Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Short and late, but it's here! Thank you all so much for your patience and courtesy despite the long wait, it means a lot to next chapter is mostly written, so hopefully you won't have to wait nearly as long for another update.

Although he was loathe to admit it, Romano was in trouble. He'd been wandering around for a while now and he still couldn't find the restroom. The happy glow he'd started out with when he'd left the living room had changed to an uncomfortable sense of urgency as the quickly-increasing pressure in his bladder took precedence.

"Dammit, America, your house is too big." He complained to his absent best friend under his breath, peering through yet another door that turned out to be yet another unused room. He'd thought the restroom was one of the doors down the hall on the right after he'd passed the kitchen, but he'd been wrong. Every door he'd opened since had yielded only rooms that were emphatically not restrooms; and, instead of doing the smart thing and going back and asking America where it was, or going upstairs to use the one in his new bedroom, he'd kept going, because he had to be close, right? Just another door or two. Just around the next corner. Going back would just take more time. He'd find it eventually. One of these doors had to be it.

So he'd tried door after door and corridor after corridor without any luck, until now he was lost in the maze of unused rooms and halls that made up America's home. He was trying now to double back, but since he hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going initially— concerned at the time only in his search for relief, and hoping each door would open to what he sought— and because everything in America's house looked pretty much the same anyway thanks to the tastefully bland decor, he'd only managed to disorient himself further. And now he really didn't know if he could find his way back before he wet his pants. Which would be embarrassing. He hadn't done that since he was a kid! At this point he was willing to avail himself of even a potted plant if one turned up. Except one wouldn't, he knew, 'cause there hadn't been any when America was giving him a tour earlier (probably because they'd die from lack of attention, forgotten in a myriad of empty rooms).

"Dammit, America." He repeated in irritation as he dithered uncertainly at the junction between two diverging corridors, doing the customary dance of the full bladder and eyeing a lone vase on a hall table nearby speculatively. "Who the hell needs a house this big, anyway? It's not like anyone else lives here, you bastard."

Immediately after he said it, though, he felt a little bad, because America really was all alone here, and he knew how that felt. And that thought made him feel a little guilty, because he'd left America all alone in the living room and he was probably lonely, wondering where Romano went and why he'd been gone for so long. And really Romano would rather be there with him, too, instead of here lost in endless unused space looking for a restroom. Except, he remembered, his irritation returning, this whole thing was America's fault anyway for building a house that you needed a map or native guide to get around in when you really had to pee, and— wait, he had a native guide. Pulling out his phone, Romano addressed both his lostness and America's loneliness with the press of a button.

"Yello~." America's carefree voice was a welcome sound in his ear, and a knot of tension he wasn't aware had been building in his stomach dissipated in a rush of warm relief. He hadn't realised how unsettled and isolated he felt being lost and alone in this maze of empty rooms, but just hearing his best friend's voice and knowing he was there (and ready and willing to rescue him if necessary) was reassuring, even though he was annoyed at him at the moment for building a house with deviously hidden bathrooms. Speaking of which—

"America. Where is your fucking restroom, dammit?!" He demanded urgently, flailing a little.

"'Mano? The closest is the first door on the left, down the hall from the kitchen— are you lost?"

"I'm not lost, I just don't know where I am! Why's your house so huge, dammit? I need a map to get around in here! And where's the kitchen from here, anyway?"

"Uh, where are you?"

"If I knew that, bastard, I wouldn't be lost! You're supposed to tell me! Chigi!" Romano barked, frustrated. "And hurry up, I really have to go!"

"Okay," America accomodated him quickly, "what's around you? Give me a description of the area so I can tell where you are."

"I don't know! Uh," Romano looked around himself, "there's a hall table with a vase on it, but otherwise there's nothing. It's just a hall, dammit. There's two doors...hold on," he opened the nearest door, "one's a small closet with nothing in it, and the other..." he crossed the hall to open the other door, peering through, "looks like a guest bedroom. There's a bed and some drawers and a stupid painting on the wall."

"Oh, there might be a bathroom in there. Some of the guest bedrooms have one. Check and see? If not, you can always pee in the vase." America suggested practically.

"You're damn right I will, bastard." Despite the available vase Romano was intensely relieved to find that there was, indeed, a small bathroom attached to the room, through a door that he'd assumed at first glance led to a closet. "Yeah, there's one here. Thanks. Don't hang up, I still need you to help me find my way back." He added hurriedly as he shut the door behind him.

"Okay." America said easily.

Romano set the phone down next to the sink to have his hands free while he took care of business. It didn't take long, and he retrieved it quickly, wedging it in-between his ear and shoulder so he could wash his hands.

"You really need to get some bidets in here, bastard." He said, turning on the faucet.

"Yeah, I'll order you one." America acknowledged offhandedly, and asked, "Hey, do you think we're too touchy-feely?"

"Huh?" Romano's brows furrowed in a frown, unsure what America was getting at. "What does that even mean, 'touchy feely'?"

"Like, do you think we touch too much. That I touch you too much." America corrected himself. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Oh." Romano gestured dismissively (dripping suds onto the counter), although America wasn't there to see it. "No, it's fine."

"It doesn't bother you then?"

"I said it doesn't, bastard. I said it's fine." Romano's frown deepened, lips pursing in concern. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden? Do you have a problem with me touching you?" Physical contact was perfectly normal between friends, especially best friends like they were. America hadn't seemed to mind before. Maybe he'd decided he didn't like it after all? Maybe it was a cultural thing? He knew Americans had different customs...

"No, I don't." America said with such conviction it put Romano's brief worries to rest, "I like it. Mattie just thinks it's weird. He thinks I'm taking advantage of you. That maybe you don't like it but you're too polite or political to tell me."

"That's stupid. If I don't like something, I'll tell you." Romano asserted, turning off the faucet and shaking water from his hands. "We promised to be honest with each other, didn't we? Besides, we're best friends. It's not like we're doing anything weird."

"That's what I said!" America said triumphantly. "That's what I told him. We're best friends, of course we're going to touch each other. And I'm showing him the manual, too. I just wanted to check with you to make sure."

"Well, now you know." Romano looked around, his frown still in place, but for a different reason now. "You don't have any towels in here, bastard."

"Oh, sorry. Sometimes the whale runs off with my towels. Use your pants? That's what I do when there's no towels."

"Ugh." After a quick double check, Romano was forced to admit there were no other options, and reluctantly did his best to dry his hands by rubbing his palms against his pant legs. "What does a whale need with towels, anyway?"

"I don't know, I've never asked." America admitted. "They usually turn up again eventually."

"Hn." Now that his hands were moderately dry, Romano took his phone in-hand again so he didn't have to keep bending his neck awkwardly to hold it against his shoulder, and took a few moments to check his appearance in the mirror to make sure he hadn't gotten mussed or anything during his bathroom-searching adventure. Nope, he still looked pretty good. He fussed a bit with his hair, anyway, and smoothed a couple of errant folds out of his clothes, frowning at the water marks on his pants where he'd dried his hands. Oh well, at least they'd dry quickly. Wait- was that a stain on his shirt? He frowned, leaning closer to inspect it in the mirror. No, just a little water. Well, that would dry. Noticing a blond hair on his collar, he brushed it off, reflecting that that was probably going to happen more often.

He stepped back, giving himself one last check over, and decided he looked good. "Okay, bastard." He said absently, flipping off the light as he left the restroom, "I'm done here. I'll see you in a bit." He missed America's answering "But—" as he ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. It wasn't until he'd opened the door to the hall that he remembered that he needed America to guide him back. With a noise of frustration he reached for his phone again, nearly slamming the door behind him as he entered the hall (but not quite, because it was an antique, and exquisitely handcarved mahogany, and that craftsmanship deserved respect. But he shut it very firmly, and with intent.) And then he looked up, and nearly dropped his phone.

Because there was a unicorn in the hall.

A unicorn. There was a fucking unicorn, standing in the hall. There was a unicorn standing in the hall, staring at him.

He'd thought unicorns were extinct! Yeah, sure, England still claimed to see them but everyone knew England was crazy...

Yet here one was, watching him. Just standing there, being a unicorn, in America's house, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do. Then again, for the unicorn, it probably was.

It had to be a sign of some sort, right? An omen. He wasn't sure— it'd been a long time since he'd thought about unicorns, centuries probably— but he was pretty certain seeing a unicorn was a really good sign.

As he tried to figure out what it meant, he watched it warily, more out of habit than anything else. Maybe it was the unicorn's magic, maybe it was the fact that he'd already seen so many strange things since coming to America, or maybe it was because he was too in shock to register it, but for some reason, despite the fact that he was mere meters away from what was essentially a weaponized horse with mystical powers and a reputation for ferocity, he wasn't afraid or nervous. In fact, he wasn't even freaked out. There was something about the unicorn's presence that was surprisingly comforting, reassuring even. It made him feel like he was safe, and everything would be alright.

The unicorn, having waited patiently for him to come to terms with its existence, turned around and walked a little ways down the hall, then paused to look back at him. He realised that it was waiting for him to follow.

"You want me to follow you?" He asked tentatively.

The unicorn nodded its head, lightly stamping a hoof.

"You're going to show me how to get back? To- to America." He asked, to clarify, incase maybe it was planning to take him somewhere else, like Unicorn-Land, or something. The unicorn whickered, and nodded again.

"O-oh," he said, slipping his phone back in his pocket. "Thanks."

The unicorn huffed in a friendly fashion, turning to lead the lost Italian through the labrythian passages of America's house. Romano followed closely, hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake.

Leaning on the counter in the kitchen (where he'd gone to retrieve the 'Care and Handling of Italy' manual before Romano'd called and he'd gotten caught up in talking with him), America looked at the 'call ended' display on his phone in surprise. He'd thought Romano had wanted to be guided back? Had he changed his mind? After waiting a few moments to see if Romano would call back, he shrugged, putting the phone away. Romano must have figured it out on his own.

That was cool. It was good that his best friend was becoming familiar with his place, and it made him happy, but he was almost a little bit disappointed, too— he'd been ready (and a maybe little eager) to go and get him if necessary. Like a rescue mission! Saving his best friend from the far recesses of the house. He could see it now— braving the halls to find Romano, and coming across him in a dark corridor, and 'Mano would be so happy to see him and grateful to be rescued that he'd blush, and maybe hug him, and maybe even thank him with... with a kiss on the cheek. (He hesitated slightly, feeling a little shy about thinking that, and blushed, remembering the last time Romano'd kissed him on the cheek, back in Italy.) And then they'd hold hands and talk on the way back.

Of course it wouldn't really happen like that, he admitted, laughing to himself. In actuality 'Mano would probably ask why he'd taken so long to get there and complain about how big his house was (and he seriously doubted he'd get a kiss, but it was nice to imagine), and be upset that he'd had to be rescued. They would hold hands and talk on the way back, though, and that would be really nice. He liked holding Romano's hand, and touching him and stuff. And Mattie was totally wrong, there wasn't anything weird at all about that. He had Romano's word and Germany's documentation to prove it.

Speaking of which— he twisted 'round to snag the manila file from the counter where he'd left it earlier that morning, and pushed off the counter to go and show it to Canada. His brother probably wouldn't take Romano's word for it, since he thought Romano was too intimidated by potential political ramifications to be honest about how he felt, and Mattie wouldn't listen to him since he thought he was too oblivious to know what was going on, but that was alright. The manual Germany had given him should explain everything.

AN: I have no intention of abandoning this or any other story. Updates may be slow due to health and lifestyle complications, but all stories are continuing until completed, however long it takes.

The unicorn was not meant to show up this early, but like the whale, the unicorn didn't want to wait. Everybody wants to meet Romano, it seems!