Prussia finally left France's house after four days of trying to cheer up Spain. It didn't help much. They managed to get him to stop drinking for a while, to take his time in between each beverage. They also got him into a shower, details in which Prussia would rather not remember. But that was the extent of what they accomplished. He still sat in that arm chair by the window. He barely ate or slept, and he didn't do anything but stare into space all day.

But Prussia still left. France offered that the albino go home, feeling that he could take care of Spain by himself. They did agree, though, that Spain would be brought to Prussia's home in Germany in a couple of days. It was only fair.

The man fumbled with his keys, rubbing the exhaustion off of his face to focus. When he finally opened the door he stumbled inside, ready for a nice German beer and a long nap.

That changed when he walked into the living room and was greeted with his younger brother, surrounded by a pile of books and on his laptop.

"West?" He mumbled horsely.

"Guten Abend, Prussia." Germany offered, slowly lowering the book and throwing it, cover down, on the ground shamefully. Prussia raised an eyebrow at this odd behavior.

"Ja, what are you doing?" He asked, a little more liveliness in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing." The elder rolled his eyes.

"Ja, uh huh." He snatched a book off the ground, earning a blush from his brother before he read the title. How To Please Your Gay Lover. A wild grin graced Prussia's face before he burst out laughing. "Having a little trouble pleasing your Italian boy-toy?!" He roared between the laughter. Germany stood up, quickly grabbing the book from his brother and bringing it back to the pile, a mad blush burning on his cheeks. Prussia was still laughing.

"I'm not . . . it's not like that . . . I just . . ." Germany tried to explain, but couldn't find the way to get his brother to pay attention. Finally, his laughter died down, but still lingered in his tone when he finally reciprocated.

"Oh, I'm sorry West. But I never pegged you as one to be reading this junk."

"It's not junk! It's informative!"

"I'm not saying it isn't but are you really that bad in bed? That's so not awesome."

"I wouldn't know, Italy and I haven't . . ."

"Oh." They were silent for a moment. "Yeah, did Italy finally say something to you? Because he visited France and I the other day." Germany's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean? What did he say?!"

"Nothing much, he just said that he wished you would fuck him already."

"Prussia!"

"Has he said something to you?" He asked, ignoring the outburst.

"Not recently. The last time he brought it up was four days ago. I told him we should take it slow, but then . . . well, you know."

"Know?"

"The box that France gave him."

"Oh! The box. Yeah, I know of that little box. Spain and I nearly had a heart attack! It was so funny." Germany glared at him, to which Prussia cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, I found it and I thought-"

"If Italy was getting off to this kind of stuff, then maybe you ought to remove the stick up your ass and put something up his?" Germany's eyes widened with horror and anger. The blush he was sporting earlier grew up to his ears. He wanted to say something, but was far too embarrassed to find the right words to shout at his brother with. "Yeah, I get it. Where is he now?"

"He, um, went to go visit his brother for the week."

"Oh, well that should give you plenty of time."

"I hope so." The blonde said, cooling down and going back to his reading. Prussia only chuckled, making his way to the kitchen to grab himself a beer.

Italy arrived at Romano's tired and ready to eat some delicious pasta after a strenuous flight. It wasn't that the flight was uncomfortable, but the thought of the box kept playing around in his mind. Especially knowing that he brought it with him. There's nothing Romano would like about the box. The contents, the person who gave it to him, and who he was probably thinking about while doing . . . well, that.

Italy dumped his bags on the ground in front of the door to Romano's home in Naples, fishing for his spare key. He opened the door haphazardly, walking in and calling out,

"Romano? Are you home? It's me, Italy!"

"I'm in here, you dumbass." Romano called out, surprisingly calm. Italy found him in the living room, jotting down notes on a piece of paper, then setting it aside.

"Buona Sera, Romano!" Italy said, dropping his bags once again and running over to hug him. Romano only fought back against these attempts of affection.

"Would you get off of me?!"

"Romano, how are you?" He asked, not letting go. "I heard about what happened between you and Spain and I'm sorry. But I'm here to make you feel better." Romano finally pushed his touchy-feely brother off of himself, clearing his throat.

"Don't be. I'm better off without that asshole."

"You don't mean that, do you?"

"Of course I do! What kind of stupid ass question is that?" Romano didn't look at him. Rather, he looked out the window. Italy was disappointed, but it was expected. He knew Romano well enough to know that he didn't like to share his feelings. Romano barely admitted his feelings to himself.

Italy looked at the papers on the coffee table, picking them up and looking through them. They were music sheets.

"What's this?" Romano turned, narrowing his eyes and grabbing the sheets from his brother.

"It's just music I've been working on." He answered, tucking the sheets away and putting away his guitar.

"Can I hear it?" Italy asked, voice ringing with hope. Romano slumped his shoulders.

"No, no you can't." Italy was shocked at Romano's tone. It wasn't angry, it wasn't frustrated, or annoyed. It was . . . depressed, sad. Suddenly, Italy realized how tired Romano looked, and how unkempt he was. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two, and there were small bags under his eyes. He wasn't as bad as Spain, but it was still noticable.

"Oh. That's a shame. You have a beautiful singing voice, Romano." Romano just rolled his eyes, letting out a small scoff as he got to his feet.

"Are you hungry? Because I've got no food in the house, so we'd have to go shopping."

"Oh! Fun! Let's go!" Italy jumped, quickly heading for the door. Romano grabbed the car keys off the hook, following Italy out the door.

They arrived at the market, stocking up on the essentials. Their cart was filled with pasta, cheeses, bread, tomatoes, cured meats, and spices. Italy and Romano's mouths watered, eager to get home and eat the food.

"Do you think that's enough?" Italy asked. "Should we get dessert? I would really like tiramisu." Italy said dreamily.

"Then go get the ingredients so we can get out of here." Romano spat.

"Si, I just need to get a couple of more things." They down the aisles, Italy grabbing ingredients, Romano standing behind him, growing impatient. "So, when was the last time you talked to Spain?"

"Why do you keep bringing this up?" There was a sharpness to Romano's voice, letting Italy know that he was treading on thin ice.

"I'm sorry. I was just curious, is all."

"Well, drop it. It's none of your fucking business."

"Okay, I'm sorr-" He wa cut off when he dropped a container of ground coffee beans on the floor. It rolled down the aisle until it was stopped at the feet of a girl.

She picked it up, walking over to the two stunned men. They gaped at her. She was pretty. There was no denying that. She had a long, slender frame of a body, but was fully developed in all the senses. Her sleek black hair reached down to her waist framed her face which was adorable, and yet arousing too. Her nose and parts of her cheeks were lightly freckled on her pale skin, and she had hazel eyes.

She held the can out to Italy, smiling and waiting for him to take it. When he didn't, her smile faltered and she raised her eyebrows, growing uncomfortable. She cleared her throat,

"Um, I believe you dropped this." Both Italy's shook their heads. The younger of the two finally spoke, and grabbed the can.

"I'm sorry, it's so hard to focus when you've got a true form of beauty staring you right in the face." She blushed, biting her lip.

"Oh . . . thank you."

"It must be hard to go out for you. You must get stopped all the time by strange men just so they can marvel at your beauty."

"Like now?"

"Si, just like now." She smirked.

"That's sweet, but I have a boyfriend."

"That's okay, so do I." She giggled. "It was nice to meet you . . ."

"Nicolina."

"Feliciano."

"And . . ." She inquired at Romano, who didn't answer.

"Lovino, my brother."

"Well it really was nice to meet you. Ciao." She walked away, leaving the two alone in the aisle. Romano, meanwhile, was glaring at his brother.

"What the hell was that?"

"Scussi?"

"Oh, you're so beautiful, I bet you get stopped in the streets so men can practically eye fuck you." Romano said, raising his voice to intimidate the latter.

"She is beautiful."

"And aren't you in a committed relationship?"

"What? I told her I was. And why can't I tell people they're beautiful when they are without looking for something else? Besides, it's fun to flirt. I still love Germany and aren't looking to cheat on him or leave him."

"Pfftt, whatever."

They gathered the rest of the groceries, quickly paying for them and racing home to cook and eat. When they finished they hung around the house, talking and watching television until it was late enough and they both wanted to go to bed.

Italy climbed into the sheets, grabbing the box from his night stand. He opened it and pulled out a DVD. His hand hovered over his laptop, conflicted weather he felt like he could or not. No, not with Romano right next door. Tomorrow. Si, tomorrow. He threw the DVD back into the box, shoving it into the nightstand. He pulled up his covers, resting his head and ready to sleep.

As he was just about to drift off to sleep he could hear the sound of Romano singing and playing his guitar from the other room.