Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

America's scenes are translated from Spanish; which is to say, I didn't bother writing them in Spanish because although he is in Spain, with Spaniards, speaking Castellano (or Español, as it pleases you), this is a story written in English, and having most of the dialogue in another language would be confusing, and draw the reader out of the story, which is very poor storytelling indeed. Yes, I could put the translations at the bottom, but unless you only have three or four lines (such as in previous chapters), then you'll very quickly lose the thread of what's going on since you have to continuously scroll down, and back up, and lose your place, and try and remember which line you want the translation for, and really it's just bad business. Yes, I will have actual Spanish when appropriate (such as when America is talking to Theresa offscenes in the phone conversation), so no worries there, there'll be plenty of multilingual!America throughout the story, whenever it won't interfere with flow and comprehension.

"Thanks again for tying my corset, Alfred."

America looked over to where Theresa stood just off-set, pinning her hair up in preparation for the coming scene, and nodded. "No problem."

She flashed him a smile, and returned her attention to her hair, checking it in the mirror. "Who was that ...person who called for you? Francis, was it?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste, carefully positioning a few curls to come loose from her elaborate coif partway through the scene, to add an 'untameable' element to her character's appearance. "He sounded like a pervert."

"He's my uncle." America said absently, scanning the set and noting the cues in red tape on the floor, indicating where Amando should stand. "Well, sort of."

Theresa paused in the act of putting on her earrings. "I'm sorry." She apologized. "Maybe not a pervert, then."

"Oh, no, he's a pervert." He affirmed. "You got that right." She threw back her head and laughed (but carefully, so as not to dislodge her curls before their time).

"You poor boy." She said, observing his hunted look at the director and stagehands, who watched him with a hungry, lacivious light in their eyes, male and female alike. "You're surrounded, aren't you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to cover his front and his backside at the same time. "It's not like this at home."

Her smile widened at his pout and blush, and she shook her head. "It's your own fault, you know. You're not helping yourself by—"

"Alfred!" The director called, striding up to them. America turned, and backed away a few paces when the man stopped a few inches in front of him, staring at his pants. "Alfred," the director said, falsely obsequious, "I don't think you noticed, sweetheart, but you're still wearing your boxers."

"Uh," America shifted, still trying to shield himself. "I thought I could wear them for this scene. Since, y'know, it's going to be mostly closeup shots."

"Alfred." The director smiled in a way that he probably thought was kindly, but was really several degrees closer to sleezy, and placed his hand on America's bare bicep, ignoring the way America flinched under his touch.

"Um," America lowered his head, his blond hair covering his eyes as he spoke to the ground, like a scolded schoolboy, "it's, it's just that...I don't really think that these p-pants are really the best for horse training, and— "

"Alfred, Alfred." The director chuckled, rubbing the arm under his hand and leaning in as though to speak privately, though his voice was loud enough to carry across the set, "You're not here to think, boy, you're here to act. And while you're a superb actor, darling," he smiled, his hand sliding down to rest on America's lower back, "thinking isn't really your strong suit. So why don't you leave the 'thinking' to me, and take them off, there's a good boy." He patted his rear condescendingly, making America start.

"O-okay." America gave in. "I'll, I'll just go and—"

"No," The director shook his head, eyes gleaming as they travelled down Alfred's frame. "you've wasted enough time already. There's no time for you to go back to your room, so you'll have to take it off here."

"But—"

"There's no time for that." Theresa interrupted imperiously, hands on her hips. "We are late as it is. We'll just have to film the scene with his underwear on, and he can remove them when we film the next scene. I'm not waiting around for the idiot to disrobe for a scene that isn't even shot below the waist. Besides," she scoffed, clearly irritated, crimson lip curling slightly, "the little fool takes far too long to tie all those laces. We'd be here all night."

"Well..." The directer frowned, reluctant to lose the opportunity, but unwilling to vex his top star. Besides, she was right, they were on a tight schedule.

Theresa exhaled through her nose, and stepped forward to slide her arm through the directors, pulling him aside. "Look," she said, in the tones of a diva being incredibly patient and reasonable with lesser beings despite her rising temper, "we don't have time for this. But I'll tell you what. Let the kid do this shot in his underwear, and I'll take him aside after the set and have a little talk with him, hm? I'm sure he'll be more..." she smiled brightly, "accommodating after I explain some things to him."

"Ah." Said the director, brightening. "You think— " He cut himself off as she arched a fine brow.

"You doubt me?" She asked archly, still smiling brightly, but somehow the director subconsciously began to have visions of sharks, and tigers, and dangerous things in the dark.

"No, no, Theresa." He said hastily. "Not at all. You're right, of course."

"Now, I know I'm not the director here," Theresa managed to give the impression of tossing her head, without actually having to do so and loosen her carefully arranged curls, "and 'thinking' isn't my job, but I think we should get on with the filming, don't you?"

"O-of course, Theresa." The director spun on his heel, bellowing across the set, "What's everyone standing around for! Take your places! Quiet on set!"

"Thanks, Theresa." America whispered to her in relief as they took their places on set.

"We are going to have that talk after this set, Alfred." Theresa informed him under her breath as he took her in his arms from behind, pressing her back against his chest; and schooling her face into an appropriately 'startled and entraptured' expression for what Catalina was experiencing. "There's some things you need to know if you're doing to make it."

"Okay." He murmured softly behind her ear, burying his nose her hair, a light flush dusting his cheekbones, eyes burning under lowered lashes as Amando was caught up in the passion of the moment, "''f you say so."

"And, ACTION!"

"A-Amando." Catalina gasped, shocked by his sudden proximity, but unable to deny her attraction as she trembled in his strong arms.

"You are...so beautiful, Catalina." Amando murmured into her hair, unconsciously tightening his arms around her. "Something about you is...irresistible."

"Ah! A, Amando," Catalina's breath caught, her head falling back against his shoulder as he nuzzled her neck. A curl spilled from her coif to drape across her right breast, emphasizing the way her chest heaved as she spoke, "you're drunk, it's...it's the wine speaking, ahh!"

"Drunk?" Amando drew his fingers down the side of her face, and her mouth opened reflexively, her cheeks flushing, "Yes, perhaps I am." He wrapped her errant curl around his fingers, drawing them down the length of dark silk, 'til his fingertips brushed the curve of her breast, "But not on wine. On you, Catalina." He closed his eyes, breathing the words against her temple. "You intoxicate me, Catalina. You always have." He pressed soft kisses to her neck, urged on by every moan and gasp of pleasure his touch elicited, the way she trembled against him. "Ever since I first set eyes on you, shining so bright that you rivaled the sun, I knew I would want you, love you, and I do, Catalina, I do."

"Amando, no," Catalina closed her eyes, torn between her conscience and the feelings he was evoking in her, a tear coursing her cheek, "no, please, don't say that, you musn't say that,"

"But it's true, Catalina." Amando slid his fingers under her chin, gently turning her head back to face him, and she opened her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, to gaze into his. "I'm drunk with love for you, Catalina. If you'll allow me to drink of you, taste you, touch you...I'll do anything. I'll be your slave if you ask if of me. I'm already slave to your love." He traced the pad of his thumb across her parted lips, lowering his head to kiss her, "I love—"

"Don't say it!" Catalina turned her head away, her curls slipping loose around her face and neck, crying in earnest now. "Please, Amando, please, I, I can't..."

Amando's eyes flickered, and he paled, appalled at his loss of control. He released her as if she burned, backing away rapidly, leaving her sobbing into her hands several paces away. He made to step forward again when he realised her distress, hand extended in concern, but remembering he had caused it he thought better of it, letting it drop to his side. "I, I'm so sorry." He stammered, turning his own face away in shame. "I, I don't know what came over me. Please..." He paused, swallowing hard, closing his eyes in anguish. "You're right, it was the wine, forget what I said, I'm, I'm not in my right mind." He turned away, his back to her, and turned his head, face a shadowed profile above bare shoulders. His voice trembled. "I...there's no excuse for...I, I cannot hope for forgiveness. I," his voice broke, "I never meant to cause you pain. You're...you're a wonderful woman, Catalina. So...very special. I'm... so sorry." He walked away, Catalina's soft sobs echoing in the silence of the stable.

"Annnd, CUT!"

Theresa lifted her head, brushing her hair back from her face and wiping her tears in a businesslike fashion. America relaxed, running a hand through his hair and looking back at her, waiting for her cue. "I'm taking lunch." She announced, and the director frowned, opening his mouth. She put her hand on her hip, arching her eyebrow. "What, do we need to do another take?" She asked, knowing that it'd been perfect. The director shook his head.

"No. No, you got it in one take, as usual." He admitted begrudgingly, reflecting with a touch of admiration on the advantages to having two actors of their caliber in the cast.

She nodded, once. "Then Alfred and I shall be going to lunch, and you can film the scenes with Frederico and the others in the meantime. You don't mind, do you, 'Rico?" She smiled charmingly at the actor who played Catalina's father, who was playing canasta with some of the stage hands and other actors just off-set. He smiled amiably back, shaking his head. "See? We can film the rest of mine and Alfred's scenes when we get back."

"But, Theresa," The director made to protest, glancing at America's stubbornly boxer-clad rear end, "we were going to—"

"I'm hungry." Theresa shifted her stance, jutting her hip and narrowing her eyes. "You know how I get when I'm hungry."

"O-of course." The director nodded, and glanced over to Alfred again, licking his lips hopefully. "And you and Alfred are going to...?"

"Have a little talk over lunch." Theresa's lips curved up in a cheshire smile. "One actor to another."

The director beamed. "Alright everyone! Take five, and then we'll do scenes 12, and 16 through 18!" He waved Theresa and America off, winking at the star of the show. "You two take as long as you need."

"Oh, we will." Theresa smiled, and turned, sliding her arm through America's. "Come along, Alfred. It's time for lunch."

"Okay!" He nodded, asking hopefully, "Will there be ice cream?"

"If you're a good boy, there just might."

"Yay!"

Theresa leaned her elbow on the table on the balcony of the little cafe where she'd decided to lunch, watching her newest co-star eat his ice cream. He wasn't her co-star yet, technically; Amando being only a background character, but Theresa recognised star-quality when she saw it, and knew it was only a matter of time before he was a major player in the show, if not in the entertainment industry in general. If he was a woman she would most likely have had to have ended him instantly, ruthlessly cut him out of the show and had him blacklisted; she couldn't afford the competition, not this late into her career— she was on top, now, and meant to stay there. But he wasn't, thankfully, and he was too innocent and harmless to be of any real threat to her. Oh, if she was less talented or less capable he might have eclipsed her, easily; he shone so bright; but she was fully capable of shining brilliantly in her own right, and knew it, and knew how to make everyone else know it, too.

Besides, she couldn't help but like Alfred. He was so sweet and naive and adorably idealistic. It was refreshing, but it was going to cause him trouble. Already was. Alfred was a little boy in a man's body, and he didn't know what to do with it, yet. The attention he was getting, the nature of it, made him uncomfortable, unsettled him; and that made him vulnerable. He didn't realise the power he had, or how to use it. But, she might be able to help him, there. Depending on what he was willing to do, and if she could make him understand.

"Alfred," he looked up, curious, and really nobody over the age of ten should look that cute with ice cream on their nose. She couldn't help but smile, melting a little at his stupidity, and reached across to wipe it off with a napkin as she continued, "why are you here? Doing this job. You're obviously not comfortable with it."

"Oh. Well," he looked down at his ice cream, fiddling with the cone, and she couldn't help shaking her head a little in wonder as she watched his face fall, his shoulder slump. It was hard to believe that he could be any good at acting, watching him like this. Alfred the actor was brilliant, but Alfred the man-boy hid nothing, every thought and emotion clearly displayed in face and body, every reaction honest and from the heart. That was going to have to change. At least, in public; or else he would be eaten alive. "my, well...there's this lady who's always been really nice to me. She's, uh, kind of like my mom. She sorta adopted me, y'know. Took me under her wing and stuff. And, well, she's been going through some tough times lately, some health problems and stuff. And, well, she and her daughters love this show. It's their favourite, so when they heard I might be in it they all got really excited. She's really proud of me, and I really don't want to let her down, you know?"

"So you're a mommy's boy, huh?" Theresa teased lightly, fighting a grin. Somehow, that wasn't a surprise. "Is that the only reason you're still here?"

"No," Alfred straightened, and quickly licked the melting ice cream from the rim of his cone before they could dribble onto his hand or other surfaces, getting it all over his nose again as he did so, "I actually really like it! The acting part, I mean. It's really fun and cool! I like becoming Amando. I like figuring out why he's doing the stuff he's doing, and getting into his head and emotions, and making up reasons for them. Like," he leaned forward, eyes lighting excitedly, "how he's really polite to everyone, courteous and helpful and a little flirtatious, but he doesn't really tell anyone anything about himself. He's been at the mansion for a couple of weeks now, and the only thing anyone knows about him is that he's good with horses, and comes from the Americas, and that was back in the season premiere. Amando shows up a lot, and he's always got a joke or a teasing remark, he makes people laugh and smile, but doesn't really get close to anyone. Except the horses." He grinned a little, and Theresa couldn't help grinning back.

"Like someone else we know."

He chuckled, but waved that off. "That's different. I think Amando doesn't want to get close to people, for some reason. I think he uses politeness and flirtation as a way to keep people at bay. To keep them from getting too close."

"You think he's been hurt before?" Theresa asked, interested in his interpretation of the character, and making mental notes for her own portrayal of Caterina.

"Maybe." Alfred tilted his head a little, thinking. "It almost feels like he's protecting something. Or trying to keep from getting attached, or both. I don't know yet." He grinned, leaning his head in his hand. "But I want to keep playing him, and find out. But I think that's why he's so hot and cold around Caterina. He keeps letting her get close, and opening up to her, and they have some tension and a moment, and then he realises what he's doing and pulls away and covers it up with a joke, or by teasing her or somethin'."

"Mm." Theresa nodded, reaching across the table to wipe the ice cream off his nose again. "So you're determined to see it through, then? I mean, you'll stay with the show."

"Of course!" Alfred pumped his fist in a show of determination. "I'm a hero! A hero always sees it through to the end!"

"It's going to be a very short end if you don't change your attitude towards your..." she lifted her eyebrows significantly, "'fans'. And showing skin. And sex."

He blushed, turning his attention to his ice cream, and looked away.

"Don't ignore me, Alfred. I'm very serious, honey."

"I'm not ignoring you." He muttered embarrassedly to his ice cream. "And I don't mind taking off my clothes. Usually. It's just...I don't like the way they keep looking at me here. And, touching me and stuff. Or ..." he lowered his voice further, so she had to strain to hear, "say things about...m-my...me." He faltered, blush deepening.

"Oh, Alfred." Theresa's lips twitched, as she tried to keep from laughing. "You really are hopeless. Are all Americans so naive?"

"I'm not naive." He protested, pouting childishly. "It's just—"

"Alfred." She stated authoritatively, straightening and lifting a finger. "Sex is a tool. And you, my boy, are young to learn to use it."

"What?" He hissed, hunching in embarrassment, face and neck flaming. "I can't do that!"

"Oh yes you can. And you will." Theresa told him. "You're not a person anymore, honey. You're an actor. Sex is what we do." She paused, trying to think of how to explain it so he would understand. "Look at me, for example. Have you noticed that the director and the others don't treat me the same way as you? They don't grope me, or say those things about me, do they? Oh, they still look," she waved a hand dismissively, "but they don't take it further, do they."

"Of course not!" He exclaimed, looking scandalised. "You're a girl! It's one thing if it's me, but you can't do that to girls! That's harassment! That's like, super-wrong! Nobody would let them get away with it!"

She stopped, mouth open. Then, very slowly, she put her face in her hand, eyes screwed shut, and her shoulders started to shake. He leaned forward, concerned.

"Theresa?"

"Oh, Alfred." She laughed helplessly, sliding down in her chair. "Don't ever change, okay?"

"I'll...try not to?" Alfred said, smiling in tentative confusion.

"Oh. Oh." Theresa sighed, dabbing tears of laughter from her eyes with a handkerchief. "America must be a very interesting place. I'll have to visit sometime."

"That would be great! I'll show you around." Alfred beamed, excitement returning. "We can—"

"Later, Alfred, later." She flapped her hand, and took a deep breath, placing her forearms on the table and becoming more serious. "I think I know what we can do." She said, tilting her head consideringly. "I have an idea. Alfred. We're going to create a character."

"For the show?" Alfred asked interestedly.

"No. We are going to create 'Alfred.'" Theresa smiled victoriously.

"But...I'm Alfred." Alfred said, confused again.

"You, are Alfred the man-bo— man. But you are going to become Alfred: the Actor." Theresa gestured expressively. "Alfred the Actor is going to be who you are professionally. You'll be Alfred the Actor on set, in public, at parties, during interviews...anything requiring you to be so. You remember how you said Armando uses his courtesy as a way to keep people at bay?" Alfred nodded hesitantly. "Well, we're going to do something like that. Alfred the Actor is going to be charming, handsome, devastatingly sexy, and completely inaccessible. We're going to build him a history. He's going to have a full backstory. I'll help you spread it. You, as Alfred, are going to use charm, and sex, to keep people at a distance. You see?"

"..I don't really have to have sex though, do I?" Alfred asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"No. But people will think you do. That's the important thing about sex, Alfred." She leaned forward, lifting her finger authoritatively. "When it comes to acting, the promise, the illusion, is far, far more important than the act. Promise, with your eyes, with your expression, with your body language: a glance, a look- the promise of sex. But never, ever follow through." She sat back in her seat, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "The thing to remember about actors, and fans, and anyone connected to this industry... a good story is more important than the truth. Tell them something they'll want to believe, and they will. In fact, just hinting at it is more than enough. What you don't say is just as important, if not more, than what you do." She gestured to her body. "Your body is your tool. All of it. Your eyes, your voice, from your head to your toe, every part of you is your instrument. Use it. Make them see what you want them to see. Believe what you want them to believe. If they look at you a way you don't like, use your body to make them look at you a way you do. But think ahead—" she cautioned, lifting her finger once more, when he opened his mouth to ask a question, and he closed it again to listen, "you could make the director, and the others, stop thinking of you in a sexual fashion. But, it would be best if instead, you changed the way they look at you. Use their desires to get what you want. Make yourself charming, and unattainable, and above all still desirable, and the world is your oyster. You understand?"

"You mean Alfred the Actor's oyster." Alfred corrected, brows furrowing.

"Yes." Theresa smiled, pleased. "Now you've got the idea. Create the character, and step into the role. Take him on. It's not you, Alfred, it's Alfred, the actor. Charming, charismatic, inaccessible."

"Okay. I think I understand." He nodded, gaze turning inward as his brain worked, building a new character, fleshing him out, pulling references from his past. He paused a moment, asking carefully, "But I don't actually have to have sex with anyone."

"Not if you don't want to." Theresa nodded.

"'kay, good." Alfred relaxed a little, relieved. "'Cause I dont think I'd be able to do that. Making love is something you should only do with someone special. Someone you love and care about."

Theresa sighed, settling her chin back in her hand, and lifted her eyebrows at him. "Someday, Alfred, someone's going to drag you into their bed and into their heart, and you won't even see it coming." She said resignedly. "I just really, really hope they're kind."

"Huh?" Alfred cocked his head, not understanding.

"Don't worry about it." She flashed him a smile. "Big sister Theresa will look out for you. Now." She sat up again, placing both hands down on the table. "Let's get started on making you a new man, hm?"

"Okay!" Alfred nodded eagerly. "I think I have some ideas. What do you think of this..."

"Oh, Alfred." Theresa simpered, giggling as she returned to the set on the arm of her fellow actor. "You do go on."

Every eye on set and off swung to view the couple coming into view, seemingly too caught up in each other to notice that they were very nearly back on set already. The two stopped in the low light just off-set, far enough away to appear as though they wanted to converse privately before announcing their return.

"I assure you, Tessa darling, I meant every word." Alfred assured her smoothly, with a charming smile, and lifted her hand to his lips, winking as he pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers, raising several eyebrows on set. Theresa brushed prettily, toying with the ends of her hair.

"I'm so glad we had that little... talk, Alfred." She almost-murmured, low enough so it sounded intimate but loudly enough to carry over the set to dozens of curious ears. "You certainly know how to show a girl a good time. If ever you change your mind about—"

Alfred held up a finger to his lips, smile still charming but now sweet and a little sad, somehow. "Remember, sweetheart, you promised not to tell."

"Of course." Theresa lowered her eyes, placing her hand on his forearm, and leaned forward, gazing up at him through lowered lashes, eyes shining with sympathy. "I won't tell anyone your secret. You have my word."

"I know." Alfred smiled warmly, running a finger down her cheek. "Now, shall we return to the set?"

"I suppose we should." Theresa replied almost-reluctantly, sighing. He flashed a smile, full of promise, that flushed her cheeks and brought a smile to her lips; and they detached from each other, returning to the set. Alfred hung back a moment so Theresa could arrive first, so it would look as though they'd returned separately. Everyone's eyes swung back to what they'd been doing previously, as actors, director and staff pretended that they hadn't been listening or watching intently, and weren't watching now, out of the corners of their eyes or staring outright when they thought they wouldn't be noticed.

Something was different about the boy, the director noted absently, as he moved to greet them. He moved differently. Something... about the way he stood... "Alfred!" He greeted. "I see you've come to your senses about your costume. Good..." Alfred turned, and smiled, and the director stopped. He didn't step back, because he was the director and if you were in his position you'd learned to reflexively hide any sign of weakness, but he didn't come any closer. "...boy."

"Yes." Alfred smiled with an easy confidence, shifting his weight onto one hip and running a hand absently through his hair, "I thought about it, and I realised you're right. We have to give people something to come back for, hm? A bit of a show." Blue eyes and brilliant smile glittered with almost predatorial amusement, and the director felt his pulse race, and his skin flush.

"Ah, yes. Th-that's right. I'm glad you see it my way." The director stammered a response, not really paying attention to what he was saying in lieu of paying detailed attention to his actor's new personality. Alfred had always reminded him a bit of a kitten, his shyness and naive innocence an invitation to touch and fondle and take advantage of. That he became so flustered and uncomfortable only added to the fun. Now, though...

He finds himself thinking of a story someone had told him once, long ago in his youth, a legend about angels falling in love with human women, falling from heaven and walking on the earth; and looking at Alfred now he almost believes it. Alfred could be an angel, shining and powerful- he wouldn't look out of place with a flashing sword and halo. But there's something of the fallen in that easy smile and the twinkle in his eyes, and something in the way he stands and moves speaks of paradise lost. Alfred's standing there silently waiting for his cue, gleaming eyes and easy smile and an expanse of golden skin over muscles that seem to ripple even though he's standing still. He's radiating sexuality and confidence in the megawatt range, causing those nearby flush and fluster and fan themselves surreptitiously against the sudden heat.

The hand he'd raised to fondle the boy unconsciously drops to his side.

You don't touch angels. If you're very lucky, they touch you.

"Well." The director says, a little unsteadily. "When you're ready, then."

"Ready when you are." Alfred nods. "Oh, and director?" He adds, a touch of a tiger's purr in his voice and smile, "I'd like to talk to you after the set." He and Theresa share a glance, and his smile widens when she nods, almost imperceptibly, her own lips curling up. "I have some... ideas for Amando's wardrobe that I think you just. might. like."

"A...alright, Alfred." The director agrees, a little cowed in the sheer presence of these two shining stars. Then he recalls himself, drawing himself up and recovering his authority. He's the director, he has an image to maintain. He nods, once, saying more authoritatively, "After the set. Let's get this scene done first. Quiet on set!"

"Scene 23, take one!"

"And, ACTION!"

The two actors shift, and the mood in the air changes as they visibly slip into character. Suddenly everyone can breathe again; Theresa and Alfred are gone, replaced by Catalina and Amando, in the stables of Catalina's father, where she'd sought him out after Baron Vincente's party, and found him halfway through a bottle of rich wine. Catalina, beautifully disheveled in her fine gown, and guilty and confused, torn between her undeniable attraction for Amando and her faithfulness to her dead lover, sobs into her hands as Amando, overwhelmed with guilt at his behaviour and loss of self-control under the influence of wine and Catalina, walks away, shoulders straight, shaking fists clenched at his sides.

"Amando." Catalina turns, calling after him in tones of dawning realisation, her musical voice trembling with tears, and Amando stops, turning his head a little, but not turning around, "...Why is it when you say 'sorry'...it sounds like 'goodbye'?"

"Romano?" Belgium poked her head through the doorway of Romano's room, "Veneziano says you're not coming with us to Luxembourg's. Is something wrong?"

Romano, who'd opened his mouth to yell at the idiot pounding at his door to go away, snapped it shut when he realised it who his visitor was. He relaxed a little, settling his chin back on the pillow in his arms to resume his sulk. "No." He muttered, pouting. "Nothing's wrong, dammit. I just don't want to go."

Belgium paused in the doorway, taking in the sight, cooing inwardly. Aw, little Romano was so cute when he was pouted! His little cheeks all flushed, his little mouth all pursed, hazel eyes glowing with discontent under dark lashes, like a little cat deprived of its catnip. She could almost imagine his little kitty ears drooping, his little tail twitching sulkily. Awww~! So cute! "I made you chocolate mousse to cheer you up." She told him, entering the room to hold out the bowl, an offering to tempt a fussy kitten. "Would you like some?"

Romano glanced up interestedly, eyes on the bowl. "I'm not hungry." His pout deepened, and he looked away. She squealed inwardly- so cuuute!

"Come on, Roma~." She coaxed, kneeling down next to his bed and slowly waving the bowl in front of him, watching his eyes follow the movement. "I put extra dark chocolate in it, just for you." His eyes lit, and he unconsciously licked his lips, and she bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. So cute! "There's a chocolate-dipped cherry tomato on top, too~."

"...Alright." He muttered, reaching out a hand from under his pillow and accepting the bowl with a show of reluctance. "I suppose I'll eat it. If you put that much effort into it."

She smiled, and stood, smoothing down her skirts and sitting down next to where he lay, sprawled on his stomach on the bed. She watched him silently for a while, waiting until he'd had a few spoonfuls and relaxed somewhat, unconsciously making appreciative noises as he ate (she could almost hear him purr). After a while she reached out, gently petting his dark hair. "Feel a little better now, Romano?"

"Mm." He admitted, lips still pursed in a frown. "A little." She hummed in acknowledgement, and continued petting him soothingly. About halfway through the dish he paused, poking the dark mousse with his spoon.

"B-Belgium?"

"Mhmm?"

"Have you ever been..." Romano paused, cheeks flushing. "A, attracted to...a..someone who doesn't exist? Ph-physically."

Belgium bit her lip to keep from squealing. Awww! Romano was growing up! His innocent little crush on Catalina must have crossed into a new level. No wonder he was hiding! Little Roma was so sensitive, something like this would be very embarrassing for him. How sweet! "You mean, like a sexual attraction to a television character?" She asked gently, unable to keep the smile off her face when he blushed deeper and burrowed into his pillow. She ruffled his hair reassuringly. "Don't worry, Roma. That's perfectly normal."

He peeked up, over his pillow. "It is?"

"Mhm." She nodded, resuming petting his hair motheringly. "There's nothing wrong with being attracted to a television character, honey." She tucked a stray lock of behind his ear. "Having fantasies about them, or dreams, or acting on urges you might have is perfectly normal. People have been doing it for centuries, Romano. Since long before you or I existed."

"...Really?"

"Mhm!" She looked around as if to make sure they were alone, and leaned in close to confide with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Hungary has done lots of research on the subject. She told us all about it on one of our girls' night out! So don't worry." She patted his head. "What you're feeling is perfectly normal."

"W-who said I was feeling anything?" Romano clutched his pillow tight. "It, it isn't me, dammit! I, I was asking for...someone else."

"Oh. I see." Belgium nodded understandingly, lips twitching. So cute! "Well, you can tell them they don't have anything to worry about."

"Ok." He nodded, releasing his pillow to grasp his mousse again.

"Now, I should get going, brother is waiting." She kissed his forehead (causing his face to flame red, which was adorable) and stood, smoothing her skirts. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us tonight, Roma?"

"..No." Romano hunched over his bowl. "I don't wanna."

Belgium nodded, unsurprised. If he was having a physical reaction to Catalina, he would probably be very embarrassed about it and wouldn't want anyone to know. It would probably be a while before he joined them for any more episodes of the show, at least until he got his body under control. She smiled understandingly. "Alright. I'll give the others your love, okay?" She ruffled his hair, grinning when he muttered an unintelligible protest about not loving stupid bastards. Romano could be so predictable.

"B-Belgium?" She paused, looking down to see him fiddling with his spoon, avoiding her gaze and pouting. Cuuute! "D-don't tell anybody, okay? I, they don't want anybody to know."

"Don't worry, Romano. 'Their' secret is safe with me." She assured him, smiling. His cheeks were still flaming, but he melted with relief, returning to his meal.

"Th-thanks, Belgium."

"Anytime. Oh, and speaking of attractions to characters," she grinned, winking, "I have to admit I'm very attracted to Amando. Can you believe he's played by America? I didn't even recognise him!" She giggled, oblivious to his sudden stillness, "He grew up to be so hot when we weren't looking! I still don't know how he managed to land a role in a Spanish soap opera, but I'm very interested to find out. Ah, brother's calling. Bye, Romano! Enjoy your mousse!" With that, she hurried out the door, leaving Romano laying frozen, staring in wide-eyed shock into his bowl of mousse.

AN: There really isn't much in canon on Belgium yet, so we'll see if she's in character when Himaruya develops her more. She's had a few appearances, but not really enough for me to get a good, solid handle on her. Aside from the fact that she thinks Romano is adorable, and likes to give him treats.

Soap operas are usually filmed about two weeks ahead of time, so what's being filmed above won't be released for a while