His smile is subtle, different then his usual grin and the pen shakes in his hand as he stares at the already addressed piece of paper. He's scared, dead scared; but he's ready.

Hey Norge.

Can you play a game with me real quick? Please don't roll your eyes, just keep reading…good!

He chuckled lowly to himself. He liked the idea of talking in a letter like he would talk to him in real life.

Let's pretend we're in a dream. Not my dream, not your dream—our dream. Anything can happen, okay? And what I'm going to say is only the part of the dream I'd like to come true—use your own imagination to fill the blanks in yours.

Okay. So, I will admit to you, every one of my dreams start the same. I dunno, maybe you already know that—whenever we camped in the woods, Tino told me every night I rolled over with a grin on my face in my sleep…he said it was the same way every time, too.

Anyway, it always starts the same way and the same place—I'm a little kid again in the forest that we grew up in, the grass just brushing the soles of my feet as I walk. My hair is all down in my face, and I can never stand it—I thank some invisible God out there every day they invented hair gel—and I spin around in the grass for a while by myself. Then the dreams morph from there; usually, I get older or take on the form of someone or something else.

But dreams are bat shit weird anyways.

Mathias can hear his counterpart in his head while he writes, a smile on his face that Russia striding quickly towards him with a pipe couldn't tear away. He could hear Nikolaus' stern voice scolding him, "You idiot, look at you. You're just wasting ink on stuff both of us already know."

"I know, Norge," he says to no one, staring the letters down before continuing to write.

Sometimes, you're in my dreams, you know that? I know dreams are basically recollections of your day, and when I'm in a good mood, sometimes you pop up. Those are always the fun dreams…

Look at me, sounding all mature and out of character! It almost seems awkward to stay serious for so long, but a letter is a letter, y'know? I bet you're sooo proud of me for keeping myself in line long enough to even write this—but hey, whatever, if I keep going I'll sound like Berwald in a pissy mood.

He inhales shakily, again reminding himself how a Denmark without bias wouldn't hesitate at all or even remember stuff this clearly—he'd plow his way through it and get on with his day.

But he was biased. Biased by feelings that mulled over him for the past centuries that he chose to ignore. Sometimes he gave into them and cooperated with Norge just enough. And when he did that, he was sometimes lucky enough to squeeze a small smile out of him.

It made him fall a bit harder every time, looking at how fucking beautiful he was when he smiled.

Ahem. Continuing on, like any normal person, sleep puts me in a good mood. I don't know how you can be in a good mood while unconscious, but if there's anyone who can be, I'm 100% sure it's yours truly. So in the mornings, when I call sometimes after I wake up, and my voice is just a little cheerier than usual, now you know why! I had a dream with you in it.

Now we're past the basics and I can get to the point. Let's say this is a dream, and to emphasize it, maybe close your eyes…? Nah, I know you're not doing that anytime soon. Okay, okay, a dream—I'm a little kid, the body of a 7 year old, sitting in the middle of that grassy clearing we used to meet in. You're sitting across from me, doing (fill in the blank here, kay?). I start suggesting stuff to do for the day, and you'll either stay quiet or give a firm "no".

Then, through some sort of miracle, I get you to agree to play truth or dare with me. It used to be one of Iceland's favorites, but I accidently shot him down by saying it was too girly. But whatever, he was only, what, 5?

Truth or dare, you start.

Now or never, now or never. Mathias tells himself this, keeping worst and best case scenarios in his mind.

(I'll talk for you from here on, and I promise I won't make you all weird.)

"Okay, Mathias…truth or dare?"

"Truth." And I'll grin widely at your sentence phrasing, making it sound like questioning the statement itself, not just stating the question (you know, if that makes sense).

And you'll say something like, "Why are we playing this game?"

I'll reply: "You'll find out next. Now, truth or dare?"

"Truth…?"

"What would you say if I told you I loved you?"

And there they are, clear as day (or just about as clear as his handwriting)—the words he's been curious to write, and now that they're down on paper, he wonders if there could be a more blunt way to put it.

Alright Norge, I'll stop ya there. You're probably rolling your eyes or something at the cliché-ness of this all, and I can't blame you—that was a bit forward even for me. It could happen, though!

Getting to the point. Norge, I can't tell you in person because the weird, lopsided, goofy grin I know I'd have on my face would make it hard to take seriously.

He chuckled. Sounded just like what his face looked like right now.

But every time I tell you I love you, I'm positive you think its lip service. But I'll say (well, write) it here and now that I'm not gonna bullshit you on something like that. I really, really, really love you in every sense of the word. You're my brethren, my best friend, my lover (excuse the use of the fancy word), and the closest to me. You've stayed with me so long, it'd be impossible to get me to stop clinging to you.

And you know, I'll admit, the sex is pretty damn good, too. But if you think that's why I'm in it, you're reading just a bit too shallow, Norge…

Fiiiine, I'll admit it, no matter how many slaps upside the head it guarantees me, you're better in bed then I am. I won't say how much, but it's something about the movements, the expressions, and the passion behind it…

Aw look, now I'm all 'excited' and no one to help me.

Mathias chuckled. If he thinks I'm kidding about that fucking boner in my pants…

Mmm, whatever. Just remember it, okay? I know you think the 'I love you' is meaningless junk, but on those rare occasions where I can get you to say it back, I almost do a back flip—just like a circus seal.

One last thing. I don't think my mentality would be as strong as it is now without you picking me up. That was a real ride, you know that? After I was still all down in the dumps after Kalmar, you picked me up and boom—we're under one roof.

Thanks.

- Mathias

His 'excitement' has calmly died down now, and he slips the paper inside of an envelope and shoves it in his mailbox after the rain outside stops pouring.

And he swears it, the next time he saw Nikolaus, about a week after the letter was sent, he swear he thought he felt his partner kiss him a little bit more passionate then usual.