Chapter 3:

A/N: Here, have some more fangirl rambling. P.S. Romerica should totally be called Americano. Also, I don't know shit about fashion, I just pretend.

There is a short stare-down between the four nations, Romano frustrated at being caught acting sweet, America curious and confused, Iceland awkward and nervous, and Hong Kong silently panicking.

'…Are you two going out?' Hong Kong and America ask simultaneously.

'You answer first,' America demands.

'Is that a yes then?' Hong Kong raises an eyebrow.

'I can't say,' America replies, glancing at Romano, who is refusing to look at him.

'Keeping secrets, are we?' Hong Kong prompts.

'It's not a secret,' America protests.

'So you are going out with South Italy, then.'

'No, I mean, yes, I mean, maybe,' America stutters, glancing between Romano and Hong Kong.

'So if I just call England now and ask…' Hong Kong begins, pulling his phone out.

'No! Don't!' America cries out in alarm. 'We're together, okay! Don't call England, he'll tell Spain and I'm going to get my ass kicked by a crazy former conquistador pirate matador!'

Romano joins in on the panic. 'Hong Kong, per favore, don't tell anyone! Belgium will find out too! Or worse, France! Or even worse, Hungary!'

'Alright, alright!' Hong Kong backs off, putting his phone away. He points a finger at Iceland. 'I won't tell if you won't tell.'

Iceland fidgets under the gazes of the two older nations. 'Umm… ah…'

'Tch,' Romano clicks his tongue irritably. 'None of my business.'

'We'll call a truce!' America announces, cheerfully extending his hand towards Hong Kong and Iceland. 'We'll tell absolutely no one!'

Hong Kong accepts the offered hand and so does a hesitant Iceland.

'U-um, South Italy?' Iceland stammers shyly.

'Just call me Romano,' the Italian replies coldly. 'What is it?'

'While we're all here…' Iceland starts, sliding his gaze over to Hong Kong, away from the intimidating Italian. 'Could you… help us pick out some clothes?'

Romano looks the nervous nation up and down. 'You seem like you'd be more suited to dresses.'

'Hey, be nice,' America nudges Romano gently.

'Actually, I agree,' Hong Kong says with a grin. 'We should take a look at some evening gowns.'

'HELL NO,' Iceland immediately objects. 'NOT AGAIN. YOU WON'T GET ME ALIVE.'

'Again?' America questions.

Iceland blushes furiously and Romano feels a prick of sympathy for the poor nation. He sighs and tries to change the subject. 'How about suits? You can never go wrong with a suit.'

'I don't, like, feel sophisticated enough for that,' Hong Kong disagrees.

'Tsk, fine, amateurs,' Romano huffs at the rejection. 'Stay here; I'll go grab some stuff.'

The Italian whisks away, already grabbing something off the nearest rack, barely glancing at it.

'Trust Romano and his fashion sense,' America laughs. 'Wear it, even if you don't think it suits you. Or he'll get really offended.'

'You're Hong Kong's half brother, right?' Iceland asks, intimidated by the experienced nation.

'Yeah!' America confirms. 'We look nothing alike, right? But Iggy raised us both.'

Iceland glances back and forth between the tall blonde and the lanky Asian boy. 'Yeah…'

'Aww, c'mon, don't be shy, kid,' America encourages with a huge grin. 'We're practically family! Romano too!'

'Well this family is even weirder than my own,' Hong Kong chuckles. 'But not Iceland's family.'

'Woah, hey, what's that supposed to mean?!' Iceland complains indignantly.

'Having trouble with the in-laws, bro?' America teases with a wink. Hong Kong simply smirks.

'What are you implying?!' Iceland cries out, blushing like crazy.

'Leave him alone, bastards,' Romano points accusingly at America and Hong Kong, having already returned from shopping. 'Here, take these.'

'You already paid?' Iceland stutters in surprise. 'You really shouldn't have, we-'

'My country, my rules,' Romano cuts him off. 'Come on, America, leave the lovebirds alone, let's go.'

'Alright, honey,' America coos, earning himself a smack on the arm. He grins at the younger nations before leaving. 'Have fun, you two.'

Hong Kong and Iceland stand in a dazed silence, trying to process the implications of what just occurred. Iceland peeks into the bags Romano handed him and makes a strangled sound.

'What?' Hong Kong's head snaps up. 'What is it?'

'HE BOUGHT ME A FUCKING DRESS.' Iceland darts out onto the street, hurriedly shoving the door aside, only to see South Italy and America running into the distance, cackling evilly.

Hong Kong steps out behind him, trying to suppress a smile. 'I guess Romano has a sense of humour I didn't know about. America's probably rubbing off on him.'

Iceland is frozen, silently opening and shutting his mouth. '…What?'

'Let me see,' Hong Kong reaches into the bag and pulls out a beautiful dress. The strapless gown is a softly luminous pearl color, belted around the waist in a ruffled set of blue ribbons, the fluttering hemline ending at knee length. Hong Kong lines the dress up to the Nordic nation's slim figure and hums appreciatively. 'South Italy does have good fashion sense.'

Iceland slaps his hand away. 'I'm not wearing that! No! Pervert!'

'But it's Valentino Roma… and pretty damn expensive,' Hong Kong raises an eyebrow while checking the tags. 'And he'll get offended if you return it…'

'Gift it to your sister,' Iceland suggests.

'The color doesn't suit her.'

'DAMMIT HONG KONG.'

'It's classy.'

'HONG KONG.'

'I'll buy you a year's worth of liquorice.'

'I'M NOT- wait… are you serious?' Iceland pauses to consider. He shakes his head. 'NO.'

'It was worth a shot.'

Iceland growls threateningly at Hong Kong. The Asian simply pats him on the head, finding him adorable beyond measure and leads him down the lamp lit streets. The Nordic boy mutters resentfully in Icelandic, but doesn't pull away. Aimless strolling finds them back in their hotel, somehow with the addition of a bottle of wine and two glasses.

The two of them are quite for a moment, gazing at the sparkling lights in the lobby, when Hong Kong speaks up softly. 'What do you think the roof is like?'

Iceland frowns. 'The elevator doesn't go up to the roof, only the top floor.'

Hong Kong takes his hand and winks at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. They take the elevator to the top floor, where after a little wandering, they find a staircase leading up to a door.

A very obvious, large sign on the door emblazed with the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY stares them down disapprovingly as Iceland lifts the heavy bar across the door and tugs at the doorhandle.

'It's locked,' he sighs, stepping back.

'Hold these for a second,' Hong Kong murmurs, handing the wine and glasses over to Ice and slipping a set of lockpicks out of his pocket.

'Um, why do you have those?' Iceland raises and eyebrow at Hong Kong, who smiles back sheepishly and puts a finger to his lips. Iceland rolls his eyes, accustomed to the Asian's strange habits.

Within seconds the door clicks and slides open, revealing a deserted rooftop, half-illuminated by the hundreds of lights on the exterior of the hotel. The cobalt sky stretches overhead, dusted with stars like glitter scattered across dark velvet, the occasional smoky cloud shadowing the charming twinkle.

Iceland drifts over to the ledge, setting the glasses down and pouring out the wine. He looks back to see Hong Kong still standing by the door, gazing up at the sky.

'What are you doing?' Iceland beckons, holding out a glass of wine for the other nation.

Hong Kong shakes his head and joins Iceland, accepting the wine and delicately taking a sip. 'We just don't have this kind of view at home. Because of all the skyscrapers, you know?'

Iceland drinks too, feeling pleasant warmth swirling up his throat. 'You do have a ridiculous amount.'

Hong Kong moves up onto the ledge, swinging his long legs over to dangle in the empty air between them and the city lights twenty storeys beneath them.

Iceland's eyes widen in alarm. 'What are you doing?'

'Hmm?' Hong Kong kicks the air lazily. 'When you have a lot of skyscrapers, this kind of thing becomes normal.' He pats the ledge beside him. 'Come, try it.'

Iceland fidgets, carefully peering over the edge. 'Heights make me uncomfortable…'

'I won't let you fall,' Hong Kong reassures him, offering a hand.

Iceland nervously climbs onto the ledge, one hand balancing his glass of wine and the other wrapped tightly around Hong Kong's fingers. He slowly lowers his feet over the edge, his heart jumping erratically at the unusual feeling.

'See, it isn't so bad,' Hong Kong pulls Iceland closer, wrapping his arms around the nervous nation.

'Mmm,' Iceland hums in agreement, looking over at Hong Kong's profile. The warm light, close and distant reflect in his eyes and turns his dark hair to golden brown, a few locks dancing in the slight breeze.

A sudden gust of wind pushes against them and Iceland instinctively latches onto Hong Kong, afraid of tumbling off the roof of the tall building. A slam is heard as the door across the roof is blown shut, followed by a heavy clang.

'Oh no no no,' Iceland breathes in alarming realization. He dashes across the roof, followed closely by Hong Kong, to find the door impossible to open. The bar has fallen back into place, trapping them out on the rooftop. 'What do we do now?!'

A/N: ha, yep, um. So. Tell me if you want more? Also tell me if you want Ice in a dress. It's so stupid and fluffy, cause I'm shit at writing relationships. Alright, bye.