x-x-x-x-x

Wow.

Was it just him, or did closets suddenly seem a lot smaller in Canada?

Because, dude. That closet looked way too small.

Germany held the newest and greatest brand of smartphone in his hand that he had borrowed from Japan just for the occasion. "So you two must stay in the closet for seven minutes, correct?" Germany clarified, toying with the phone to get to the program set up as he needed.

America slowly gulped, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets. "Uh, y-yeah," he answered, trying to ignore the much-too-happy Russian next to him. "Um… but, uh, if I… er, or if one of us starts screaming can we be let out? Please?"

"Nein," Germany replied without any hesitation. "You said while explaining the rules that there was no reason to be let out before seven minutes had passed. And I intend to abide by those rules."

A cold chill passed through America as his words came back to haunt him: "Even if you're dying or screaming or banging, only once seven minutes are up, you can come out!" Damn. Why did he always have to say stupid crap before he actually thought it out?

"There," Germany said, finally looking up from the phone. "I have the stopwatch set up. We'll let you out after seven minutes exactly."

"Oh," America said, looking between him and the closet. "Okay. Awesome."

Everyone paused for a few moments, America looking around awkwardly. Maybe if he stood there for long enough, they'd change their minds and decide to play something else. Instead, Germany said, "Are you two going to go in?"

"Uh, w-well…"

"Da!" Before America could say anything else, he found his arms in Russia's grasp as he was pushed inside the closet. He would have screamed, but then he quickly remembered that heroes never scream. Instead, he would have roundhouse kicked Russia in the face Chuck Norris style (because he could totally do that—haters gonna hate), but by the time he actually thought about it, the door was already shut tightly, the closet fading into sudden darkness.

America was quickly regretting everything. It was dark in here, and way too small. His back was pressed against a wall, one side being attacked by clothing, and the other just grazing the door. He wasn't touching Russia, but he could feel his presence only an inch or two away from him. He just decided that he could stop all movement for seven minutes, as long as it meant that he and Russia didn't have to touch.

"So, America," Russia said, making America jump from how close his voice was. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

America looked down, biting his lower lip. What you were supposed to do in this game was make out with whoever you were in the closet with. He blushed, knowing that the only reason he had wanted to play this game was to be stuck in a closet with England. But of course his plan had backfired. Now he was stuck in here with one of the only people he absolutely hated. "Well… um… basically…"

"If you can't explain it," Russia said sweetly, his voice sounding like poisoned honey, "then perhaps you can become one with Russia instead?"

America growled, glaring at him through the darkness. "Hell no!" He pressed himself harder against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Russian as possible. However, he quickly regretted this when he realized that he was only trapping himself further. He tried finding his way through the clothes next to him, trying to get away. Maybe he could find Narnia? He was sure Mr. Tumnus could really help him out right now. But his attempts were stopped when Russia's hands hit the wall on either side of him, blocking him from moving any direction. "Get away from me, damn commie!" America hissed, pushing Russia away of him.

With the shove, he felt something hit his stomach. Something hot and wet.

Oh shitake mushrooms.

x-x-x-x-x

England was not worried.

As he stood with his back pressed against the wall, eying the closet, he just knew he was not worried whatsoever. He wasn't tapping his foot out of concern. Nor was he at all worried while he bit his bottom lip. No, he held no concern for what was going on inside that closet whatsoever.

"They've been in there for a minute and a half," Germany noted, keeping careful watch on the phone in his hand. "With America in there, I'm surprised that they're being so quiet."

"As am I," Japan agreed, standing next to China who appeared to be keeping him from going anywhere else. "America is arways so roud. It's not rike him to be so sirent."

Canada nodded in agreement, keeping his eyes on the closet door—that was, until France's hand 'accidentally' wandered, making Canada's face turn bright red as he slapped France's hand away from his ass.

"Maybe they killed each other already?" China suggested a bit too enthusiastically, still looking annoyed at this whole game.

Germany seemed to be about to say something, but his words were cut off when a sudden scream came from the closet. "AAAH! WHY?! OH GOD, WHY?!"

Everyone's eyes went wide as they stared at the door. That was America's voice screaming. Concern twisted in England's stomach. Well, not a huge amount of worry, mind you. Just… well, he had screamed. Anyone would be worried. And it was only out of mere curiosity that he suddenly found himself at the door, pressing his ear to it. "What the bloody hell?" he said, trying to think of what could be happening in there.

"Oh, sorry, comrade!" Russia's voice said, sounding slightly embarrassed. Which was quite odd when England thought about it. Why would the Russian be embarrassed? "It sometimes does that!"

"What the hell?!" America yelled back, sounding petrified. "That's not natural, dude! I mean… how can you do that? Have you seen a doctor about that?"

"Oh, it just happens!" Russia answered nonchalantly. "Sometimes it just decides it no longer wants to stay in my clothes!" England's eyes widened, trying to understand the Russian meant. What was Russia unable to keep in his clothes? He felt his cheeks darken, but he shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was never a good idea to just jump to conclusions. "Now, if you don't mind, could you—"

Another scream could be heard from America, making England jump. "A-aah! Dude! It's pulsing! That's freaking disgusting!"

"Da. That's usually what happens when there's blood flow," Russia replied, sounding less than impressed.

"Eww, get it away from me!"

"If you would calm down and just—AH!"

The sudden cry had surprised England, and it seemed to have surprised America as well. "A-ah, w-what's wrong?" he asked, sounding panicked. "What did I…?"

"Don't squeeze it!" Russia hissed, sounding rather angry. "That's a very sensitive organ! You don't just go around squeezing it!"

England's face flushed deeper. Squeeze what? What sensitive organ? He jumped when he felt someone walk up next to him, also wanting to listen to the conversation that was quickly heating up. Turning his head, he was relieved to see it was just Japan. However, for some reason, Japan had his hand to his face, his cheeks also deep red. "I didn't think Russia would be so… verbar…"

England nodded, pressing his ear back to the door. "Erm… y-yeah. Neither did I…"

"If it's so sensitive," they heard America whine, "then take it back! I don't want it anywhere near me!"

"Perhaps if you would stop squirming so much…"

"Dude, this thing is in my hands! I can't stop moving! It—ACK!" A bang was heard, Russia also letting out an annoyed yell. "S-sorry," America said weakly. There was a lethal pause, to which America quickly added, "It's slippery, okay?!"

S-slippery?! England thought to himself. What the bloody hell were they talking about?

"Just give it—AH! America! Stop squeezing it!"

"Well, I don't wanna drop it! Neither of us would like that!"

"Here," Russia hissed, sounding quite angry, "just put it—AMERICA!"

A loud smack was heard, along with America making a yelp. "What the hell! Don't slap me, damn commie!"

"Then do as I say, capitalist pig! Just put it back in!"

England's jaw dropped. Put it back in?! He heard a pop next to him, and he turned his head to see Japan suffering from a horrible nosebleed. China ran over to stop him from hitting the ground and dragged him over to the safety of the wall. England stayed just where he was, pressing his ear back to the door. What the hell was going on in there? What was Russia doing to him?

"I'm not putting it back in!" America yelled back, sounding disturbed just by the suggestion. "If you want it so bad, you put it in!"

"It would be much easier for me to put in if you stopped holding it so tightly," Russia growled. "Just do as I say and—"

"MAKE ME!"

The closet went deadly silent, making even England nervous. But after a few seconds, he could almost hear Russia's sadistic smile. "Okay!" the Russian chirped much too happily.

Shuffling could be heard, followed by America's voice. "Ah, w-what are you do…?" England jumped as he heard America scream once again. "OH GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! N-no, stop it! Don't do EEEK! D-don't touch tha-aah!"

England felt sick with something he couldn't quite identify. He was very worried now, but there was something else that was very much bugging him. He was paralyzed where he stood, but part of him just wanted to pull the door open and stop whatever nonsense was happening in that closet. No one could touch America like this! England simply wouldn't allow it!

"Stop struggling," Russia sang, a loud thump following his words. "If you just relax, this will be over sooner. Just let me—"

"AAH! D-dude! What the hell was that?!"

"Hmm?" Russia sounded genuinely confused now. "What? What did I do?"

"Y-you…" America's words faded off, England pressing his ear harder against the door, trying to figure out what was being said.

Russia seemed to also have a problem deciphering what the American had said. "Come again?" Russia asked.

"GET OUT OF MY PANTS!"

England's knees nearly gave out. What the hell was Russia doing? Was he molesting him? Was he raping him? Oh God, he better not be doing anything that obscene to America, or else he was going to kill that communist bastard.

Russia made a scoffing noise while America continued making complaints as he seemed to not pay attention to his objection. "Please, America, you're overreacting once again."

"Your hand," America cried, sounding hysterical, "is in my pants! I am not overreacting!"

"Well, if your hands weren't so clumsy," Russia scolded, sounding beyond irritated with America's behavior, "then we wouldn't be in this situation, would we?"

"Six minutes," Germany announced. England turned his head in surprise from the announcement, now able to see that the German was also looking quite nervous about the sounds coming from the closet. China was fanning Japan, holding a tissue to his face to stifle the sudden bleeding. Canada looked horrified from both his brother's screaming and also from the Frenchman next to him that was whispering in his reddening ears.

"G-get out of the-aah!" America's complaint faded off, and England's heart clenched when all he heard next was a sad whimper. "R-Russia, stop! Please, I don't wanna—"

"You're the one who made me have to do this," Russia hissed, not sounding at all remorseful about what he was doing to the American. "Now, just a little further and…"

"A-aaah!" America cried out desperately. "N-no! Get out! Take it out! No-aaah!"

"It's in too deep now," Russia growled, sounding frustrated. "Maybe if you stopped moving so much, I could pull out."

"But this isn't comfortable! A-at all! I can't just s-stop moving!"

Russia gave out a small yelp, followed by a growl. "Don't tense like that! It hurts! Relax for a second and…"

"I'm tryi—hah-gnnng!" America's throat sounded strangled, England feeling himself shaking. He had heard sounds like these before—but he just couldn't believe that Russia and America were doing such things in a closet of all places! Not that, if suggested, he wouldn't do such activities in a closet; it's just that a bed was more traditional… and comfortable.

"Almost there," Russia said, a few yelps audible from America, each progressively getting louder and more distressed. "Almost!"

America gave out another strangled cry, Russia gasping. That's when Germany finally said, "Time's up."

Not having to be told twice, England quickly turned the lock, violently twisted the handle and pulled the door open, preparing himself for the worst.

"Ow, dude!" America whined, quickly shielding his eyes with a hand. "Bright light! Warning please?!"

Russia didn't seem too interested in the now opened door, but England followed his line of sight down to his hands—his hands that were dripping in blood.

"Dear God!" England cried, jumping back in shock. "What the bloody hell?! Why is there blood?"

Finally, Russia looked up as he put a smile back on his face. "Oh, sorry to scare you!" he said, not really sounding sorry at all. "America pushed me, and my heart fell out again! It really needs to stop doing that!"

England continued to stare at them, trying to figure out what all the noises he had heard meant. "B-but," he stammered, almost feeling sick. "Then… why… why were you inside his… his trousers?"

The two of them stared back at him now, looking surprised. "He was overreacting like the stupid American he is!" Russia finally answered, giving a small laugh. "He kept almost dropping my heart, and it finally fell in his pocket! So I had to go after it!"

"My pockets are part of my pants!" America argued, his face turning slightly red. "Dude, it was kinda awkward, you have to admit!"

Russia just shot a dangerous smile at him. "Well, if you hadn't dropped my heart in the first place," he hummed, "then I wouldn't have had to dig in your pockets! By the way, if someone's trying to get something out of your pocket, please, don't bend over. It makes it extremely hard to retrieve your hand."

"Oh, well, sorry!" America shot back in a mocking sing-song voice. "A man had their hand down my pants, so I was panicking! Sorry I'm a normal human being! God!"

England was still just standing there, trying to figure everything out. The squeezing Russia had complained about—he supposed the heart was a sensitive organ. And if it was covered in the Russian's blood, then it would be rather slippery. And America wasn't known for his ability to be careful with things—he often accidentally broke things with his incredible strength.

After standing there for a few more moments, England suddenly realized America and Russia were still staring at him. "So," America said, looking at him curiously, "are you gonna let us out or what?"

Blustering, England realized that, indeed, he was still standing directly in front of the doorway, blocking any exit. Feeling his face reddening, he quickly backed away and retreated to the back of the room, just trying to avoid everyone. The two also retreated swiftly from the inside of the closet, Russia wandering off somewhere, most likely to properly put his heart back in place.

England glared down at the floor, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. How bloody embarrassing that had been! He had thought that Russia had been doing terrible things in there to the American. But it had all been a misunderstanding. He had been scared out of his mind over nothing!

He jumped once again when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. For a moment, he was preparing to yell at France, but he quickly noticed that France was still currently bothering an increasingly bashful Canadian. Looking to his left, he felt his heart clench when he saw America's blue eyes looking back into his own. "You okay?" he asked, a small smile on his lips.

England stared at him for a moment, not sure how to respond. But he quickly replaced his curious stare with a scowl. "Of course I am, git," he hissed, returning his gaze to the floor. "I had… just been a tad worried about your wellbeing is all. Don't get the wrong idea."

America didn't seem to buy his explanation though. "You looked a lot more worried than 'a tad,'" he teased, making an idiotic mocking face at him. "From the look of horror you had, I think you were worried a lot."

Stubbornly, England continued to glare down at the floor. "I didn't want Russia to do anything to you," he admitted, clenching his hands into fists. "What, is that a crime now?"

Making him give a darker scowl, America gave a small chuckle. "No, it's not a crime." England twitched slightly when America's arm currently around his shoulders squeezed him a little, pulling him close enough so his side was pressed against America's chest. "But it sure is cute."

Those last few words took a few seconds to completely process, England certain that no such words could have ever come from the American's mouth. But when his brain had finally realized that, yes, America had just called him cute, he couldn't help but look up at him. He felt his chest tighten again when he saw that America's eyes were still on him, though they had softened some. "I am not cute," England grumbled, hating himself as he felt blood rush up to his face.

America's smile widened while England's scowl deepened. "Fine, you're not cute."

Slitting his eyes, England returned his line of sight to the floor. "Good," he murmured. "Now that we've gotten that—"

"You're not cute; you're just incredibly sexy."

"—cleared up, we ca—w-whuh, what?" England didn't dare look up at America now, genuinely afraid of what he would see. He had no bloody idea what he was trying to get at. Was he trying to make him die of embarrassment; trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible?

"You heard me," America teased, pulling him a bit closer—much too close for the situation. "And while we're talking, wanna know why I think you were so freaked out about what you were hearing in that closet?"

The floor had now become the most interesting thing England had ever seen. "I'm not particularly interested," he answered, wanting very much to just leave.

"I think you were worried," America said, England shuddering when he felt the other's warm breath hitting his ear. "But I think there's more to that story. I think you were…" The Brit again involuntarily shivered when America's free hand lightly brushed blond strands behind his ear. "…Jealous."

And with that, the warmth around him disappeared, shocking him into looking up. "Anyways!" America chirped, smiling brightly at him. "I'm glad you're okay!" He kept his eyes on him for one last moment, and then turned around to face the others. "Alright, who wants to go next?"

"I vote Japan out of the game!" China complained, still looking rather pissy. "He's still passed out from stupid you and stupid Russia!" Indeed, Japan was still against the wall, definitely not looking in any condition to be locked in a closet with someone. England felt sorry for the small Asian man, but was at the same time relieved—at least he didn't have to play anymore either.

"How about we go?" France asked, making Canada look startled. "We will have much fun, though I'm not sure if all I have planned with fit in only seven minutes! Ohon hon!"

"M-maple…"

America stared at them, his mouth frozen in an open-mouthed smile. "Ah, how about hell no?" he answered. "You're a little too eager." He looked around the room until his eyes landed on Germany, Italy not too far off from him. "Okay, how about you two go?"

The two looked slightly shocked, glancing at each other. Germany looked concerned and awkward, and Italy looked upset and also rather awkward. Giving a sigh, Germany slowly nodded, handing the phone to America. "Ja," he said quietly, sounding like he was about to go to a funeral, "we'll go."

"Don't worry!" Italy added, a dark smile on his face. "Nothing inappropriate will—!"

However, Italy's comment was cut off as Germany grabbed him by the collar, making the small Italian gasp in surprise and perhaps a bit of actual suffocation. Within two seconds, Italy was thrown into the closet, quickly followed by an angry German as he slammed the door behind him.

People stared at the closet, a little surprised by what they had just witnessed. It wasn't often that Germany treated Italy so roughly. Though no one really blamed him with how Italy had been acting the past few hours.

Seeing as all of the attention was focused on them now, England took the opportunity to escape the room. America's actions and words still had his head reeling, and he was in some desperate need to just have some alone time to be able to think everything over.

He couldn't be jealous. It just was not possible.

Was it?

x-x-x-x-x

"Talk."

Italy was still a little dizzy from being thrown into the closet, and also a little shocked that Germany had done such a thing to him. Yes, he had been rather irritating today; but usually Germany just put up with it. He hadn't been expecting for Germany to start becoming that violent.

Shaking his head, Italy looked up to him—or at least in the general area he thought his face was located in the darkness—and frowned. "Talk about what?"

"I upset you," Germany growled, sounding like he was at his limit. "I've never seen you angry, and it's making me angry and just… Just tell me what to do to fix this."

"Why do you want to fix it?" Italy asked, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Do you want to fix it to make things easier for you, or to actually make me happy?"

"Both, if possible," Germany answered with a huff. "I don't like seeing you hurt or upset. And I'd love it if I didn't have to deal with a volatile Italian any longer. I just want things to go back to normal."

Italy rested his back against the wall, thinking the answer over. He was glad that Germany cared about him, and he thought it understandable that he didn't want him to be angry anymore—when Germany himself was angry, it scared him and he was willing to do anything to make things better for him. Giving a sigh, Italy decided that it was enough. "I really like you," he answered. "I don't just think you're okay or that you're a decent person. I really, really like you. I love everything. And I had just thought that maybe you liked me back as well."

There was silence for a while, Germany seeming to think over his statement. He drew a shaky breath—Italy knew he hated talking about feelings. But this was just something that they needed to talk about. "Well… how long have you… liked me?" he asked finally.

Italy thought about it; how long had he had these kinds of feeling for him? "I liked you from the first moment I saw you," he started, a smile almost creeping across his lips as he thought back to when he had tried to convince Germany that he was the Box of Tomatoes Fairy. "You protected me and you were nice to me! And you actually wanted to be my friend! And you weren't my friend to just use me; you were my friend because you wanted to be!" Italy paused to think, trying to pinpoint the moment that he began to feel more towards him. "I think… I think about the time that you promised to be my friend even when you were becoming allies with Russia… that's when I started feeling more for you. Because you were gaining really strong allies! You didn't need me at all. You could have dumped me off somewhere. You probably could have even killed me! But…" He couldn't stop the smile this time as it came to his face. "But you didn't. You promised to be friends with me forever. That was more than anyone had ever promised to me. And not only did you promise; you actually kept to it. You never left me, even when it would have benefitted you. You were different from everyone else. You actually cared."

The both of them paused for a while, letting all that had been said sink in. It honestly felt good to get all of this off his chest. But now that it was out, Italy was again scared of rejection. Knowing Germany couldn't see in the darkness, he crossed his fingers, hoping with all of his might that Germany wasn't going to be startled enough to abandon him.

"I'd never want to leave you," Germany finally answered, making Italy's heart clench. "Never. You're my closest friend. The only person I trust with everything. I could never just let you go."

'Closest friend.' Italy weaved his hands tightly together, his stomach twisting in knots. Was that all they were ever going to be? Friends?

"Have you ever thought," Italy inquired, choosing his words carefully, "of being… being more? More than just friends?"

They paused once again, Italy able to sense Germany's un-comfortableness. "I…don't think I have," Germany answered, his voice quiet and cautious.

Italy looked towards him, pursing his lips. "Germany. You either have or haven't. Which one is it?"

"Why me?" Germany suddenly demanded, making Italy jump. "Why do you like me? What have I done to deserve this?"

Italy paused, suddenly unable to breathe. What had he done to deserve this? Was him having feelings for the German really such torture for him? Was it really that painful? Already, tears slowly fell from his eyes. "Oh," he said softly, trying to hide the cracking of his voice. "I… I-if it's really that bad that I like you… I, I'm sorry…"

A small gasping noise came from Germany, and Italy suddenly felt hands placed clumsily on his shoulders. "No, that's not what I meant," he interjected quickly, sounding distressed. "No. I… I meant…why would you like someone like me?"

The question startled Italy, not having expected it at all. "Why wouldn't I like you?" he asked as if it was the strangest question anyone could have asked him.

Germany's hands tightened on his shoulders, Italy able to hear his discomfort in his silence. "You know the horrible things I've done," Germany stated, his voice slower and deeper than usual. "Many people hate me for what I've done. I'm used as an example for hatred around the world. So I'm…I'm just not sure why you'd want to like someone like me."

Italy still felt sick with worry, but he was slowly able to stop his tears. "I've done bad things, too," Italy mumbled, wiping his face dry of tears. "I mean… okay, I can't think of any right now, but… but I wouldn't hate you. And I know you better than that! I was there with you, remember? I knew you hated your boss! But…" Not able to contain himself anymore, he flung himself at Germany, wrapping his arms around him. "I'd never hate you, Germany! Ever!"

He felt Germany tense under him, but he didn't seem to be making any move to force him to stop hugging him. Instead, he felt Germany's hand lightly place itself on his head. "And you're the only person who's ever understood me fully. The only one who accepts me for everything I am."

Italy pressed his face against Germany's chest. "You always protect me," he sniffed, his voice quiet. "You've never left me." He turned his head to try to hide his tears further. "And… and you remind me of… him."

Germany shifted slightly under his touch. Italy didn't mind though—where he was now, he could hear Germany's heartbeat. "Who do I remind you of?" he asked softly. His hand was still placed on his head, though it had stayed quite still as if he wasn't sure what he should do with it.

Pausing, Italy was trying to decide whether or not he should inform Germany of this. He hadn't really shared it with anyone—the only people who really knew were Austria, Hungary, France and Romano. He'd never told anyone else. Gathering his courage, he decided to tell him; Italy cared about him, so it only made sense that Germany should know. "There was… another boy who really liked me when I was small. And I really liked him too. But we didn't get to be together for very long. He had to leave for a war, and I never saw him again…" He sniffled, pained at the memory of loss. "I had always thought he'd return one day… but when I got older, France finally told me that he had died in battle." He buried his face deeper in Germany's chest, his own heart hurting as he forced himself to go through these memories once again. "And… and when I met you… You look so much like him. You even act like him sometimes. It's almost as if you were sent here for me. That's what it feels like at least."

He felt Germany looking down at him curiously, and neither of them spoke for quite a while. Finally, Germany lightly petted his head with his hand, lightly tousling his hair. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Loss is painful, no matter how many years pass." They both paused again, Italy trying to level his breathing. "May I ask," Germany spoke, keeping his voice soft, "what his name was?"

Taking another deep, shuddering breath, Italy nodded. "Sì… his name… his name was Holy Rome."

Quiet once again permeated the conversation, the name seeming to float in the air. Germany remained stiff, but after a few seconds, Italy became concerned. Why wasn't he moving? From where his ear was, he could hear Germany's heart beating at a hard and fast pace. Something wasn't right. "Germany?" Italy looked up to him, trying to see what was wrong. Finally, his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark, a faint outline of Germany's features visible. His face was intense, his blue eyes wide. His mouth was a thin line, no sound escaping him whatsoever. Italy's heart also began to race. "G-Germany?"

After a few moments, Germany's tense body suddenly loosened, Italy panicking as he felt Germany tremble slightly. He held him tighter, trying to make sure that he didn't topple over. "Italy," he whispered, his voice sounding suddenly very tired.

"Germany?" Italy asked again, looking up towards his face desperately, trying to see his expression. "Germany, what's wrong? What happened?"

Germany seemed to regain his balance, though he still seemed a little off-kilter. "Italy," he said again, his tone sounding almost confused. "You… you're not…"

Italy's brow furrowed, trying to figure out what was troubling Germany so. "What?" he pressed. "What's wrong?"

"You're not… a girl?"

Italy's stomach clenched. "What?" he asked, feeling mildly offended. Yes, he was defenseless most of the time, and sure, he sometimes acted feminine, and okay, he liked to wear dresses when he was little. But that didn't give anyone a right to call him a girl!

"But," Germany murmured, his voice quiet, "you were always cleaning. And always wearing dresses. And you were too pretty to be a girl. I never thought that…"

Eyes widening, Italy stared at him, his stomach churning. "How… how did…?" His voice was cut off as he felt gentle fingers place themselves under his chin, tilting his head further up.

"Italy…" He felt warm breath against his lips, his hands immediately clenching to the fabric of Germany's shirt. His heart was beating so fast it almost hurt. He forgot how to breathe properly.

"Holy… Ro—"

"TIME'S UP!"

A small yelp escaped Italy from surprise and pain as light poured into his retinas. He brought his hand to block the light from his burning eyes, but gave another yelp as he felt himself pushed away, his back hitting the opposite closet wall. He opened his eyes again to try and see what was going on. He was finally able to see Germany clearly, but his expression made him even more worried. He looked extremely confused and almost even scared himself. Italy had never seen such an expression on his face.

"Germa—?"

"I need to think," Germany said abruptly, holding a hand to his head. "I'm just… very confused right now. I just need some time by myself to think."

Before Italy could say anymore, or could even try to stop him, Germany exited the closet, leaving Italy there to wonder just what had happened. Italy stayed pressed against the wall, avoiding America's questioning glances.

And Germany said that he couldn't understand him.

x-x-x-x-x

"I am truly sorry, mon Canada. My hands cannot help but appreciate a perfect body when they see one."

Canada wasn't sure if it was possible, but he flushed a deeper shade of red, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. All morning, there hadn't been a moment when France's hands had not been on him. For quite a while, he'd been gently removing his hands, hoping that he would get the hint and give up. However, as time had passed, his hands had become bolder as they begun wandering, making Canada even more flustered. And now he would even add whispered compliments, telling him how beautiful he was or how sweet he smelled. It was becoming almost too much for him to handle.

Having not been able to pay much attention to the game, Canada was shocked when America walked up to them, a huge smile on his face. "'Kay, guys! It's your turn."

"Ohon hon!" France laughed, pulling him closer, Canada giving out a small whimper. "Then we shall make our way, hm?"

"Uh," Canada muttered, not sure whether to go with it or perhaps feign fainting—it had gotten Japan out of playing the game, so maybe it could work for him. "I… O-okay…"

His mind didn't seem to be able to keep going in one single direction of thought. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He had already hurt France once today, and he didn't want to see him hurt again. The sad look of disappointment and nearly crushed him. He couldn't bear to see it two times in one day. But at the same time, France couldn't keep his hands off of him in a wide open space; what was it going to be like in a small closet? He wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his sanity—or his virginity for that matter.

All too quickly, he found himself in front of the closet, France standing next to him with an expectant look sent in his direction. Slowly he changed his gaze from the closet back to France and back to the closet. What was he supposed to do?

Taking a large breath of air, deciding that there was no going back now, he slowly stepped inside, not letting the air escape in an exhale. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remain calm. But when he felt the space in the closet quickly disappear and heard the door close, he nearly lost it.

He was locked in a closet.

With France.

He was fairly sure he'd had nightmares like this.

"It's not healthy to hold your breath for this long, Canada," France mused, Canada's eyes shooting open from how close his voice was in the enclosed space. Giving up, he let the air escape, quickly replacing it with fresh air. He felt his face redden in embarrassment—he'd been in here for less than twenty seconds, and he was already hyperventilating.

He felt France's hands grip his shoulders, lightly massaging his already extremely tense muscles. Even though he was speaking directly in his ear, he couldn't hear his honeyed words that were probably trying to comfort him. All he felt was complete panic. He wasn't usually claustrophobic, but being trapped in a closet with someone else and unable to escape was truly horrifying to him.

"Mon Matthieu," France cooed, placing a hand on his back and slowly rubbing circles in attempt to pacify the panicking Canadian. "Please, calm down. I have told you before that I won't do anything to you unless you want me to."

Canada was still panicked, but France knew his weakness. Within a few seconds, he was calmed back down enough for him to regain the ability of speech. "I, I…" he tried, but his words were still a bit shaky.

"What is it, mon amour?" France asked, Canada shivering slightly as his breath tickled his ear.

"I…" Canada started. Once again, against his will, words began cascading from his mouth. "I'm just kind of nervous I'm usually not claustrophobic but I guess if I'm in a small place with someone else it really freaks me out and I think that it's just freaking me out more that it's you. Not that there's anything wrong with you I don't think you're a bad person you can just be intimidating not that that's a bad thing I mean… You just make me nervous is all because you've been so nice to me and paying attention to me and I honestly have no idea how to deal with that it's a completely foreign idea to me! N-not that I mind it I mean it's nice but I mean it's constant attention and it's kind of overwhelming but if it makes you happy I want to make you happy but that doesn't mean I'm easy either I just—"

Thankfully, his words were cut off as fingers were pressed against his lips. "Let me try to reassure you about all that you mentioned," France said, a little bit of a chortle in his voice. "Now, I'm sorry that I make you nervous; I tend to do that to people. It is something I actually pride myself on if I do say so myself. And I understand that most people do not pay attention to you. And I must say that they are missing out, not talking to such an amazing person as yourself. And being around you does make me happy." Canada heard the smile in his voice. "And I am glad that you are not—how did you say—easy. Having a bit of a challenge every now and then is quite exciting!"

Canada wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or more nervous. But he gave France an A for effort at least. "Ah, m-merci, France."

France gave a small laugh, brushing some of Canada's hair back from his face. "You are welcome," he said, gently drawing his fingers down his cheek. "I do have a question though, if it's not too much to ask."

Canada felt his chest tighten slightly, not knowing what to expect from the Frenchman. "Um w-what is it?"

He could swear that France's devious smirk was audible from miles away. "Could we possibly continue with what happened with morning?" he asked, Canada jumping when he felt France's thumb trace beneath his bottom lip. "You had said something about 'Baiser,' non?"

And he was right back to square one. "Ah… um… I… I, um…"

"Yes?" France pressed, Canada feeling his breath dance across his ear. Canada was trying to think of an intelligent answer, but all thoughts stopped when he felt lips graze over his cheek, drawing ever closer to his own.

Suddenly the whole world was swirling around him, and it felt like the floor dropped out from under him as everything just stopped.

The next thing Canada was aware of was being shaken awake, his head spinning wildly as he realized he had suddenly gone from standing to sitting. He opened his eyes, but everything was still black—so they were still in the closet. His ears began working once more, and he heard France's voice. Though it was a tone he'd never heard before; he sounded actually panicked. "Canada!" he said, still shaking him by the shoulders. "Canada, please, pardonnez-moi! Please, wake up!"

"E-eh?" he murmured, trying to blink his dizziness away. "Wh-what?"

Finally, Canada stopped being shaken, France nearly tackling him. "Oh, mon Dieu!" he cried, abruptly pulling the Canadian forward into an embrace. "I thought I had given you a heart attack! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Heart attack? "What happened?" Canada asked, his head still fuzzy on details. He remembered France nearly kissing him, but then everything became a blank after that.

France let Canada's back press against the wall, though he kept a firm grip at his shoulders. "Well, I suppose I went too far, because you fainted," France explained. Now that he had calmed, he gave a small chuckle. "Usually those I am with do not pass out until their orgasm! But this is the first time that just the mere thought of a kiss made them swoon!"

Canada flushed from France's bluntness, but he was glad that France seemed okay now. He felt bad for making him so scared. He hadn't ever thought he would legitimately pass out; it had been a surprise to the both of them.

Both hands left Canada's shoulders, but after a moment or two, he found France at his side on the closet floor. His arm wrapped around his shoulder, but by now, Canada supposed he didn't mind too much anymore. "Are you comfortable like that?" he asked, looking in the general area that France was located. He knew that the clothes in here took up quite a bit of space, so he didn't want France to be uncomfortable at his expense.

France's hand squeezed his shoulder, giving a small chuckle in response. "Oui, Canada, I am fine. I am more worried about you to be honest." Canada felt fingers brush against his wrist, a hand lightly lying on top his own. "Are you alright, mon amour?"

Shyly, Canada turned his hand over, letting their hands press against each other palm to palm. The other seemed slightly surprised by the gesture, but within a moment, their fingers were intertwined. "I'm still a little dizzy," Canada hummed, his head feeling heavy. And it was only because his head was still spinning that he let it rest on France's shoulder. He just did this to rest his head a little. His hand in France's… well, he'd figure out an excuse for that later.

His fingers were gently squeezed, France trailing his thumb gently up and down his own. "Then feel free to rest, mon chére. I'd hate to see you pass out again."

At that, Canada gave a small laugh. "I, I'm really sorry about that," he said, turning his head so his cheek was against France's shoulder. "I think that's the first time I've passed out from anxiety. I really didn't mean to make you worried like that."

"No need to apologize," France answered, resting his own head atop the Canadian's. "I should not have pushed you. I am just glad that you are alive and here with me."

Canada smiled, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. France could be an intimidating pervert sometimes; but he was also the kindest person he knew. And he supposed that France wasn't as scary as he had always thought. "Thank you," Canada murmured, feeling and letting himself head toward drowsiness.

"Hmm?" France lifted his head, most likely to look down at him. "Thank you for what?"

Giving a small squeeze of his own to France's hand, he continued to smile. "For noticing me."

France was silent beside him, not even a chuckle escaping him. Instead, he felt a kiss placed on his head before France returned his head to its place atop Canada's. "My pleasure," France replied.

For the first time in a long time, a sincere smile was on Canada's lips as he faded off to sleep.