"Don't worry, Bel, I'll get the door."

As soon as Italy saw that it was not Belgium, but Spain who opened the door, he knew something was wrong.

No, Italy thought. Romano said that Spain would have been gone by now! Why is he still here?

Spain's green eyes widened, and oblivious as Italy always was, there was no denying the look of longing in his eyes. Behind him, Belgium appeared, and subsequently gasped, as a series of emotions showed on her face; first disbelief, then amazement, then panic. Italy shot her a look that said, "What do I do?!"

Italy trembled, lost, but realized that Spain would obviously sense something was off if he didn't act quickly.

"L-look, a f-flying tomato, d-damn—ng!" But he was too slow, because Spain abruptly took him and slung him over his shoulder. Belgium watched in bewilderment, and mouthed "I'll call you." Italy nodded frantically.

"¡Muchas gracias, Bélgica! I'm taking Roma home!" said Spain exuberantly while walking to his car, resuming his cheery persona. Italy squirmed because Spain's grip was extremely strong from the years of tomato raising. Spain's shoulder dug into his stomach uncomfortably.

"Romano, do you know how worried I was?!"

"U-uhmm, g-goddammit," mumbled Italy, crossing his arms in attempt to act like Romano's bad attitude.

"Romano, por favor, I'm sorry! Why can't we just talk? Italy's just your brother, I don't see why you're all worked up." Spain looked over at him briefly.

Italy murmured a few curses, but now Spain's words were really starting to make him feel bad. He shouldn't be hearing this, Romano should! He remembered what had happened the day before quite guiltily. He shouldn't have allowed them to consume so much alcohol; he only wanted them to try his country's newest products.

Italy knew he should've done something, maybe help mend their relationship while he was in Romano's body, but what was he supposed to do? As they were walking in, Italy waited for just the right moment to say something, but he just couldn't. It wasn't like him to do it.

"Well, Romano, please lighten up, ok? You're home now, and everything is back to normal. I'll even get started on the cooking. I'll make pasta, if that can cheer you up!" Spain gave him a reassuring smile.

Italy fidgeted at the irony of what he just said.

"I can help!" The words simply slipped out of his mouth like a soap bar. Afraid, or maybe too guilty to see Spain's reaction, he sped to the kitchen to grab the ingredients.

…

Spain may have started out feeling culpable of his actions, but now he was just plain confused. Romano was definitely acting weird, because even when he tried to be his cheery self to provoke a 'normal' reaction, which would be a string of profanity, he…offered to help him?

Brushing it all aside, he assumed that Romano was desperate to change, but Spain wasn't sure if it was a good thing or bad thing. Worried, he decided to take action.

…

As Italy waited for the pot to boil, holding the dry spaghetti noodles, he suddenly jolted when he felt a finger trace Romano's curl, which wound upwards and to his right, contrasting to his own.

"VE—" Italy bit his lip—the uncomfortable feeling was still the same. He turned around, and saw Spain staring at him with a weird glare in his eye.

What does Romano say when his curl is pulled? Italy thought frantically, raking around in his mind for an answer. They had never really spent too much time together, and now it was taking a toll on him. What is it, what is it! Chi…ch-chihuahua? Childbirth? Chipotle?

Spain slowly wrapped his arms around his torso, making him stiffen. The pot began to boil; the bubbles cackling in the air. As he dropped the spaghetti in the pot, tiny droplets of hot water sprinkled on his arm, and he grimaced when he felt another poke at his curl. Spain's other hand smoothly made its way south.

"Ahi! BASTA!" yelped Italy in shock, pushing Spain as hard as he could. He was surprised at the force he had, because in his original, below-average body he would have not been able to do it. He turned around to continue cooking.

Mio dio, Italy thought. What am I doing?

…

Spain blinked. Maybe he had gone too far. Or maybe not. Romano would have done something major by now, like go complete apeshit on him or something, because touching his curl was his ultimate pet peeve! But he had a back-up plan.

Spain slowly backed away, with Romano's phone held tightly behind him.

…

As Spain sat on his couch, the phone suddenly vibrated and played We No Speak Americano. Excited, he picked up. Belgium's picture showed on the screen.

"Oh, I'm so glad you picked up! I thought something happened when you didn't call me!"

"¿Qué? Romano was supposed to call you?" Spain inquired.

"Wha-! Spain, what are you doing on Ita—Romano's phone!"

"Ha, ha...whoops! But really, Romano was supposed to call you?" Spain repeated.

"Uh—yeah! Of course. I just wanted to see if he was okay. I mean life's really gotten to him."

"Well, he's pretty mellow. He's a bit off though, I don't know what it is…"

"Just make sure you tell him to be careful. You know….and give him back his phone, please."

"Si. I understand. Bye!" But Spain didn't want to give him back his phone quite yet. He hid it under a toss pillow.

Spain decided it was now okay to have a talk with his cute little Italian, now confirmed by Belgium. Happy and oblivious, he skipped back off to the kitchen, leaving the phone on the couch, unaware of the ding and the text message notification that appeared on the screen.

…

When the silent dinner drew to a close, Spain suddenly broke in, "Belgium called, and she wanted you to be careful. You really should be careful, Romano, you've been acting really weird."

Italy raised his head in shock and felt around in his pockets only to find that, yes, the phone was gone. Had Spain found out?

"Ve-D-Dang it, I'm f-fine," Italy attempted to mutter. He cringed, because his verbal tic was hard to consciously avoid.

Spain decided to a last quick test. When his adorable little Italian stood up to find his phone, he put his fork down, got up, and walked towards Romano. Then he widened his arms and sang, "Fusososo, mi tomate, Fusososo…"

"V-Ve…" Italy barely stopped himself.

Spain stopped, raising his eyebrow. "You're acting weird, Romano. Go to bed, and maybe I will join you!" It's been a while since they've slept together, and Spain was determined to find out what was wrong with him anyways.

…

Italy got to bed as soon as he could because Spain was getting real suspicious, and he couldn't hold up his fake personality for much longer. He wrapped the bed sheets around his bare torso, clothed only with a pair of tomato boxers after deciding against sleeping entirely naked.

Ve, Italy said nonchalantly, I have to get my phone back. Mmm, maybe tomorrow, I'll give Romano a call. Letting go of all responsibilities, he closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before all of a sudden, he felt a gloved hand cover his mouth, muffling his struggling voice, and more hands grabbing his legs and arms. They picked him up, and he felt Romano's body being half-dragged and half-carried. Italy tried to struggle, but the grip was too strong.

What's happening?! Italy thought frantically. But slowly, the fact was becoming more apparent: he was being kidnapped. It wasn't the first time. For him, at least.

He could feel the cool night air on his bare body, but it was dark, so he couldn't see anything. In addition, he was being carried upside down, more specifically, down a ladder. He realized this when his head was banged quite hard against one of the rungs, and it was easy to guess when you never open your eyes for most of your life. He felt dizzy.

"Whoops, got to be more careful, kesese," laughed one of the voices.

"Yes, why have I not thought of it sooner? It's his body I want," muttered the other, seemingly to himself, blissfully ignoring his partner.

Wait, I know those voices, Italy thought. But as his head hit another rung, he was knocked out.

…

Spain was about to join Romano in bed when he heard Romano's phone ring again, but muffled, due to the pillow covering it. He grew excited and curious when he saw Romano's adorable brother on the screen. He picked up.

"¡Hola, Italy! I picked up because your brother fell as—" Click. Spain blinked in confusion. Did Italy butt dial him? If so, he wouldn't have just hung up, would he? Spain immediately called the number again, but instead of hearing the dial tone, it went directly to voicemail. He also looked questioningly at the text message he sent. 'HELP ME'. Hmm, maybe it's a prank or something.

Perplexed, he concluded that a good night's sleep would allow him to understand all the weird events that had happened today. In a white t-shirt and boxers containing his respective flag, he headed off to the bedroom of his dear Italian.

As he walked in the passageway toward Romano's closed door, he heard cars screeching outside, but the sound was especially loud, as if the windows were wide open in the Italian's room, making him jump.

No, Spain, get ahold of yourself! There's no such thing as déjà vu! Spain laughed, thinking how silly it would be if Romano had escaped once again, and opened the door.

The night breeze pushing against the curtains ran through his body, making the back of his neck prickle.

A/N: Two Bad Touch Trio Members, One Body-Swapped Italian. What could possibly go wrong? .

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