Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: You already guessed it – America has made his appearance!~ Why would he be hanging out in Spain? Could it have something to do with Lovi's upcoming visit to England?
…
Of course.^^

A/n2: I really, really hope you'll like "my" America… and I also hope you keep in mind that this is a work of fiction. I mean, there is a possibility that I didn't put America down the way some of you might had wanted me to – since I'm not American… and since I've never written him before, so… well, bear with me! ^^;;; After all, I don't want to insult anybody…
Also – the tourists are European, NOT American (probably because I've never seen an American tourist in my life before). But boy, judging by your responses on the last chapter, I do wonder what American tourists are like! XDDDD

A/n3: LOL, I have at least three nursery rhymes as titles for my chapters right now… ah, I should feel ashamed, but I don't want to. XDDDD BTW, the song I have as chapter-title looks a lot like the song "Hoofd, Schouders, Knie en Teen" (Head, Shoulders, Knee and Toe) I know from my younger days.^^ Ah, I loved that song… and the little dance that was part of it as well!~

** Bottoms-Up! **

Chapter XXXIV:

Forehead, Eyes, Cheeks, Nose, Mouth and Chin
(Nursery Rhyme)

Anyway.

As Antonio and I walked closer to the group of tourists, we noticed it indeed was no one other than that fucking dickhead America, standing in between the flabby fatties with one arm draped around Piscasso's famous work of art while the other one was raised up high. His hand (predictably) showed the famous V-sign and there was this huge grin on his face that would have scared the shit out of me if it hadn't been America who was smiling that grin.

Psssh. Hell, I was scared of pretty much the whole wide world, but not of him.

…

I was strange, wasn't I? 'Cause I probably should be scared of him.

…

But I wasn't. Peppy persons weren't scary. Not even when they had enough power to destroy the world.

…

I really was fucking strange. Damn.

'Okay! Stand back everybody! Say cheese, mister Jones!' some shapeless fatass wielding a camera suddenly exclaimed – and all of the other shapeless fatasses quickly backed off, giggling and chuckling the way all tourists do when they are excited.

'AMERICAN BRICK CHEESE!' America immediately yelled, making some startled birds fly away, and winked at the camera.

Click!~

…

Okay…

Antonio and I stopped approaching them and observed the cheering bunch of losers from a safe distance, wondering what to do. Well, at least I was.

'What the hell is that burger-eating bastard doing in Spain, besides dissing wonderful pieces of Spanish art with his overweighed friends? Shit, I ought to hit that asshole…' I heard myself grumble, putting my hands in my pockets.

'Ah… who knows?' Antonio shrugged and gave me a friendly, sideway glance.

I hated it when he did than since I loved it when he did that, so I blushed brightly and quickly turned my face away from him, kicking a pebble.

'D-don't flirt with me in public, dammit.'

He laughed softly. 'I'm not flirting…'

'You're always fucking flirting, you bastard.'

'Can I hold your hand?~'

…

W-what the flying fuck?

I immediately looked up at him and shoved a finger in his face.

'Y-you sneaky asshole, you're doing it again! Stop it!'

Antonio seemed to be genuinely confused and squeezed on eye shut when my feisty finger almost poked it out.

'Hmm? I was just asking if I could hold your hand, Lovino… Something wrong with that?'

'You… I… um, no, but… ngh—' I gritted my teeth and flushed, slowly pulling my hand back, '…w-why would you ask that now, you…you moron… I mean, shit, your timing is awful…'

He cocked his head and pouted.

'Awful timing? Ah… silly Lovi, this hasn't got anything to do with timing. We're in Spain, my love – there is no such thing as "timing" here, we just go with the flow, do whatever what feels right!~'

'That… that actually makes so much sense, it almost scares me.' I realized – out loud.

'It does?'

'Oh yes. I even get the feeling that I might understand you and your fucked-up ways a little bit better now. Is that wrong? Should I be worried?'

Man, my (default) sarcasm-mode was on fire today.

But Antonio wasn't offended or anything: he just chuckled lightly and shuffled closer to me, his hand brushing mine.

'Ah, the only thing you should be doing is opening your hand for me, Lovi – I can't hold it like this.'

He carefully ran a teasing finger over some of my own, making me forget all about my saucy comments and feel all giddy and tingly inside instead.

I swallowed a lump and gave in to his playful flirtations, nodding. 'A-alright then… sheesh… w-whatever…'

Eventually (yeah – it took some time), I relaxed my fingers and let Antonio's hand completely cover mine, my heart fluttering when I felt how he softly intertwined our fingers together.

'Thank you…' Antonio whispered and beamed another cheerful smile at me, rubbing his thumb over some of my trapped fingers.

'Y-you're welcome…' I muttered back and did the same to his fingers, only a bit more hesitantly.

U-ugh…

Damn bastard always grabbed every single opportunity to charm and sweet-talk me… I-I mean, not even a garden full of tourists and that dumbass America fucking around could prevent him from… from appreciating me, d-dammit…

The Spaniard sighed gently and turned my face back to his with the lightest of touches when I tried to observe the tourists again, obviously wanting me to look at him, only at him, just a little longer.

'Ah… this is nice, isn't it, my love…'

'I-it is.' I admitted, eyelids getting heavier as Antonio leaned towards me and cast a shadow over my face… and then… and then…

'Making out in a garden full of unknown people who can watch you do just that. Wow, really? You guys sure are kinky.'

…

…

GAH!

xXx

I snapped my head to the side (ouch!) and violently jerked my hand away from Antonio's the second I realized America was (suddenly, out of the fucking blue!) standing riiiiight in front of us, chewing down some big, brown cookies as he watched us amusedly.

As for me, I wasn't amused at all.

'W-What the HELL, you bastard! Don't go sneaking up on us like that, you creep!' I shrieked, pushing a very disappointed Antonio backwards.

'I wasn't sneaking up on you, Older Brother of Italy – I just wanted to say hi to you guys!' America said, his big blue eyes shiny and annoying the crap out of me, and pushed the bag of cookies back in his jacket, '…but hey, how was I supposed to know you two were smooching from that distance? I have bad eyesight, don't you know.'

'You're wearing glasses! They should be improving your damn eyesight, especially from that distance!' I snarled, '…and… and don't fucking call me "Older Brother of Italy", you ass! I have a name too!'

'Well, anyway, you sure have a nice little garden here, Spain!' America said, turning to Antonio and completely ignoring my angry huffs and puffs.

Antonio didn't like America very much, but forced himself to smile at him anyway. 'You like my garden? Ah, thank you.'

'Yeah! Really nice with the freaky statues and sculptures and all. Artsy. Yup, I like that. Artsy stuff and all. Makes me think of… um, things.' The blond guy nodded absentmindedly – and then he yawned.

Yes! YAWNED!

A little vein popped up on a rather annoyed Antonio's forehead, and his smile became even faker – not to mention scarier.

'You disturbed our romantic moment.' he told America.

'Hey, did you know I went to your country by bus?' America grinned, unaware of Antonio's growing creepiness, pointing a finger up to the sky as if he wanted to say the fucking bus came from the freaking sky, '…I think the name of the bus company was Arriva or something! Yeah, it was totally awesome! We departed from London and then we went all around these cute little countries of Europe to pick up other very random people on our way to Spain, who are now my friends! All of them!'

'All of them?' I repeated.

'Haha! Yes! All of them! Too bad I've forgotten most of their names, though.' America mused, tapping a finger against his chin as a tubby woman waved at him.

'Wait for it... it's on the tip of my tongue... the very tip of my tongue...'

…

Antonio and I… just… just stared at him and didn't know what to say. Also, my hand was feeling uncomfortably empty.

'America.' Antonio all of a sudden said, voice stern and irritated while the smile was still plastered on his face, '…what are you doing here?'

America looked at him with a blank expression, as if he had stupidly forgotten why he had come here in the first place. But he couldn't fool me – I could tell he knew perfectly well why he was visiting Spain, since he kept giving me small, mysterious glances.

I blinked when I saw that. Huh?

'What I'm doing here? Well… um, I've come here to give you some… tourists, Spain!' America then said, making a big "tadaaah!~"-gesture with his arms wide open.

'You still disturbed our romantic moment.' Antonio smiled.

'So… so you… came to give him tourists.' I repeated America, keeping a close eye on Antonio('s vein) and gripping the hem of his shirt – just in case.

'Yeah!' America nodded, once again conveniently ignorant of the awkward ambiance.

'Those people aren't American tourists, though.' I pointed out, looking at the happy, photographing hippo's behind the American, '…you told so yourself – they're Europeans.'

'No! I mean, yes! That's true! But some of them have family in America! I think.' He frowned.

'Yeah, well… oh, never mind, dammit…' I rolled my eyes. Douchebag.

Then I remembered something.

'By the way, America, did you just say you departed from London?'

He smiled broadly. 'That's what I said, yes!'

'As in… England's London?'

'Well, as far as I know, none of my Londons have bus companies in Europe. And I have a lot of Londons. Truckloads full of Londons. I might even grow them in my back garden. Yup. So… yeah, I meant Iggy's!'

I raised a brow. 'That means… you were in England this morning, America?'

America looked surprised and laughed. 'Damn, they were right about you, Older Brother of Italy – you are shockingly rude! That's a lot of private information you're asking for, you Italian pervert!'

My jaw dropped. 'Wha—?'

'But if you really want to know, yes. I totally was in England this morning. Haha! God, you're so dirty, Older Brother of Italy! Who would have thought!'

'No, you don't understand, I-I really didn't mean that kind of… ugh…'

I slapped the palms of my hands into my face – foolishly releasing Antonio's shirt in the process.

'No, it's okay!' America continued in the meantime, '…Please! Be as pervy as you want! At least now I know for sure I'm nowhere near that English prude anymore!'

And then, Antonio suddenly laughed.

But not just a laugh. Nooo, it was the friendly, careless kind of laugh you wanted to run away from really really FUCKING FAST.

'Ah, America. First you disturb our romantic moment with those tourist-people and your face, then you make useless comments concerning a certain~ nation whose limbs I'd like to snap off with my teeth…'

He turned around.

'Ahahaha… That's it!~ Time to fetch my halberd!~'

Whoa, whoa!

'No! No halberd-fetching! Fuck the fucking halberd, dammit!' I snarled, alarmed, pulling him back and grabbing one of his hands steadfastly.

Luckily, Antonio immediately seemed to calm down and looked down to our joined hands in surprise.

'A-ah?...'

'You're staying right here! Got it? Here!' I insisted with a hiss, blood rushing to my cheeks as I bore my eyes into his, '…am I clear to you, darling?'

WHAT.

…

FUCK.

Antonio seemed to paralyze, right on the spot. At least I know I did.

'N-no, no! A-Antonio! I meant to say Antonio, Antonio!' I sputtered hasty – no, hysterically, trying to save some of my long-lost virgini— n-no, dignity, dammit.

It was no use though – the Spaniard's face was already oozing fucking goddamn happiness.

…

…w-well, I guess… I guess that was kind of nice to see, maybe… so… y-yeah…

'L-Lovino…' Antonio cooed, looking even more flawle— GAH I mean stupid (all those fucking slips of the tongue – looks like not only my sarcasm was on fire today, dammit) than usual as a real, honest smile slowly appeared on his sinfully handsome face.

'…ah… calling me darling again… and saying my human name so many times… and even outside of the bedroom… I-I feel like I'm flying…~'

'I'm bored.' America said.

He was effectively ignored.

Antonio took a better hold of my hand, chuckling as he watched me grumbling and groaning and mentally killing myself from embarrassment.

'Alright, alright… I get it. I'll behave, my love. Okay?~ Easy now.'

'G-go to hell!' I weakly head-butted his chest.

'I tried once.' He clacked his tongue. 'They don't want me back down there, though.'

I glared angrily up at him.

'What?'

'Hmm?~'

Antonio tried to keep a straight face, but he still looked like he was about to burst into laughter. Fortunately (for him), he managed to keep his fucking trap shut.

'Man, I'm so bored, I'm gonna cry.' America remarked again.

'Y-you fucked-up moron…' I mumbled to Antonio, vengefully ignoring America – yeah, that'll teach the bumbling bastard to call me "Older Brother of Italy" all the time, dammit – as I head-butted the Spaniard's chest again… but a bit harder this time.

'Ouch, Lovi!' Antonio made a face.

'S-shut up. If you think you're funny, you—'

'Ah, yes, I know, I know… that wasn't funny at all. Sorry, Lovino…'

He laughed, carefully brushing some of my hair out of my face to kiss me on the side of it.

'Bastard…' I breathed quietly, but didn't do anything to prevent him from pressing soft, apologetic kisses on my face.

It felt good. So warm and cozy and—

'Oh, come on! Give me a break already!' America then exclaimed in disbelieve, all of a sudden standing a lot closer to us than he did before, '…look, if wanted to see two blushing homo's acting all lovey-dovey around each other, I would've watched some more boring English porn this morning, okay!'

Antonio looked up in mild annoyance.

'Oh, that's right – the loud guy! Ahahaha!~ He's still here.'

I instantly kicked him against the shin. 'Watch it, nutcase.'

'Oh. Wondering if I'm even still here, huh? Yeah, you bet I'm still here!' The American huffed (yes, he actually huffed, complete with puffy cheeks and hands planted in his sides and all), '…and hey, I've got some news for you two – even though you are really getting on my nerves with your simmering Mediterranean hotness, or whatever it is, I still won't leave until I've gotten some damn answers already!'

What the… I felt a big fat piece of anger building up in me in high speed and so I growled, pushing Antonio off me again (b-but I kept his hand safely in mine).

'You want some answers? You fucking bastard, what kind of questions do you even have, dammit! I didn't hear them!'

'I got lots of them, though!' America said.

'No you don't! You just said you came here to drop off some fat freaks, not to… to ask freaking questions!'

'Hey! Don't talk about my BFF's like that! They're just big-boned!'

'Oh, go fuck yourself!'

'You go fuck yourself!'

'Grrr!'

'GRRR!'

…

Yeah.

We could probably go on for hours like this.

And Antonio must have realized that, because he suddenly let go of my hand.

'…ahaha… right, I really don't have the energy for this…'

…hm?

xXx

'Antonio? You okay?' I asked worriedly, for a moment distracted from the American (who was now sticking out his tongue at me – oooh, I was so going to flip that fucking asshole off later for that, yeah, I'd show him and his tongue, dammit).

Antonio gave a weak laugh to my surprised/startled/pissed-off face, gently patting me on the head.

'Ah, yes, I feel fine! You know, just a bit… drained. From all of this. So if you don't mind, Lovi, I'm going inside to open up some windows for some fresh air… oh, and I'll call the others to tell them I'm back home again…'

…

The "others" = the Big Three = France the Fuckface, Prussia the Albino-freak and Belgium the… Belgian.

Just so you know.

'Opening windows and calling weirdoes. Definitely sounds like a plan.' I said, grumbling softly as the Spaniard playfully ruffled my hair, '…yeah, you should go do all of that. But… u-um, do me a favor and go to bed after that. I think you need to take a break.'

Antonio nodded and beamed a small smile at me.

'Okay, Lovi.'

'J-just to make sure your fever doesn't come back all of a sudden, dammit.'

'Ah, don't you worry about that.'

'H-hmmn.' I experimentally nibbled on my upper lip. 'I… I might be joining you in about a few minutes. Might.'

'Really?' Antonio blushed. 'That would be great, my love…'

'Y-yeah. N-now… just go already, dammit…'

'Sure!~ But first…'

Antonio grabbed my shoulders and moved his face closer to my own.

'Kiss?~'

…

'What… u-um… um…'

I didn't know if I should kick and/or smack him for such an intimate question or start giggling and/or bashfully fiddle my shirt, so I just let out a strangled groan and nervously turned to the American next to me, as if he could tell me what was the best thing to do.

America had just taken out another brownie (probably because of yet another sudden attack of acute boredom) and snorted.

'Oh no, please, take your time. Eat each other's face, for all I care. Just ignore me, your (by the way very important) guest, fine by me.'

"You're not our guest, you fucking hobo!" I wanted to shout back at him, but didn't, since Antonio was getting impatient and squeezed my shoulders.

'Kiss, Lovi?~'

I pouted and glared at him for what I was worth, but in the end, I still gave in and leaned forwards a bit, eyes closed firmly when I pecked him on the lips.

Peck.

'T-there. Happy now?' I grouched, quickly shoving the way too enthusiastic bastard back as soon as our mouths separated.

He grinned. 'Ah, yes! Happy as the sun, Lovi!'

'That sure is happy.'

'I know!'

'Go to your House already, bastard.'

'I will!'

'Good.'

'Well… um, I'll see you later then?~'

'…y-yes.'

'Great!~'

'…'

'…'

'…the hell are you waiting for now, you jerk…'

'…um, about that kiss, Lovi…'

'What about it?'

'Can I have another one?~'

'…g-goddammit, Antonio…'

xXx

Um.

…

…

Yeah…

I think yet another 30 minutes passed before Antonio finally started walking to his/our/like-hell-I-cared-it-was-also-mine-or-not House, leaving me alone with bruised lips and a tall, blond, brownie-munching American, who, yes, was still there, apparently waiting for "some damn answers".

His "friends" were also still sneaking around. God, if those large assholes had the guts to mess up the garden, I'd kill them barefooted. Handed. Whatever worked best for me.

And then, America opened his yap.

'Man, about time that wacky Spaniard went back to the House! Haha! Oh, I thought he would never leave!'

…

The fuck?

'Hey!' I nagged, furrowing my brows when I looked at him, '…shut the hell up about him, you ass! He's sick and shit – go easy on him!'

'Oh, he's sick, alright.' America nodded calmly, folding his arms behind his head.

I very dramatically pointed to my middle-finger.

'Don't let me give you the one-finger salute again, bastard!'

'God, you're so mean.' America remarked with a sigh, '…you know, you kind of remind me of Iggy – you two are almost alike, except you're smaller and a bit more childish.'

'Says you!'

America raised an eyebrow and grinned. 'Maybe a lot more childish.'

'Shut up!' I squawked, voice rather high-pitched, '…just tell me what the hell you're doing here in Spain already!'

America's eyes seemed to grow bigger. 'Um—'

'Because no way I'm buying that cute "coming-to-bring-you-tourists"-crap you came up with!'

'You didn't? Aww. And here I was, thinking I had come up with the perfect plan…'

He pouted, but then shrugged, already over the failure of his so-called "perfect" plan.

'Oh well, it wasn't meant to fool you anyway – just Spain. So I guess I can reveal the real reason of my visit now.'

'About fucking time.' I grumbled, and hoped I was doing a good job at hiding my anxious curiosity – because damn, I had just discovered he really had come to Spain in order to look me up.

…

Why the fuck would he (want to) do that?

xXx

America and I decided to walk over to one of the many stone benches in Antonio's garden to sit down on it – because no matter what kind of problems there were, it was always a good thing to sit down first.

…

…or so America said.

And so, we did. We sat down and observed the peacefully photographing tourists (didn't those people ever get bored or something?) for a short while, until the American rubbed his hands together and slapped them down on his knees, as if he wanted to say "and now I'm going to tell you something important!" or something along those lines... and so I gave him a look.

'Anytime you're ready, America.'

He smiled broadly. 'I'mready!'

Hyperactive moron. I rolled my eyes. 'Great. Fire away, then.'

'Okay… hold on a minute…' He cleared his throat and stretched out his already long legs, nonchalantly leaning an arm on the backside of the bench. After that, he glanced at me.

'First of all – I know of your plan. You know, to top that psycho-killer boyfriend of yours.'

I didn't even flinch. On the contrary – I just handwaved it away.

'Oh, that. Yeah, I'm not surprised you do. My exciting trip throughout Europe seems to keep the whole damn continent awake at night, so why not you Americans as well?'

America tore his slightly bewildered face away from two friendly-looking, but extremely fat women frolicking around – in skirts – and seemed to be astonished.

'Everybody knows?'

'Yeah, I think so.'

'Even Spain?'

'Heh.' I smirked and shook my head. 'Antonio knows fuck.'

'Wow, that's weird. Are you sure he doesn't know?' the blonde said.

'Yes, totally sure! I don't understand it either – I think he should have been aware of my plan by now, but nope, he's still as clueless as ever.'

'You're probaby not the brighest star in the sky either.'

I shot an angry look at him. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I'm just saying.' America continued, '…but anyway, I know of your plan because Iggy told me. And Iggy got it from the Netherlands – I think he told him when the both of them were complaining to each other about Iceland, something about bursting ice-volcanoes and ashy mist and stuff like that…'

I twisted my lips awkwardly and cursed under my breath. Of course he told that English fucker. I mean, come on, this wasn't the first time that that fucking pothead had spilled the beans without my say-so, dammit…

'It really is a very good plan of yours, you know?' America said, no trace of mockery in his tone.

At that, I found myself at a loss of words and just eyed him wearily. God. America was the first who had actually said it was a good plan. Wow – freaky.

America's tone of voice now suddenly became stern.

'I'm serious! Hearing out all of Spain's dominating bedpartners to find out how to do it yourself – it's kind of brave. Not everybody would be that determined to look high and low for a solution for a problem like that.'

'Um.' I dropped my eyes and rested my gaze on my fumbling fingers. '…it's not like… there's really a problem with… Antonio topping me and all. I-it's not that I dislike it or anything… it's just… I'd like to be on top for once.'

…

What, expected me to blush while saying it? Fuck you, I've said it so many times already, I just didn't feel like blushing at that anymore!

'I get it.' America nodded patiently, taking out the bag of cookies of his pocket, '…you just want to experience what he experiences. But you're not sure how to do it – so you go ask other nations! Brownie?'

'No, thanks.' I bent my mouth in a stiff smile.

'Next week, it's Iggy's turn to attempt to inspire you, right?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh.'

America suddenly became unsettling quiet. Even his way of stuffing his face with icky chocolate, brick-shaped cookies.

'Something wrong with that?' I frowned.

'Actually, yes.' America said, swallowing bits of brownie and flicking the remaining crumbles off his pants and sleeves, '…no offense, but it's almost like you don't know what Iggy—England had done to Spain in the past.'

My heart automatically tightened in my chest and I licked my lips.

O-of... of course I knew about... that. W-well, not everything, but enough to realize it wasn't… it wasn't nice, this thing that had happened in the past…

Antonio… had never told me the story about him and England and their rebellious pirating days. He always changed the subject whenever the painful memories were about to cut through his mind again during a conversation, or he laughed it off, or told me he had forgotten all about it – while flushing his damn ears off, because he knew he was lying to me. And Antonio didn't like lying to me. That's why he almost always failed at doing it.

Almost always.

'You look like you know what I mean – your face is as white as a sheet.' America pointed out, a concerned smile on his face.

'N-no shit, dumbass…' I growled, not even wondering why my heart seemed to throb in my throat all of a sudden, '…I-I care about that fucking bastard. I… don't want him to feel unhappy. I want to make him as happy as possible, d-dammit…'

'Really now? And you think that you, visiting Spain's (former?) enemy, will make Spain happy? You think he wants that?' the American asked, snappy.

I…

I involuntary thought back to the day Antonio discovered I was planning to visit the Netherlands. It had been a long time since the last I had seen the Spaniard that pissed-off… god, and the stupid fight that followed… and then I found him back on my doorstep… and then his fever became worse…

'I know, dammit… I-I know won't make him happy with visiting England,' I heard myself mumble, '…b-but I have to go. I want to go to England, no matter what.'

America's face was unreadable.

'Man.' He shook his head. '…I understand not being able to top your lover can be frustrating and I know Spain wasn't much better than him back then, but god, you're even willing to hear England's advice? The nation that hurt him that badly? Just to be able to turn the tables in bed?'

I pulled up my legs and scowled, wrapping my arms around my knees.

'It's none of your business.'

'None of my business?' America spat, abruptly standing up from the bench, '…you think Spain and England's past is none of my business?'

I didn't respond.

'You're not the only one who's in love with a guy who has experienced more hell in his life than the both of our lives two combined, Romano! I'm dating the other piece of shit!'

Despite myself, I smiled a bit. Heh… looks like the fucker did know my name after all.

'Want to know why I'm here? Here's the reason: to stop you! One way or the other! God, I firstly thought even you would be reasonable enough to understand why letting you and Iggy meet up with each other would be a stupid idea, but apparently, I was wrong.'

I still didn't say anything.

America took a deep breath.

'It doesn't matter – I won't let you hurt our lovers! I won't allow you to ask for some fucking sex-tips from a man who has been miserable for over the last few weeks, just because he was dumb enough to agree in meeting with you! And I also won't let you hurt that traumatized Spaniard of yours, either! For God's sake, just leave them be!'

I hid my face in my knees and pretended to be unaware of America's angry, accusing eyes.

But I couldn't care less.

Because no way I was going to tell that meddling American that I was only planning to ask England for some damn explanations already. About his past. Antonio's past. Spain's past.

That was all I wanted to ask.

And since Antonio wasn't going to tell me, there was just one last option left for me – ask the nation who had a similar past.

Which was England.

…

Really, really selfish of me to go that far, only to get some answers, I know. Hell, I just realized just that, dammit.

That's why America wouldn't get it anyway: he'd rather ignore his lover's dark side in order to be able to be around with him, to "leave him be".

I didn't want that.

I just wanted to understand Antonio.

Especially his dark side.

And England would help me with that.

Just like all those other countries I had visited had helped me.

…

…wait a minute...

I thought about the last few sentences.

…

Understanding Antonio...

...was... was that the real goal of my...

...

...c-crap, now I'm confused, dammit...