Switzerland was cheap. He wasn't ashamed of this fact—not like Austria, who would mumble something about being cost effective or taking into consideration the economy or other suck malarkey—but Switzerland was cheap.

He didn't skimp out on the important things, of course. He and Liechtenstein had all the essentials and, if he did say so himself, quite the excess. She had mentioned she was getting a new Xbox, and while this made Switzerland's skin crawl, he had let it pass without comment.

But good God, the southern half of Italy was ridiculous.

He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but Switzerland had started to notice what Romano must have spent a ridiculous amount of money on. It had started with something so stupid, that Switzerland thought about it when he tossed and turned in bed.

A pen.

Switzerland had been placed next to Romano during one of the World Meetings. Bulgaria was stuttering through his presentation, when Switzerland's eyes fell on Romano's pen.

It was ridiculous. It was gaudy. Switzerland hadn't even been aware they made pens thatweren't plastic. It was silver, chrome, sleek but rounded to fit in Romano's hand perfectly as he took the occasional note.

At the hotel, Switzerland wondered if Romano had to go to a special pen store and have his hand measured.

It had gotten progressively worse. Switzerland arrived one day to see a car that reeked of money. It was red, and it had a bumper sticker of the Italian flag in the back window. Its tires were thin, and Switzerland was afraid someone would try to steal it.

Romano was leaning against the car, smoking quickly before the meeting. And that was another thing, those cigarettes were hand rolled and smelled delicious. It made Switzerland want to ask for one, but God knows how much each puff was worth.

Later, at the hotel, showering, Switzerland wondered if the paper was a special length so that it fit in Romano's mouth like the pen in his hand.

Romano faded from Switzerland's mind for a while; he sank himself into paperwork and visited Lichtenstein often. He poured over national expenditure and shot at the firing range. His mind kept away from the thoughts of cigarettes well enough.

But then the next World Meeting rolled around.

Once again, Switzerland was seated next to Romano. Switzerland's eyes were not following Russia's over-enthusiastic movements. They were on the sleeve of Romano's suit. Something silky, that probably felt like water when Romano shrugged it on in the morning.

Switzerland's eyes traveled along Romano's arm, resting on his hand instead. What strange hands, they looked like they had a month's recovery from a lot of hard work.

"Are you going to stop fucking staring at me any time soon?"

Switzerland's eyes flicked up to meet Romano's. The Italian raised an eyebrow, trying to look angry, but he looked more smug than anything.

"I know it's a nice suit, but pay attention to the meeting."

Switzerland felt his brain scramble for a response. "I was looking at your hand!" he hissed back.

Romano scoffed haughtily.

Switzerland stood and went over to the refreshment table, grabbing a water. He stood for a moment, recovering. He should think before he tried to defend himself.

"You were always attracted to posh."

Switzerland closed his eyes. "Oh, not you."

Austria raised an eyebrow, taking a bite from his cookie.

The comment clicked, and Switzerland choked on his water.