The first time someone told him that they love him, he didn't understand. He was young, and the girl from the village was even younger. She didn't really love him; it was just a stupid crush that would pass within a few days. With a small smile that he knew looked more like a grimace, he took the flowers she held out to him and stuttered out small thanks, to which she giggled and stood up on her tip-toes, giving his cheek a quick kiss. And then she had run off, her long, blonde hair bouncing behind her. He had looked at the flowers, which had been delicately picked from a field not far off, and then he had dropped them. They were meaningless to him. Even though he couldn't deny they were beautiful, he didn't feel anything for them. He didn't feel grateful to have gotten them, and he didn't feel flustered.

At first he had blamed it on how he was so young, but over time he began to realize there was much more to it.

The second time someone had told him that they loved him; he had been only a bit older. The girl he remembered had died not long ago, old age and starvation taking over her weak and tired body. But this time, when they had confessed, it had been different, from someone he actually cared about. Denmark had taken him by the hands, and heaved a sigh, like it was some major event that he had to prepare himself for. The words had spilled out awkwardly, and he had watched Denmark's freckled face turn bright red. When he went a minute without responding, the lopsided smile turned into a frown.

"Do you…love me back?" The grip on Norway's hands tightened.

"No." He removed his hands from Denmark's grip, sighing. They were young, and he didn't understand love at all. How could he love someone when he didn't understand what love even meant?

For a second Denmark looked as if he was about to cry, or about to scream, but it only took a split second for his grin to return and for his eyes to light back up.

"I was just joking! Let's go find Sweden, ja?"

Denmark then slung an arm over his shoulders.

And Denmark never says it again, but he knows.

The third time had been with Sweden, who had come back after so many years just to take him away from what he was slowly considering his home. The Swede had only stayed for a few minutes before an argument broke out between him and Denmark. Norway had sat at the table where they had been eating dinner, not once looking at them. Iceland had stared at him, waiting for him to do something, say something. Even the two men Sweden had come with did nothing, except stare at him like he could solve the problem. He had only shaken his head. There was no reason to get involved. They were being childish, like they always were.

And ten minutes later he was out the door, leaving with Sweden. The taller Nation had not once looked at him during the whole time they had been together, not even spoken. Not until they had gotten on the boat and were alone together.

"We've known each other for years." The Swede was soft with his words, his eyes closing gently, as if deep in thought. "And I've loved you every single last one. And I don't think I'll ever stop."

"Then I pity you." He had replied swiftly, barely even affected. "I have no affection for you, I never will."

It only takes a second for Sweden to lean forward and capture his lips with a kiss. It's rough, but he enjoys it. He likes it when Berwald slams him against the wall, his mouth making work of his neck and shoulder. He likes it when his clothing is ripped from his body, and he likes it when Berwald takes him, not once saying a word.

But he doesn't like it when Berwald breathes three words into his ear after he comes,

"I love you."

He hates it; he fucking hates it so goddamn much. And he doesn't understand why, but it angers him, and he can't help but slap the Swede across the face.

"Don't say that. Because you don't mean it." He quickly pulls on his clothing, seething as he knows Berwald is watching him. The door slams behind him, and he knows full well that the other Nation didn't flinch.

That's when he begins to understand.

The fourth time, he decides to pretend. To pretend that he loves her, because he knows it's best if he does. She was on her deathbed, her life slowly draining away with each second. And she was so young, so beautiful, and she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of it.

And she didn't deserve his lies.

She deserved someone who truly loved her. And he could never be that someone. Sometimes, he thinks that she knew he was lying, and that she was okay with it. And that she thought that he being there when she died was enough.

"Aksel," She swallowed hard, in some attempt to make her voice less rough. "-we both know I don't have much longer."

"You can cry." He said gently, gently taking her small hand in his.

She smiled and nodded, her eyes closing as a single tear fell down her cheek. "You can cry too. I know how you are, and how you hold it back."

And then he laughed; something he hadn't done in so long. And he cried; something he had never done in front of any other living being.

"I love you, you know." She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, shaking her head. "And it's stupid, but I love you."

It kills him; it absolutely kills him, because he can't say it back, because he can't love her, because he doesn't love her. It makes him want to scream. But all he can do is lie. Even when she's almost gone, when there's only a few more breaths left in her before she's gone, he still lies to her.

"I-I love you too."

She turned to look at him, her smile becoming even wider.

She squeezed his hand, and closed her eyes.

And then he screamed.

Louder than he's ever screamed before.

But there was no sound at all.

Sometimes he wonders if Sweden, or if Denmark still loves him. But it's unlikely. Centuries have passed, and he can't imagine either of them holding onto those types of feelings for so long, when they know full well he'll never love them back. He's explained, because he finally understood, and they've listened. Maybe they haven't understood themselves, because they want to love, they want to be loved.

But he doesn't. It's not that he doesn't understand love, because he does.

And it's nothing to do with him hating love, because he doesn't hate it.

He doesn't desire it. He doesn't want it. He doesn't want to fall in love, and he doesn't want anyone to fall in love with him.

And he finally understands why.

It took him centuries, so many centuries to finally understand, but in the end, it's worth it.