"We always thought you'd be first!" That was what they always said.

It was definitely true the first time someone had said it. It was Spain, and there wasn't anyone who heard him that disagreed. And he hadn't been saying it only about the two of them; he had named a few more people who he thought would have gotten on with it before Romano and himself. America had laughed then, still under the impression that everyone was joking, trying to make fun of his gullibility or England's stubbornness. He had found out that night that it wasn't a joke.

Apparently Japan had found something out that night too, because only a few weeks later he had been the next one to say that line, and then once again a year after that. America had wondered if he had really meant it, because he and Greece had always been so obviously close, and Greece had always been chasing after Japan that it was inevitable. But he had just brushed it off and gone back to England, to save him from further alcohol poisoning, as well as from the very eager hands of France.

Over the years – the many, many years – the phrase had been repeated more times than either of them could count on their own. Each time it had lost meaning exponentially, and eventually it just became a joke between them, the same way that "idiot" and "old man" became terms of endearment.

It was only when Italy had said it, smiling the biggest smile of his entire life, that it really hit America how much each person had really meant it.

He had said it almost privately – Germany was being dragged onto the dance floor by Prussia, who, wearing a dress, insisted that as his only family he would have to do the honors of a "mother-son dance" for Germany. Italy hadn't been subjected to any such torture, and had been conversing with America, who was waiting for England to get their presents from the hotel.

"This is a really nice wedding."

"Thank you!" Italy beamed. "France helped us with it. He said he'd make it perfect, and he kept his promise, I think."

"Yeah, it's really awesome!" America leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He wouldn't have to worry about Italy becoming a bridezilla or something like that. "I was really surprised when I got the invitation; I never thought you guys would actually get around to it."

"Ve, we always thought you'd be first!"

"Yeah, yeah." America laughed.

"No, really! I didn't think Germany would ever ask me to marry him again."

"Whaaa? Again?"

"Oh," Italy blushed. "Yeah. He asked me… a really long time ago, by mistake. He thought we were dating and we weren't, really… It's a long story." He nodded. "But I always thought that, even if everyone else beat you and England, at least we would be after you! But we weren't, so… Well, it doesn't matter. As long as you're happy!"

"Yeah, well…"

"…You are happy, aren't you?"

America stared. Italy had a quizzical look on his face that seemed to contrast wildly with the atmosphere around him.

"America?"

He smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm happy."

"Tell the truth."

America sighed. "Okay, it's like this; England's always been there for me, y'know? He's always made it about what I want, the whole time we've been together. I don't know why. I used to think it had something to do with the Revolution, back at the very beginning, but I know it's not. So… I want him to ask me. I want it to be what he wants."

"America…"

"It's not that I don't want to marry him. I'm really… pretty neutral on it. I don't have to marry him. I don't have some burning need to marry him to keep myself alive or anything. I would be totally happy the way things are now." He hesitated. "But, I guess, if he asked me… I mean, I wouldn't say no…"

"So you do want to marry him."

America shrugged. "It's not totally out of the question."

Italy nodded. "That's now I felt, too. Germany made everything about me, and ever since he met me he's been helping me so much. I knew he'd take forever to finally ask me to marry him, and I really wanted to. But I waited, and he did ask, and sooner than I expected." He was back to smiling. "So, you just wait! He'll ask you soon enough! In fact, there he is now!" Italy pointed over to the gift table by the door. England was trying to find a place to put their gift; he eventually settled on putting the tiny box behind a much larger one and pushing the large one in the way.

"He got back much faster than I expected," Italy commented. "Didn't he walk to the hotel?"

"Yeah." America smirked. "I'll see 'ya later!"

"Good luck!"

"Heh, yeah." He went over to England and, with a surprise that he would never have achieved in any quieter of an atmosphere than that one, he hugged England from behind. England jumped in his arms, then relaxed when he realized he wasn't being groped by France, who hadn't stopped his habit even after his own (extremely surprising) wedding.

"Hello, America."

"Hey."

"Do you think they'll like the car?" he asked sarcastically.

America laughed. "I still can't believe you got them one of those. You paid, what, two million Euros?"

"Idiot. I don't pay in Euros."

"Pounds. Whatever. Point is, I bet I owe you a lot of money."

"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it." He turned around in America's arms and hugged him.

America pulled away. "What? Fuck, Iggy, you paid two million pounds. I'm not gonna just sit back and watch you spend that much money on a wedding gift."

"Jesus, America, it's not like I spent the whole treasury or anything --"

"That money could go to education or something!"

"You agreed to it."

"Only 'cause I thought you'd let me pay you back!"

England shook his head. "I'm not having this conversation with you, America."

"Then what conversation are you having?"

England scowled and grabbed America's arm, pulling him across the room. When America tried to protest, England said decisively, "Outside, now."

America didn't argue with the order, and just followed England, their hands swinging between them. They reached the open doors to the balcony. A breeze blew the curtains around, still warm during the summer night. America opened his mouth to ask why they were outside when England shoved a box under his nose.

"Fuck, don't tell me you got me one, too--" The box was the same size as the one they had used for the key.

"No, you idiot. I'm asking you to marry me."

"Oh. Um." America was at a loss for words. Had Italy and England secretly been plotting together?

"Well? Are you going to or not?"

America moved his eyes from the box to England. He was looking away, out to the Mediterranean Sea visible from the balcony. He was blushing, and looked more nervous than America had seen him since World War Two.

England sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "Alright, then." He moved his arm back slightly and started to turn.

America grabbed his wrist. "Yes."

"Pardon?"

"Yes. Fuck yes." He took the box from England's hand and extracted the ring. It was a simple silver band, a stark contrast to the expensive, nearly antique car England had just driven over to the wedding.

"Ah – it has 'Our Special Relationship' engraved on the inside…"

America smiled. "So you did believe me when I said the Relationship never died."

"Of course. We were still together."

"Yeah." America slid the ring on. "Well, Italy was right."

"Hm?"

"He said you'd ask me soon. And you did. I should probably tell him."

"No, let him be. He's probably left with Germany already, if he's anything like his brother."

"True, that." He smirked. "You wanna ditch?"

"Nothing would make me happier."