"Lovi, make sure you get the ripest tomatoes," Spain laughed, patting Romano on the head.

Romano growled, "Fine, fine dammit." He ran as fast as his little legs could take him, so Spain wouldn't see his blushing face. He picked one tomato; round, plump and ripe.

Suddenly he heard a high-pitched noise. He followed it only to find that it led him back to the Spanish bastard, with his back turned to him.

"Hey bastard, did you hear that noise?" Romano yelled demandingly.

Spain turned around, but instead of answering, he was holding, comforting…Romano dropped his tomato …Chibitalia, in his hands, laughing, laughing…tauntingly?

Romano gasped and screamed, when wisps of smoke distorted the vision, and the laughs weren't laughs, but cries. Suddenly he was in a grassy field. Romano looked down at his chubby hands, but they weren't his. He was wearing a white cotton apron over a green dress.

"It's okay, Italy, I'll be back." Romano looked up and saw a blond boy his size, in a black cloak and matching hat. The wind blew, waving his cloak like a curtain. His form faded as he spoke. Who the hell was this guy? An overwhelming feeling of sadness and longing washed over him, but it wasn't his sadness. It wasn't his longing. This wasn't his memory and Romano knew it.

"Italy," he repeated with a soft voice, which gradually grew louder. "Italy. Italy! ITALY."

"ITALY! WAKE UP!" yelled Germany.

"FUCKING HELL!" Romano jumped out of bed, tangling in the sheets and landing on the floor in a mess. Germany walked over to him to help him, but he quickly stood up, rubbing his head.

Germany handed him a cordless landline phone. "Belgium wants to speak to you." Romano snatched the phone from his grasp. "Italy, what's gotten into you lately? I hope your Bruder isn't rubbing off on you," he added, and left the room.

"Hello?"

"Romano, I tried to call you, but I couldn't! Do you know where your brother is? Spain just drove over to my house and told me that he escaped!" Belgium whispered so Spain couldn't overhear.

"WHAT?! That idiot liked the swap! And Spain even said he was asleep when I…called…." Romano answered. He decided against telling her about the phone incident.

"Spain said he thought he was sleeping, but he wasn't there when he opened the door! Did anything happen between you guys last night? Not in that way, you know what I mean."

"No… he was fine, but last night both France and—no. No, No, NO!" Romano slapped his forehead.

"What is it, Romano?"

"Prussia and France… they came to the house, and tried to attack me! But when Germany sent Prussia to drop him off, they didn't come back last night! Do you think…it couldn't be!"

"Now that you think of it, France does live pretty close to England. What would they do to him, anyway?"

"Belgium, it's my body, there's an endless list of filthy, dirty things they could do," Romano squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering at the mere idea of him being taken hostage. "I have to go get him back."

"Well, you're going to have to take Spain with you. That was the original point of the whole plan wasn't it?" He could hear Belgium smile when she said it.

"I…I guess," Romano grumbled. "Just tell him to pick me now, I'll get ready as fast as possible."

…

"What? Romano's kidnapped?! That's new. But looks like I'll have to reschedule our daily exercise with Japan for later. You can't skip out on that, Italy." Germany thought for a moment. "Do you need me to come with you? I mean, I've saved you too many times in these situations."

"No, no, no, it's fine," Romano grumbled with a touch of sarcasm. There was no way potato-bastard was going to get into this situation. Absolutely no way.

…

"Ahh, Italy, it's…muy bueno to see you after what happened," Spain said quietly with his hands gripped tightly onto the steering wheel. His forehead creased.

Romano held in a gasp. He tried to convince himself that he didn't need that tomato-bastard, he could do fine without him, but it all washed away like the ocean, Spain's voice was the unstoppable waves. He choked on his breath.

"Italy, ¿Estás bien? You don't look so good," Spain tried to study Italy's face briefly, but the Italian turned away in an instant. What is up with Italians these days? Yikes, Spain thought.

"Ti amo," Romano thought admittedly yet reluctantly, but he must've said it aloud because the car abruptly screeched to the side.

"Italy, what…te amo también, but…" Spain spoke, shocked.

"OH SO YOU DO LOVE—I mean, you…what?" Romano couldn't control his silent tears. He blamed it on Italy's body. He hid it by covering his eyes.

"…I love Romano more," Spain trailed off, still shocked at his response, but his expression soon changed. "I love, love Romano no matter how he is. And I'm muy furioso at my friends for doing this to him. They will get their asses kicked until they've gone loco!" Spain huffed, slamming down on the gas pedal, lurching them forward.

Romano froze in disbelief. Did he really love him that much more than Veneziano? He was stripped of his thoughts as soon as his the car screeched to a stop, smashing his head against the windshield. Before Romano could recover, Spain was already running outside with a dangerous-looking axe in hand.

"HEY, wait up, you BASTARD!"

…

When Italy woke up, it was completely dark, even when he opened eyes. Not only were his arms tied above his head, his eyes were blinded by a thick piece of cloth. He was lying on some weird surface, like a mattress, but it didn't feel like a mattress. A breath in his ear made him shiver.

"Bonjour, mon ami," he purred, gently taking the blindfold off of his face. "Romano."

"ACK! F-France!" Italy exclaimed. He looked up and down, becoming aware that he was tied on a fancy canopy bed shirtless, yet it felt really weird as the weight he was bearing down on it made the bed feel unstable...it was a water bed!

"Romano, is it really you? Or should I say, Veneziano in there? I haven't heard a single curse word from your pretty mouth." France traced a finger against his jawline, making him jolt as his eyes widened.

"Ve! How did you k-know?" Italy cried. France's eyes first widened in shock, then quickly turned devious with a smirk.

"Well," France continued flirtatiously, "At first I meant it metaphorically; yes, I had a doubt of the truth. Too bad you let the cat out of the bag. Did you hear that, Prusse?"

Prussia popped up from the other side of the bed, mirroring France's mischievous look. "You bet I did. But now we can finally experiment with Romano's body without Romano's cursing getting in the way! Kesesese!"

"What?! Please, no masochism, I don't want to be spanked…mmff!" Prussia took the blindfold from France and wrapped it around Italy's mouth as he struggled.

"Hah! Masochism? No, we're planning on other things…" Prussia started pushing his arms down on the mattress, allowing the water to ripple. Italy admitted in fear that it was relaxing, until France began to take out a bucket from under a bed.

"Ahh, nice and frozen." He took out what was much unexpected: an ice cube. He began to rub it on Romano's stomach, sparking a cold, yet hot sensation there. Then France took the cube and licked it.

"Nn…mff! Mfff! Mmmhhh!" Italy tried to call out, his face sweating with panic. Prussia burst out laughing at the scene. It was Romano's face, all red in fear and struggle. Then he saw his curl, and poked it, inducing a muffled scream and a face as red as Hunt's chili tomato sauce.

France kept rubbing the ice cubes hungrily, and remarked jokingly, "Hon hon, his flat stomach looks waxed when I do this…it's so hilarious! Quick Prussia, take a picture." Oh France and your interests.

Prussia took out his phone and proceeded to do so when the door broke off violently, flying across the room, knocking the former German country unconscious.

"Ay, caramba, Francia. Do you mind telling me what the fuck you're up to?"

…

Romano struggled to catch up with the Spaniard which wasn't easy, considering his brother's noodle-legs. Spain had easily broken down the front door and charged like a bull into the house of the Frenchman. Oddly, he knew exactly where Italy (or Romano in this instant) was, and rammed down that door using strength only comparable to America's.

By the time Romano got to the room, he could only freeze at what he saw. Spain was breathing angrily, staring holes into the back of the Frenchman's head, which refused to turn around. He was kneeling against the bed, in front of his body, which was tied up against the wall with a displeased face.

"Ay, caramba, Francia. Do you mind telling me what the fuck you're up to?" Spain stood right behind the Frenchmen, emitting a vengeful aura from his body, similar to a certain Russian. France dropped the half-melted ice cube on Romano's stomach, which slid onto the mattress. He turned around swiftly and kept a straight face.

His face showed innocence, but it was clear to Romano that behind that it was fake. Romano glanced over at Italy in his body. Italy's eyes looked at him pleadingly and in alarm as if to warm him about something.

"You see," France began in a silvery voice, smirking, "That isn't Romano—" (Italy made a panicked muffled sound) "—that is Ital—"

"-Y'S FOOT BEING SHOVED UP YOUR ASS!" Romano hollered, throwing his entire body at the Frenchman as to head-butt him. But France took one brisk step aside, and he landed face-flat into his own stomach, which was cold and wet. Italy made a stifled oof.

France turned around, smirking, but before he could approach them hungrily Spain charged, taking a swing at him with his axe and grazing his hair, chopping at least two inches of golden locks off. France jumped in alarm, attempting to find something to shield himself with, but Spain took another swing, and slapped him in the face with it, colliding France's skull to the metal surface of the blade.

"If we weren't so close, you would've…" Spain made a cutting motion across his neck with his hand. France wobbled, stumbling from the hit. Spain hit him once more.

Mon dieu, it's just like a frying pan, he thought, regretful. He collapsed to the ground.

…

"Romano! Lovi, are you okay?" Spain rushed to untie Italy, as his dark demeanor faded quickly.

The real Romano, having gotten up from his own stomach, turned away, red-faced, humiliated by his actions. Did Veneziano ever get embarrassed? He then glared at Italy for a moment. Italy, in his body, getting Spain's treatment. It's all my fault. Romano's heart sank.

"Spain, I—we need to tell you something," Italy suddenly spoke calmly in Romano's deep voice.

"Yes, Lovi?"

"Well—I'm not—" Italy looked at Romano for help, but Romano was facing the other direction, staring at the ground angrily. Waiting.

"Don't worry, Romano, you can say it. I won't be mad." Romano began to storm out, making Italy bite his lip.

"I-I'm…not…R-Romano. I'm V-Veneziano. We switched bodies." Spain stared at him for a few moments.

"No…that's impossible," Spain spoke in a low voice.

"England," was all Italy could manage. Spain quickly turned around to find the real Romano, but Romano was already out the door.

A/N: Things have taken a turn! :o

Edit-Changed chapter title cause it sounded better :)

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