New Year's Hetalia Style

"Okay Italy…You go first."

Italy and Germany sat across from each other at Germany's small kitchen table. For the first time in a long time, Germany had company on New Year's eve. Secretly, there was no one he'd rather be spending the holiday with. He was equally glad that Japan had been busy, so that there was no one else there to divert the Italian's attention.

Between them on the table was a glass of ice cold water and a bowl of molten metal. According to German tradition, you were to pour one drop of the metal into the water, and whatever shape it became was a prediction of your future. Germany hadn't done it since he was a very small child, but he wanted to do something to occupy Italy.

Italy took the bowl in gloved hands and poured a drop from it into the water. They both watched intently as the grey liquid morphed around.

"It's a boat, I think," Italy said, fascinated.

"Gut, zhat means you'll travel," Germany said, although he couldn't make out a boat in the blob Italy was staring at.

"Veeeee, I'll take you with me when I do!" Italy bubbled.

Germany poured himself his own cup and repeated the ritual.

"Germany…I think it's in the shape of a heart!"

"Vhat??" Germany said sharply, squinting at the cup. "Zhat is not a heart."

"Yes it is!" Italy said excitedly. "It's a heart, you can see the two sides of it here, look."

"Zhat looks more like a boot to me. Maybe I'll go off to war again."

"It's definitely a heart. Maybe it means you'll fall in love!"

Germany flushed, looking pale. "I vill not fall in love," he said harshly, eyes directed downward.

He didn't look Italy in the eye for the rest of the night.

* * * * *

Apparently the champagne had been a bit too much for England.

France had let him have as much as he wanted, against his better judgment. It was only champagne, right? France couldn't feel it's effect at all.

But already the Englishman had settled himself in France's lap, planting kisses up and down his jaw. Not that France minded. In the slightest. He was just used to having to force his Angleterre let him show any ounce of affection. And he was long past expecting a positive response.

England's fingers became slightly tangled in his long hair as he slurred on about what pretty blue eyes France had.

"They're so…sparkly. Like cider, you know Francis? You know? Hey, pour me another glass. Blimey, they're so blue…"

France smiled. He should get England drunk more often.

As the grandfather clock in the other room struck twelve. France grinned wider and tightened his grip around England before lifting him up, bridal style, and carrying him over to the doorway where the mistletoe was hung. England kept gushing on, until France dipped him down and trapped his lips in a sweeping kiss.

England froze stiffly for a moment, then began to work his lips hungrily over France's.

After a couple moments of this, France pulled away slightly to pant.

England looked at him blankly. "What do you think you're doing, frog? Don't stop."

France laughed as his Angleterre took his wrist and began to tug him down the hallway to their bedroom, tripping slightly.

* * * * *

"Midnight!" Sealand shouted along with the announcer, who was standing in the Skansen Open-Air Museum. As he began to read the New Year's verse, Sealand turned to his adoptive parents. "Can we pick the futures now?"

When they didn't answer he asked tentatively "Papa? Mama?"

But to his dismay, both Finland and Sweden were passed out, fast asleep on the couch behind him, Sweden with one arm wrapped lovingly around the waist of his "wife."

* * * * *

Lithuania sat next to Poland on the couch nervously. He'd been trying to find his voice all afternoon, but felt his voice frozen in his throat every time Poland turned over and made a comment about the shows they were watching. Lithuania would fake a small smile and say something affirmative in response, and Poland would smile back, pulling himself closer to the Lithuanian. And that just made Lithuania's heart beat faster.

Now it was nearing midnight, and Lithuania was running out of time. The Polish shows were starting to blur together as he tried to make sense of what all the people were trying to say.

He took a deep breath. "Poland."

Those bright green eyes turned to face him. "Yeah?"

Lithuania almost lost it again. "I…uh…"

Poland blinked.

"Poland…in my country, on New Year's, we spend a lot of time thinking about what's going to happen in the next year…if we're going to meet someone…if we'll fall in love…"

Lithuania gulped. "Lenkija," he said, momentarily switching to his native language. He untangled himself from Poland and got to the carpet, kneeling. "I love you. Will I…get married this year?" He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and offered it to the blonde.

"Oh my gosh!" Poland said, taking the box, squealing. "Totally!"

"Really?" Lithuania said, looking relieved.

"Duh! Of course!" He beamed down at Lithuania and pulled him into a tight kiss. "I totally love you too!" he said when the brunette pulled away breathlessly.

"And like, look at this ring! I totally have the perfect thing to go with it!" He leapt up from the couch and ran down the hall to comb his closet.

Lithuania smiled lovingly after him.

The next morning, he closed his eyes and pulled a strip of paper from underneath his pillow. He smiled at the name written on it.

Lithuania had written Poland's name on every one.

* * * * *

"You want me to do what with those grapes?"

The night had gone fairly well up until that point. Spain had let him have a relatively low-key New Year's, making him traditional Italian zampone with, of course, a side of tomatoes and pasta. The taste of the stuffed pig reminded him slightly of his childhood before the Spaniard had taken him in. He even let Romano skip out on the fireworks show they usually attended because, Romano suspected, Spain had realized his Italian wasn't a huge fan of all the fanfare. But Spain would not give up his grapes.

"You have to swallow them all at midnight. One each second," Spain explained again excitedly. "It's considered good luck."

"If it's good luck, why do I have to do it? Do it yourself," Romano said, annoyed.

"Because I want you to have my luck!" Spain grinned. Romano crossed his arms.

Spain checked his watch. "Eleven fifty-nine!" he shouted, and pulled Romano over to the couch, beside which twelve grapes were already gathered in a bowl.

"I'm not doing this," Romano protested. But as he began to get up, Spain's watch beeped. Suddenly he felt grapes being shoved into his mouth, one by one, as Spain counted down cheerfully. He would have bit his lover's finger, but by the time it occurred to him, his mouth was too full for him to move it. He made up for it by glaring as hard as could at Spain.

When Spain finally got to twelve, he looked Romano over, who tried his best to look menacing even though he could hardly close his mouth.

Spain let out a small giggle. "You look so cute right now, mi amor," he said, cupping his hand on Romano's bloated cheek. Pulling him into a kiss, he fished his tongue around the overflowing mouth and started navigating the grapes into his own. Romano struggled not to let out a moan as the Spaniard's tongue brushed his cheek again and again.

After a few moments of this, Spain pulled back, chewed, and swallowed. "There, six for you and six for me. We can split the luck."

A slightly rumpled Romano attempted to swallow the grapes without looking too ridiculous. "I don't think luck works like - "

He yelped. Spain had pulled out the hem of his jeans, examining what was under. "I see you have your red underwear on," he said, looking at Romano with a slight mischievous glint in his eyes. He pulled the Italian in for another long, passionate kiss. "But I heard it's even better luck to not be wearing any underwear on at all."

He winked, then got up to go do the dishes. Romano was left spluttering on the couch.

* * * * *

Happy New Year