The irresistible aroma of waffles caused Romano's eyes to open and his mouth to water.

Wow, I don't remember Spain ever making waffles before, thought Romano serenely. The bastard.

He closed his eyes again, savoring the smell for a few minutes more, and slowly stood up to find his clothes in the morning, because apparently the heat had caused him to kick off everything but his boxers sometime during his sleep. He felt around, half-asleep, wondering why the arrangement of his room was different today. When he picked up the shirt on the floor and read what it said, his eyes suddenly popped open.

Shit! Romano thought, and facepalmed. FUCK! He winced at the pain in his right arm that he attempted to facepalm with. Why did I do that!

He looked at the table and saw not only a brand new set of clothing, but also a real sling for his arm. He blushed, thinking of what it must've been like for Belgium to leave newly bought clothes while he slept almost-naked under the covers and smacked his face, making sure it was his left hand this time. But deep inside, he was also very thankful.

But there was yet another problem: what was he going to do now?

…

"So you're going to Italy's house? What about Spain?"

"Don't worry, Bel, I have a plan in mind," Romano spoke with waffle in his mouth. Belgium laughed.

"You know there's going to be a world meeting in a few days, right?"

"Sì, but I'm just testing this out hopefully in time for the meeting," Romano replied, but he looked moderately unsure, maybe even a bit embarrassed. He explained the plan that he had thought up earlier that morning.

"Hmm…is Spain or Germany going to fall for it?" Belgium asked, cocking her head as she lowered her fork. "I mean…how sure are you that this is going to work?"

"I don't know…I'm crossing my fingers…just call Spain and tell him that I'm going to Italy's house…please," he added in a low voice. "And don't tell him, or anyone else."

"Ok then...good luck," said Belgium, smiling. Romano set his mouth in a hard line, and subconsciously adjusted his sling.

"Grazie," he whispered under his breath, getting up to carry his plate over to the sink, but nearly tripping over his own feet. Luckily Belgium simultaneously got up to catch him, landing them in an awkward hugging position.

"Uhh...blugh-gluh," Romano sputtered. Belgium laughed even harder. He really looked like a tomato!

"Don't worry, you belong to Spain," she giggled. That made him even redder than…what could be redder than a tomato?

I really hope he's going to be okay, she thought.

…

It took longer than usual for Romano to drive to Italy's house because he kept having second thoughts, and driving with one arm wasn't helping. But at last, he arrived and pulled up to Italy's house...and frowned when he saw that Italy's car wasn't there! He took two deep breaths. Maybe more. Stepping up the two steps to the house, his fragile heart sank as he saw a tiny note taped to the wall, with messy writing that said:

Went to Germany's Place. Be back never!

-N. Italy

Romano breathed in sharply. Damn. Now he had to go to that potato-bastard's place. As if it weren't as hard as it is. But it was his plan, and he had to go through with it. He needed to find out what made Italy so…so…much like himself! He slammed the car door particularly hard and began to drive off, barely motivated by self-will. He hated the fact that he even remembered where the bastard lived, because his stupid fratello was there so much that he basically lived with him.

Romano only just parked his car when his brother skipped outside singing, "Germany, look it's Belgium's car! Belgium-chan! Bel-chan came to visit!" and immediately examined his life decisions. The potato-bastard followed suit like a bodyguard. Sheesh.

Stepping out of the car, Italy's smile grew wider when he realized who it was. "Fratello! You came to visit me!" He hugged him tightly.

Romano didn't hug back. "Damn right I did, damn right," he muttered under his breath. Italy's hug began to suffocate his healing arm. "OW!" He saw Italy stare at his arm, which was still a bit red. He had removed the sling for the plan.

"Romano, what happened to your arm? Are you okay?" Italy looked at him with those damn closed eyes, worried.

"No. Fratello, I need to talk to you in private," He whispered in Italian. Italy stared at him and backed off, suddenly serious. He went to Germany and hooked his arm with his muscular one. The German raised his eyebrow.

"Ve… No. Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us." Italy's serious face loosened and instead, held in a laugh. Romano rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Ve…Romano, it was a joke!"

"I know, and what I'm telling you isn't. Get in the car, we're going for a ride."

"Okie dokie! Ve, Germany, I'm going to hang out with my big brother so you can call me if you need me!" Romano pinched the bridge of his nose. I can't believe my brother is in love with that guy.

…

On the road, Romano said in his native tongue, "Veneziano, were you ever curious about what it was like to be the second fucking wheel?"

Startled by his sudden aggression, Italy replied in Italian as well, "R-Romano, what are you talking about? Your life is good isn't it? Spain takes care of you!"

"Yeah, except when he's swooning over you. Per favore, Italy. I need you to do this with me," Romano said more gently. Italy perked up questioningly.

"Do what?"

"Listen, fratello. We're going to England's—" (Italy whimpered) "LISTEN! We're going to England's place and we're going to steal one of his spell books." Romano said the last part rather quickly.

"No, no, no! W-we can't steal from E-England!" Italy began to sniffle and squirmed under his seatbelt.

"Veneziano, stop that, dammit! I resent him as much as you do, but we're going to find a body-switching spell, and you know, switch bodies. Just for a few days, maybe until the upcoming World Meeting. It seems arbitrary but please, I…need to u-understand you better. Per favore."

"B-But," Italy protested, showing reluctance on his face. "Ve… I don't want to steal though! E-England would be v-very upset if he finds out! And he's already scary as he is!"

"How the hell am I supposed to approach him then?" Romano paused, realizing how angry he was and sighed. "W-Would you do it if I asked England?"

"Ve...Yes."

At his peripheral vision, he could see that Italy stared at him with big, pleading eyes. To Romano, it was more irritating than convincing but he had to do this, even if it meant confronting the English bastard.

"….Fine."