I came home today more or less bruised and beaten. It's hard being an empire. If anybody says otherwise, they're lying. And it's not just the conquering battles either. It's all those little rebellions and uprisings too. Which, in retrospect, tend to not be little at all.

Though I have been doing pretty well for myself. Not that I'm bragging or anything. Besides, I'm still young. Compared to those like the Ancient Roman Empire. I can't really measure my worth at such a young age. I still have a long way to go before I ressurect the greatness that is the Holy Roman Empire.

...

This is not a diary. As I have stated before, diaries are for girls. Like Italy and Hungary. I wouldn't be surprise if they had diaries. But I am a boy. I write in journals. I should only record my adventures, logging details of the lands I have seen and conquered. Still... I am also not one for talk. There's not many people I can confide in. And it's not as if other people will read this. Diaries and Journals do share a common trait. They are both private affairs.

Therefore, I must confess...

I...really don't care much for land or power. I am quite satisfied where I am now. I-I just want to be here. With Italy. Spending my days in comfort and serenity. Though I know I will not always feel like this. Feelings--nations change. But for now. Living with her, knowing that she is within my protection. I am more than satisfied.

I don't need anything else. I just want her by my side.

...

I got off track, didn't I? What was I talking about again? Oh, yes.

I returned home rather wounded. Nothing too serious. I few cuts, maybe a sprain. Not a big deal. Until Italy saw me. To be more specific, she came strolling by while Hungary bandaged my scrapes. Apparently, she had been ditching her chores. In other words, avoiding Austria's attention. She had been looking for something to paint with and stumbled into the kitchen. Where Hungary and I were. The moment she laid her eyes on me, she started panicking.

She bombarded me with questions. "Are you okay? Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts. Can I do anything?" So on and so forth.

Before I could say anything, Hungary answered for me. That woman had the strangest gleam in her eye. She stated that I could certainly use Italy's help. Then promptly pulled the little girl aside for "advice". I sat watching in confusion, with building tension, as the woman whispered in Italy's ear. I swear to you, that woman was wearing a smirk as dark as hell. It frightening quite frankly.

Once they were done talking, it was to my shock that she left. Mind you, I could've easily fixed myself up and she was only helping because... Well, she can be very persuasive. Motherly instincts and all. So it was strange that she was leaving when she offered to help in the first place. I was very, very confused. That is, until Italy reached out to me. I nearly forgot she was there.

For all the singing and whining she does, Italy can get pretty quiet.

She smiled to me that smile. And I turned red. I felt my ears burning with embarassment as the blush spread to the roots of my hair. That caused me to feel even more embarassed, thus turning my skin color a darkening my blush. Italy wondered if I was developing a fever.

She placed her hand on my forehead. Checking to see if I felt a little warm. Her touch, of course, caused me to turn crimson. Which only served to prove that I was sick. And I wasn't. (well, I'm lovesick--But that doesn't really count!!) Italy then noticed a small cut on my temple. I hadn't even realized of its existence until... until... Italy dropped a feather light kiss on the wound.

"Holy Roman is always being nice to me. So, I wanted to be nice to Holy Roman too." She had whispered as she pulled away.

Oh god. Her lips felt soft with a satin-like texture. Unlike anything I had ever felt. Her close proximity allowed me to inhale her own unique scent. A combination of soap and wild flowers.

The assault on my senses caused my brain to fry. Her scent, her touch. I barely listened to her as she began apologizing. My expression must've been a sight. I must've looked angry to her. She probably thought she was in trouble as she began to explain that Hungary told her to do it. That the woman had instructed her, telling her that this was the best first aid. But I could only snatch so much of that. My mind still on her kiss. My temple had tingled with the memory of her lips. Lips that had trembled as they rushed to state excuses.

The fact that I was thinking of her lips in such a way, fried my already overloaded brain. I grew flustered. So I lashed out. I had all but yelled. "Don't you have some chores to do? Shouldn't you be sweeping the courtyard?!"

Italy ran out of the room crying.

I am. The most. Horrible person in the world.

God, I'm worse than France.