Hetalia - Axis Powers Change Your Life

**April, 2013; Cardiff, Wales**

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Within moments of entering Wales' house, Northern Ireland has been made a cup of tea, fed a slice of chocolate cake, had a solicitous hand lain against his forehead, and been told twice that he's "very pale". The hand returns after he's been shooed into the living room and subsequently installed in Wales' comfiest armchair with his tea. This second time, it's accompanied by a worried sigh and a gentle ruffle of Northern Ireland's fringe.

"You're a little warm, _brawd_," Wales says. "Are you feeling ill? I can make you some of my special soup, if you like."

Wales' 'special soup' tastes like a mixture of sweaty socks and earwax, likely due to him seasoning it with all sorts of herbs chosen solely for their supposed medicinal benefits rather than taste. It has been instrumental in getting Scotland, England and Northern Ireland to leave their sickbeds innumerable times over the years, if only because the only alternative they faced was to eat some of the vile stuff.

"No, ta, Wales," Northern Ireland says, shaking his head vigorously. "I feel fine. It's just…"

Wales' expression radiates such naked and obvious concern that Northern Ireland's words falter in the face of it, eventually fading into an uneasy silence. He suspects his brother has already sprung to his own conclusions regarding the reasoning behind this unscheduled visit, and they're likely far graver than the truth could ever be, regardless of the fact that Northern Ireland is soon going to have to admit that he's been lying to him for months.

It's not a decision he came to lightly, but after a week of fruitlessly wrestling with the Iceland question on his own and getting no further despite his mind's apparent inability to let the fucking thing drop for more than ten minutes at a time, he's desperate enough to follow his initial instincts and see if Wales can make any better sense of it.

Still, he can hardly launch off with, 'You know that relationship I had you were so happy about? Well, it never actually existed, but I kind of think I'd like it to now, so if you could give me any advice on how to go about doing something about that, it'd be much appreciated'. Not with Wales standing there looking like his heart is set to shatter into a million pieces at the slightest provocation, anyway.

For that reason, Northern Ireland thinks it best to ease into things, so he asks his brother, "When did you first fall in love?" because it's tangentially related to the subject in question, and there's little Wales seems to find as satisfying as reminiscing about his lost loves, besides.

If nothing else, it should put him in a slightly more forgiving mood.

Wales seems completely perplexed by the question for a moment, presumably because Northern Ireland – just like the rest of his siblings – is usually careful to avoid mentioning anything that might set Wales' thoughts meandering towards his past romantic failures. Nevertheless, his eyes do eventually take on the telltale faraway cast that suggests he's been sent down that thorny and tedious path once again.

"I didn't even realise I _was_ in love the first time until it was too late to do anything about it," he says, sounding wistful. "But then I was young and stupid, and, well, it was doubtless for the best, anyhow, considering –"

Wales flushes and then cuts himself off abruptly, looking completely ashamed in a way that suggests to Northern Ireland that the end of that sentence was probably going to be along the lines of, 'considering it was France, and Scotland would have contemplated fratricide if he ever found out'. He can't say it comes as much of a surprise, as finding France attractive appears to be something of a family predisposition, albeit one which manifests itself only as 'protesting far too much' in England's case.  
Even Northern Ireland had caught himself admiring France's arse once, though he had been pissed at the time and has since decided that it must have been some horrible side effect brought on by a bad batch of beer.

"How about the second time?" he asks, a reluctant feeling of solidarity prompting him to take pity on his brother.

Wales smiles at him gratefully. "That was Mary," he says, sitting down on the sofa with his legs curled up underneath him; a arrangement which seems to be one of his favourites when he's settling himself in preparation for a lengthy story-telling session. "She was one of England's maids when our houses were first joined together. I was… I was finding it difficult to adjust to the change, but she was so sweet, and so kind to me, that it helped make things slightly easier to bear.

"England did his best to keep us apart, of course, but we managed to snatch a few moments whenever his back was turned. It was never enough, though. I would have spent every spare minute I had with her if I could.

"Eventually, England got sick of trying to come between us, and just sent her away to join the staff of some other household. I never did learn which one, though I searched for her for years afterwards."

Wales looks melancholy at the memory, but not especially so, Then again, all of his tales of his past lovers end much the same way, if it isn't 'then I never saw him/her again', it's 'then he/she died' or 'then I had to fake my own death/disappearance because they'd started to get suspicious that I wasn't ageing'. With such a bleak litany of failures to look back on, Northern Ireland supposes that it must be difficult for any one of them to stand out as appreciably worse than the others.

"Why do you want to know, anyway?" Wales asks as he dabs at his cheeks with the sleeve of his cardigan. "You're never usually interested in this sort of thing. Unless" – he straightens up, a faint smile beginning to curve his lips – "you and Iceland are –"

"It's nothing like that," Northern Ireland says hurriedly. He might have started fixating on ridiculously insignificant details about Iceland, but he's almost certain that he's not in love, or even any where close to it. It's not a subject he knows anything about first hand, but he's read widely enough to notice that accounts of it don't really tally up with how he's feeling currently. For one, so many of them, just as Wales had done, seem to emphasise the desire to spend all of your time with the object of your affections, and the idea being around _anyone_ that often causes Northern Ireland's chest tighten so much that he can barely breathe, Iceland included.

The most he can say with any certainty is that he'd like to be able to touch Iceland on occasion without his gross motor skills shutting down, and then, if that managed to pass without major incident, perhaps work up to raising the possibility of kissing somewhere down the line.

Although he knows that he's never likely to reach that situation relying solely on his own devices, that he's going to have to admit to his deception first, and that Wales is probably never going to be more forgiving of it as he is right now, with his own romantic woes so fresh in his mind, Northern Ireland still finds it hard to say anything more than, "It's sort of related, though."

His silent struggle to find the right words beyond that summons the consternated expression back to Wales face and he leans forward to clasp Northern Ireland's knee encouragingly. "What is it, _Gogledd_?" he asks anxiously. "Is everything okay with the two of you?" His fingers tighten a fraction. "Are you thinking about breaking up with him?"

Northern Ireland isn't entirely sure what might have led his brother to embark upon that particular leap of logic, but he's thankful for it, all the same. He couldn't have asked for a better opening, really. "That'd be a bit pointless," he says, "seeing as how we're not actually going out."

Wales stares at him vacantly. "What?"

"We're not actually going out," Northern Ireland repeats, and the swiftness with which Wales snatches his hand back makes Northern Ireland feel exactly as much of a twat as he'd expected he would if he ever put himself in this position. "And we never have been. We were just pretending."

"Why on earth would you do something like that?"

"I'm not sure why Iceland's kept it up, and I didn't really _plan_ to do it or anything, it just sort of happened." Northern Ireland shrugs. "I've never actually said we were dating, anyway, have I? You all just assumed that's what was going on."

"I suppose we did," Wales says, looking thoughtful. "It does seem cruel, though. Poor England's been tearing his hair out about…" He gives a small shake of his head. "Okay, I can see why the charade might have been tempting. He has been rather insufferable about the whole thing, hasn't he?

"Nevertheless, it's good that you want to come clean about it now. I presume that's why you've come to see me? Back up for when you break things to England?"

Northern Ireland is tempted to say yes simply because it would be far less embarrassing for both him and Wales if he did, but that would leave him in no better position than he was before he forced himself make to this visit, and he knows it would probably take him months to screw up the courage to try again.

"No, I'd like to start going out with Iceland for real," Northern Ireland says, staring fixedly down at his hands because he can more easily pretend he's just admitted that to an empty room that way. "I'm doing a completely shite job at letting him know that, though, so I thought I'd be better off asking you for some tips first or something. I guess you seem to be pretty good at the 'asking people out' thing."

"Even though I'm a bit shaky on the 'staying together' part?" Wales chuckles quietly. "To tell you the truth,I'm probably the worst person you could have chosen to talk to about this, because…" He pauses and takes a long, wavering breath before continuing with: "I'm in exactly the same predicament as you are."

Northern Ireland's shock lasts little more than an instant because he needs no more reflection on this new information than that to realise that it finally explains why Wales' attitude towards Romano has always seemed so uncharacteristic; why this relationship, out of all of those he's witnessed Wales in the throes of, has failed to inspire his usual state of love-struck poetic excess.

What doesn't make sense is the exact same thing that had puzzled Wales about Northern Ireland and Iceland. Northern Ireland at least has the excuse of never having made any attempts to deceive anyone, he just let them all believe what they wanted to believe, and occasionally had a good laugh at England's expense about it. But Wales has, it appears, deliberately cultivated a fake relationship with his trips to Italy, inviting Romano to all their family parties despite said family's objections, and even taking his side over _Scotland's_ in more than one of their innumerable arguments.

It all seems like far too much effort to Northern Ireland, not to mention _weird_, so the only question he can think to ask is pretty much an echo of the one Wales had posed him earlier. "Why the fuck would you want us all to think that Romano's your boyfriend?"

"Because it seemed like it'd be better than suffering through any more of France's matchmaking," Wales says. "I knew he wouldn't give it up until it looked as though all of his planning had paid off. Or, failing that, possibly one of us was dead. I was facing the prospect of _years_ of awkward dates and then I approached Romano approached with a proposal. We'd pretend to be France's success story, and that would get him off my back, and Romano would be able to–" Wales cuts himself off mid-word, and then smiles at Northern Ireland apologetically. "Well, he'd probably prefer it if I didn't share what he wanted, but it was a mutually beneficial arrangement at the start."

Northern Ireland can almost understand the initial plan, he supposes, as France can be frighteningly determined when he puts his mind to it, but it's been over _two years_ since then, and it's unlikely that he'd consider himself a failure and start meddling in Wales' love life again if he and Romano called things off at this point. Northern Ireland can only conclude that, bafflingly, Wales doesn't _want_ to.

"It feels so good to finally get that off my chest," Wales says, laughing a little as he sprawls back in his seat. "Look, I know you and Scotland don't like him very much, and for a long time, I didn't really like him, either, but I think that's starting to change and… Well, the whole thing was basically ridiculous, anyway, and it feels even more so now."

Northern Ireland rarely been one of his brothers' preferred confidantes before, and the feeling of finding himself in such a position is novel enough that he not only forgets for a moment that he'd prefer not to be burdened with such intimate knowledge about any of them, he actually _encourages_ Wales by asking, "Have you told him?"

"I've tried to, but he's even worse than England for tuning me out when he doesn't want to listen to what I'm saying. That's where you come in, _Gogledd_," Wales says, beaming encouragement at Northern Ireland. "As I said, we seem to be facing quite similar problems, and it's not something I've ever had to deal with before so I can't give you any advice with your own, but maybe if we put our heads together, we can come up with solutions for both of them."

Being approached for his assistance is an even more novel experience, and Northern Ireland finds that that makes it impossible for him to refuse Wales' request despite it being, quite blatantly, a terrible idea that will likely not end well for either of them.


End file.
