He was attracted to her. Not in the way one would expect. One could go up to America and say "Russia seems fond of Liechtenstein." And he'd over-react and tell Switzerland that Russia was planning to kidnap and rape his younger sister... No. It is true that the Slavic nation is fond of the much smaller country, but it's more like a... a respect. Respect for her youthful wisdom. Russia would enjoy talking with her, but he is not stupid. He knows that nothing good would come of it. He knows, now, to hide his desires. To keep them locked away, because he could handle more mental pain. He couldn't handle more scars. He feared for something great to happen to his face. There wasn't much he could do to cover it. He already wore enough layers just for the sake of hiding his past, his faults, his pain. Forcing his face away would be the final straw before Russia became naught a person, or a nation in his case, but a walking closet. Something some may find humorous. You smiled, did you not? But imagine, if you may, being forced in his position. Being forced to hide, in fear of questions. It's easier to answer a question like; "Why do you wear that scarf" than one like; "How did you gain scar? The one just above your collar bone.".
So, he observed the girl, Lichtenstein. She truly was beautiful. But it was not the beauty that caused the Russian to glance in her direction, though it helped the cause, it was her youth. Despite being a nation, despite any hardships that may have come about her in her seemingly endless life, she was full of youth. And, though nightmares plague her sleep many a night, she manages to keep a level head on her shoulders. Only letting her self float away when something inexplicably cute was set in front of her. And it was something Russia could only respect, because he couldn't understand. He never got the chance to understand.
His nights, similar to Liechtenstein's, would leave him rattled. Leave him clawing at his nightstand for his vodka. "Drink to forget." He'd say as tipped the bottle back against his lips. And even still, he wasn't the drunk everyone expected of him. Yes, he enjoyed his alcohol, but so did ever other country you'd ask. No, he refused to inebriate himself, not when he could watch Liechtenstein. Not on the off chance that she'd take notice to the large nation, enough notice to calm the fear that quaked through her just from the talk of other nations. The fear of what her brother would think. Because she owed him everything. And that, Russia could understand.
There was one time he talked to her. It was brief. She had managed to escape from her overbearing older brother, she needed to escape for that exact reason. And by some greater being she entered the same room dearest Russia was using to hide from his own sibling, though it was his younger sister. And when she asked why he was here he answered "Hiding from sibling." his accent taking over due to adrenaline. In reply, the tiny Germanic said she was doing the same thing. She asked, lightness dancing off her voice, if they might've been hiding from the same trait. Russia, not thinking straight had said "Unless your sibling is wanting to be marrying you so you could be together forever and ever and ever and ever... Which he is not, so be lucky!" Liechtenstein huffed and left Russia, who hadn't quite caught up with what he had said, alone. Russia wishes he could redo that moment. As you can imagine.
So, he watched her. Occasionally gaining the attention of her brother, to which Russia would smile and Switzerland would shiver.
Russia had found, that he was very much in love. It was the only emotion foreign enough to his abused heart that he didn't understand, so, he put a name to it. Calling it love and connecting it to the country of Liechtenstein. It was his secret, one that would make his blush in that bashful way he does, because love is something murmured, shouted to the world. It's something that is said. And as movies show, love isn't something to keep locked in. But Russia does. It's his little secret. He does wish he could tell her, but she wouldn't understand. How can she understand what he's feeling when he doesn't himself. It's another thing that is his. Just like his scars.
Now, we have reached the end, the end of this, you or I could go on for days of the emotions that lit up inside the Russian when Liechtenstein even so much as turned her head in his direction. Go on about why he felt the way he did. Explain all he had noticed about her. Observe all he would come to see about her. But there is one thing concrete, he won't share his thoughts and feelings with anybody, because no one would understand. Not even him.