A/N: A quick historical note...

Friedrich the Great once passed a motion to keep coffee out of Prussia (mostly due to the fact that Prussia had no coffee-producing colonies and the heated debate concerning beer vs. coffee as the national drink). The public then revolted and overthrew that motion. Somehow it's my head canon that Gilbert still doesn't drink the stuff even though his brother is the largest consumer of coffee in Europe and the second largest consumer in the world.

Chapter 5

"How is he, Prussia?"

"He's fine. We talked a bit last night, y'know, about the war."

"What'd he say?"

"Wanted to know what you two were like after it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Would I lie to you?"

"Well… Prussia's never done that before…"

"What'dya mean I've never done it before? Everything I say to you it total gospel truth!"

"I believe you, Prussia."

It was good to hear Feliciano laughing that morning. The Germanic nation could feel his own mouth attempting to form a upward arc when the musical giggles resounded through the phone receiver. He'd been worried about the Italian since his negative encounter the day before. If there was one thing Gilbert knew about his little brother, it was that Ludwig would rather die than hurt Feliciano. Though he was unsure of whether it was carryover from when they'd been allies in war or if it was a different sort of protective instinct that had been awakened within the younger nation, the albino had learned to accept it as absolute truth. Therefore, it had taken him entirely by surprise when Ludwig had yelled at the Italian in the conference room.

Hearing footsteps on the upper level, Gilbert bid Feliciano a quick good-bye before positioning himself at the foot of the stairs. He counted down his sibling's progress to the bathroom – thirteen perfectly executed paces – then waited.

Moments later, the bathroom door opened again and the blond appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Bruder?"

The former country held his breath. "Ja, West?"

"How do you work the shower? It's… somewhat different than I remember."

He sighed. "I'll be up in a sec."

"I'm going to Italy, Bruder." Ludwig announced when he had finally made it down to the breakfast table. "I feel that I should apologize for my behavior yesterday."

"Great." His brother plopped down a steaming coffee mug in front of him. "But eat some breakfast first."

"What do we have?"

"Whatever you find and make."

With a tired glance at the albino former nation, the German accepted the hot drink. "You still don't like it, do you?"

"Muddy water, West." Gilbert pulled a face. "'Sides, the old man wouldn't'a wanted me drinking it anyway."

"That was only because you lacked a colony that produced it."

"Beer's always gonna be number one to me, Brüderlein."

The blond smiled behind his coffee. Regardless of the passing of years, it seemed his brother was just as stubborn as ever. However, there was a broken look to the other Germanic that hadn't been present before – a hint of some defeat that had sent him buckling to his knees. Ludwig's lips fell back to their usual, stern position, made solemn by this heavy development.

"What're you gonna say to him?" Filling a bowl with cold cereal, the albino snuck a peek up at the other.

"To whom?"

"To Feli."

He struggled, setting aside the ceramic mug to sigh heavily. "Gilbert, am I in love with Italy?"

"He found out, didn't he?" Lovino glared at his brother as he leaned heavily against the doorjamb.

Feliciano didn't look up from his task, fingers gently kneading through the flour and eggs. "Si, but I have a good feeling about today."

"Oh yeah? Why?" he grunted irritably. "Did he only kill a few innocents today?"

The auburn-locked Italian's progress halted immediately, his shoulders stiffening noticeably as he turned to face the older nation. "Because I know Germany, fratello."

Lovino said nothing, silently noting the dark bags marring his brother's usually cheerful features. He had clearly slept poorly the night before and, perhaps, was not in the most pleasant of moods at the present. Instead, the southernmost portion of the country bit his tongue.

"Yes," the other murmured to himself, as though for reassurance. "I know Germany."

As though to relieve the building tensions in the room, the kitchen phone rang. Quickly ridding his hands of the pasta dough, Feliciano skipped over to retrieve it.

"Ciao, Italia Veneziano."

"Hey, Feli, it's me."

With a nervous side glance at his brother, the younger Italian began to toy with the phone cord. "Prussia? What is it? Is Germany alright?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine. Couldn't work the shower for beans, but he'll make it. Hey, but anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Why?"

"Well, he's on his way over, and I told him…"

"What? You told him what?"

"That you two… I mean, I told him about how you two're… together… like you are."

"And?" Feliciano's heart pounded in his ears. "Tell me, Prussia, what did he say?"

"He just went kind of quiet like. You know him. You can never tell if he's freaking out or if he's just thinking… but I think he was okay with it. He's coming over, anyway."

"Yeah… I guess you're right." Sighing, the Italian forced himself to keep a cheerful tone. "Well, thanks anyway, Prussia."

"You got it, kid. Hang in there, 'kay?"

"I will."

"What's that about?" Lovino asked the moment his brother set the phone aside. "What'd he say?"

"Ah, just a few things that Germany's forgotten."

"Like human decency and how to bathe?"

"No!" He laughed, trying to lighten the situation. "Silly Lovino… though he did forget how to work the shower…"

"I'd say he forgot a long time before now."

"Germany doesn't smell that bad." Feliciano smiled gently, hugging his arms to his chest. "He's warm and kind and always protects me no matter what…"

His brother snorted. "Are you sure you're looking at the right nation?"

"Mm, he's coming over today, fratello, so you'll have to be nice when he-"

"I'm outta here."

As the older nation turned to leave, he was just able to hear his milder counterpart whisper, "Grazie."

The dull roar of the jet's engine buzzed in Ludwig's ears as he stared out the tiny porthole in the side of the aircraft. Last he remembered, the planes had been much bulkier and noisier, and meant to shoot other planes out of the sky. This one, it seemed, was only meant to transport passengers from one location to another – from Berlin to Rome in his case. However, the scenery and the feeling he got peering down at the brown, green, blue planet below was the same exciting rush it had been in his own time. It was a sensation of being separated from the heavy prison of personifying a nation and, instead, being the equal of everyone up in the air, up where the Earth had no hold on him.

Now he could think clearly about the situation Gilbert had presented to him: he, Ludwig, and Feliciano had been romantically involved for a few years now. Years. He just "couldn't remember" it.

He sighed, wondering how he was to handle this sort of development. His was an era of militancy tinged with xenophobia, where such relations between two men were frowned upon by the general public. Sighing, Ludwig rested his head against the window. The pain from his head wound was tolerable now, but still sharp enough to make him hiss his discomfort. Maybe if it healed, he could go back home… not that he had very much to look forward to, if the words of the other nations were correct. He would only be facing a long, painful war and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people who didn't deserve to die. Maybe living in this future era with a kind, Italian boyfriend would be better than returning to those desperate years of anticipated aggression.

Of course, this set him thinking all over again. Perhaps it wasn't so much that he had flown several years into the future, rather that he had simply been presented with some sort of extreme amnesia. He dismissed the idea immediately, sternly insisting that his life would not be turned into some half-baked soap opera. Memory loss indeed.