Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or related characters.

AN: um.

I've not slept in a couple days, really (thanks to a hectic work schedule), so if there are any mistakes, or if this sucks, please, please tell me. I went through it a few times, but my brain is congee at the moment.

Upon reaching the motorcycle, America stopped and turned around. "So, where are we going?"

"To get you some decent clothes, idiot."

"I got that part," America said, undaunted. "But, where are we going to go to buy them? I'm going to need directions to get there, right?"

Romano pursed his lips, arms crossed. "I-I know that, moron! Just, get on the bike. I'll give you directions while we drive."

"Haha, alrighty then. But first, I've got something for you." America said, reaching into the motorcycle's storage compartment and pulling out a package, which he held out to Romano. Romano regarded it warily.

"...what is it?"

"It's a gift." explained America patiently. "For you. I thought I should get something to thank you, for, well, you know."

Romano continued to stare at the package for a minute, glancing up at America with an unreadable expression before slowly reaching out to take it from his outstretched hand. He held it cautiously, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"I hope you like it," America said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I wasn't sure what to get you, but, I thought about it for a while and, well, it seemed like a good idea. It's custom-made," he added, aware that he was starting to ramble. "I had to call in some favours to get it made in time, but they did a really good job." He rocked a little on the balls of his feet. Romano was just holding the package, looking at it with an expression America still couldn't quite decipher. "Um." America bit his lip. "Are you going to open it?"

Romano looked up at him, and blinked once, slowly, before returning his attention to what he held, carefully peeling back the wrapping and gingerly raising the lid with a fingertip, almost as though he was afraid it might explode if he handled it too roughly. After a moment of waiting, he pulled the lid off and placed it aside. Every movement was slow and deliberate, like he was disarming a bomb instead of unwrapping a present.

Romano stared, stunned and disbelieving, at the object which lay nestled inside. He was almost scared to take it out. Part of him wasn't entirely sure this was real. When was the last time anyone had given him anything? He couldn't remember (sure, Spain brought tomatoes sometimes, but that totally didn't count). Okay, he and Feliciano recieved presents for their birthday, or gifts from nations they had diplomatic relations with, but those were for Italy, not for him, personally. He couldn't recall a single instance where someone had given him a gift that was meant solely for him, Romano. Something that he didn't have to share with Feliciano, or that didn't come with political expectations.

He was a little afraid this was some sort of... hallucination, that if he reached into that package and touched whatever was inside, it'd disappear and he'd have been imagining it all. If he didn't touch it, though, then it wouldn't disappear, and then he could hold on to this moment.

It didn't really matter what it was. It was for him, and that was enough.

America fidgeted a little as he waited for Romano to take out his gift. He was dying to know what the Italian thought of it. But long minutes passed, and Romano wasn't taking it out, but instead just standing there, gripping the package tightly in both hands, unmoving.

America frowned. Was it him, or did Romano look almost...scared?

Maybe he thought it was something dangerous? Stepping forward, he reached out to take it out himself, so he could show Romano that it was safe, and was surprised when Romano shied back, clutching it tightly to his chest, eyes wide. America stepped back quickly, holding up both hands to show he meant no harm. "Woah, hey there."

Romano blinked rapidly a couple of times, then flushed and looked away. "S-sorry, I..."

America chuckled, dropping his hands. "No worries, I didn't mean to startle you. You just...seemed a little out of it, there. You can take it out, you know. It's not dangerous, I promise."

Romano's hands tightened around the package. "I, I didn't think it was." He looked down at the object held tightly in his arms. "Do I have to take it out now? C-cant I open it later?"

"Well," America answered slowly, "you're kind of going to need it. Before we leave, actually."

"O-oh." he hesitated slightly, and slowly reached one hand into the package. Questing fingerips brushed against something smooth, roundish, hard, and still slightly warm from the heat of the motorcycle engine. Something inside him relaxed when it remained solid under his fingertips. "This is really for me, right? Not to share with Feliciano, or anyone else? Just me?" the words escaped him quickly, before he could stop them.

"Yep! Just you." America reassured, slightly mystified by the question. "In fact- well, take it out and you'll see."

Romano's fingers searched the smooth, unyielding surface until they found some sort of lip underneath it that he could grasp, and pulled the object out.

He stared blankly at what he held in his hand. America had gotten him a...motorcycle helmet? He tilted it this way and that, and yes, it was definitely a motorcyle helmet. It was sleek and shiny and black, and surprisingly stylish, but still a motorcycle helmet. He let the empty packaging drop to hold it in both hands, and looked up at America, vaguely confused. "You got me a motorcycle helmet?"

"Yep!" America beamed excitedly, "but, it's not just any helmet!" he added, raising one finger. "I had it specially made! It's scratch resistant, bulletproof, waterproof, and vented so the faceshield won't fog up and it'll stay cool. I had it customized especially for you, too! Like, this part here," he pointed to the front, and after giving America an odd look, Romano looked down to see 'Romano' inscribed in flowing gold script above the faceshield (huh, how had he missed that?), "and, check the back." He obediently turned the helmet around to examine the back. There, a few inches above the base, was a circle of tiny, bright red tomatoes. Inside the circle was his nation's flag, no more than two inches across, and superimposed with a golden capital 'R'. He traced it with his fingers, and blinked.

It was...kind of cute, really.

Weird, but cute.

"You forgot one thing, jackass." he said, as he lifted the helmet with one hand, shifting his weight to his hip and fixing America with a pointed look. "I don't have a motorcyle."

America laughed. "I know! But I do," he answered, grinning. "This way you can wear it everytime we go out. And I won't have to worry about your safety!"

Romano could feel his ears burning red. "Cheh, and who says I'll be going anywhere with you, bastard?" he challenged.

"I do." America flashed him a blinding smile, before donning his own helmet. "Now put that on, we have to find me some clothes, right?"

"You are so weird." Romano mumbled as he slid on his new helmet (partly to hide his blush, which he could feel creeping down his neck). It was surprisingly comfortable.

"It looks good!" America flashed him a thumbs up from where he sat astride his 'bike, starting it up with a roar. "C'mon, get on and we'll go." Romano slid behind him, wrapping his arms loosely around his middle. "Oh." came America's voice in his ear, making him start in surprise, arms tightening reflexively around the other nation."I forgot to mention it, but there's also a speaker system built into these helmets, too, so we can talk without having to shout over the engine. So you can give me directions through your helmet, instead of having to use gestures and stuff!"

Huh, thought Romano. "How do I use it, bastard? Is there a button or something I have to push?" he asked, realizing as he did so the answer to his question.

"Nope," came America's voice again. "Just say something, and it'll pick it up."

"I figured out that much, jerk!" Romano muttered, slightly embarrassed. America just laughed as they took off.

AN: Technically it's fashion, right? I didn't entirely lie, right? Er.

The chapter title is reference to a quote by Marge Pierce. You'll have to look it up for yourself, muahaha.

Don't worry though, Romano *will* dress up America. Soon.