A/N- My first attempt at the Hetalia fandom. Have mercy on me, I've only just watched the anime. Anyway...as I'm sure everyone will be able to tell, this fic was inspired by that one episode where Italy randomly gave Japan a hug, and Japan freaked out. One of my favorite moments. XD I actually like GermanyxItaly better than JapanxItaly, but this is how it turned out so...yeah. Hope you like it! -OA

First Time

By ObsessedAuthoress

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, all credit goes to the rightful owners.

Japan blames the culture shock.

Really, it's his last resort, because there's no other good reason why Italy keeps popping up and thrusting all these first time experiences upon him. It's like every time he opens his eyes, the familiar brown-haired youth is right in front of him, shoving something new and strange into his hands for observation. There are countless examples.

…The first and foremost being that incident with the…embrace.

He swears, all he heard was Italy practically cooing his name- "Kiku, Kiku!"- before a pair of soft arms were twined around his neck, silky brunet head resting on his shoulder, that irrepressible curl tickling his ear, and the European nation's effervescent voice declaring "Hug!" as if he needed further announcement.

It's perfectly understandable that Japan…freaked out. Just a bit.

It was his first time, after all.

And that was just the beginning.

"Ve, ve, Kiku, try this, try this!" Before he can even respond, a serving utensil is forced into his mouth, bearing something cold and sweet and smooth, and then he has to blink several times, acclimating himself to the sensation.

There's a moment where they stand there: Japan with a spoon between his lips, brown eyes holding no expression as they gaze at Italy, who merely grins, blissfully unaware of anything awry.

Finally Japan remembers to swallow, savoring the unfamiliar taste on the way down. "…Feliciano-kun," he says slowly. "What was that?"

"Gelato!" Italy cries, delighted. "Did you like it? Did you, did you?"

He knows that if he says no- or, kami forbid, doesn't say anything- Italy will get that look on his face, amber eyes welling up with tears and pink lower lip starting to quiver. So instead he nods. "Yes, it was good," he says rather uncomfortably, because he's so used to ambiguity, which is much easier to work with than straight-out opinion. "Arigato."

"Yay! You liked it!" The brunet tosses the spoon aside and grabs Japan's hand instead, dragging him off to some undisclosed location. "Let's have some pasta now! Pasta is always good after gelato!"

Japan isn't positive, but he's fairly certain that the order of Western-style eating has desert, i.e. gelato, at the end, after the main course, i.e. pasta. But that doesn't particularly seem to matter to the individual skipping along in front of him, carefree as a child on a summer afternoon. It doesn't seem to matter in the least.

So he sighs and lets himself be led along.

The flood of new experiences just keeps coming, rolling over him in a culture-altering wave, gently eroding away the sharp edges of his person like water on the banks of a river. It's a bit disconcerting, but he thinks he can live with it, for the most part.

There are some things, though, he doesn't think he'll ever get used to.

Like this day on the beach, he and Italy and Germany facing the onslaught of the Allied forces; America laughs his hero laugh and sends China down to smack them all around. Germany readies his gun, Japan his katana, and Italy his white flag of immediate surrender.

By sheer luck, or perhaps the guiding hand of kami, Japan manages to beat back China's pot-and-ladle attack, forcing the Allies into retreat. He and Germany, both rather shocked at the turn of events, watch the other nations flee with their remaining dignity.

Italy, it seems, has a better idea on how to celebrate the unexpected victory; he scrambles to his feet, abandoning the white flag, and rushes over to Japan with one of his trademark happy smiles in place.

"Congratulations, Kiku!" the brunet cheers, and before Japan can thank him, the other country's arms are around his neck- "Hug!"- and something warm and sweet and smooth- "Gelato!"- is pressed against his mouth.

It takes him a moment to realize exactly what that warm, sweet, smooth thing is.

"Kiss!"

He staggers backward, breaking the intimate and foreign contact, one hand flying to his lips. "Feliciano-kun!" he gasps, feeling blood rush to his face in embarrassment. This event rather outweighs his dominance over China, at this point. "You- you can't just do that! Th-that was my first time!"

He notices out of the corner of his eye that Germany's fair skin is quickly turning red to the roots of his fair hair; the blond turns away with a hand covering his mouth, but Japan can't tell if he's choking or snickering. It's difficult to say with Germany.

Italy, meanwhile, is giving him a wide-eyed stare, probably equally as shocked as his own. "Ehhhhh?" the young man intones, deeply surprised. "You've never been kissed before, Kiku?"

Japan blushes furiously, focusing fixedly on the sand beneath his feet. "A-Anyway, I need you to-" He pauses mid-sentence, suddenly reconsidering what he was about to say.

"I need you to take responsibility!"

That had been for the hug incident, and Japan's boss hadn't been too pleased over the fact that the one supposed to take responsibility was Italy, of all people. Needless to say, nothing substantial ever came of it.

Japan flounders amidst second thoughts, glancing up to find Italy watching him, head tilted to the side inquiringly. "Yes, Kiku?" the brunet queries.

"Ano-" Now he's the one choking, trying to think of what to say. "…Please warn me next time," he murmurs finally, feeling like an idiot.

Italy just watches him for a moment and then shrugs, the carefree child once more. "Alright!" he says cheerfully, brightening as a new thought strikes him. "Ve, ve, let's have pasta to celebrate! Do you think Signore Yao has any in his villa?"

"Ah…I don't think China is going to let us have anything from his villa since we just beat him in battle," Germany inserts gently, thankfully stealing Italy's attention away from the dazed Japan.

"Aw…"

Japan sighs.

Culture shock.

Yes, culture shock is definitely to blame in all of this.

A/N- And there you go! Passable for a first try? Yes? No? Let me know with reviews; like most authors (I imagine) feedback is music to my soul! ...Or something like that... Thanks! -OA