"Alright, Portugal, since you're joining our little club for now, you get the honour of reading this." Antonio announced, holding out the journal to João.

He looked at it with a scepticism. "A book? What kind of club is this again?" he scoffed.

"A club that likes to share everyone's scary little secrets using this lovely little book." Antonio replied with a grin. "And it's your turn to spill the beans."

"Alright," João replied, asserting himself, "I'll play your game."

He took the book in his hands, the page folded over where he assumed everyone else had got to. He had no idea what had been read, and he wasn't really sure how to respond to such a book as the one now in his possession. To be honest, he was sort of ambivalent. There was no concern that anything involving himself had been shared besides what he was already aware about, and that had already been discussed . . .

"What the fuck happened?" João said pointedly. "And why the heck was it your boyfriend who called me?!"

"He's not my boyfriend," Antonio sternly replied with a frown, "and if you're so interested in knowing, stick around! Play the game, João! Join in and I'll let you tell me why I'm having one heck of a time here."

They stared at each other for a moment. Antonio was determined to not have an emotional breakdown and João was similarly determined to try and not show his concern for his Iberian nieghbour. While they hadn't always seen eye to eye, they was still a mutual care and compassion between them.

"I know what it was about, you know." Portugal eventually said, breaking the silence.

Spain sighed. "I know."

"Then what's the problem? We know what happened, we've discussed it so many times before!" João responded. "Why are you acting like this?! How many times do I have time apologise to your dumb--"

"¡NO SEAS ESTÚPIDO!" Antonio exclaimed.

His patience had worn out and so had his mettle, and the barrier that was containing all of that emotion burst and an almighty wave of destruction was unleashed. Portugal didn't even have time to react before someone in desperate need of consolation, comfort and kindness had launched themselves at him. Shocked by the action, he stood there, frozen, until he realised that Antonio was crying into his shoulder, muttering little Spanish apologies. Something clicked in him in that instant. He held the Spaniard. He held him close, and reassured him that regardless of their past, he'd stand by his side and protect him no matter the cost. Forever.

"Alright," João said, leaning back in his seat, green eyes dancing over the name at the top of the page, "this is Germany's."

Everyone sat down quietly--Germany and Prussia, all those miles away, especially--and got ready to listen intently to what was to be read. England and Japan were still in the kitchen, but no one wanted to wait. Some were already annoyed at having to remain overnight in order to complete the book, and they wanted to get as much done as possible. They weren't even halfway.

The entry in front of Portugal was only the second thing the younger German brother had in the journal as of that moment, and he was anxious to know if it was an entry this time. Well, as fate would have it, he was in luck.

"Germany. August 13th, 1961. For three hours, I had been stood there, calling out for my brother. He didn't answer, and I haven't seen him in weeks . . . They think some stupid wall will separate us, but we will prove them wrong. The Western Powers are just as furious as I am--America especially--but we will be able to overcome this barrier, and we will take on anyone who says otherwise."

"Germany, you sound so . . . Strong, and brave . . ." Feliciano mused quietly.

He loved that about Ludwig; his mental and physical strength that would always make him such a powerful nation, and he knew he had someone who would look out for him no matter what. It was a comfort, and it made the Italian admire him even more.

"I can't deny my worry for my brother. He is strong, more so than myself, but I know that his country and city is struggling under the Reds. I can't help but think everyday that what he's going through is worse than Hell itself, but I will fight to see him just one more time. Just one more time."

This is what Prussia wanted Germany to be like. He wanted his brother to be strong, resilient, relentless and unprecedentedly powerful in a way that no other nation was. He wasn't ready to lose anyone else; he was adamant. But the most important thing to him was the bonds of brothers. Such a bond was virtually indestructible, and Gilbert had only ever hoped that the bond that he and Ludwig shared would neither fracture nor break entirely so long as they both lived. He could never bare to see them fall apart, especially after they were finally reunified in 1990.

"Now, it's my turn to take control and help Prussia for as long as I can. I will not stand for this oppression for much longer, and Russia will have to kill me if he wants to continue on this destructive path without intervention. For my brother, I would die."

"Good job it didn't come to that, eh?" America sheepishly remarked, glancing quickly at Russia before averting his eyes to Germany almost instantaneously. Ivan said nothing.

"Definitely," Ludwig said, "but it still stands. Gilbert has his moments, but he's my brother, forever and always. He'll be my priority until Germany ceases to exist."

"Awww, that's so sweet!~" Feliciano beamed, before calming and quietening down a bit. "I wish more brothers were like that, really . . ."

"Your brother cares about you, Feli." Ludwig told him. "Forget what he says and how he acts, because under all of that is someone who just wants to protect you. Like I do . . ."

The room went quiet silent for a moment. Portugal was immensely confused by this sudden silent outburst, and looked around the faces in the room, not really understanding. He must've missed something important, he assumed, and he promptly flicked the page.

"Oh, this is a short one." he said, surprised.

"It's an observation." France elaborated. "Whoever put the book together wrote this of their own interpretations, alongside our personal entries."

João nodded. "Right . . . But you don't know who put this together?"

"Not a clue, unfortunately." Francis answered with a light sigh. It infuriated everyone beyond words, but they could hardly help it. "Maybe that's for the best for now, though, if we focus on the book rather than the author."

"You like this thing?" João quizzed, holding the book up.

"It's good for everyone. Not easy, but beneficial, yes."

João hummed and said no more. The name at the top of the next page was one that took him a moment to recognise and put to a face, which he felt bad about, but he continued casually anyway.

"Canada. Not only an avid ice hockey player and supporter, he loves to ice-skate more leisurely on a lake near his BC house. He doesn't seem to figure skate often, but his jumps are basically flawless when he does."

Matthew groaned in exasperation. "Great, there goes the rest my dignity!" he said.

"You figure skate?" Alfred asked. He didn't know that about his older sibling, but then, that wasn't the only surprising thing he'd learnt that day. "That's so cool!"

"Seriously?" Canada winced.

"Absolutely!" America replied, but that didn't seem to help his brother's embarrassment.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Canada." Ivan remarked after noticing his discomfort. "I have also taken to the ice in a way before, as part of a workshop with my Olympians. It is fun, da?"

Matthew meekly smiled. "Yeah, it is! I still prefer hockey, but when I don't want to be competitive, that's the only other way for me to be on ice and enjoy myself."

"Maybe you two could work on something together, in that case."

Everyone looked to Yao; he'd been completely silent for a while, and a couple had almost forgotten the presence of the ancient nation. Of course, they pretended that that wasn't the case at all, for the sake of their sanity and perfect hearing . . .

"What do you mean?" Russia questioned with a slight frown.

"You and Canada can work on some sort of skating thing together." Yao reiterated, with a rather casual tone, as if what he was suggesting was something completely standard and obvious. "It would be a good way to better relations to start with."

"I-Ivan and I have perfectly fine . . . Uh . . . Relations, China . . ." Matthew responded. Now he just felt awkward, and way more than before. 

"I'm just saying." China defended. "Nothing is ever perfect . . . Stupid Westerners . . ."

"Well, perhaps it's something to think on." Germany eventually said, filling the silence and moving away from the subject as quickly as possible everyone's sake. "There should be one more for you to read, João, and then someone else can read."

"Right . . ." Portugal nodded. He looked the the next page, to see it was--again--a long entry, and he stifled a groan. "Who wants this after?"

"I'll take it." Alfred answered almost immediately, and everyone agreed as Portugal began to read.

"Italy. September 10th, 1940. I was a bit worried about joining this war, to be honest. Life under Mussolini has not been easy for us Italians, but I'm starting to feel a little bit more confident about my position here."

"That was only because of Japan and Germany. They made me feel . . . Not completely useless." Feliciano mused happily. The Second World War was full of horrid memories too, but he never let them overshadow the good. "War brings people together in a very weird way . . ."

"Indeed it does." America humbly agreed, alongside a couple of nods around the room.

Portugal couldn't really speak on the matter, nor did he want to. Instead, he just continued the short Italian entry.

"I feel bad about what happened with France, but at the end if the day, this is war. Sometimes we have to forget about past relations and keep moving forward. I just hope that when this ends, he can forgive us. And the same goes for the other countries Germany's troops have taken control of since last year. I don't want history to remember us as the bad guys . . . We aren't bad, we're just doing what we think is right . . . Right?"

"Right . . ." Germany mumbled. He hated it whenever hose years were brought up, as an overbearing sense of shame and guilt always plagued him endlessly.

"There are no hard feelings." Francis reassured both Italy and Germany with a faint smile. "Not anymore, at least. It has been so long, and it is like little Feliciano said--it was war, and we do anything when we are under such conditions."

"The past is the past." Russia slowly nodded in agreement. "History is unchangeable, but we can learn a lot from it."

"Can't argue with that." America chuckled. "I'm just glad that for now, we don't seem to be heading in another war of any kind. Let's leave it for a few years, yeah?" he said, glancing back again at Russia.

"Da. I like the sound of peace, for once." he responded amiably.

Italy was overjoyed at all the friendliness, and if he'd known something so simple that he'd written would compel the world's strongest countries to work better to get along, he would've shared it a long time ago. He looked at the journal in thanks as he watched Portugal pass it America across the table.

He was thanking its creator--the lonely soul who'd decided  it was time to act, and he hoped that if and when they found out who it was, they wouldn't be treated harshly for their initiative. Feliciano only wanted to hug them, and continue their work. It was time for absolute openness for the world, and he was ready to lead the way.