Now, I may not have mentioned this before, but I don't live alone. I used to have my own house, but Feli broke in one day. He wanted to make me dinner, and for some reason he didn't notice the fire, and… Let's just say, my house? Gone.

People always ask me, "Why don't you live with your brother?" Well, I did, but I got sick of the pasta-for-every-meal rule and the crying when there was a scary movie on television and the nightly visits from Germany. So I gave Feli my key, packed my bags, and moved in with Spain. Why not? He offered, and hey, I already know my way around from when I was a kid.

So I can't exactly say I'm surprised to see Spain in the living room right when I walk in. Oh, no. What surprises me is something much different.

The characters in the movie he is watching have Italian accents. And not just any Italian accents, either. The smooth, rich accents of Italy's southern half.

I guess maybe that's why I ask, "What are you doing?"

Spain jumps a little at the sudden sound of my voice and turns to look at me, smiling like I'm holding a box of tomatoes in my hand. "Oh, you're home! I didn't notice!" You didn't hear me slam the front door or throw my phone on the table? "Lovi~" he sings, patting the empty seat next to him, "come sit with me."

"I don't want to. Not until you tell me why you're watching Pinocchio."

He smiles and looks back at the television as a group of kids runs towards an amusement park, laughing, although they don't know what could happen to them. "Why not? It's such a cute movie!"

"It's about a wooden boy who lies, runs away, and doesn't listen to adults," I correct him, rolling my eyes. "How is it even remotely 'cute'?" As soon as the question escapes my lips, I regret it. I know what he'll say…

"Because it takes place in Southern Italy~" Spain answers, making a really cheesy and cliché hand-heart. I groan and sit next to him, pushing the hand-heart away and blushing furiously. Spain laughs and drops his hands before adding, "Plus, it's all about dreams coming true!" I scoff quietly—or attempt to, anyway—but he hears me. "What's wrong, Roma? You don't have a dream?"

"Oh, I have dreams," I reply bitterly. "But they don't come true, I know that much."

Spain turns the volume lower as the scene continues on. "Well, they're not going to come true on their own! You have to work for it!"

"What's your dream?" … Merda. Why, Lovino? Why?

He sighs contently and puts an arm around me, pulling me closer. "My dream," Spain murmurs into my hair, "was to always have you by my side. And I worked for it!" He laughs. "I annoyed you until you came back. But I realized I still have to fight to keep you here."

Instead of answering, I stay silent. I, Lovino Vargas… am his dream? "I…" Words? What are those? Who needs "words"? I don't. So I just keep my mouth shut.

"Shh. It's okay, amor. You don't have to say anything." The complete and utter idiot buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Just… stay like this. Find a movie for us to watch."

I admit, it's kind of hard to concentrate with his breath on my skin, but I somehow manage to grab the remote and flip through some channels until I recognize a movie. "H-Hey. Spagna. Look at the movie. It's Spanish…"

I hear a muffled laugh. "It's Puss in Boots, isn't it?"

" … Shut up. Look," I say, pointing to the screen. "He's even got your battle axe."

Spain freezes up next to me. "Roma… change the channel."

I shake my head. "No, no, no. See? The cat… thing was in jail, and he used the guard's battle axe to break out—"

"Lovino." Spain rarely uses my full first name, and I can feel him shaking, so I stop talking and glance at him on my shoulder. "Por favor, mi Lovi… Turn it off."

My heart breaks a little as I slowly turn off the television and throw the remote onto the other couch. Spain looks at me for a second—no way it could've been longer—then sits normally and stares at his lap. "Are… Are you okay?" Instead speaking, he shakes his head. I frown, knowing the answer to my own question. "Hey, hey… What's wrong?"

Silence. Until… "I really messed up, Roma." His voice is barely above a whisper, but I hear him. I always do. "I did horrible things for selfish reasons, and… I wish I could take it all back, but I… I can't…"

"You're not selfish!" I cry out. If he is, then what am I? But Spain only sighs when I say this. "No, amor… You don't understand. I made really bad mistakes—"

"NO." He wants to interrupt me? Well, now it's my turn. I scoot closer to him as I continue, "Listen to me, and listen closely. You didn't make mistakes. Spain did."

He looks at me and frowns. "Am I not Spain?"

"Idiot." I move closer still and try to smile, which isn't as hard as it seems when I think about the friend I'm about to quote. "Spain is where you are. Not who you are. You're Antonio."

Antonio smiles at me. "Gracias, querido… You always make me feel better."

I shrug, trying to ignore how fast my heart is beating. "Well… That is why I'm here, heh…" I want to say something much more intelligent than whatever it is I just said, but he places a warm hand on my cheek and caresses it, muttering something in Spanish.

Then something happens that makes me want to punch someone. Antonio leans forward to kiss me, but he can't—

Because the front door bursts open.

"TOOOOOONNNNNIIIIIII!"

My eyes pop open—when did I close them?—and I feel myself being pushed onto my back. I glare at the Spaniard lying on top of me. "What are you—?!"

"Shh." Antonio covers my mouth with his hand. He stares into my eyes, and I can practically hear what he's thinking: Lie down and stay quiet until they leave. I nod, eyes wide, and glance at the mirror on the opposite wall. I never appreciated that mirror, but now I do; if you're lying on the sofa, you can see who's at the door behind you through the mirror, but they can't see you. So the albino and blonde have no idea we're there.

"Toniiii," the Prussian whines, looking around the foyer and dining room. "Come on out…!"

France places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Mon ami, I don't think Antonio wants to come with us tonight."

Prussia swats his hand away. "Nein! He will go if I have to drag him there!" He cups his hands around his mouth and screams, "TONI! Come onnnn~ The strip club is waiting! Por fa-effing-vor, amigo~?"

Spain smiles and rolls his eyes, appreciating his friend's attempt. I hold back a groan, disgusted at how horrible the language sounds in a German accent. As we stay silent, Prussia yells out and storms into another room, still unable to see us. "I will find that guy…!"

Spain drops his hand from my mouth, so I take the opportunity to whisper, "Not too bright, are they?" He just smiles childishly and replies, "No."

Just as he says it, a pale hand grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him off of me. I jump up as we both look at the Frenchman standing behind the sofa, clutching a handful of Spain's shirt.

"I think we are much smarter than you give us credit for, Antonio," France says, smiling. Prussia walks back in the room with a knowing grin. I stare at the wall and wonder exactly how much it would hurt to slam my head against it.

...

"You forgot about our night out tonight, didn't you?" France asks a few minutes later. He stands in front of us next to Prussia, and Spain and I keep our places on the couch—although I did move a few inches away from him. Or two feet. Maybe three.

Spain frowns. "Night out? Where are we going?"

"My guess is a strip club," I mutter.

Prussia laughs. "Kesesesese~ Nooo. We're only going to the bar!"

I shrug. "With you three, that's just as bad."

"Could I skip tonight? I wanted to stay with Lovi~" Spain flashes a smile in my direction. I roll my eyes.

"Whoa. Toni." Prussia holds up his hands in a "hang on" gesture. "Are you seriously ditching us for that loudmouth Italian?"

I throw my arms in the air. "I'm right here!"

France smiles sadly. "Mon ami, I'm afraid you have to decide. Are you going to come with us or stay with Romano?"

"Just for the record, you know…" Prussia pouts, "we've been planning this all week."

Spain's face drops. "'All week'?" He looks at me, a frown on his usually smiling face, and reaches out to touch me. "Lovi… I'm sorry, but…"

"Don't you dare leave," I snarl, pulling out of his reach.

But to my disgust, Spain stands up and grabs his jacket from France, who walks to the door with Prussia. Spain follows them, but as they walk to the car he turns to me. "Lo siento, amor. I really am so, so sorry."

I slowly look up at him, take a deep breath and whisper, "Andare all'inferno."

He shakes his head, obviously angry with himself, and walks out, shutting the door behind him. I collapse deeper into the sofa and sigh. Stupid idiot. He knows that I hate being alone! And to top it all off, he would rather be with his friends than me!

I hate Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

As I rub my eyes—not that I'm crying or anything—the phone begins to ring loudly. I grab it from the side table and answer, "What?"

"L—Lovi? Is that you?"

I smile when I hear the familiar voice. "Mattie."

"Lovi! It is you! Are you okay?" He sounds so concerned. It makes me feel almost loved.

"I—I'm okay… Could be better," I answer honestly, still buried in the seat.

There's a pause on the other end. "So Papa and Prussia picked up Spain, eh?"

Wait. "How did you—?" I start, but catch myself once I realize it. "You knew this whole time that they were going out, didn't you? That's why you said I'd get heartbroken, because Spain would ditch me."

"Oui, Lovi, that's exactly it, but that's not why I called! Something terrible has happened, eh."

I frown and sit up on the couch, listening closely. "Mattie, what is it?"

My friend takes a deep breath and whispers, "Greece is gone. And Turkey, too."

...

Just a few translations! Well, only one, but... Agh, you get what I mean!

Andare all'inferno (Italian): Go to hell.