As soon as Spain and those Italians left, England was at an utter loss. Not only was he stuck in the bloody France's body, this magical predicament required a special potion, which Norway had, meaning he would have to wait until tomorrow when the World Meeting started.

Never. Never am I helping those Italian twits again! It's their blasted fault I got caught, England thought in denial.

France stared at England, and looked down at himself in horror. "Mon dieu! My body…my beautiful body! It now reeks of scones and tea! Once again, Angleterre."

"Shut up, France. I-I'll get the potion tomorrow. Meanwhile, we have to deal with this, unfortunately. Don't even think of leaving, you git. I've seen what you did to my body last time, and I'm not letting you do it again!"

"Do I get to sleep with yo—"

"You can take the guest room." England cringed at the sight of his own face, which was contorted into something French and perverse. "Meanwhile, I haven't even eaten supper yet, so I'll cook some fish and chips."

"Quoi?! Non, there is no way I'm going to eat your cooking!" France scrunched up his face.

"Hah! We'll see…"

...

"Well, Angleterre, that wasn't so bad. Maybe your tongue is immune to horrendously burnt cooking."

"Put a sock in it, frog. My cooking is the—wait, what are you looking at?"

France stared blankly at the wall. "Dieu, England, I forgot that you naturally hallucinate. Look at all these floating creatures! Bonjour, bonjour." France laced his hands together, staring at the blank wall in awe.

"Oh, you mean my fairy friends. I don't hallucinate, you sod! These are magical creatures that only people of high intelligence like me can see…meaning that being in your body, I cannot see them." France scoffed hearing the fairies giggle at the statement.

"Well, mon ami, why don't we go to bed. I'm still up for it if you want to sleep together." France reached to grab his hand.

England nearly gagged at the sight of his own face attempting to be seductive and tore his arm away.

"No."

…

"France, you are not going to mess this up. Remember what I said: you'd better stay nearby while I approach Norway on this matter. I already rang him up this morning." England gave France a serious look as they walked into the building in which the meeting would take place.

France rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Since when have I ever done such a thing?" But at the back of his mind, he was cooking up something real nice. Better than British food.

Opening the door of the said room, England saw that they weren't early, but not late either, seeing that the long table with chairs was already partially occupied with a variety of countries. Amidst them, it wasn't too hard to find the Nordics sitting together in the back.

England opened his mouth to warn the Frenchman once more, but he was already there.

"Hello, Norway. Would you like to rendezvous with me at dinner tonight?" France grabbed Norway's hands, stroking them before he could react. Denmark, who was sitting next to him, hadn't noticed, as he was arguing with the Swede.

Norway retracted from him, because though he was fully aware of the swapping situation, England would have never gone into his personal bubble, which was a minimum of three feet. France saw Norway's resentful expression and immediately dropped his hands before England could catch up to them, but it was too late because he had quickly caught the attention of a certain angry Dane.

"Hej! What are you doing to my bubbly boo!" Denmark shouted as his own battle axe materialized from the air. "You will not touch my Norge!"

Holy shit, this guy has an axe too! France knew about his terrible (recent) past with axes, and resolved to running away when he immediately collided with himself, or rather, England in his body.

"Danmark, I'm supposed to be helping them." The blond man had a look of disbelief.

Denmark turned to face Norway, worried. "Norge, are you sure? That piece of shit tried to molest you!"

Norway facepalmed and gestured toward the tangled FrUK mess on the ground. "If we leave them like that for too long, they will start to smell and attract fangirls." Denmark thought for a moment, and nodded in understanding.

Norway proceeded to the mess, and took out the Exchange Potion. He dripped a few of its contents on his bare hand and slapped England in the face with great force previously reserved for only the Dane, followed by another potion slap in France's face. For a moment, the two nations glowed a bright color.

"All better. Only I am capable of such magic," Norway said to himself. Denmark gave him a huge hug. "Annoying…"

England rubbed his cheek and grumbled to France, "You wanker! What did I tell you…" England paused at the sound of his own British voice. "Oh."

"Quel soulagement! I have returned to mon beau corps!" said France in glee. He hugged himself egotistically.

"Ugh. Norway, from now on, you can take the magic requests because I have a bloody Frenchman after my arse!" France smirked at this statement.

"But it's not going to stop you from messing up, is it?" Norway deadpanned.

"Oui. Angleterre is so clumsy sometimes that it's simply adorable!"

"Hey! Shut your trap!"

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings, mon cheri? Is it me who's distracting you when you mess up your spells?" France winked.

"Bloody hell no! Frog, you stop that this instant! There's people here!"

"Playing the demanding housewife I see! Honhon—" England proceeded to punch France in the face, in which the Frenchman dodged and held his wrists in an attempt to kiss him. The rest was obscured by a giant gray cloud.

Meanwhile, Romano and Spain watched them fight as they sat next to each other at the other end of the room.

"I'm definitely not asking him to help me ever again," Romano concluded.

Spain pinched his cheek. "Mi tomate, I will help you next time!"

"You mean the next time I have an existential crisis because of you, dammit?" He pushed his hand away and shot him a look.

Spain's eyes twinkled at the sight of his cute Italian's orbs. "Of course!" He turned his chair to face a confused Romano and took a deep breath.

He widened his arms and sang, "Fuuuuusososososo! Fuuuuuusosososo!"

Romano slapped his forehead and wondered how in the world he didn't see that coming.

…

Days later…

Prussia opened his eyes to be greeted by the finished pattern of the wooden door in front of his face. Pushing it off, he rubbed the throbbing bumps on his head. He got up from the floor and glanced at the canopy waterbed as the recurring events began to flood into his memory.

He raised an eyebrow. His first impulse was to take out his cellphone. "I wonder how long it's been since I was—Scheiße!" The date read April 1, 2999. The albino was completely stunned.

No. The awesome me doesn't panic. I'll surely kill Spain for this. As he furiously stormed out and entered France's living room, he flicked on the light—

"HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S DAY!" France, Spain, Romano, Italy and Germany shouted.

"Ve…It's not even April," Italy remarked.

"Sorry for leaving you partially injured and not making any attempts to help you!" said Spain, stroking an indifferent Romano.

"Oui, it was too good an opportunity to pass up!" France grinned.

I have terrible friends.

A/N: I had too much fun with this epilogue. Think of it as a nice gift!

You could think of it as a bit of a FrUk oneshot, in addition to DenNor, Spamano, sort-of GerIta, and forever alone Prussia! Lol.

Here, some helpful translations:

French:

Angleterre- England

Quoi?- What?

Mon dieu/ami/chéri- My god/friend/darling

Quel soulagement!- What a relief!

Mon beau corps- My beautiful body

German:

Scheiße-Shit

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