Italy had driven Belgium's car and dropped Romano off at Germany's house, as the sun had already begun to set. Then Romano waved emotionlessly, as if he were attending a hanging, and he was going to be hanged. What made it worse was that even though Italy wasn't planned for this and it was his plan, he had ended up more enthusiastic than Romano could ever feel.

"Ve…Germany's going to make the food, since it is his house, so don't worry," Italy had said comfortingly, trying to get used to Romano's deep voice. "This is going to be so exciting!"

"Ok, yeah, whatever. Call me if you need anything," Romano had replied, trying to make Italy's voice sound like his as much as possible. "Also, don't damage Belgium's car. Also, Spain was supposed to stop by Belgium's house today, but he should have left by the time you get there. Belgium knows about the plan. Als—"

"Calmati, fratello! Ve…"

Romano tried to keep calm as he rang the doorbell. Why was he so edgy? It wasn't like he was going to propose to him or anything. Germany opened the door.

I'm Veneziano, I'm Veneziano, I'm Veneziano, he thought.

"Italy? Wow, you're here already. I guess I've underestimated you once again…uh…why are your eyes open?"

"Um… v-v-heh… I-I just felt like it…?" Romano attempted to smile, and sort of closed his eyes. Goddammit Romano! Get yourself together!

"Italy…are you sick?" Germany's face scrunched up in concern. He tried to feel his forehead but Romano flinched.

"N-no…? Can we go inside?"

"Fine. But if I hear you coughing or anything you're going straight to bed!"

Romano sighed in relief. Since he never really lived with Italy, he didn't really know how exactly Italy was like around Germany. Because apparently stuttering meant he was sick. Bastard.

"Go stay on the couch. I'm almost finished with dinner, and I'll call you when I'm done. I'm making Bratwurst, which you told me was your favorite last time."

"Ve..heh…" Romano speed-walked in the other direction, down the hallway so the German couldn't see him gag. Yuck. Disgusting German food. Why does Veneziano even live with this guy? I mea-

"ITALY!" Romano jumped as a shiver ran down his spine. "The living room's the other way!"

Romano made a noise in his throat and stiffly walked to the room where Germany was gesturing. He heard the muscled man walk back into the kitchen.

Sitting on the leather couch, he made note of a few things: Germany was goddamn scary. And oddly he didn't seem fazed by the fact that he didn't know where the hell the living room was. He shivered as he took out Italy's phone and texted his own phone his brother had: HELP ME.

Was this what Italy sacrificed for his innocence? No, Romano thought with false reassurance. It's just the first day. Maybe I'm not used to it. Dear god, I hope it all ends here.

…

Prussia pulled into the driveway, grinning from ear to ear. In the passenger seat, France was chortling like a total pervert.

"Did you see how confused they looked? They didn't even see us! Honhonhon, finally Romano is MINE!"

"Yeah, but we would've gotten caught if they weren't so occupied with their new bodies. Why when Romano is in the picture do you become the silly one?"

"Because, mon ami, Spain won't let go of him ever since he was a little child! He doesn't really show his love to him outright, either. I mean their sexual tensions are—Prussia?" Prussia had already gotten out of the car, beckoning him over vehemently.

"Come on! I bet West's finished cooking dinner." He jabbed the doorbell.

Ding-dong! Germany opened the door and raised his eyebrow, "Bruder, you're early… and I see that—"

"MON DIEU! G-Germany..." France hid behind Prussia, who promptly rolled his eyes.

"You better have plenty of food, West, because Francey here is coming to the party! KESESE!" Prussia pushed past Germany before he could react, and with great strength, dragged France by the collar of his shirt.

"France, you idiot, remember ROMANO! Priorities!" The albino hissed to the Frenchman, pronouncing every syllable. France immediately blinked and got up.

"Romano…." he mouthed. Prussia underestimated France's love for Romano by far.

…

Romano poked the Bratwurst with his fork. His stomach growled, but at the same time he retched at the sight of the non-Italian food. Germany had gone to answer the door, so it was just him alone, sitting at the table, poking this inedible cylindrical piece of meat.

His text had been left unreturned, which made his empty stomach churn with butterflies, wondering what he would be doing. Was he still with Belgium? With Spain? Maybe-groowwwl.

"Agh, fuck. I guess I have to try this." Romano cut a generously small piece, squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth, oblivious to the approaching footsteps. Goddammit. It's pasta. It's pasta. It's-

"GAHHH!" The next thing he knew, the fork flew out of his hand, and his back was on the floor, his head throbbing with pain. He quickly opened his eyes and what he saw was one of his worst nightmares.

"Mon dieu, vous êtes belle," purred the Frenchman on top of him. "Oh Italie, you're looking rather lovely today. What's wrong? You're usually ecstatic to see m—"

"HAYYYAH!" Romano screamed, kicking and struggling, but to his utter shock, was so weak that his arms and legs bounced off the Frenchman's torso like spaghetti, even though France was below average in strength. FUCKING HELL VENEZIANO WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE OUT OF SHAPE! As an alarmed Germany ran to him, he picked up the Bratwurst-topped fork on the floor near his head and stuffed it into France's mouth. As France's face turned slightly sour, Romano pushed him over, and grabbing the remaining Bratwurst on the table, ran as fast as his noodle legs could take him up the stairs and into the first room he saw. He slammed the door, breathing heavily.

His mind desperately tried to repress the petrifying experiences he just had. Huffing, Romano hungrily and angrily stuffed the sausage into his mouth, eating it fast so his brain could not fully process the taste, but the aftertaste remained, making him hiccup and gag. The warm wetness rolling down his cheeks was also very salty. They weren't even his cheeks, or his mouth, or his stomach. They were Veneziano's. Italy's, because Romano would never cry so easily. Romano curled up against the door, both longing for and cursing Spain.

Knock. Knock. "Italy? You okay? I told Prussia to send France ho—"

"GODDAMMIT, G-GO AW—" Romano choked and covered his mouth when he heard not his voice, but Italy's resonating from his voice box, remembering who he was. What does Veneziano do when he's mad? Then a horrifying answer hit him. He never, or maybe couldn't get angry. He would just sit there and cry.

"Italy, if you're upset, you can sleep with me. Would you like to sleep with me?" Romano panicked as his train of thought was diverted.

Veneziano would've said yes. Veneziano would say yes. Veneziano would… "N-n—yes," he blurted out., pinching his (or Italy's) arm until it turned red.

"Ok, fine. I can help you relax before you go to bed. I'll see you." Romano ground his teeth. He inwardly admitted that when Spain was trying to cheer him up, he would give him a cheer up charm, or something that would make him feel melted chocolate inside, but his conscious mind refused to acknowledge it. Germany, however was completely cold and lifeless when it came to comfort. All he offered was to…

"I can help you relax before you go to bed," Romano repeated. "Help…you…relax." Suddenly his face turned red. He couldn't possibly mean…

PICK UP PICK UP PLEASE PICK UP! Romano held the phone so tightly he thought it was going to break.

"¡Hola, Italy! I picked up because your brother fell as—" Click. Romano didn't want to hear any of it. He violently ripped the batteries out of the cellphone and threw them in the trash.

…

"So, Italy."

"Germany, I'm… I mean ve, I'm not interested in sex today so no thank you," Romano muttered at the far end of the king-sized bed.

"Verdammte Scheiße?! Italy!" Germany took a deep breath. "I-Italy. I was talking about a massage."

"Buonanotte." Facing away from the German, Romano shut his eyes tight as if it could help him repress the growing number of feelings inside of him. He tried to convince himself that it was just him, not Veneziano, who would see this as an awful day instead of a good one.

A/N: Why you do dis France? :O

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