It had been a long time since they had lived together like this, the last time being when Yong Soo had still been not more than a child, and even then they had their whole family with them, but he still remembered every little thing. From the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled, to long nights curled up on the floor together when it was cold, much colder than it ever got now. Chun-Yan had been so strong then, the one they could depend on in times of trouble - hell she still was, but they all had their own homes now, only Yong Soo came back.
Yong Soo was never allowed to cook. That had been the first rule established, Chun-Yan liked her kitchen very much intact, thank you very much. Not that the Korean minded, his sisters cooking was the best! Even if there was always white rice served with it. Sometimes she tried to teach him how to make dishes, but it always seemed to end in disaster, and a very messy kitchen - still, she looked cute when she was covered in flour, and laughing her head off. Not so cute when she was, still covered in flour, ranting at him.
Yong Soo had to clean up after himself. This had been established after Chun-Yan had gotten sick and tired of cleaning up after him. Manners were everything, and he had to tidy up! It had been a hard habit to try and get the ever messy Korean into, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Anyway, it was more fun to cuddle in a clean room than a dirty one, she had reasoned. Well, when his sister put it that way… It still surprised the other nations he had lived with when the house was spotless.
Talking was important. Both of them had habits of keeping things to close to heart when upset or troubled, for Chun it stemmed from being alone for so long, and it had rubbed off on her younger siblings. Korea hid everything behind loud laughs, and bright, fake, smiles - he was a cheerful person, but no-one was happy all the time. Chun-Yan was much calmer, and you could tell when something was bothering her by the amazing amounts of food she would cook in a hurried frenzy.
They had to talk. To make this work they had to talk. And when the Chinese woman heard him sobbing in his room. And when he saw her twitching in agitation in a meeting. And when they both needed someone to hold them, to spill their secrets too, to be their friend, they needed to talk, because otherwise they would explode, or rot away in their own sorrows, burn within their anger, sharing, talking, it helped, more than anything. Both knew loneliness, heart ache, and hate - of course all of them did, but for some reason, they seemed to relate better to each other. They both bore scars inflicted by another member of the family.
To some they were strange, much to different to live together, but, messy house or clean, cheerful or sad, explosive or calm, young or old, they really were similar. Both needed someone to keep them calm and to drag them was in the long nights spent curled by the fire, murmuring secrets to each other, and the lazy afternoons under the hot summers sun, where they both let their worries fade away that it was obvious. They fitted together perfectly.