Most of the preparation for dinner had been completed. Japan and England were taking a short break, allowing for time for conversation and tea before the time came for them to finish off making dinner. 

Around five minutes into this break, Portugal peeked his head into the kitchen in search of a certain Englishman. Once he'd spotted that unmistakable messy blonde hair, he called out to him, hoping he wasn't interrupting anything too important . . . Not that it actually mattered to him if he was.

"Hey, England, can I borrow you for a second?" he said, smiling when Arthur looked at him.

"Uh, sure." England called back, feeling somewhat confused.

He quickly and sincerely apologised to Japan, promising his return, and hurried out of the room after the Portuguese man, curious to know what was wrong and why he was needed so seemingly urgently. Saying that, he was suddenly starting to dread knowing . . .

"Is everything OK?" he asked when only they were in an area further down the hallway.

"Yeah, thanks for coming out. I just needed to talk to you in private for a moment." João answered modestly. Arthur waited for an elaboration, and Portugal eventually got the hint when he was coughed at. "Oh, sorry, I meant somewhere more private."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Fine," England sighed in exasperation, "but make it quick, João. Really quick."

<> Meanwhile . . . <>

"Oh, Ivan, you're back!" Yao remarked when the tall Russian walked into the meeting room, where he and Francis had been conversing. "I take it you found America."

"It would appear so," Ivan replied, "but he is still with his brother outside."

"Is everything alright? Is he OK?" Francis asked, slightly more concerned.

"Da, I believe so." Russia smiled. 

He decided that it wasn't his place to share what happened outside, and would leave that to Alfred to reveal if he felt that was for the best. He was still blindingly curious as to who had sent him the message that ordered him outside to find Alfred in time, however, but he felt that both he and the American owed them thanks. And then maybe a good scare, since they were no doubt the person behind the journal and Ivan was starting to side with Lovino more . . .

"Anyway," he said, "what did I miss? Canada didn't have the chance to tell me."

"Ah, well, allow us to fill you in." Francis smiled humbly. 

<> Elsewhere . . . <>

"Fratello, where are you going?!" Feliciano called out to Lovino as he began to head towards the building's entrance and exit. He wanted out. "You can't just leave!"

"Is that so?" Romano said, feigning surprise. He halted and turned to his brother, who now had the chance to catch up. "Who the hell is going to stop me, Veneziano? You? You wouldn't even dare try, you're so pathetic!"

Feliciano didn't reply.

"This entire day is a complete waste of time, energy and I'm sick and tired of someone who thinks themselves to be above everyone else happily spilling our secrets!" he continued, trying to hide his guilt for evidently having silenced his brother with offense. "I can't take it, Veneziano!"

"That's why we're all here together!" Feliciano cried. "We're here to support each other, console each other, and to make each other better people! Fratello," he said, pleading, holding a hand out for Lovino to take, "don't be the one who backs away because they're scared . . ."

Romano stared out the extended hand for a moment. He wanted out, he reminded himself, and he would be damned if he let anyone control his decisions and his life except for himself. Italy looked at his older sibling and the sad understanding of what the other Italian's desires were surfaced in his mind. Lovino glanced back up to his brother's younger, more naive eyes. Feliciano retracted his hand in shame and disappointment.

"Go." he said, voice void of all emotion. "If you want to leave, then leave." 

"Veneziano, I--"

"I said go, fratello!" Feliciano snapped, his eyerows furrowed and his eyes seeming more watery than normal. "Go, run off, abandon me all over again!"

Romano scowled. "I didn't abandon you! You abandoned me, and so did grandfather!"

"Don't blame--"

"Don't blame everything on me, Feli, OK?! You had a fantastic life while you grew up under his roof and protection, but me?! I had to fend for myself in the streets like some rat!" Lovino yelled, the anger, shame, embarrassment and memories all causing the older Italian's eyes to well up with tears too, and more relentlessly than Felicano's. "Put yourself in my shoes, and maybe then you will understand why I am the way I am! Why I'm so stubborn, rude, unlikable and . . . Alone!"

Without another word, or even giving a shocked Feliciano to respond, Lovino continued on his journey away from his brother, the journal and the dark secrets it contained. He marched through those double doors and out into the bright sunlight, the wooden panels gently closing behind him as Italy watched him leave, silenced.

<> Meanwhile, elsewhere . . . <>

"Is everything alright in Berlin?" Germany asked his brother through through the phone.

"Yes, everything is still in one piece if that's what you're asking." Prussia replied, rolling his eyes at the wall of the London hotel room. "Have a little faith, West!"

"Sorry . . . It's just that today has been long and . . . Eventful . . ." he replied.

Ludwig wasn't sure if he should tell Gilbert about the journal, its contents, the emotional hurting its all caused, the scares and the arguments . . . He didn't want to make Gilbert worried or paranoid about anything that may show up under the Prussian's name. He had to spare him.

'If only he knew . . .' Gilbert thought to himself.

"Anyway, I might be here for another day or so. It seems there's a lot of things for us to go through, and we won't finish by this evening." Ludwig reported, mind made up.

"Ahh, don't worry about it!" Gilbert replied lightheartedly. "Take as much as you need, West! I'll be here waiting and drinking all of your beer!"

"You'd better not, Gilbert," Ludwig warned, "because I will post you to Siberia if a single bottle is out of place!"

Gilbert gave his signature laugh and said, "Calm down, mister grumpypants! You worry about you, I'll worry about me!"

"Just stay safe." Ludwig said, she in his head with the faintest hint of a mile on his face. "And don't blow anything up!"

"I won't!"

And with that, Gilbert ended the call abruptly on his brother. He couldn't keep the act up. He'd almost told Ludwig everything, and he didn't want to do that so soon and risk everyone from walking away. That wouldn't be fair, it wouldn't be justice,  it wouldn't be considerate. As he leant back in his seat taking a large, deep breath, the Skype call started back up and Peter was on the other end. He seemed a bit worried.

"Hallo, squirt." Gilbert said as he sat back up properly. "How's the sea?"

"It's fine," Peter replied, "but can you just check your monitor for the main meeting room? Something's wrong . . ."

Gilbert glanced towards the central monitor. In the live picture, he could see a rather distressed Italy being consoled by France.

"What the f--"

"Can you see Romano anywhere?"

Gilbert hurriedly looked across all the monitors in search of that other curl, promising himself that if Romano had done something to upset Italy, that he'd personally drag the older Italian back to apologise promptly. Sadly, there was no sign of him. He'd gone.

"We lost one." he said to Peter. "I think he's left."

"Damn . . . What do we do now?"

Prussia shrugged, "I guess we just let Portugal take his place for now . . ."

<> Elsewhere, meanwhile-- *shot* <>

Spain came outside. He passed America and Canada, who were heading back inside, and gave a small smile before they were out of sight. He continued to walk away, hoping they would proceed to ignore him, and he took a seat on a bench that sat out of sight of any of the higher windows on the building, shielding himself. Antonio didn't want to speak to anyone. He didn't want to see anyone. He just wanted peace and quiet, and blissful solitude. Sadly, that didn't last long.

"Hey, uh, are you OK?"

Antonio glanced up. "Sí."

"Forgive me saying that I don't believe you." Ludwig said. He gestured to the bench, looking to take a seat too and perhaps give the Spaniard some support and kindness. "May I?"

"Oh, yes, sorry!" Antonio replied, shuffling up and allowing Germany to sit down. He felt somewhat awkward now.

"Look," Germany said, acknowledging the reasons for the sudden silence, "I'm not sure what's going through your head, but if it's what I think it is, you're not alone."

"I don't see anyone else with my history, do you?" Spain replied with a bittersweet smile.

"Most of us lost an empire. Most of usnhave had bad leaders. Most of us did bad things and killed a lot of people . . ." Ludwig said. "You only have to look at me to know that."

"All's fair in love and war, right?" he responded, shaking his head lightly. Antonio stood up. "I don't think this is the right time to discuss all of this. I appreciate the effort, Alemania, but perhaps we should save this conversation for another time, ¿sí?"

He gave a softer smile, believing it to be the only way to prove that he was OK at heart, and would be fine in time. He didn't want to be fussed over. Ludwig stood up too, not completely convinced, but he had to respect Antonio's decision at the end of the day. Who was he to force someone to speak up?

"If you want." he replied. "I think we should head inside, I imagine that everyone is waiting for us."

Antonio nodded and the duo began to stroll back across the gardens towards the conference building. It was a warm afternoon, with birds chirping and all that other beautiful, natural, peaceful stuff that was generally quite soothing. However, as they approached the doors inside and Ludwig held one open, he had one final question.

"What did Portugal speak to you about?"

Antonio paused. He let out a sigh, knowing that he may not be able to pass so easily without giving an answer, and he gave a small shrug.

"He apologised."

Ludwig blinked. "Really? Just like that? I mean, I don't know what happened between you but--"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Antonio said. "Grudges like that had been forgotten along time ago, in truth . . . Today just forced them all to resurface . . ."

Spain continued on his way, not waiting for Germany any longer. The German watched as he disappeared up the stairs towards the meeting room, and he couldn't help but suddenly feel a slight hint of frustration towards the journal. It was causing all sorts of issues. Maybe it wasn't as helpful as he th-- No. No, he was convinced that the journal was going to be their saviour. Everyone would bond over it, learn valuable lessons, and become better people for it. Ludwig would never, ever think otherwise.

<><><>

I've come to realise how much I've been torturing Spain in this book . . .

*hugs my Latina Bby* YoU nEeD a GeNuInE sMiLe AgAiN!

Anyway, next chapter we get back to the journal so all this exposition bs that I'm pulling from the air will stop once more! ;3

- S