She had always loved him, but she didn't realize how much until later.
She held hands with her brother, who was the warmest person ever to her.
He had always warmed her up during the blizzards that had often afflicted their home.
She struggled to find the courage to confess her feelings to him.
"I love you." Belarus poured all of her emotions in to those three words.
She held her breath as she awaited Russia's answer.
"I don't." He answered her; she knew that he meant that he didn't feel the same about his little sister.
She held back the tears, and faked a smile.
She had never said those words to him or anyone else, not even when they were children.
"We're family." She told him, and wrapped her arms around his in a warm hug.
It was what she had always done, and she pulled away from Russia much too soon for her.
Eventually their big sister moved out, and isolated silence surrounded the two remaining siblings.
Belarus did not repeat those three words again.
The time came for her to move out, and part of her felt relieved, but the other part consisted of her broken, cold heart that broke more at the thought that she wouldn't be missed when she left.
It felt much too cold at her new home even with the fire that she had made to warm herself up.
Russia had always warmed her up, but he wasn't here.
She cried over her broken heart as she sat in front of the fire.
She hadn't ever been strong; it was a facade that she had set up.
She crawled under the covers that were on her new bed once she ran out of tears; it made no sense to keep crying if she was all dried up.
She ignored her thirst, and fell asleep.
Years passed, and she attended The World Meeting.
She hated to see Russia talking to a femenine looking man, and they seemed to be close.
She turned her head away, and looked at the man that was currently speaking to her.
Belarus knew that she couldn't just kill the man that was still talking to her brother, and a part of her wanted Russia to suffer too; she would never hurt Russia physically though.
She wanted him to feel the same pain that resided in her heart, and she acted on impulse.
Her arms wrapped around America's neck, forcing him to kiss her.
It was her first kiss.
She knew that she shouldn't be so rough; she was probably hurting him.
There was no spark; nothing resembled the spark that she felt in her fingers when she used to hold Russia's hand.
The kiss was just a kiss.
She could tell that everyone was now quiet, and she could feel the stares.
Belarus didn't kiss him again before the meeting started; she didn't even listen to his "Great American Speech."
When break came, the boy that she had kissed had left; she couldn't view him as anything else really.
He came back with a bouquet of roses for her, effectively taking her attention away from China and Russia.
Belaus took the roses though all she wanted to do was crush them under her foot.
She didn't want Russia to think that she was always like that, so she didn't.
"Thank you." She told him, softly.
The meeting resumed shortly after that.
When the meeting ended, Belarus, like she always did now, waited for China and Russia to leave before she did.
America chose to wait with her.
America kissed Belarus, and she was pressed up against the table.
She hated being weak, so she spun them around, effectively pinning America against the table.
Her hands rested on his back, and his rested on her waist, which annoyed her.
The kiss deepened, but ended when America needed to breath.
She hated weakness which included America's need of oxygen.
She kissed him again once both of their breathing had regulated some.
Her body molded against his, making it almost seem like they were one being.
She hated how his hands rested gently on her hips/
Belarus's hands trailed up and down America's back, hoping that he would take the liberty to do something with his hands.
She couldn't bring her hands to go lower.
She tugged on his shirt, and he let her remove it.
Her hands went back to his back, because she couldn't will herself to touch the other side of him.
Part of her wanted to pull out her dagger, and stab the man that she was kissing.
Oh, how she hated him!
She had never like anyone that Russia hated, and he hated America.
She wanted to torture the man that was in her arms; she even wanted to kill him, but she held herself back from that.
An annoying, carefree country entered the room.
Belarus pulled back from Alfred; their saliva still connected them for a bit.
Only an idiot wouldn't know what had been going on.
"Was I interrupting something?" The new occupant of the room asked; okay, he was an idiot.
Belarus glared at him, but didn't say anything to him.
She stormed out of the room.
She nearly stopped in the middle of the hallway.
Russia and the too femenine sounding man were talking; their hands looped together.
How dare he; Russia's hands were for her to hold.
She wanted to kill him, and watch the blood seep out of his chest, not staining his clothes, because they were already red, perhaps it might stain the yellow lines on his outfit.
She could almost see the blood dying his dark hair red.
Belarus kept herself from killing him, because even she was scared of an angry Russia.