Something was off, he realised, stepping past his front door and into the foyer. It was almost midnight yet Romano's coat, hat, and gloves were gone from their usual place on the chair against the wall, and the air smelled faintly of pasta, tomatoes, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The house was silent; no appliances were running, no doors were slamming, no anything.

Complete silence.

It was unnerving, really, and he was already starting to mumble to himself to cover up the absence of sound. Romano was still nowhere to be found even though he'd checked everywhere, saving the kitchen for last.

He wasn't there either.

The second time around, though, he discovered the patio door halfway open (a wonder he didn't notice sooner).

It was cold out, this he knew from earlier, and he was slightly worried for Romano's health since the mediterranean half-nation wasn't really used to this kind of weather. He hurried out, looking around eagerly, and was rather disappointed when he couldn't find him.

"Up here, bastard." The voice was gruff, slurred, and coming from somewhere above him. He immediately looked to the roof, and was overjoyed. Romano was indeed there, wrapped in both his coat and a blanket with a bottle of something in his hands. He clambered up in a few seconds, taking the patio table-brick wall-roof route, and the other grudgingly opened the blanket wide enough for him to slip in.

"What're ya up here for, 'Mano?" He asked, gently removing the bottle from his stiff fingers (sans gloves, he noticed) and taking a sniff. Vodka - odd, didn't he prefer wine, anyways? Romano's cheeks were red, either from the cold or the alcohol, and he was leaning against him, the back of his head on his shoulder. He could see the half-nation's breath, barely, and he seemed lost in the sky.

"I've had thousands of years, but I can never seem to count them all."

The comment evoked an odd feeling - somewhere between melancholy, nostalgia, and the acute sense of not being good enough, he decided - and he fidgeted, looking from some way to reply. As it turned out, he didn't have to, as Romano turned to face him.

"Don't change - please?"

America chuckled, cupping his face with one hand, pressing their foreheads together, and staring straight into those beautiful, bright green eyes.

"I promise."

That elicted a small smile from the half-nation, who closed his eyes in response and leaned even more into him, a breathy whisper ghosting across his neck and sending a shiver down his spine.

"Thank you."