"You know I hate your brother, Feli."

The two were sitting across from each other in their cozy kitchenette, made even cozier from the heat and scent of food in the oven. This response did not surprise Feliciano, but disappointed him just a tad, being that, in his head, waiting for Ludwig to settle down for a half hour or so with a newspaper in the sitting room while the smell from Feli's good cooking (pasta, as always) wafted in the air might've loosened the German giant up a bit, but (as usual) the Italian was mistaken. Though Feliciano had tried his best to be as delicate in breaking the news as possible, Ludwig predictably responded as harsh as ever, and what little progress he had at relaxation after a long day at the office was soiled. Maybe it was because Feliciano couldn't be delicate about bad news if his life depended on it.

"Ludwig?" Feliciano tried as he set a plate of pasta in front of the German as he sat down to eat, "Did you have a good day at the office?" The boy tried to remain nonchalant, but his amber eyes, filled with hesitancy and doubt, were a dead giveaway of his inner tribulations.

"Not really," Ludwig replied gruffly, "The copier jammed twice and I set a new world record for paper cuts." He showed his marred hands as proof, tiny nicks in his palms ruining otherwise perfect alabaster skin. "Oh! And Fred Jones from accounting had another hissy fit when his department head, Kirkland, I think it was, didn't listen to his ludicrous ideas to 'better the employee productivity' or some shit."

"Awww…" Feliciano said in genuine concern, even though the bad news was still clawing at the back of his mind, "That idea to replace the twenty-eighth floor with a basketball court wasn't a bad idea…"

The German laughed a low but otherwise uncharacteristic sonorous bellow that echoed off the walls, so uncharacteristic that the Italian chimed in, though he wasn't quite sure why. The basketball court didn't seem like a bad idea to Feliciano, but if Ludwig chose to be happy for no apparent reason, he might as well take advantage.

"So Ludwig…I just wanted to let you know while you're still happy and smiling and laughing that I called my brother and invited him to stay with us for a week or so." Feliciano didn't breath at all in that whole sentence and after the word "so," he immediately forked a bigger than average amount of pasta into his gullet, allowing preventative measures of his foot from being lodged in there, and looked down at his plate of pasta in anguish for what could've possibly been the first time in his life.

And that's how things are so fucked up right now.

Ludwig's previous mirth was now overshadowed by what his Italian lover had dubbed the "angry at me face," with his brow creased and his thin lips down-turned in a scowl. Feliciano's sweet brown eyes meet the German's icy blue ones, but Ludwig's stare of unadulterated agitation didn't waver, for his hatred for Romano overpowered the adorableness that was Feli's essence.

For the moment, anyway.

"Come on, Ludwig!" the Italian urged. "Romano will be super happy to see you when he gets here!"

"He hates me too, Feli." Ludwig huffed in cold indifference.

"He does not."

"Ya, he does. I doubt "potato eating bastard" is a term of endearment in Italy."

The Italian bit his lip in what was the closest he could come to contemplation, since he usually thought for a second, but then got distracted by a passing squirrel and/or other woodland creature. Ludwig would just have to warm up to the idea. Romano was Feliciano's brother after all, and they had to see each other eventually.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig, but Romano is…uh…already on his way," the Italian said meekly, sinking lower and lower into his seat at the table.

Ludwig sighed and dropped his fork onto his now empty plate in frustration, clattering unnecessarily as it did so; only succeed to frustrating the easily irritable German even more. Feliciano looked at him from across the table, flashing the most adorably pathetic facial expression he could muster, which, not surprisingly, was quality work.

"Fine," said the German resolutely. "He can stay. But I want him to stop calling me a potato bastard or he's out on the streets."

The Italian's face lit up with the energy of a thousand tesla coils, and in one fluid motion, he leapt across the table and tackle-hugged Ludwig with a grip that would've made an MMA fighter green with envy. Felicano kissed the German's face all over in gratitude, and continued doing so until Ludwig eventually pried the small boy off of him, which wasn't a small feat. Really. He was thinking of getting some Crisco if the Italian held on any tighter.

Unfortunately for Ludwig, Feliciano's brother Romano arrived early the next morning, just in time to catch the German on his way out, saluting him with a sharp "Farewell, German scum." Italy would later argue that he was at least successful in his efforts to prevent his crass brother from calling him a potato bastard, to which argument Ludwig was not amused. The German put on a cheerful face to the point of being pretty fucking creepy and said with a laugh so fake it made his insides lurch, Ludwig merely said "Happy you're staying with us, Romano," and swiftly slammed the door behind him so loud, Feliciano nearly jumped from his seat on their living room couch.

Romano looked after the German in listless contempt and patted his brother on the back in pseudo-reassurance. He took a seat next to Feliciano, on a couch that he believed was far too soft to be structurally legitimate and immediately went off.

"You really shouldn't be with a guy that scares you, ya know." Feliciano's eyes widened at the accusation, and swiftly shook his head.

"Oh, brother Romano, Ludwig doesn't scare me!" he counters cheerfully, "He's just naturally like that, and I've always been a tad jumpy. Don't you remember us growing up together?"

Romano's grimace only advanced in degree at that. "Yes, and I try to forget it every day."

"Is that what you talk about to that therapist Antonio you see every week?" Feliciano asked innocently, only wanting to know what was going on in his mysterious brother's life. That question, however, wasn't the most productive as far he was concerned in reaching his goal, for Romano became silent immediately, a pink flush dusting across the apples of his cheeks.

Feliciano waited and waited and waited for his brother to respond, but quickly got bored of this and continued. "Well, anyway…I'm glad you're here, brother! What should we do together first?" His smile was dazzling, and it made Romano's jetlag, potato bastard, and questions about his Spanish lover induced headache more severe.

"I just need a siesta, Feli," Romano gushed in convincing fatigue, "Go out and do something stupid without me today. I'll stay here and rest."

Feliciano found it odd that Romano would stay home by choice, (he was usually the barhopping one, while Feli was contented to sleeping and eating past all day) but he shrugged his shoulders and left Romano to his own devices. He knew his brother could take care of himself, moreso than he could, and quickly migrated his mind to another subject entirely: what pasta should he make for tonight's dinner? He hadn't gone to the market in a while. Perhaps he could buy out the stockroom again…and even run into a few squirrels on the round trip, if he was lucky.

Romano did have an ulterior motive to getting his brother out of the house. With the proper amount of privacy, he was able to do what he did best (snooping) without being detected. Feliciano was an idiot, but he knew what Romano looked like when he was looking for something, and he would only impose problems. And the German was a whole other thing entirely. He wasn't stupid (despite what Romano would claim out loud) and he could snap Romano like a twig if it caught his fancy, and the Italian liked to remain in one piece, seeing as how it was essential for his survival and everything.

He knew that German pig, the hypothetical body snapper in question, was simply no good for his brother Feliciano, but, as always, his brother defied all logic and reason, and fell hopeless in love with a fucking robot for God's sake, so something had to be done. Romano knew he needed proof, too, for Feli's love for Ludwig was so strong it would deny anything but cold hard fact that shook his entire perception of this god-like figure. With this in mind, Romano searched.

And searched.

He swept the entire flat, paying special attention to Ludwig's office, shaking books, lifting rugs, sifting through paper after paper and rummaging in drawer after drawer. His computer held nothing incriminating; only pictures from previous vacations to various parts of Germany, Italy, and their mutual friend Kiku's house in Japan. No notes from mysterious men or women. No weird or suspicious (Romano was expecting criminal) activities. Ludwig Beilschmidt was cleaner than…well…pretty much anything.

Defeated and exhausted from his fruitless work, he retired a bedroom, entertaining the notion that maybe the potato bastard wasn't as bad as the Italian was making him out to be.

He caught himself, though. That Ludwig guy fucking sucked, he decided. Much better.

Ludwig arrived to the flat that day exceptionally early. A bomb scare got the higher ups all in a tizzy and sent the lot of them home, leaving the German with an unfamiliar feeling of restlessness and unproductivity. He barely ever saw his home in the light, since he was working at this hour or asleep on weekends, and the German clock reflected a bright glare from the sun streaming in through the balcony doors. It chimed the hour, and Ludwig squinted past the glare. It was just about ten o'clock; far too early to eat lunch, and far too late to contemplate going back to sleep. He sighed.

The place seemed eerily quiet, and by now, the German expected to be greeted by a warming embrace by his Italian lover and good natured questions on his early arrival. The embrace never came, even when Ludwig waited in the doorway for several minutes, simply peering around and thinking of what exactly Feliciano did all day, and then it hit him.

He's asleep. Of course!

Ludwig crept across the living room and into the hall where the door to their shared bedroom awaited. He pressed an ear to it, and faintly heard the ins and outs of deep breathing, indicating that Feliciano had been asleep for quite a while. He twisted the knob with a dull click, and opened the door just wide enough to step in, knowing that any creak would surely wake the Italian up. Heavy drapes Feliciano insisted on blocked all light from getting in, but in the darkness, he could make out his lover's mop of hair with its signature curl. Ludwig would never be described as light footed, but he was quite happy with himself as he took off his shoes and tiptoed around to the other side of their bed and gingerly slipped in next to his lover. His arms wrapped around the boys waist, and he leaned in close to whisper lovingly.

"Good morning, Feli. Mind if I join you?"

The Italian reacted immediately, instantly awakening with uncharacteristically ungraceful jerks of his body. Though, even more unexpectedly, get jumped away to the point of nearly falling off the rather large bed, and bellowed an earsplitting scream.

It was at that moment that Ludwig knew he made a horrible mistake.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING YOU GIANT GERMAN POTATO HEAD?"

Oooh…plot twist! Though, really, who didn't see that coming? I knew I needed to start writing again, and this vague idea started bitching at me, so here it is! The start of my first multi-chap story ever. How exciting. You're a part of history! Read and review and all that jazz. Tell me how cool that cliff hanger was. Ya know you want to. :D