scratched the back of his head, unaware that he would be passing the habit on. "Do you think you can help me set the table, por favor?" Lovino felt the full force that is Antonio's puppy-dog eyes.

Face palming, Lovino deadpanned, "you completely missed the point. Again. And changed the subject. Again!" He muttered a bastard only available for his ears. None the less, Lovino began moving the cinnamon-covered, deep-fried, goodnesses in stick form to the table. "Besides, didn't you say the colonies name was Canadia or something?"

"Who, Lovi?"

'Lovi' growled at the pet name with all the ferocity he could produce. In other words, it sounded like a Chihuahua somehow got into the room. "Never mind… don't expect me to interact with the Wine Bastard. I will happily be hibernating in my room." The colony finished his task and stalked off to the stairs to do just what he said he would for the rest of the week as France and his colony would be staying for a full. Damn. Week.

"Awww, Lovi, you sure? I'm positive Francis won't be bad!" The optimism pumped through his Spanish veins and voice. Which France would be loosing via severed head by the halberd in Spain's closet if he touches 'Lovi' inappropriately.

"I'm sure," the pissy colony shortly answered, putting the apron attached to his pink maid outfit to good use by using it as a basket for carrying several perfectly ripe tomatoes for his stash up to his cave of solitude from pedophile Spaniards and rapist Frenchman. And perverted Prussians and selfish Austrians. Perhaps he should add mysterious Canadias to that list. "Let me know when they are gone."

Trudging up the stairs to the second floor landing of the vast three story house, Lovino heard a rapping at the chamber door. Quoth the colony, "Fucking Frenchman." However, the brunette was curious as to what the colony looked like; Antonio said he—at least Romano was pretty sure it was a he—was around his age and from the Americas. There were not many nations around his age except for his brother, but that door was out of the question. Fucking prissy-ass Piano Bastard.

He waited on the landing of the second floor, watching as his caretaker opened the heavy, dark-wooden doors to reveal two blonds. That looked like fucking twins. Except one was a miniature of the other, must be Canadia… or was it Canada? The ladder sounded less like Spanish, so decided to go with Canada.

Romano glared at the two intrusions below as Antonio enthusiastically greeted his Northeastern neighbor. He noticed that the other colony seemed to be nervous, fidgeting with his expensive-looking clothing and his blue eyes darting to places. Cheh, but Antonio tends to be overbearing for one the first time you meet with his hug terrorism and shit.

But those blue eyes which were soaking up the details of the Spanish-styled house next darted to the second floor landing, locking onto hazely golden. The blond tilted his head like a puppy. At this point, Lovino realized that his eyes were not blue, but a darker shade of it. More like an indigo. Who the fuck has indigo eyes? And this colony is probably just as perverted as his caretaker.

Instead of giving the other colony a rude gesture, Lovino opted to simply glare and lumber back on into his room. And change out of these ridiculous clothes because he was not wearing this abomination that Spain put him in—against his will—in hopes that he would pick up some of his brother's charm around the Frenchman. Or the Canadian.

"Yeah… When you were glaring at me from the stairs, I thought I did something wrong." Nervously laughing, Canada added, feeling bold, "You know, the way you said it made you sound k-kind of like a creeper. Staring down on the scene like that."

Oh maple-shit. I shouldn't have said that. Now Romano is going to be piss— A flick to the forehead halted his internal panic attack. It didn't hurt, per say, but where the heck did that come from?

"Bastard, I thought we agreed on Pierre being the creeper here." There was the Canadian's answer. Romano used flick. The Mediterranean half nation's tone was playful with a pinch of annoyance. But that annoyance is to be expected when one charges you with the crime of being a creeper.

"E-Eh, he still is. But that was not the memory I was thinking of. We really didn't meet then… I was referring to the vase incident.

The young blonde wandered through the twisting red-wood hallways of the second floor of Spain's house. Lost. All of the hallways look identical with the red design on the rugs and the dark iron candelabras lining the walls. The colony quickly checked his flanks and behind, nerves seeping into his blood. He has been meandering about for well over an hour now with no signs of the other three dwellers. And his quiet voice was of no help.

Sighing, he turned another corner which he has now memorized the looks of. However, this new hallway was different as it contained another colony, dusting a vase so large that he could hide inside of it. Francis said his name was… Romano? Yes, that was it. He was a portion of Italy.

Canada remembered seeing the boy—around his age which is a current rarity—on this floor yesterday morning when he and Francis arrived for a week-long visit. He did not look happy then, nor does he now.

Oh god, what did I do wrong? He was glaring yesterday… I should go apologize. Hopefully that will set things right between us. Plan set, the blonde carefully (as to not scare Romano, causing the vase to tip) and nervously padded along the plush rugs towards the brunette. Passing a stain in the rug on the way.

"E-E-Excuse m-me, Romano?" The name felt foreign on his tongue. Their was no reaction from the asked. But Canada was determined to set things right between him and Romano, he really wanted someone his age to talk to. His brother was off-limits as Francis and England rarely meet up for tea. let alone bringing their charges with them. "Excuse m-me, Romano?" Nothing. He raised his voice. "Italy?" That worked.

"Chigi!" The surprised brunette squealed. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, pointing his feather duster at the blonde as a make-shift cutlass. Even though it was just a duster, which would only be dangerous by being a dangerously pathetic weapon choice in a fight resulting in your maiming, Canada raised his hands in surrender and gawked wide-eyed at the boy before him. "What the fuck do you want Canada Bastard?" Romano barked again, interrupting Canada's mantra of sorries.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm, wait. Y-You know w-who I am?"

Having the vase face the wrath of his duster once again, "That Tomato Bastard told me, but you never answered my question."

Romano was still glowering at the blonde colony, causing his already frazzled nerves to spit-fire more. "I-I'm lost. Do… do y-you think you c-can show me back t-to the first floor? Please?"

"No. I have to finish this dusting or else I'm making dinner."

Canada's face fell, "O-Ok… If I help you clean, will you show me afterwards?" He tilted his head to the right, using his puppy-dog eyes he sometimes uses on Francis for extra sweets.

Romano surprisingly gaped at the other colony. People rarely offer to help him because of his foul attitude, yet, here was some stranger offering it… was this kid stupid? But so far he has yet to try to ravage me, so maybe he really is different from the Wine Bastard… "Surrrrrre," Romano answered, rolling his R, "I can make that deal." Canada was elated that they were making progress.

Romano was about to pass a rag to the blonde, but then he felt it. That bubbling pit of fire that runs through his veins. That cracking of explosion sites within his body. The bane of his existence that causes him so much strife.

Romano's limbs began to spasm, going in all directions. He collided with the floor, the whites of his eyes visible through the slits. Canada took a step back, he was petrified from the scene. Romano looked possessed.

In his episode, one of the limbs of Romano smacked the vase, sending a spray of glass shards across the wooden floor and into the fibers of the rug and a resulting loud crash.

Gathering all the courage he could, Canada stepped into the fray of shattered glass and flailing limbs. He placed a shaking pale hand on Romano's shoulder. "R-Romano? Please, stop!"

And just like that, it stopped. The spasms. The noise. But the worry didn't. Dazed, the Mediterranean colony opened his eyes, expelling the whites of them back into the confines of his head. "Ngh, shit," the olive-skinned boy muttered as he attempted to stand. Canada offered his hand and Romano, or once, accepted the help without remark.

Both colonies surveyed the carnage around them. There was pieces of broken vase half-way down the long corridor, however physics allowed that to happen. In essence, they were screwed. Especially considering France and Spain were now exchanging glances from the slayed vase to their charges. Spain was the first to recover, "Awww, Roma, I really liked that vase too. I wanted you to dust, not break it." Romano winked at his disappointed tone and his use of Roma instead of Lovi. Even if he despises the nickname.

Opening his mouth to defend himself, Romano was about to rebuttal when Canada beat him to the punch.

"It was me!" Six eyes of three different shades turned towards the shorter blond. "I-I mean… I w-was the one who kn-knocked the vase over." Canada lied, face flush from the sudden attention. Eyes downcast to focus on that stain from earlier.

"Oh, mon petit, how could you have done something like this? It is not like you. Mon ami Antonio, please forgive Mathieu for he is not being himself!" France dramatically placed his hand over his center of l'amour in mock hurt. The other hand slyly creeping down to dat ass of Spain.

"Oh, it is fine mi amigo! Besides, with that blush, Matteo looks like a tomato~" Spain pinched Canada's chubby cheek. The ones on his face (perverts). "But Lovi, can you clean this up, por favor? Afterward, we can all have cena!" No wonder Romano has such a short temper with how he has to deal with that much obliviousness, Canada thought.

"Mathieu, I would love for you to assist little Romano as well. Antonio and moi are going to go prepare dinner." France had a look that said 'I'll whine at you later.'

"Ok papa and Spain."

Everyone turned to Romano, who had been silent this entire time with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. "… fine, whatever. Just fuck off and go start dinner, damn it." The two elder nations left, leaving the two youngsters to their task.

Canada bent down to begin damage control of the murdered vase, when a soft voice from the usually louder brunette broke his concentration. "Why did you do that?"

Canada glanced over to the other colony. He was peering at him as if the answer was written on his face. "I… I don't know." And he truly didn't.

"Don't know!" Romano exploded. Canada flinched at the banshee voice. Shit, I don't want to scare him, Romano thought to himself. Pulling the viciousness out of his voice, "What I mean is…" Romano scratched the back of his head. (It already spread!) "Fuck! Never mind, I'll go get a box we can put this shit in." Returning a few minutes later with a tough paper box and broom, Romano found all the shards already in one large pile of Mt. Brokensville. "Damn. Are you some type of cleaning fairy?"

This time it was Canada's turn to be surprised. "O-Oh. You came back," he relieved.

"And why the hell wouldn't I?"

"I-I just thought… that you would leave… the cleaning task to me," the blonde glumly confessed his inner thoughts.

The brunette knelt down next to the indigo-eyed boy and began—carefully as to not cut himself—picking up pieces of vase and throwing them into the box. "Bastard." Romano's tone was not snappy like those turtles of Spain, "I said I would help clean up so I will do so, damn it."

After that deceleration, the only sound between the two colonies was of glass being abusively thrown into a box. When Canada tossed the last piece in, "I think I covered for you because I didn't like seeing you upset," he gently stated. "I don't get to interact with a lot of people, Romano, and I really just want us to get along because we are the only two nations around the same age with caretakers who actually get along." The confessing colony drew his knees close to his chest for some pseudo-protection from the painful emotions. Tears began to form in his large eyes, causing them to gain a glassy quality. "Most people ignore me. Or just not notice me, and I don't understand why." Little drops of melancholy started to fall from his indigo eyes causing streaks to form on his face.

S-Shit! I don't know how to comfort people. What would Antonio do? Wait, what he does rarely makes me feel better… Romano mulled over possibilities for a few more seconds until he just decided to follow his gut instinct.

Romano placed one of his darker hands on the other colony's shoulder, as Canada did for him earlier during his dark time. "H-Hey, quit moping, you look pathetic… and… your not being ignored or unnoticed or none of that shit right now. Want to know why?" Canada turned to face his comforter. Romano took this as his sign to continue, "because I am here right now talking to you, not some stupid block of air. All of those other people can go fuck themselves. And… you can call me Lovino… if you want. But not Lovi or any of that stupid shit or I'll stab you with a fucking spoon!"

Wide-eyed Canada started at Romano… No Lovino, unbelieving this was happening. Within a split second, he was hugging Lovino with the force of a hungry Kumajirou. "Thank you Lovino, merci beaucoup." He released the flailing brunette with a large, genuine smile. "And you can call me Mathieu."

What Mathieu didn't know was that Lovino made a promise to himself that he wouldn't forget Mathieu permanently. Temporarily, perhaps, as the blonde seems to have some type of anti-remembering aura. But never for good. Romano knows from personal experience with Nonno Rome what it is like to be left behind and ignored. He felt protective of the blonde and didn't want him to have to deal with that shit.

What Lovino didn't know was that he has just lifted the dark curtain that had been draped over the blonde's life. Lovino made Mathieu feel wanted. He gave Mathieu a sense of reality instead of the clouded meaninglessness there was before. This feeling would transcend for a long time.

What neither of the colonies knew was Spain and France clanking wine glasses together around the corner, congratulating each other on a plan-well-done.

Silence fell between the two nations, both unwilling to break the serenity. Because that would fall under the crime of disturbing the peace. But Romano, being the more likely of the two to end up in jail (and has before, but luckily being tight with the government has its perks), "When we were picking up those shards, did you have a sickening feeling that someone was watching us?"

"I don't really remember, perhaps it was the dust bunnies? But… is it ok if I start calling you Lovino again?"

Lovino wore a neutral expression but voiced his opinion, "Whatever Matthew, but I still have that spoon." The neutral expression morphed into a smirk.

Matthew laughed. He wished Lovino would join in. Another goal to add to his list. "Say Lovino," the name feeling dusty on his tounge, "What happened to us? Our friendship, I mean?"

"Hmmm, lets make a list shall we? First, that one week you spent in Spain was the only time we were really able to see each other in person."

"Then there was the 7 Years War shortly after. I became an English Colony and Arthur and Spain hate each other."

"Not long after that I had my whole Italian Unification ordeal."

"Then the World Wars."

"So pretty much that fucked up shit called war sums it up quite nicely," Lovino finished.

"Oui. Eh, what time is it?" The café was nearly empty now.

Lovino took out his shitphone and scanned the little black numbers. "It is time for us to get our shit together unless we want Potato Bastard going World War V on our asses. Ten minutes till the meeting restarts."

The nation and a half quickly dispensed their garbage and fled out the exit of the Nostalgia Café. Talk about irony with the name and the events that just took place.

And who would have thought that the whole thing that started this friendship would be a mutilated vase and the thing that rejuvenated it would be a potato mutilations sketchbook. It seems these two have a fetish for mutilated things.

God, I love France. Why do people always kill him during those Truth or Dare fics? Seriously, look in any hole and you will see a dead France in it. :(

Major head-cannon: Romano use to have lots of spasms when he was younger. Italy (the country, not Feli) has several fault lines (which are a major cause of earthquakes) and volcanoes, especially in the Southern half of the country for the faults and volcanoes. This tectonic activity of the land causes the spasms, as the nations are the personification of their land. These random spasms can account for Romano breaking of a lot of stuff when he was younger and less experienced in controlling the movements.

These two are first going to reform a strong friendship which will transfer over into romance. They are not going to be:
Romano: Ciao Canada~
Canada: Hi Romano~
Romano: You're cute, wanna have sex?
Canada: Sure!
Both: *kiss* *moan* *snuggle*
…WTF? I just don't see these two immediately jumping into a relationship. They are both the type of person who are careful about taking chances in the love department and want to be sure of their feelings before doing so.

Soooooo… This fic won't be updated till 2 weeks from now. Gonna begin work on that other fic I mentioned last chapter. :D