Chapter 10. This 4-day break really is working, see? Already another chapter out. I'm still jealous of those 7-day break jerks though.

Remember, R & R for the next chapter.

Happy news: in compensation for the no-reviews-no-chapter policy, I'm making the chapters longer. Please don't be mad at me anymore! If you weren't before, please don't start being mad! T_T

When Spain opened his eyes he was greeted with the most marvelous view he'd seen since the purple sunset several weeks ago. No, it wasn't the sun peeking out from the clouds to herald a brand new day. No, it wasn't the field full of ripening tomatoes that his bedroom window overlooked. It wasn't even Lovi's peaceful sleeping face lying right beside his, though that was very beautiful too. He let his eyes wander down Romano's body.

Thank goodness for button-up shirts.

Not that the buttons were of much use here. In fact, it was their lack that made the situation rather interesting. A few were undone, exposing the tops of Romano's breasts. Spain stared hungrily at the point where Romano's cleavage disappeared under the white fabric. Only a few infernal plastic knobs stood between him and Ultimate Bliss. The path there would be treacherous, but the payoff was worth it… He snuck his hand over and stealthily popped open the buttons.

He was on the third one when a pair of hazel eyes suddenly snapped open and glared angrily at him.

Spain was in for it now. But he smiled cheerfully and withdrew his hand slowly, as though retreating from a growling dog. "Buenos días, Lovinito," he said.

Romano made a spitting motion at him and turned his back to him. "Pig."

"Aww, but you were pretending to be asleep! That's not fair, Lovi!"

"Go to hell, jerk."

Spain chuckled. "If by 'hell' you mean 'work,' then of course I have to go."

He sat up and peered over the Italian's shoulder but Romano had gathered the blanket over his chest to stop a repeat undressing incident. "Aww, darn…"

Germany woke up the next morning feeling that something was off. He opened his eyes. The spot beside him that was usually occupied by Italy was empty. He placed a hand to the mattress. It was still warm. He snapped to attention when he heard a squeal and a loud thump, followed by a clatter. "Feliciano?" He looked up. Italy was struggling to dress himself. His trousers were clinging to his hips for dear life and his sleeves extended past his hands. He had stepped on his overly long pant legs and fallen into the closet, causing a cascade of coat hangers to rain down on him. "Mein Gott, Feliciano." While Italy struggled with a coat-hook clinging tenaciously to his unbuttoned shirt, Germany got up and made his way over. He pulled Italy up and began adjusting the latter's disheveled clothing. "If you need help you can just ask!"

"Ve…"

He noticed the smaller nation trembling at his touch. "Ah. Sorry," he muttered, hooking the bra and leaving the rest for Italy to do on his own. He chastised himself for not remembering to give Italy some personal space. "I-I'll make breakfast."

Italy watched Germany's retreating back dejectedly. Doitsu never left him with messy attire before…

He smoothed out his oversized clothing as best he could and went downstairs. Germany looked up from his cooking. A strange look crossed his face. He quickly turned back to his work. Italy felt his heart sink. He wasn't imagining things. Doitsu really was avoiding him.

Germany had looked up and seen Feliciano looking at him nervously, his hands clasped together over his chest, a light blush tinting his cheeks pink. Perhaps Feli was self-conscious about his appearance? And for good reason; Germany found himself gawking at the gentle swell of Italy's shirt over his breasts. But no! Feliciano's mind was a fragile thing—he shouldn't be letting weird thoughts run rampant through his mind! He returned to slicing bread, hoping the Italian hadn't noticed his odd reaction.

When Germany was about to set off for work, Italy followed him hesitantly to the door. "D-Doitsu," he said, fidgeting. "U-um, have a nice day." He gave him a quick peck on the cheek and quickly turned to leave. Germany suddenly seized his wrist and pulled him back. He squeaked and glanced fearfully at the taller man.

"Your collar…" Germany reached out to adjust Italy's shirt collar, which was upturned on one end. As gently as he could, Germany smoothed down the starched cloth. He noticed that Feliciano had flinched at the feel of his gloved hand on his neck. "R-right, then. You have a good day too. Don't get into too much trouble, okay?" He picked up his briefcase and left. He was uncertain how the Italian would react to a kiss, so he patted the latter's shoulder instead. "Ich liebe dich."

Italy closed the door after Germany had left. He slumped against the wall, touching a hand to his neck. Doitsu's gesture had seemed so formal and detached. And why hadn't he kissed him goodbye today? Doubt gnawed at him. He straightened up and trudged to the living room, collapsing on the couch with a sad sigh.

"Doitsu…"

Romano swore as his hip crashed into the wall. "God, I hate this…" he grumbled, steadying himself against the kitchen counter. He had really been hoping the turning female thing was only a nightmare, but his man-parts were still missing, weren't they? And to add to his misery, he seemed to have lost his coordination, especially in the lower half of his body. At least the tomato bastard wasn't around to see this. He set his breakfast on the table and lowered himself shakily onto a chair. That last bump had really hurt. No wonder woman always waggled their butts so much. Upright walking just didn't work with all that sideways bulk. He sank his fork into the paella Spain had made for him and was about to dig in when the phone rang.

"Shit!" And he'd just settled down, too.

The phone rang once. Romano remained seated, glowering in the direction of the noise.

Twice.

He felt his fingers shaking. The fork slipped from his hand. He wasn't getting it. No way.

Three times.

He balled his hands into fists, determined not to let that stupid machine get the better of him.

Four times—

"Okay, that's it!" He jumped to his feet, hitting his other hip against the table, and hobbled to the phone. "What the hell do you want?" he snapped into the receiver. Great. Symmetrical bruises. Just what he needed.

"V-ve, Nii-chan?" Italy's voice was small and nervous today, instead of the having the rambunctious tone he usually carried.

"Oh, it's you."

"Nii-chan, I want to be with you… Doitsu left for work. C-can you come over today?"

"Fuck, I told you I'm not going into that potato bastard's house! Even if he's not in it! And besides…" He rubbed his sore hip. Like hell he was walking there in that condition.

"Ve?"

"Never mind. I'm not going over there, and that's that."

"Oh…"

Romano scowled. Feliciano sounded really down. And for some reason he felt, not like pummeling the idiot for being such a crybaby, but like…comforting him. Him. The annoying childish younger brother who'd made him develop an inferiority complex because he was so fucking good at everything and Romano wasn't. Who was so fucking annoying that sometimes he felt like punching that stupid Veneziano in the face. The one who usually needed comforting like a fish needed to drink water. Dio mio, what had happened to him? Before he could sort out his thoughts, he realized he'd already blurted out, "But you can come over, dumbass."

His blood turned to ice as Italy cried, "Ve, okay!"

He slammed the phone down and buried his face in his hands. He'd lost it. He'd officially lost it. Why the hell was he being so darn nice today? And last night… Romano shuddered as he recalled his total lack of resistance. The tomato bastard, true to his word, did indeed teach him how to, um, top, but after that he'd had his way and then this happened and that happened and then √ΨБ ≈ζ βЙĝûﮱĊﮬﮋ ▬╟╖ΨΘ΅ĎﮘủﮪﮣÐﯔﻭ÷ﻩﻄךּfl≠èفقשּׁěפּ۩۔ ợ۞∆▼ ▲ۤۑ۠±è¿½® §¢¡ǿ ▄ШéЭ¥¢ـكلدخ£ª«±é ب θ◊ءط^#╪&^◙░ĩ©Ă%$&*^#%Ħ*$#&صشسزرظعلضײغمذدװת...

Ugh.

He didn't even bother tidying up the house in preparation for Feliciano's visit; the only thing that desperately needed cleaning was Spain's bedroom, and it wasn't as though his brother was going to run upstairs and bury himself in the semen-stained bedsheets… Romano blushed. How the heck did he get back to that subject again? "Fuck!" he screamed. Then realized what he'd said. "Shit!" he swore again, banging his head against the wall. Something had gone seriously wrong with his brain. He was rubbing the bruise forming on his forehead when the doorbell rang. Muttering profanities under his breath, he picked his way carefully across the living room and got to the door without any further mishaps.

"Ve!" Italy greeted, beaming. He held out a large food container. "Nii-chan, I made you pasta!"

"Oh." Romano took it from him, deciding that he wouldn't be sharing it with the tomato bastard.

"I made it with wurst!"

"Oh." On second thought, Spain could have it all.

"Nii-chan~~ Nii-chan~~ I'm so happy you can spend the day with me today!" Italy wrapped his brother in a bone-crushing hug. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Ve?"

"..."

Romano had never felt more molested in his life. "What—the—fuck—are—you—doing?" he growled, wrenching himself from Italy's groping hands.

Italy looked at him uncomfortably. "Nii-chan, you're not wearing a bra?"

Romano's face turned red. "Sh-shut up!"

And so begins Romano's "Shut up!" marathon, next chapter.

By the way, in that line of gibberish and weird squiggles, I hope I didn't accidentally spell out anything rude with the Arabic symbols. I was only going for a visual effect.

Thanks for reading!