A/N: There's a part two. I think I will be adding more pieces to this.

Pretend

"Why can't you ever think up a realistic plan," the annoyed groan belonged to Britain, who was eyeing his fellow blonde with all the patients of a five year old waiting for a treat. America tipped his head to the side in an obvious display of confusion, blinking bright blue eyes at his elder.

"Dude," his words were slow as if speaking to one of lesser mental capabilities, "My plan is completely realistic."

Feliciano leaned back in his seat, with something less than his usual airheadedness. He knew that once Britian's hands created a loud smack as they hit the table that no one would be paying him much attention. For the time being, he would be free to drop his act by a few notches and he wanted to tear the flutter of gratitude from his chest with his bare hands. He should not feel anything for those around him because, while they had the potential, none of them were those he sought out.

It was not Alfred's startled expression that was quickly overcome by one of anger as the older nation fisted the front of his uniform. That wasn't Arthur who pressed his forehead against the other's, berating him up and down about his lack of seriousness. The comment that dragged France into their little dispute did not belong to Francis. Spain was the one that took the distraction as a chance to start talking animatedly at his brother, not Antonio Thirty-Surnames. Perhaps most painfully, the blond that screamed at them all to be silent was not Ludwig.

"It is under Japan's suggestion that I declare we should all take a break," Germany's words only had time to register in the minds of the nations before most of them were on their feet, racing for the door. The stern man's roar was met with only half hearted answers, "Be back in ten minutes!"

Feliciano's arms were crossed loosely over his chest as he watched Romano storm from the room, his face turning an amusing shade of red as he tried to escape the Spaniard. The other Italian was the only exception to his view on the nations. Lovino and Romano were both so incredibly similar that it tore him apart to know that his brother had no more memory of the mansion than any of the others. Romano was as over-protective, short-tempered, and frustrating as he always had been, and it made Felicano want to both embrace and run away from the man.

The only reason he had not tried to see if his brother remembered was because he did not want him to recall the pain.

"Itary."

His fist was already lifting in a counter to an attack that was not coming. Steely brown eyes discovered shocked eyes of the same color, and he realized his mistake. Felicano's mind shrieked in denial until the muscles in his arm twisted so that his offensive move flowed into one of defense. Japan took a hasty step back as the Italian's knees collided with the carpet, and words fell from his lips with well practiced ease, "No; please don't hurt me. I'm not a tomato box fairy, but I promise I didn't mean to lie. Please, I know people in Kyoto!"

"I-i," Japan stuttered with one arm raised to fend off the sudden awkward situation that he had been thrown into. Feliciano saw this through the fake tears streaming down his face and quickly moved to take advantage of Japan's discomfort.

"Please forgive me," Italy wailed from where he had his arms wrapped around the shorter nation's legs. He was shaking his head frantically in his mock desperation, babbling, "I swear I'll never do it again! Please, don't you see? I'm much too cute to die!"

"I-itary-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Veneziano," a familiar tone shouted out. Frozen in mid-denial, Italy turned to face the entrance of the meeting room only to find Romano storming towards him. Feliciano allowed the Asian to slip out of his grasp as the angrier Italian snatched the collar of his shirt, lifting him to his feet without a second thought, "Just what do you think you are doing, donnicciola?"

"Ne," Italy whined in retaliation, "I am not an empty-headed woman! That's so mean!"

A tanned hand was pressed to Romano's face as he sighed, "I was calling you a 'sissy,' idiota."

"I don't speak Spanish," Northern Italy pouted pitifully while walking out of the room on his brother's heels, leaving a rather embarrassed Japan alone with the empty chairs and long table.

"Its has the same meaning in Italiano," Romano's reply could be heard from the hall, but Japan was no longer paying the squabbling duo any more attention. All his thoughts were focused on the way Italy had reacted to him. He had never seen the bubbly man take an offensive position, but that had certainly been one. In all his years of military experience, it would require a serious error on his part for him to get something like that wrong.

An action such as throwing a punch was very different from what Italy was expected to do, but it wasn't the only odd thing about the nation. Japan had no idea if anyone else had noticed what he had; it wouldn't have surprised him if they had not. Italy had been acting abnormally since the last World Meeting, which Italy had insisted be held at his place the day before it was to be held.

Something wasn't right.

"What are you hiding, Itary?"