Ch. 1:

Canada:

I walked out of the room after a World Conference, wondering if anyone had heard a single word I'd said. Probably not. But then again, I hadn't said much. I was probably too busy staring at him. . . Speaking of – thinking of, rather – him, there he was, right in front of my eyes. His beautiful face, just a few feet away from mine. That silky blond hair. . . That smooth, pale skin. . .Those captivating green eyes that held much more than they let on. . . Those eyes seemed to be looking right at me as he was dragged off by Lithuania. But they were probably looking straight through me. There was no way in hell that Poland would actually be looking at me. . .

I couldn't help but wonder where Lithuania was taking Poland. I often saw Poland at a park nearby, looking injured, both physically and emotionally. He would always sit at the same swing and cry for hours before heading back home. I was always there. Since before he started going to that park. But he never noticed me there. . . Not too surprising. No one ever noticed me anywhere.

Or so I thought. I would later find out that that had been an incorrect statement.

That night, I found myself at that park again. This time, however, I decided to sit on Poland's swing, hoping that he would come and notice me. I waited and waited. . and waited. Just when I was about to give up, I heard footsteps and quiet sobs. I turned my head to see Poland coming this way, his face buried in his hands. Not knowing what to do or say, I just sat there and fidgeted, which, at the time, felt like a terrible idea. Little did I know that that was probably the best idea I'd had in my life. Why, you ask?

Because Poland sat on me.

Oh, you probably think I'm creepy now, don't you? No, no, I don't mean that that was a good idea because he sat on me. It's what comes next that made it a great idea.

"Wha-?" Poland stood with a little shriek. He turned around and looked at the swing—no, looked at me. "C-Canada? Like, what are you doing here. . .?"

"I'm always here," I replied, wondering if he could hear me okay, what with my voice being soft and all.

"Like, always?"

Looks like he heard me okay.

"Y-Yeah. .always. You come and cry all the time. . . You're also hurt all the time. . ." Too shy to touch him, I reach out and point at the bruises on his arm.

Poland looked sadly at his arm. ". . .Yeah, I guess I totally am hurt all the time. . ."

I stood up and gestured to his swing. "W-Would you like to sit?" I blushed a bit, feeling stupid.

But just as I was feeling stupid, Poland smiled sadly. It was probably the most pained yet beautiful expression I had ever seen on anyone. Seeing that expression stopped me dead. And prompted my next words, words that turned my face bright red, words I never thought I'd be speaking:

"I-If you w-want to talk about it. . .I-I'm here for you."