Slap.
America drew back his hand, watching the blood run down his brother's split lip. His smile had faded completely, leaving only an angry scowl. He must be delirious, America reasoned, to not want to help me.
"I'll ask again. Join me?" He demanded, voice that had before been slick with sugar and honey now boiling with anger.

Italy bounded over to his blonde-haired friend, smiling up at him. "Actually," He started, "I was on my way to visit you!" He declared. "It's a really nice day out, so I thought I'd take a walk and maybe stop by big brother France's house or maybe fratello's, but then I thought- 'Well, I haven't seen Germany in a while; maybe I should visit him!' And so I was on my way here when you came outside!" Italy had quite the reputation for being a little chatterbox, and for good reason.