Basically I heard the song 'Running out of Pain' when I rechecked my old obsession with 12 Stones. It was new compared to what I had heard from them, and when I met it this story got stuck to my mind. And so I used the day before yesterday on making it and had a friend read it over yesterday, so the worst mistakes should be gone by now.

I do not own the lyrics or the song 'Running out of Pain'. All credit goes to 12 stones.

I do not own the characters of the story. All credit goes to Himaruya Hidekaz. All I have done is use them in my own, personal amusement.

As he raises his hand, you begin to understand

That no love is worth the hate that you feel

Now you're running out of pain

And all these feelings feel the same

So you close your eyes and wish it all away

The lips were on his, gentle, caring… loving. Trained as he was he responded, letting his mouth move with the other's, parted his lips to give the other access. A hand moved through the brown hair as he leaned against the wall, his arms hanging limply down the side of his body, fingers moving over his scalp and through the strands. There was kindness in those movements as the other giant hand caressed his skin. Every touch was meant for him, to make him feel safe, to make him feel happy… Yet the tears wouldn't stop falling.

The pale hand traveled from his hair over behind his left ear, making him shiver. That was one of his sensitive spots. Warmth spread, moving from his neck all the way down to his groin, and a moan moved from mouth to mouth, muffled by the contact.

But then the hand moved further, over his cheek… touched the wet skin soaked with tears. The strange lips left his. It was in but a fragment of a second he got the glimpse of the violet orbs, but in that fragment he saw the change. He first recognized the devotion in them… then the pain… and finally the anger.

Then the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic was on the floor, the back of that pale hand leaving a glowing mark over his cheekbone. His eyes were settled on the floor as he pushed himself up, trying to keep his breathing calm and determine the damage. Soviet Russia was strong… strong enough for that simple a hit to break both skull and teeth.

A part of him was angry. Angry that the man would force him like this. Angry that he was abused like this. Angry that he didn't fight back. But… truly… it felt dull. Everything felt dull. Even happiness. Every smile he produced felt empty. He had hated the Russian Empire when he arrived… back in the beginning, hundreds of years ago… he had hated him so fiercely… but now it was gone. Or was it? He didn't know. It hurt too much to know. It hurt too much for him to care. It hurt too much to even feel the pain.

He had only just gotten to sit up, his head spinning slightly from the hit, before the boot found his back and slammed his body down into the cold concrete floor of the basement. He could feel his ribs bending, but no pain followed. Not really. Not truly anymore. It had happened too often… He had felt this pain too often… to even feel it anymore. In its place was emptiness, detachment from his very body…

"Why don't you love me?!" It was a scream. It really was a scream. Soviet Russia's too light voice had grown deep from anger, the child in him faltering as the insanity grew more evident. He was desperate. Desperate and scared. The Lithuanian Republic knew that… he could feel it. It was right beneath the anger, and he hated it. He hated to know it. For he knew the man pressing him into the floor was hurting. That the man above him was lonely. And the Soviet Republic was too gentle to hate a lonely man…

"But I do…" He closed his eyes, the whisper leaving his mouth. Was it a lie? Or was it true? … Who knew? Who knew anything in the world anymore? Who could figure anything out in this chaos? It was impossible to find something for certain in a world without light.

"You don't!" The boot pressed down harder, pressing his chest against the floor as the foot was settled between his shoulder blades. His spine groaned, making him groan as well. "If you did you wouldn't cry!" Breathing became hard. He stared into the wall beside him, waiting for it to become so hard he'd pass out. That so much oxygen had left him that he could faint and forget everything.

It didn't happen. It might be that Soviet Russia had realized what he was doing, what he was hoping for, because he removed the boot. Or maybe he just wanted to look into the face of the man he claimed to love. One of the giant hands grabbed the collar of the Lithuanian Republic's shirt and dragged him to his feet. He could barely keep balance, his head light from lack of oxygen. But it wasn't needed – Soviet Russia held it for him.

By the time he could see clearly again the anger had left the violet eyes. "Wh-why don't you love me?" It was clear now. Exposed, the loneliness, the fear… the desperation for love. This was the man behind the mask, the one hidden beneath the insanity. This was the person who had experienced so many years of pain and bloodshed that he had fled. That he went into hiding. The man who fled into his own mind.

Tearful, blue eyes closed, his mouth opened. "But I do. I love you." He suppressed a sob, knowing it would destroy everything. If he sobbed as well the man would certainly lose it. "I love you, Ivan." I love this you. I care for this you. Please be this you…

He didn't have to look to know Soviet Russia had changed again. The insane smile lay in the air between them, false and thick and sweet as perfume. But still he could feel it... I love you… Still the feeling was there… I do… It wouldn't leave.

I do… I do love you… I do… I think…

And he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, tried to suppress the tears as the tongue came back and the hands once more touched him, gently, dearly, like he was made of porcelain. A bruise was growing upon his cheek. Soon the big fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and then he let go of a breath and forced his thoughts to focus on cleaning and cooking and the green orbs of an old friend and… and… and everything but the present. Everything but what would happen in a moment.

And I lie awake and I try to say

Anything I know just to ease your pain

But you hide away where no one can see

And it's only you that can set you free

I see it every night. Every night he is over by my house.

After having a tumble over the last century with the nationalist thoughts creating distance between our people, not to talk about a certain communist bastard stealing him away from me as both some form of ugly empire and keeping him away when we were both more or less caught in that stupid, Soviet crap, things are going good again. When I realized this I was happy at first… And I still am, don't doubt that. But we… we are so changed.

He is still special. Still he is able to accept everything, still he is open-minded. My dear Liet. In all of my life he is the only one able to accept my hobbies. He was patient. Now, after meeting me, he can paint nails and set up your hair and has a quite decent sense of fashion. He could ride a horse before me, yeah, but… he learned to do it for enjoyment as well as battle and work. He… He took his time getting to know me. Even though I know he wanted to he didn't flee when I showed him… showed him… well, me.

Anyone else would have. That, or they would have laughed at me. And then I would kick their asses and act like it didn't hurt. But it did. Anyone else would have left me, and they have… Anyone but Liet. It might be he did… disappear. But he didn't do it on purpose. It was… it was the bastard who did it.

I have never told him… just how much it means. To be accepted. He is so gentle… I want to tell him how much he means to me, how much the things he has done has helped me keep going through annexation and wars… even when he wasn't by my side.

Would that help? Would it ease his pain?

I can't even say it, anyway. Thank you. It just doesn't go well with me. Like a dress with the wrong color. It is like I'm bright pink and the 'thank you' is orange.

But as I lie here, in the middle of the night, I can't help but wonder… how I can return the favor, how I can show him just how grateful I am. I want to save him… And he needs to be saved. I know that. I just… don't know how to do it. I haven't really tried before. I haven't had a true friend before him. He is the only one who has the patience to… put up with me. When I act stupid… when I'm an idiot…

… When I'm me.

I want to save him.

But he shows it to no one. When he came back I had no idea he was suffering. He smiled… he still smiles. It is the same kind smile, the same blue eyes, the same patience. The same kindness and gentle being. It looked like the same man. It is only recently, when we finally got really close again, that I… I found out about him. He looks like the same man when he is awake, and he acts like the same when he is awake.

I found out when we began sleeping over again, when we really went back to the personal relation rather than the country-wise one. I know he would never have said yes if he knew what I would see. He doesn't want to burden anyone with himself, and letting me know his state will be seen as burdening me for him. Before I never minded. I was happy he didn't expect me to care for him while I had someone to care for me. Now it brings me pain. He… he is so dear to me… that it hurts.

It is only at this hour it happens. His face is just inches away from my own. I can see it through the darkness, see the pale, soft skin, the cheekbones no longer so pronounced by famish as they were when he first came back. His hair lies over his forehead, the brown hair tangling as he sleeps. The strands glow in the light coming from the window, silver and magical moon rays caressing his gently being. It is only now it will happen, as he lies on the white sheets, his head rested on a hand, his body covered in a blanket. Only as he lies here with eyes closed.

It will come in a moment, ten minutes, maybe an hour. I don't know when. I just watch him, waiting, for I cannot sleep when it happens… I cannot sleep when he is in pain. He needs to be saved, needs someone to care for him. I'm not that someone, but I can't let him be alone… for he suffers. Suffers so badly. I barely know why, but… He does. I do know it didn't happen when we were together, though. It's after that bastard Ru-

Then it starts. It's just the smallest sound, nearly nothing, but I hear it…

A sob.

Now the time has come again

So you reach deep down within

To find the strength that you have buried there

As you turn to walk away, you can still hear him say

You'll never make it in this world alone

His heart was pounding. The doors were just in front of the three of them, the other nations were everywhere around him, but still Lithuania's heart hammered against his ribcage. He was certain the same counted for at least one of his two companions, if Estonia wasn't the same. But what he was certain of as well, however, was that they didn't feel even half as bad as he.

It is just a world meeting, he promised himself, making sure not to bite his lip, forcing up a smile. It was good to smile. Then people wouldn't look twice. Tears made them do that, though. Sadness, scowling, fidgeting… biting you lip… that made them look. That would make them settle their attention on you. But smiling… then people thought everything was fine.

And Lithuania really believed everything was fine. It wasn't bad, at least. There was nothing to worry about. Not for him, and not for the world. He'd survived living through it. He could survive now.

Before he got to the door, though, a presence was felt behind all three and Latvia froze before any of them could do anything. Estonia grabbed him and ushered him forward, expecting Lithuania to follow when a hand found his elbow and held on. From the size Lithuania was in no doubt who it was, if the gloomy, scary mood hadn't revealed it already.

For a moment Estonia stared at the two, holding Latvia's shoulders gently as he did. It was obvious the bigger of the blonds wanted to do something, to save the other, to force Russia away… but he wasn't strong enough. In an attempt to ease his struggle and bad conscience Lithuania put on the usual brave face, the one he always used when things were bad or when Russia would steal him away in the Soviet days, and told the other to move on with a movement of his head. He did all he could not to show how scared he was as another hand moved up and grabbed his shoulder.

The other Baltic did move, not making eye contact again. Embarrassment was written deep on his face, but he was scared. So scared. Lithuania was too, but he didn't show. Instead he breathed deeply and slowly, making sure not to cry, forcing at least the smallest smile to cling to his face even though it was shaky and faint.

Panic grew in his body when the man suddenly dragged him out to the side, away from the world to see, and at this point Lithuania couldn't even focus enough to determine how many people had yet to get inside the room. How many people saw him be kidnapped. Even if it was only to the wall and even if Russia stood like an innocent, giant saint as soon as he knew they were out of earshot.

"Privyet~" he sang, smiling. The man wasn't touching him any longer and yet Lithuania was barely able to breathe. Flashes flew past his mind's eye and for a moment the present vanished in the memories of this man. Memories of him hitting… memories of him kissing, crying… Memories of that giant man in pain… "I've missed you~ You missed me, too, da~?"

Russia's smile was innocent when the Baltic finally managed to look at him. It wasn't surprising. The normal, insane smile was innocent. To most of Russia's pets and toys that was the good one when they were forced to be in his presence – it was the face that didn't mean pain. And it wasn't that he brought Lithuania pain with that look on his face… but what he then did bring…

His throat was tight. Words refused to come. A no was dangerous… and a part of him didn't believe that no. A part of him did love… a part of Russia. A tiny, little part of Russia… and the rest was anger, hate… disgust, fury… emotions. Emotions his mind could no longer feel.

But he had to answer. He had to break away. He had to. No lingering. He couldn't hold on to the past, he couldn't dwell there… he couldn't dwell in the pain, couldn't live in that mixed pleasure, even if the past was all he could think of. Even if the fear of meeting Russia somewhere and be under his power again filled him every place he went. Even if the things the man had done to him haunted his dreams…

"N-no." It was small, just a whisper, shaken and scared. But the whisper brought him courage. He had already said it. Now he just had to stand by it. "No. I didn't miss you." The voice that spoke was firm, but it couldn't be his. Not when his heart sat in his throat and blocked his breathing with a fierce, unsteady rhythm.

His head turned away first, then the rest of his body. The door to the meeting room was just in front of him, he just had to move. He lifted his foot, feeling like a robot. Maybe he was in too much panic to feel anything. Maybe he was too afraid. Maybe… maybe he was just lost. Maybe he no longer felt things like other people. Maybe… maybe he was dead…

A hand caught his wrist and held on, the strength crushing. He could hear as well as feel the bones creak under his skin, making him tighten his jaw. But he didn't show pain… he didn't cry.

"You know you're wrong." When he was wrenched to turn again and faced the man, it wasn't the smile anymore. The man was dark, deadly. The violet eyes furious. Was he afraid? He was uncertain. He didn't know, but how couldn't he know when he stood in front of the most dangerous state Russia held? "You can't forget me." There was no smile. There was no child. The voice wasn't too light for a man his size anymore. Russia was real… dead real… but he was still insane – the madness still lived in him. The only thing truly real was his fury, his disappointment.

"I caught you, and now you are the one who can't let go," the big man spoke. "You can't dismiss me even if you fled along with your weak friends and the other cowards. Fled from me because you were scared. But I still got you. And you know I love you."

Those words in that tone of voice didn't reassure the Baltic much.

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, the Lithuanian slowly shrinking away. Not out of fear… not truly, even if it was poking at some part of his unconsciousness. He didn't feel that anymore. More… because he was unsure. He wasn't used to be… fighting back. He wasn't used to being on top… or at least try to be. People stepped on him and he lived with that. He didn't live with standing up for himself.

Still he forced his hand out of the other's grip in a sudden movement, turning away to leave with rapid steps. He didn't stop when he heard the other speak again. But the words were clear nonetheless.

"You know you can't live without me anymore, Toris."

And I lie awake and I try to say

Anything I know just to ease your pain

But you hide away where no one can see

And it's only you that can set you free

It always starts with that. A sob. It is so small, so simple, that I thought Lithuania was hiccupping in his sleep first time I heard it. Before I got to realize how much he matters to me, for seeing him as the wounded one for the first time changed something in me. Usually he takes care of me… when I complain about things that don't really matter.

I just thought it was a hiccup. Then it started for real, as it starts now.

Tears. They glisten in the light of the moon as they slide over his cheek. His eyes are still closed, his eyelashes catching the first few drops before they flood over. The water falls over his nose, dripping onto the sheets. Another sob, more violent this time, shakes his body and makes it jerk, a spasm moving through him. A wordless whine passes his lips, and his breathing gets troubled and hard. The hand his head doesn't rest on curls into a fist, grabbing the sheets hard.

Soon the sobs hit him like waves upon a shore and I get myself to sit groggily, wanting to sleep but for the first time in my life feeling that I should commit to another person's health. Liet is too dear to leave in pain. The crying is more violent than I have seen for anyone else, as though his whole being fights itself within his consciousness. Yet it happens every night I sleep with him, so I assume it is in the night I don't as well.

I have never seen him cry before. At least not consciously. He hides it… maybe he just doesn't cry at all. I don't know, and in truth, I don't care. I want to help him… to take care of him… but I do not know how. The fact that he doesn't help me makes it harder. While the world is his place to protect he doesn't seem to see himself as a part of this world. When I ask him how he feels he responds immediately.

"I'm fine. My day has been quite good. How about you?"

I let my hand fall to rest on his shoulder, not wanting to wake him but still stroking it gently. Like he was one of my horses scared of lightning or something. Waking would stop him from crying, but I'm not even sure the tears are the enemy. Or I know they aren't. The enemy is the creator of the tears, the creator of this sobbing that has made sure my Liet can't cry in a state of awareness. And I know that creator is Russia. Liet wasn't like this during the Commonwealth… he was still submissive, still easy to push around, but his nights were without tears.

"Hey, like, it'll be okay." My voice is weird, dry. It takes me a moment to find the usual cheeriness and I attempt to speak to him. I don't know if he can hear me, but it doesn't matter. I don't know what to say, either, and that's a problem. I realize I want water, but if he lies here and is sad I won't leave him. I won't let him down again. "We'll totally find a way through. You are, like, strong and shit, so it totally won't be a problem, right?"

The only answer I get is more sobs. More wordless whimpers as he holds tightly onto the soaking sheets, eyes closed. Unusual warmth grows inside of me and I want to hug him and hold him tight. As I sit here, stroking his shoulder, moving to his hair, playing with the strands and trying to coax him into calm again, I actually want to take away his burden. Whatever makes him cry in his sleep every night has to be a big load, but I want to carry it for him… if that could mean I could see a real smile, not the false ones that convinced me in the beginning. For they are false. Strained. Even though they seem real and kind.

"You should, like, sleep instead of crying. It's not good for your health. Seriously, if you cry while you sleep you are going to be, like, totally exhausted. You should calm down." My words mean nothing. They are shallow as a pool of mud but I don't know what else to tell him. "You're too fabulous to feel like this… I, like, like you too much for this. You're, like, my friend and such…"

There the words got better, but I can feel awkwardness clamp over me. Damn I suck at this. He just sniffles and cries and whimpers still, as though my words made everything worse. I hope it's not the case, for then I suck serious ass at being a friend. An extra violent shiver goes through him, making him start and his hand lets go of the sheets and instead… he clampers onto mine, holding a sweaty palm against mine own and clenching so tight I nearly fear for my fingers' safety.

I don't get angry, unlike what I probably should and would in a more normal situation. Instead it makes me feel sad. My heart beats fast and I have to blink to rid myself of some very unfashionable tears. I'm not used to being sad; it goes just as well on me as thanking. But right now color combination is the last thing on my mind and I lie down again and grab him, holding him against my body and begging him to stop his crying.

For a moment I think it helped. My one arm lies over his shoulder, onto his back, holding him tight and close while still touching his hair. The other arm lies in front of me, letting him continue squeezing all the blood from my veins. It hurts… but I don't stop him. For reasons I don't know I simply hold him, not complaining about the pain or being tired, not bothering him for crying or thinking it troublesome.

I am just about to open my mouth to speak again when my fingers move downwards, touching him behind his ear on the way to his back so I can simply hold him. A shiver goes through his body, then an uncomfortable moan escapes his mouth, and suddenly I see his eyes flutter open like the wings of a butterfly, causing my whole body to stiffen.

You try to fight

You hide the pain

You walk away

Never again

He sat by the table of a café in Vilnius, trying to hold up a smile. It was hard, for the blond in front of him was talking a lot. While it had never been a problem before… the before had been in the time of the commonwealth. Long ago. Long before Rus-… Russia came into everything.

Russia was also the problem now. He was infesting the Lithuanian's mind, forcing his focus elsewhere. He felt impolite for not listening, felt like the worst host and friend ever, but everything reminded him of something from Soviet or somewhere during the Empire. He had to fight it back. If he didn't focus on anything, everything came back to Russia… to the hits he had given, to the kisses caressing his neck, to the tools cutting through his skin. The words the man had said… speaking of love even though the insanity couldn't love… claiming he was useless in a fit of anger… telling him that he cared… they were stuck in his mind, going on repeat.

The Pole in front of him laughed at something and Lithuania smiled widely like he had been listening, pushing the Russian's words away… the memories… It was a struggle, but he managed. For now. He could always manage to push the man away – when others were present to know the truth he hid.

But it was only until he was alone, or till the next time he saw a bottle of vodka or a dishcloth or a young couple kissing… or heard the words 'I love you'. The next time the old scars on his back began itching. That was how every day was now… Russia's shadow rested over him, held on to him. Did the Baltic miss him? No… not really… but instead of missing he felt empty. Empty without him. For how could you ever miss your tormentor? He just needed… to find someone other… someone to distract him.

"… and then he was, like, totally stupid with his little, yellow bird, claiming himself awesome as always even though the whole world knows he's just a total failure. He doesn't even have a country anymore! Had it been me I'd, like, have gotten back ages ago! He can't call me a fag just because I wear a dress. Besides, he's the one screwing other men!" It wasn't hard to figure out what the other spoke of, and Lithuania nodded slowly, aware for now.

"He's not always so bright," the Lithuanian politely agreed, making an awkward smile. It wasn't unlike his usual ones when topic was on talking badly about others… for while he didn't want to bore his conversationalist he didn't like talking behind people's backs, either. A part of the smile was still strained in an unusual way, though. But no one noticed.

It was good. Otherwise they might try to do something, try to talk with him. Otherwise they would begin to trouble themselves for him. But there was nothing to trouble over. He was fine. He could manage fine. He should just make sure he was convincing.

"Pfft, you don't say," the Pole snorted, looking annoyed at the brunette even if he wasn't the target for his disdain. Even so it made the Baltic cringe inside… He hated to be at the end of that look. He always felt so small. It didn't pass over his face, though. He kept the smile, kept the façade. He kept acting like he was happy. "The idiot totally can't, like call other people fags when he is more fag than they. At least I have the confidence to wear a dress!"

This time he made sure to chuckle at the other, making the other pout a bit. But it was an act on both of them. For the other it was an attempt to find an excuse to be insulted, for that was a mood Poland enjoyed – it gave him an excuse to call people names. Lithuania knew this and knew it made him happy, and so the Lithuanian gave the chuckle.

Before the blond could say more, though, a phone called. Lithuania looked down at his pocket, frowning lightly and lifted it in case it might be his Boss.

It wasn't. Flashing over the screen was the name Ivan, making the Baltic feel like a bucket of ice was just thrown over him. He only had the number to make sure the calls from the man would never take him by surprise.

Putting the phone back in his pocket he looked up and away again, finding the Pole looking at him curiously. His smile had been at risk for a moment and now he forced it up again. The phone grew silent, finally, and his beating heart calmed slightly. "It's just-" he began, but then the phone started again, making him go silent.

"It's, like, totally weird of you. You always, like, mumble about it not being polite when I don't pick up. You're totally, like, hypocritical and stuff."

The last excuse was gone. Being polite and focus on the present guest wasn't good enough. He was being wrong in the other's eyes. He had to take the phone.

So he did. Picked it up, pressed the button, took it to his ear. Gave the Pole a sign he'd be back soon and getting answered with a deep, overdramatic sigh from the Pole as the brunette moved away.

"Privyet~" his phone cooed as he moved away and around a corner. His eyes closed as he tried to make his voice hard. It didn't go well.

"Wh-why are you calling?"

"Wanna become one with me?"

The other's tone was playful, but Lithuania knew there was more to it. More than a stupid, little question that the other knew his answer to. The other was making him suffer and having fun doing so. And under it there was warmth coming from the Real Russia. The sane part within the insane man that so fiercely loved the Baltic.

He still managed to answer. "No…" He didn't want to. He wanted to be away from him. He wanted to not be reminded of the man everywhere. He wanted to be able to go a day without being invaded with thoughts and memories.

"You lie, da? You want to see me~"

It was too close to the truth for him to feel comfortable. His eyes closed, his heart getting squeezed by the words. For a moment he was silent, pressing his lips together, feeling the tears poke behind his eyes. Then something sparked. Something… something violent. Anger.

"No." For once it was hard and sharp and steady. "I don't." The words didn't waver. They didn't slip away from him as he said them. He was now talking… to Russia… without failing to speak at all. "I want you to leave. I want you out of my life!" It was nearly a yell, but the Pole was still close. He couldn't yell. Speaking brought the tears out, though, made them show for whoever had time to waste on watching a man talking into his phone. "Go out of my mind, out of my dreams! I want nothing to do with you! I j-just want you to leave!"

A sob shook his body as he spoke, a lump in his throat destroying the last sentence. The hand holding the phone trembled. For a long time Russia was completely silent and the Lithuanian was afraid the man was angry. That he might come for him and kill him. Then the other spoke, with the voice of the smiling child. "You are lying, da. To both of us. You'd miss me. I love you. Love you, love you, love you~" The words were sung, making the Lithuanian fight harder not to cry. "If you ever want to come back I'm here, da~"

"I will never again-" The phone began beeping before Lithuania got the chance to finish. The silence was agonizing even though he no longer had to listen to Russia's words. He was free again… until the next reminder.

Another sob pushed through his body before he dried his eyes and stood straight. Alright. He had to go back. Since there were no mirrors he couldn't see how he looked, so he had to hope no signs of tears were fast enough to settle. Around the building he went, a smile upon his face, and he took a hold on the chair's back. "Sorry. It was just my boss making an update." He made a polite nod down the road, smiling still a kind smile. "Didn't you want to eat dinner with me?"

You try to fight

You hide the pain

You walk away

Never again

A twinge of panic passes by me and I close my eyes, acting like I'm asleep. I feel him move, moan tiredly, and then loosen the grip on my hand. "F-Feliks?" Through sleepiness he sounds surprised, but I didn't dare to respond. I am too much of a coward to face him, but obviously he is shocked to see that I am holding him. In truth I feel the same, I am surprised by my actions, and now that he is awake I regret it. This is too awkward for me – I'm not used to act all sensitive or anything.

Under my arm he begins to move, the hand formerly holding me shifting over the bed. The weight moves in the bed as he sits and I can no longer keep my eyes closed, too curious. Not that anything has happened. His back is to me, covered by a shirt… obviously. The scars upon it have to be hidden, of course, for he doesn't know that I have already seen them. The hands are moving in front of his face, probably drying away tears… I suddenly catch myself wondering if he knows he cries in his sleep. It doesn't get far in my thoughts for then he stands up and I snort when the whole bed shifts and the sheets suddenly meet my nose.

It makes him turn to look at me, and he once more asks. "Feliks?" I give a grunt, not really wanting to sit up again. Even though I have sheet in my nose. But as I lay here I can see his face in the faint moonlight. There is a smile upon it, of course, a small, shy one. Strained, too, but you can't see it. And above that are his eyes. He must think the darkness hides his tears and the red signs of them… it doesn't. Not as the moon is right here.

He shakes his head slightly with the smallest amused expression, turning away with the mask perfectly plastered. As though his heart wasn't filled with some kind of hidden pain I didn't understand. With all my strength and determination and a lot of resisting against my lazy side I get up on my hands and look at him for a while. Then he turns away to leave and I move against my sleepy body's will, reaching for his back.

"Like, where are you going?" I ask, only barely finding the fabric of his night shirt before he is out of my reach. I do get to feel the crevasses on his skin, the unevenness that not even the shirt can hide. The scars from that cursed idiot. So deep they are, making cliffs in his skin, but Lithuania does everything he can to hide them from me, not knowing I ever saw… I don't know why.

It might be he doesn't trust me, and while it hurts… a part of me understands. I have never treated him very well, but it is only after I saw him cry in his sleep that I realized. Before that… I don't know. Maybe I didn't think he could feel like everyone else does. He always seems so strong and happy… balanced. Even now it is hard to remember his feelings. He is the first I have ever at least tried to consider besides myself.

He shivers, knowing I touched the proof of the bastard's crimes and probably begging that I take no notice. I probably wouldn't… If I hadn't seen. "I'm just going for the toilet." Once more he turns, giving me that reassuring smile. Now his face is in shadow, his face dark from the tip of his nose and up. The tears are hidden. If this was all I could see and I really had been asleep all the while I would never think him sad. The smile looks so real. "I need something to drink."

"Right," I mutter, letting him leave. I don't understand him as he walks to the door and down the hall. Why won't he let me know? Why won't he let anyone know, now that I have treated him like shit over the years? I can understand why he hides it from me… But Estonia would be strong enough to carry the knowledge of his pain as well.

So why is he hiding it? Why is he fighting those feelings I don't even know for sure without asking for help? He walks away from everyone, demanding to be alone with his hurt.

Why does he want to be alone?

And I lie awake and I try to say

Anything I know just to ease your pain

But you hide away where no one can see

And it's only you that can set you free

For yet another moment I just sit on the bed, staring at the door. I know I could never say anything or do anything to help him… I know that very well. But I want to. I feel small and stupid as I wait here, in the darkness, for him to come back. Give me new smiles. Ask me to go to bed so we could get some sleep.

Then I hear the door close and the lock click further down the hall. As if by magic I feel a pull, getting me on my bare feet. Before I know it I'm walking down the hall, standing outside the door with a hand resting upon the wood. In the darkness of the night you cannot see the fanciness of the furniture or the combinations of colors. At this hour everything is black and gray.

I hear the toilet flush and the water splash into the sink. My mouth moves without words coming out, making me feel like a fish. I probably look just as stupid. Once more my mouth closes and I swallow something, collect some spit, trying to rid myself of the dryness.

Then I finally speak. "You're, like, my friend. You know that, right? You're… you're totally the most important person in my life." The water still runs inside the bathroom. No answer comes out, no sound from my friend. "I want you to be, like, happy and such. You are happy, right?" No you are not. I know you aren't.

"Of course," the door answers me in a voice that couldn't be determined. He can stand in there, crying, or he could be carrying one of those false smiles. He might even hold one of the chuckling ones, in an attempt to make me dismiss everything. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just, like, curious. You are the only one ever to, like, accept me, and it totally means everything, Liet." I'm not saying anything that can help. I have to demand him to speak to me, force it out of him… but I don't know. I just don't know how. I'm not good at feelings; I prefer to float on top of life without allowing myself to worry about anything. It's easier like that, and I'm happy like that. If he could just do the same…

But I cannot tell him to say it. I cannot order him to tell me what is wrong, just what Russia did to him to haunt him like this. Most likely he wouldn't tell me anyway, but then I should just be persistent and yell… he hates when you yell at him, for he hates to do something wrong. And he hates to make people angry, he has always been like that. He just wants to make the world happy, no matter how much he has to sacrifice for it.

"Without you I'd, like, have died. When the idiots… split me up. If I hadn't believed you'd, like, be there… If I, like, hadn't known that at least someone was totally cool enough to like me. So… I kinda just wanted you to, like, know that…" I pause, not even really knowing what I am about to say. My heart is pounding. That's so unusual. So uncommon for me.

Inside I hear silence again. The water is still running, but he doesn't speak to me. From what I can hear he has his head in the sink and is drinking, but I'm unsure.

Taking a new breath, I try again. "I want you to…" I can hear my pulse hammering in my ears. Am I about to do something stupid, maybe? "It's just that I, like… You should accept me. Again. I know that we've been, like, apart for some time and you've, like, felt totally bad and everything, but I just want you to, like… trust me. Again. If you have ever, like, trusted me." Please tell me… please allow someone to help you. If you don't… if you don't…

I don't want you to break. But you are the one breaking yourself.

"You are totally my bestest friend ever. I, like, love you and such…"

Set you free, set you free

"I, like, love you and such…"

He leans over the sink, the water running down his face and the tip of his long, brown hair. Why does it have to be those very words the blond had to use? His eyes are tightly closed. Something had constricted within his chest, trapping the air within his lungs. The water still runs into the sink, icy cold, but when hot drops mix with the freezing already on his cheeks he leans down once more to erase the signs, rubbing his eyes and cheeks. Wash them away, make it look like they were never there. He has to do it.

He tells himself he didn't need help. That there is nothing to help, anyway. That he isn't dying or anything. He barely feels any hurt, or anything, when he is awake. There is no reason for him to cry in his sleep. No reason, so it doesn't matter that it happens. He doesn't need help.

These are the words that fill his mind as he finally turns off the water and moves to the towels, drying his face.

The problem is just that he is wrong. He needs help. But only he is able to ask for it.

When the water is gone he once more stands in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. The signs are only nearly gone. He is just happy it is Poland standing outside. The Pole has never been very observant around people… the fact that he is outside the room now tells Lithuania the man might be catching something, but if he makes the act just right he believes he will be able to reassure his friend again.

He knows Poland cares, and he is happy for that. There have been times were Lithuania has been uncertain just how much Poland likes him and just how close they were, for the man has always been dear to Lithuania's heart. Even with all the faults and all the wrongs the man has done through the time he is important to the Lithuanian.

It has been hard to meet him again, though. After… everything. In fact it has been hard to see anyone. And Russia… seeing Russia is the worst. It brings so much… turmoil for his mind when he sees that smile and knows that there is a real man beneath the insanity. A man who he… is quite sure loves, yes.

But he has to move. He forms a smile, looks at it in the mirror. Yes, it looks convincing. Real. He can leave the room with this smile.

Another thing he is happy for is that Poland is usually the first to fall asleep and the last to rise. He should be able to see nothing. Lithuania convinces himself it is the truth, or else he could never sleep over… and that he wants to do, for it makes the blond so happy, he knows.

Finally the man reaches for the door, opening it. The green eyes shine towards him, looking up at him with worry and a slightly tilted head. "I know, Feliks. You are my friend, too. You are my very dearest friend." Still the brunette smiles. The words are true, he really means it. The man is his best friend, even if he holds Estonia and Latvia close as well. Every mistake and every oddity in the blond in front of him have become dear to him. Even the inconsiderate, hard words.

"Let's go to bed," he then continues, sneaking past the man. It takes Poland a moment to follow him as the green eyes stare at his disappearing shadow. The orbs, usually so carefree and blind of other people's pain, are filled with a worry so deep it borders to pain.

Then the blond gets out of his trance and dries away a single tear with a violent movement. Swallowing something he shakes his head, closes his eyes and follows his dearest friend back inside the bedroom.

If you want to, let Poland love him as well. I do not really care for that side of the relationship, and I am pretty unromantic, but if you want to you can see it as such. Personally I have no opinion on the subject, and I wrote it with more of a friend in mind than anything. But I will not say he does, or that he doesn't, so you can feel free to think what you like.

And last, I can only say; enjoy in joy ^^