Meanwhile, America lay on top of a winded Switzerland.

Lay being an overstatement, considering that he was promptly kicked off. America blinked from the floor at the gun pointed at his nose.

"What do you think you're doing", growled the man standing above him, grip on the pistol tightening. It was a simple M57 automatic assault rifle, nothing fancy, but still guaranteed to blow his head off at such a close range. He wouldn't die from it, of course, but it would hurt like hell, and Texas would be complaining for years.

"H-Hey there, Switzerland!"

"What do you think you're doing?", repeated the country, scowling.

"I was just running, see. Going for an evening jog?"

The green-eyed man raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, we haven't hung out in a while, right? How about we catch up. Talk a little?". Alfred gave a weak laugh, plastering his dazzling smile onto his face. His eyes were crossing from looking down the barrel.

Finally, the pistol was withdrawn.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Erm…I was… I was thinking about replacing the M4's in my army with something… you know, a little newer. You like guns, right? Any suggestions?", tried Alfred.

Apparently, he'd chosen a good topic, because the other man's eyes lit up and soon they were chatting about the benefits of the SIG 556 (Switzerland was proud of that one) and what they might mean for Alfred's designs for the Bushmaster ACR.

A few hours later, Alfred felt considerably braver, waving good-night to Switzerland who had said in no uncertain terms that if America tried to follow him into his room, he'd be full of holes. Still, he had lent Alfred his SG 553, which was almost guaranteed to keep him safe, right?

With that thought in mind, America walked down the hallway, vowing to drive whatever unholy forces occupied his room out.

Just as he rounded a corner, something crashed into him. Alfred screamed, whoever he had crashed into screamed and America recognized Spain, dripping red all over the floor.

"Antonio! It got you too?!", yelled Alfred, making to grab the other man in a fireman's lift and carry him to safety. There was no way he was going to let it eat anyone else, no matter how scared he was.

The Spanish man just gave him a strange look before rushing back into the darkness with a cry of "¡basta ya!, Lovi, ya me dispulpé."

There were a few seconds of silence before a high pitched scream resounded from the same direction.

Alfred guessed it was too late for Antonio, shivering and running back the way he came. All he could see on either side of him were closed doors, looming darkly. The scream still ringing in his ears, he feverishly drew a circle on the ground, sitting himself in the middle.

A few minutes later, he drew another, a little to the left. Then another, making a short path for himself. As long as he stayed in the circles, he would be safe, right?

Teeth chattering, Alfred scraped the chalk along the floor, repeating the same motion over and over and over again.

***

Down the hallway, Antonio lay doubled over on the ground, clutching at his vital regions.

"Serves you right, you tomato bastard!", yelled Lovino, launching another tomato at the man.

"I-It was an accident, I swear", gasped the Spanish man, blinking away tears and tomato juice.

"You stupid liar! Don't think I don't know you did it on purpose!"

"Lovi-"

"You are NEVER, EVER to touch my hair, you understand that you stupid-"

"I didn't do it on purpose, Lovi! I was just trying to hug you, you looked so cute-"

"Don't call me cute, you flamenco freak! How dare you go in my room anyways-"

"But Lovino, your room is the one across, that one was mi-"

"I KNOW who's room is whose, don't you dare argue with me!". And with that, Lovino launched another tomato at the poor Spaniard.