"Mon dieu… that was a great, Italian wine isn't so bad…"

"Si…"

"Gott, you guys are so drunk! And it wasn't even German beer!"

Romano was still shocked and quite frankly, disgusted. He was leaning against the space of the door that was not blocked by his nightstand, putting his ear against it.

Dammit, Romano thought. What the hell? Not only did he bring his stupid friends along, but they're also drunk as fuck!

"Heh, well you're now at your house Spain, good thing you have your keys conveniently tucked into your pocket! You owe the awesome me for driving you here! Now for Mr. Fancy-Francy-Pants!"Shit. If he keeps those keys I'll beat the living hell out of him.

Spain mumbled something incoherently.

"You okay, Spain? Mein Gott, I can't understand you if you're mumbling like that!"

"R-Romanooo….Romano…lo siento…"

"Heh, I totally forgot you two lovebirds lived together! I wonder if he's sleeping…but the light was on in that one room upstairs," Dammit! Romano was suddenly stricken with trepidation because he could feel the gears turning in that mischievous head of his. Not only did the Prussian know that he was probably awake, things were not o turn out well, since he is a member of the Bad Touch Trio…

Hearing approaching footsteps on the stairs didn't help the situation at all. Romano frantically searched for an escape plan. His eyes scanned the room…there was his bed, but hiding under it wouldn't do him justice. There was his desk with his laptop, his bag, the closet, the windo—

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. "Hey, you in there? Kesesese, I met your brother today, I wouldn't mind meeting you! Kesesese... By the looks of Spain, it looks like the awesome Prussia must interfere to solve this problem."

Romano was sweating now. He remembered the pranks. The roughhousing. The teasing. The perverted France. They always have the craziest ideas. Knock. KNOCK. The doorknob turned vigorously, and he could feel Prussia slamming his body against the door, which would probably break the poor thing since he was the annoying version of Germany, who could lift like twenty weights or something. The nightstand wobbled as Romano backed away, knocking over his lamp in the process.

Shit, now I got to think fast! Romano thought to himself. It was more like act fast because right when the Prussian-albino barged in, staring at him with those creepy red eyes, he grabbed the window, pulled it open, climbed through, and jumped. Not to mention flipping him off and saying 'fuck you' in the process.

Oh, and it was nothing, just a second story window he jumped out of.

Thump. Whoever thought grass was like a pillow—well guess what, it's as painful as the same situation with snow and a plane. It fucking hurt! It hurt like hell! Romano struggled to hold back his tears while he lightly brushed his stinging arm, stomach-down on the lawn and thought, That was the dumbest thing I-really? Really Romano? Dio, it hurts. But I'm not going to cry like my dumb brother. Spitting out a mouthful of grass, he struggled to get up, and held his right arm with his left like a cast. The pain told him it was probably broken. There were also scrapes, chlorophyll stains and bruises all over his body, judged by the way he felt.

It was dark outside, yet still cool, but the full moon told him it was past midnight. Romano shook violently as he stood up, dazed. Regardless of the circumstances, he definitely did not want to encounter the trio, especially when two-thirds of them were drunk. But what was he going do to? All he had on him was his phone, not even his car keys—wait! Phone…contacts…he could go to Belgium's house, only being like two blocks away-

"Yo, Romano! Holy Scheiße Romano!" yelled Prussia from the second story window.His bedroom window to be exact. Romano impulsively began to limp off the lawn onto the street and began to make his way to his destination, despite feeling like a beat up rag-doll with a broken arm. Fuck that guy, it was none of his business! Romano secretly hoped the darkness concealed him well enough.

He kept walking, and dared himself to take a peek at the window again. No. Not until he reached the end of the street. But by the time he got there he turned around. Even though the pale moon was the only source of light, he could see that it wasn't Prussia who was at his window, but the figure had brown curly, hair, wobbling dangerously out of the window like the inflatable-car-dealership-tube guy, yelling with that same sing-song voice, except drunk and confused, "Roomaanooo! Te amo, Romano!" And wait…did he just vomit over the window?

No. No. NO! Romano continued to say to himself. I will not go back there! It's about time I do things differently! But on the contrary, his stomach that began to feel queasy as a mixture of jealousy, guilt, apprehension, fear, and pain made his heart sink.

...

When he finally made it to Belgium's house, his phone said it was 1:30 am. He was exhausted. The only source of light he had were the streetlamps and his phone, so he barely see anything. And plus every time a car had driven by, he dived behind a tree or a bush, fearing it was one of the BTT members, either drunk or sober.

Well, there's no turning back now, he thought. Might as well. He pressed the doorbell, and heard a ding-dong echoing inside. Then he heard a loud shuffle and saw a blonde girl look out from the nearby window and gasp, green eyes scanning him, looking at every worn feature of his body, illuminated by the automatic outdoor light. She abruptly opened the door.

"Romano! You're a mess!" Belgium exclaimed, rubbing her eyes. She wore pink pajamas and bunny slippers, which were really pretty on her, he had to admit.

She grabbed his hand, but when she saw him flinch, she realized that his arm was injured and choked in surprise. Her lips mouthed 'my goodness' and led him to her living room, sitting him down in a chair.

Without a word, she left to get some supplies, and came back to put ice and rub alcohol swabs on all his scrapes and bruises. She used a clean, white towel and tied it to his arm to act as a sling. Being a country, it was already starting to heal. Romano's face reddened and he mumbled something about Spain and windows. She nodded, suddenly feeling regretful because she knew how emotionally stressed Romano was, ever since he was little.

"Sorry about not calling you back," said Belgium, "I was on a call with Netherlands, he was really desperate for some ways to help bring more money into his country and wouldn't get off until it was really late." Her eyes told him she was sincere.

"It's fine," said Romano under his breath. He sighed. "Spain…I hate how even though we live together, and says he c-cares about me, he's still attracted to Veneziano like everyone else. Why does Veneziano always get all the attention?"

"Hmm," Belgium thought for a moment. "Look at it this way. Maybe you should take a really close look at Italy. Does he want the attention? I'm guessing he sacrifices a lot to be who he is, I mean just, you know, look at him. Maybe it's you who's lucky."

"I…don't understand," murmured Romano, but he was pretty beat up, so maybe he wasn't thinking straight. But how could he ever be the lucky one? "Thanks though." His face was still red. Belgium looked at him and if the context had been different, she would have just stopped herself from making the connection with equally red tomatoes.

"Aww, Romano. Here," she said, throwing him some clothes and a towel, "You're going to have to wash up. I have some extra bandages for afterwards, and you can sleep in the guest room. Sorry about the clothes, they may be a few sizes too big since they were Netherlands', but I still have the underwear that you left the last time you were angry and slept here. It's cleaned." She giggled, as if saying 'sorry but not sorry'.

...

After a comforting shower, Romano put on Netherlands' shirt that read, If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much! This was in fact, many sizes too big, as well as the pants, but it was still wearable. He also fixed up his bandages. Subsequently, he made his way to the guest room and by the way the silence resonated, he could tell that Belgium had already gone back to bed.

Lying on the comfortable guest bed, Romano thought about what Belgium had told him. What in the world did she mean? What does Veneziano sacrifice to get all the beloved attention? It's always better than being the backseat, the 'oh you're his brother', the unwanted one dumped by Austria as a child!

Before Romano drifted off to sleep, his last thought was that he really needed to pay a visit to his brother in order to find out what she meant.

A/N: Reviews are appreciated, as usual! :)