Germany had finally come back to his senses a few minutes after Italy had left the room in anger. After giving his head a quick shake, he quickly got out of bed and also began to dress himself. He figured that later on once the Italian had calmed down, he would apologize and try to make everything better. He definitely did not want to have an angry Italian to deal with now that he had seen one. Not only was it intimidating, but he really didn't want to have to deal with a sassy Italy. He was already enough trouble as it was; he didn't need to have an Italy with enough backbone to actually talk back.

About half-way dressed, he had been about to pull on his shirt when he heard a scream. A very familiar scream. One he had heard too many times for him to not recognize immediately.

Italy.

Still topless, he burst out of the room with a loud bang as the door hit the wall. "Italy!" he roared, rushing through the hall to the source of the scream. The sound led him to the living room, running through the entranceway at a speed he couldn't even remember running at ever before—not even when he had been running for his own life. As he entered the room, he immediately saw Italy. Italy who was in Russia's death hug.

"Become one with me, da?" Russia sang, swinging back and forth as he kept Italy captive in his arms with his toes barely touching the floor. Italy looked like he was about to pass out from fright, his auburn eyes wide open, his mouth still agape in a silent scream. After a moment, Russia looked up and spotted Germany. He simply gave an innocent smile. "You want to become one with me too, da?"

"Hell no," Germany hissed, quickly advancing on him. "Let Italy go. Now."

Russia stood still for a moment, watching as the angry German came closer to him. However, his smile just widened. "Nyet. I don't think I will. He's so cute and helpless! Maybe he could become a Baltic State as well? We'd have so much fun together!"

"I'll kill you if you do anything to him," Germany growled. To prove his point, he went to pull his pistol out of his holster. However, pulling a pistol out from a holster is extremely difficult when there is no pistol to be used. Germany glanced down at his hip to see where his holster should be, but saw nothing. He must have left it on the bed with the rest of his clothing. "Verdammt," he hissed, returning his glare to Russia. "Well, I guess I'll just have to settle for killing you with my bare hands."

"Sounds fun!" Russia chirped. "I'd like to see you t—"

"No!"

Both Russia and Germany jumped at Italy's outburst. They both looked at him as Italy seemed to come back to his senses.

"Don't hurt him, Germany," Italy said, sticking out his bottom lip. "I don't want you to do anything inappropriate!"

Germany deadpanned. Was der fick? "Italy," Germany groaned, trying his hardest not to give a murderous glare to the same person he was trying to rescue. "Please, can we not go on that again?"

"But killing is inappropriate!" Italy protested, beginning to look far too much like Romano—so much to the point Germany nearly wanted to strangle him. "I mean, killing really hasn't ever solved any of your problems! Just look at World War Two!"

Oh, he had not just gone there. Germany growled as he bared his teeth. "Italy, just shut up and go back to being a defenseless coward like usual. At least then I can actually put up with you."

Even Russia looked confused. He looked from Italy to Germany, and then back down to Italy. "Wow," he said, "I never thought he could be angry! Just what did you do to make him so upset?"

"He's just overreacting," Germany answered, feeling rather irritated. He was about to say more on the matter when Italy decided otherwise.

"Overreacting?!" Italy nigh on screeched, making Russia actually flinch while Germany covered his ears. "I am not overreacting! I finally make an actual move on you, and you totally reject me! I swear, sometimes you're even stupider than I am!"

Everyone went quiet for a moment, no one making a single movement. Germany felt his mouth gaping open, the words still processing in his head. He… made a move on me? However, his thought process was interrupted when behind him, Germany heard an obnoxious voice sing, "Awkwaaaard…"

Germany swung around and felt his face blanch as he saw all of the nations in the doorway, all with curious and slightly uncomfortable expressions on their faces. America was the one who had brought attention to them, so like the true courageous hero he was, he panicked and hid behind the rest of the countries, gaining a disapproving look from the Brit who had been next to him.

"I don't think I want an angry Italy to become one with me," Russia said, still smiling, though also looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. "I'll leave you two be. You can become one with me later." With that, he released the Italian and conveniently drifted off somewhere else.

"And I'll just be not here," America added quickly as he could be heard running off.

"For once, he can read the atmosphere," England commented as he also left the room.

"Ohon hon, this room is drowning with sexual tension!"

"I sense the mood, and it's terring me to reave."

"Me too, aru."

Slowly, the doorway emptied as the countries left to give Germany and Italy space. None of them had ever seen Italy angry before, so it was understandable that they wanted to get away from the situation as fast as possible. It was an understood fact that an angry Italy was a sure sign of the apocalypse—it just didn't happen unless something was extremely wrong. Therefore, it was best to just try and make everything better as soon as possible. Even though he knew he should stay and try to calm Italy, Germany very much wanted to leave too. But he knew that it would be better to try to resolve the problem now instead of waiting and letting it get worse. Besides, the way that Italy was glaring at him told him that if he even attempted to leave, he just might not live to tell the tale.

Italy crossed his arms as he took a few steps closer to the German. "Tell me," he said, his face looking scarily happy, "straight to my face that you feel nothing for me."

Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Germany did his best to keep a straight face. "I feel—"

"But first!" Italy interjected, taking another step closer. "Tell me why you never kick me out of your bed."

Blood rushed up to Germany's face, but he kept a straight expression. He had no reason to be intimidated by Italy. "Because… it takes too much effort to keep you out. I just got used to you sleeping in the same bed."

"Got used to it," Italy repeated, refusing to break eye contact. "So, what would you do if I just suddenly stopped sleeping in your bed?"

Germany opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. What would he do if Italy just one day was not in his bed? What if he woke up and the Italian was nowhere to be seen? "I…I'd be… worried," he answered simply.

A small look of adoration flashed across his face, but Italy quickly replaced it with an unimpressed look. "And why would you be worried?" he asked. "What if you found out I'd slept in France's bed inste—"

"I'd kill that bastard."

His answer came out before he had even realized what it was. He stared forward for a moment, thinking over what he had just said. He thought of correcting himself, but as he thought about it, he realized that he really would kill France if he found Italy in his bed. He inwardly shuddered at all of the horrible things that he might do to his poor, innocent Italy.

Suddenly, Germany stopped dead in the tracks of his thoughts—his Italy? Had he really just thought of him as his Italy? He growled at himself in frustration, nowhere even close to admitting he was at all confused about his feelings. Because he wasn't. He couldn't be.

Italy took a few steps closer to him, quickly being just a bit too close. "What if I liked France's bed?" he asked, edging his face closer to the German's. "What if I liked France? What would you do then?"

Cry. Beg. Yell. Kick. Destroy. Kill. "I'd be…" Angry. Depressed. Suicidal. Murderous. "Upset."

Another step closer. Germany could feel Italy's breath on his skin. He'd only have to move his hand a few inches and they could be touching. "Would you be…jealous?"

"Are you guys done yet?"

Germany eagerly took the opportunity to back away as he once again looked behind him at the doorway. America was there once again, looking like a pouting child. "I'm, like, super hungry, and we totally don't wanna come out here if you guys are fighting."

Italy gave a little huff and seemed to revert back to his normal state. "Stupido Americano," he mumbled as he picked up his things that he had dropped from his encounter with Russia.

"Dude, I can totally understand your Spanglish, amigo!" America chided, sticking out his bottom lip.

Germany and Italy face-palmed at the same time. Neither took the effort to try to correct the American—that was just a lost cause in itself.

x-x-x-x-x

The countries had slowly gathered into the kitchen, most trying not to make eye contact with a certain German or Italian. Everyone seemed to still be sleepy from last night, the worst definitely being England. When he had walked into the kitchen, America had kept on trying to help him stop swaying, but he only swatted him away, not helping his balance very much. Japan and China looked well rested, though Japan could be seen sending curious glances over to the Chinese man as if he was expecting to suddenly be attacked by him. Italy looked quite happy, but he had not spoken a single word to Germany since people had come out. He had mostly been speaking to Japan, his back turned towards the German at all times—which had distressed China seeing as this left him open to Russia who was very slowly closing in on him. Germany put a face on that was trying to say that he wasn't upset by this at all. However, his blue eyes constantly flicking over to the Italian said otherwise.

Canada stood at his fridge, looking at its contents, trying to figure out if he had enough food to feed everyone. He didn't have a huge amount of food—he was the only one who lived here, and people never visited him. A small sigh escaped him as he saw that there was most certainly not enough food to go around. He cringed, knowing that America was included in the group. The amount that he alone would eat could probably feed the others. What was he supposed to do?

Even though he should probably be used to it by now, a small squeak still escaped him as he felt a familiar arm snake around his waist. France's chin nuzzled his temple, sending a blush up to his face. "Any ideas, amour?" he asked, his hand resting comfortable on his hip.

"E-eh?" Canada asked nervously, glancing down at France's hand. "Um… I… Not really," he answered weakly. "I don't have enough food…"

"Then we can make some more!" France suggested, giving the Canadian's hip a squeeze which was quickly rewarded with a squeak. "Surely you have baking supplies!"

Gently, Canada removed France's hand from his person. "Y-yes I do," he answered, walking over to where said supplies were. "But… I can't make all of this food by myself… there's so many people…"

France gave a laugh, his hand lightly ruffling Canada's blond locks. "Matthieu! You forget who you are talking to!" Without hesitation, France cut in front of him, more or less shooing him away. "I will take care of our breakfast! It will be magnifique!"

Canada made a few weak attempts to get France away from the cooking supplies—he was a guest after all, he shouldn't have to cook—but in the end, he gave up. France was already far too excited about cooking. Plus he not-so-subtly mentioned how he wanted to rub his cooking into a certain Brit's face. Seeing as he once again wasn't going to win this fight (or any fight for that matter), he retreated as he headed towards the other waiting countries.

"Everyone!" he called, trying to get their attention. "Food's being made, but we need to wait while—"

"Food?!" America chirped, jumping up to his feet, nearly toppling the Brit next to him who began to swear profusely. "Dude, where? I'm starving!"

Giving a frustrated sigh, Canada rubbed his palm against a closed eye. "It's being made. It won't be ready for a while. So we should go to another room and wait while France cooks."

"France?" England asked, his brows furrowing. "Like hell I'm going to eat his damn frog food! You'll have to shove it down my throat!"

"Gladly!" France called gleefully from the stove, Canada tensing his shoulders. England made a choking noise in the back of his throat, looking like he was about to go murder the Frenchman. Canada gave a sigh—why did France find it necessary to make others irritated?

"Please, let's just go to the other room," the Canadian pleaded, already feeling a headache coming on. He didn't understand why nations couldn't act more like adults—they dealt with debt, wars and politics, yet still had the maturity of four year-olds.

Slowly, the other countries finally began to comply as they wandered into the living room, Canada all the while trying to think of what to do. He wanted to be a good host, but he didn't know how to keep them all entertained. Seeing as they barely noticed his existence most of the time, he didn't quite know how to keep them happy while they waited.

However, he didn't have to think for too long. As the countries gathered in the living room, America once again started blathering. "Hey, I have an idea! But only people who actually have balls can play!" He laughed at his own joke, ignoring the lack of other people laughing. "But seriously, we should play this little game called Seven Minutes in Heaven!"

"Hell no!" England yelled, glaring at the American. "I will not play such a stupid, immature game!"

"Ve?" Italy hummed, looking at America curiously. "What game is that? Does it have pasta? Seven minutes of pasta?"

"Nah, pasta's totally lame!" America laughed, not seeming to notice the horror on the Italian's face to hearing such a thing. "But it basically works by all of us putting our name in a hat or something, and then whoever's name you draw, you have to stay in the closet with them for seven minutes!" He laughed and then added, "And it has to be seven minutes! No longer or shorter than seven! Even if you're dying or screaming or banging, only once seven minutes are up, you can come out!

Some country's faces paled with horror at the description. Russia, however, looked content with this suggestion. "Sounds like fun, da?" he said. "Who wants to become one with me?"

"No, no, no!" Japan said, looking absolutely horrified at such a suggestion. "Personar space! I can't be in a croset with someone for that rong!"

"Ve, I could be in there with Ge—!" Italy cut off his sentence, his face freezing. He quickly folded his arms, looking down at the floor. "Ve, I mean… that game sounds inappropriate!" Germany visibly flinched at this, giving a quiet groan.

"Aw, c'mon, guys!" America whined. "It's an awesome game! Plus it's fun to watch! Let's just do it, please!" His look suddenly turned from pouty to mischievous. "Unless, of course, you guys are too cowardly to play it."

England scowled, but gave a huff. "If it will make you shut up," he hissed, "then I'll play."

"Ve, I will too!" Italy said, stepping forward. "It doesn't sound too scary! And nothing bad sounds like it could—"

Suddenly Germany stepped in as well. "I'll also play," he said. Some people stared at him in surprise, but he ignored them. "There has to be some order in this game," he mumbled, taking a small step closer to Italy. A small step that Italy didn't seem to notice but everyone else did.

"I'll play if Japan does, aru!" China said, also stepping in.

"What?" Japan asked, looking shocked. "Ah, b-but… I don't want to pray! Personar—!"

"Aiyaa!" China called, grabbing the Japanese man by the wrist, forcibly pulling him in. "Play, aru! You won't get hurt, I promise, aru!"

Japan stared at him for a moment, still looking unsure. But he finally gave in as he stood next to China. "Fine," he said. "I'rr do it for you."

Seeing as everyone else was in, Canada also stepped forward. "Eh… I, I guess I'll play too."

"Sweetness!" America yelled, fist-pumping. After his little celebration, he continued excitedly. "Okay, so we need some paper and a pen! We just need to rip it up, write our names on it and pull a name out!"

England reached into his breast pocket as he pulled out some paper. "Here, they're some unimportant notes," he said, passing them to America.

"And I have a pen here!" Italy added, pulling an art pen from an inside pocket of his suit jacket.

America made quick work of the paper, ripping it up into eight different pieces. Everyone quickly wrote their names down on a piece and handed them back to America. He hastily shuffled them and set them on the coffee table near the center of the room. "Alright then!" he cheered. "So you just pick up a piece of paper, and whoever's name's on it, you go into the closet with them!" He asked if everyone understood, and everyone nodded in response. "Okay, I guess I'll go first!" He gave a slight sidelong glance to England—a glance that England didn't see, but everyone else did. He tentatively picked up a piece of paper. "Alright, I'm going in the closet with—!"

His face paled, and he seemed to choke on air. His mouth hung open, apparently unable to comprehend whose name was on the paper.

"Who is it?" England asked, stepping towards him.

"Uh…" America said, seeming to try and read the paper as if it would change its result. "Um… I… I got Russia."

The room temperature went down about ten degrees, making everyone turn to look at Russia. A smile was still placed on his face, but a dangerous aura was around him. "Ah. Is that so?" he asked, his purple eyes sparkling darkly. "Kol kol… sounds… fun."

America gulped audibly, a look that said 'What the hell have I done?' obvious on his face. "Uh… s-someone else draw now… I guess."

Seeing as no one else was going for it, England stepped forward, a look of concentration in his features. "Here goes nothing," he said quietly as he picked up a piece of paper. He flipped it over and seemed slightly relieved. "I got Japan," he stated, looking up to look for his partner.

Japan jumped slightly, not expecting his name to come up. He felt anxious, but he supposed that he felt comfortable enough with England. They did have a good friendship, and he knew England to not be the type to make others uncomfortable. He felt comforted by this, but once again got nervous as he saw China's face. He was very obviously brooding, his arms crossed tightly at his chest. Part of him wanted to calm him, but he decided to just sense the mood and remain quiet. This was just a silly game after all. China should be fine after a few minutes.

"Ve, I'll go!" Italy cheered, walking up to the pile of papers. Not paying attention to what piece he drew, he quickly picked one and flipped it over. The smile on his face suddenly disappeared, replaced with a blushing scowl. "I… I got Germany," he said, looking up to his partner. Germany looked relieved, yet disappointed at the same time. Italy just flashed a fake smile at him. "Don't worry! I won't do anything inappropriate!" The German flinched again, looking like he was seriously about to throttle Italy.

As all the others met up with their partners, Canada looked around until he spotted the only one left—China. However, when he spotted him, he regretted it. He looked upset and was glaring severely at England. He was about to go over and maybe try talking to him when China said, "This game is stupid, aru! I don't want to play anymore!"

Canada's spirits sunk, once again feeling very forgotten in his own home. "Oh," he said quietly, looking down at his feet. "Okay… I guess I didn't really want to play either." Why would he have wanted to play anyways? It was just an awkward sounding game. Besides, he didn't know China very well. It would have just been uncomfortable.

"Then I'll play!"

Canada jumped, turning around to see France in the doorway, a smile on his face. His sleeves had been rolled up, and he was still in the process of beating some flour off of his bare forearms. His hair had also been pulled back, making Canada feel dizzy—he hadn't seen his hair pulled back like that for years. "E-eh?" Canada asked, already feeling much more anxious. "Ah, b-but… what about breakfast?"

"It's already in the oven!" France said, coming to stand next to Canada. He then shot a look over to England. "Unlike some people, I know how to cook efficiently."

"Shut up, damn frog!"

France just chuckled and refocused his attention to Canada. "Anyway, if China doesn't want to play, I will gladly take his place and be mon Matthieu's partner." His hand slipped around Canada's waist once again, pulling him closer. "If that is okay with you, that is," France said, giving a light squeeze to his side.

"Ah… eh… um… I…" Canada for a moment forgot how to take sounds and make words with them. "Eh… I… yeah. Okay."

China still looked annoyed, but he nodded as he went to lean against the wall. "The game sounded stupid anyway, aru," he murmured, looking down at the floor even as his eyes still glanced over at Japan every few seconds.

Now that everyone was settled, America looked around, a nervous look on his face. "Okay, so," he said, scratching his head awkwardly, "um… Who wants to go first?"

"I say we do!" Russia chirped, looking far too happy to mean anything good. "Seeing as you are the one who suggested the game, why don't you and I go first?"

America froze, looking like he'd rather shoot himself repeatedly in the kneecap than be anywhere near Russia. But after a moment, he gave a loud sigh, kicking his foot against the floor. "Fine," he mumbled. "Let's just get this over with."

Russia gave a smile that lowered the room temperature even farther, sending a shiver through the room. "Da, let the fun begin!"

While everyone moved towards the closest closet, bets immediately began being exchanged on who would murder the other first. Canada just hoped that not too much blood would be spilled in the closet—blood stains were just so hard to clean up.