A/N: Okay, so this is totally strange to me. XD I'm a die-hard Austria/Hungary girl, but I RP on Facebook as Hungary and my dear friend/sister as Belgium, and she wanted me to write this after a conversation we had, so here it is. :P Enjoy or I'll cry. :3

"What are we baking for again?" Belgium asked, leaning back against the counter, holding the apron I'd brought her slightly crumpled in her hand.

"For Germany's birthday," I told her for the fourth time, tying my hair back.

"Isn't Austria baking again? And Italy?"

"Well, yes, but..." I sighed. "Mr. Austria...he kind of challenged me."

"He challenged you?" Belgium raised an eyebrow. "Hungary, I haven't seen that nation try to do anything challenging in centuries. You expect me to believe he challenged you to a...bake-off or something?"

"Well, he didn't really challenge me," I laughed at Belgium's sense of humor and the expression on her face. "But he said something like of course he was baking this year, because no one else was competent enough to, and I reminded him that I cook for him every night, and he said that it was cooking, not baking, so it didn't count. So obviously, I had to try."

"You're a good baker," Belgium reassured me. "You don't have to do this to prove anything."

"Oh, you know I have a huge ego," I muttered with a smile as I began collecting ingredients and bowls.

"Goodness, how many things are you baking?" she asked, seeing the twenty or so bowls stacked on the counter in her kitchen.

"We," I corrected. "We are baking many things. One of them has to be better than what he'll bake."

"Aww, come on, Hungary, you know I'm strictly a waffles and chocolate kind of girl." Belgium smiled. "I'm not making something that's not breakfast or expensive chocolate."

"Yes, you are," I insisted with a smirk. "Or I'll bring up the time that Denmark-"

"All right, all right, mein Gott," she cut me off, unfolding her apron and trying to tie it around her back. After a short struggle, she wrapped the ribbons around her waist and tied them in the front, and I laughed at her roundabout way of putting it on. "No need to bring that up now..."

I chuckled. "That's what I thought."

"What kind of a friend are you?" Belgium laughed. "Blackmailing me..."

"A best one," I replied, smirking again. "Besides, you won't quit teasing me about the fact that I work as a maid for my ex-husband."

"Well? Doesn't it get awkward?" She insisted, stepping forward and taking a carton of eggs I held out to her.

"No," I responded honestly. "Austria and I have moved past that. Because we're mature."

"Oh. Uh-huh. Mature," Belgium said disbelievingly. "You were totally head over heels for him. How do you...just move past that? Knowing you can't be together?" Belgium got a little more serious.

"At first it was hard, you know that. It was difficult for both of us, and a little awkward. It hurt. But we knew we couldn't really do anything about it," I sighed. "It was a political decision, not a personal one, just the two of us. Our marriage was kind of an experiment, by our leaders, and it failed. It wasn't our faults. Actually it was mostly Prussia..." I growled. "But it's been centuries... Time heals all wounds, does it not?" I passed her the carton of baking soda.

"I guess..." Belgium said thoughtfully, measuring out a tablespoon and pouring it into the bowl of flour and salt.

"Plus," I sighed. "Well...I've just been feeling different lately," I confessed.

"Different?" Belgium asked curiously.

"Yeah... It's just...I don't know. I used to think, obviously, that Austria was just the most attractive man I'd ever seen..."

"Understandable," Belgium nodded, prompting.

"But lately, I just...I don't see what I saw in his appearance, really. Or Germany, or Prussia, or Spain, or America-"

"America?" Belgium exclaimed, almost dumping out her bowl of ingredients. I steadied the bowl for her.

"It was a phase!" I shot angrily. "Anyway... I guess I always thought that after I'd moved on from Austria, I would maybe date a new country...definitely not marry, but date...you know..."

"And?" Belgium asked, breaking a few eggs and tossing them into the bowl she was holding. I wanted to scold her for putting the wet ingredients in with the dry right away but decided I'd let it go, shaking my head in exasperation.

"And, I don't know. I just...don't find any of them attractive."

"Well, maybe it's not your time," she suggested.

"You're probably right. Hold that thought." I turned on the beater and thoroughly mixed the ingredients in my bowl, managing not to let any of the small cake fly out of the bowl. Then I turned it off, carefully taking the beaters out and going to set them in the sink.

"Hey, wait, can I have those?" Belgium asked excitedly, pointing with a wooden spoon covered in egg and flour to the beaters in my hand.

"Uh, no?" I looked at her dubiously. "Does salmonella mean anything to you?"

"Not really," she grinned. "You should see me when I'm cooking..."

I sighed. "Oh, but thanks for letting me use your kitchen, by the way," I told her, rinsing the beaters off.

"Well, you couldn't very well use Austria's, huh?" Belgium asked rhetorically, going back to her bowl. "C'est pas de probleme. So what was it you were saying before?"

"About salmonella?" I asked, getting out a cake pan and pouring my bowl's contents into the stainless steel.

"No," Belgium said, and I could hear the eye roll in her voice. "About not finding the guys attractive."

"Eh, well, I guess it's not a huge deal. I mean, you're probably right. Maybe it's just not my time to be looking. I should be paying more attention to chores and economic stuff."

"Yeah...but if you ever want to talk, I'm here," offered Belgium seriously. "Je ne pas rigole."

I just barely understood enough French to make out what she'd said. "Well, thank you. I'm okay. Right now, I just need to worry about beating Austria!" I exclaimed, taking to my task of leveling the batter in the pan a little more vigorously.

Belgium snickered. "At least you've got your priorities straight."

"How's your...uh...whatever that is going?" I asked, sliding the pan into the warm oven and setting the timer for fifteen minutes.

She turned around and I saw her front for the first time. I nearly laughed out loud, but covered my mouth to hide my grin.

"What?" she asked confusedly.

Belgium had flour and cocoa powder covering her apron, finger smudges of the stuff here and there along the center. She had a little bit of something white and powdery smudged across her cheek, from her nose to her ear. She had also somehow managed to get chocolate batter rubbed into a lock of her hair.

"God. Good think you had an apron on," I chuckled. "It looks like your...pastry thing threw up on you."

"They're cookies," she pouted. "And what is it? Do I have it all over me?"

"Kinda," I joked, wetting a paper towel and going back to her. "And in your hair, and on your face..." I started rubbing the towel through her hair, wiping out the chocolate and wetting it. "How did you manage this?"

"Uh, I dunno. I told you: I only do waffles and chocolate." Her cheeks grew pink, most likely with embarrassment or self-consciousness.

"You can do French pastries well enough!" I argued, still smiling. "But you can't bake cookies?"

"I can to!" she protested. "Just...not these... And hey, you were distracting me!" she accused as I continued to mop out the batter.

"Oh, come on. You said I could talk to you," I retorted.

"Only after you rambled on and on..." she teased.

I clicked my tongue. "Fine. Clean up yourself," I said, pushing the towel at her.

"Aww, okay, fine. You know I can't see it, and I don't wanna go to the bathroom..." she gave me back the towel and sat down her bowl on the counter next to the other empty ones and piles of ingredients.

I smirked. "Apologize."

Belgium scowled. "I'm sorry. Happy?"

"Enough," I consented, taking the towel to her face.

"Thanks," she muttered, smiling again. The pink was back in her cheeks as I held her face steady to get the batter off. She also had some I hadn't seen before in her eyebrow. Goodness...

As I concentrated on the chocolate in her eyebrow, I noticed that she was looking right into my eyes. When I'd gotten it out, I looked back. Her eyes were a shade or two lighter green than mine, with a sparkle in them that I couldn't figure out. I'd never quite noticed how pretty they were until now, though. So similar yet so completely different than mine, bursting with another kind of vibrancy and life.

Belgium's blush intensified under my gaze and a slight pink blossomed in my cheeks as well, heat rising. I began to wonder if Belgium's "embarrassed" blush from before had really been embarrassment after all...

No, no, silly thoughts... I blinked a couple of times and rubbed the chocolate completely off her cheek, but I found myself handling her face a little more tenderly than before, cradling it more than holding it. I realized for the first time that mattered that Belgium was just a little taller than me. It might have bothered me if I hadn't been thinking just a few minutes ago that I had always liked that Austria was taller than me.

I only realized that I had been scrubbing at Belgium's cheek much longer than necessary when she put a hand hesitantly on my arm, not lowering it, but actually holding it in place. I looked at her curiously, and she looked back, her eyes alight with something unidentifiable to me.

All I knew was that I had no idea what I was doing as I spread my hand against Belgium's face, letting the wet paper towel hit the floor with a quiet thunk. Her hand that wasn't on my wrist moved from her side to my waist, gently but firmly holding it in place.

I kept on staring into her eyes, barely conscious that her face was slowly coming closer to mine. But at some point, my eyes slowly closed and our lips found each other in the dark, brushing lightly together at first, and then pressing a little harder.

I wasn't sure, really, what to think about this. Here was my best friend and confidant, who I'd just been discussing boys with, kissing me, and seeming sincere. What did I think about that? How should I respond? All I wanted to do was kiss her back... Her lips were not insistent, but tender, and almost loving, and her hands were warm and sweet. She tasted like chocolate - telling me that she'd been sneaking out of her bowl when I wasn't looking - and the tips of her hair, some wet, some dry, tickled my face just barely.

I was so conflicted. I was straight! I'd been married! Well... I'd been married...I wasn't anymore... And lately, boys hadn't been seeming very desirable... But Belgium, here kissing me, was plenty desirable. And what was so wrong with it? Absolutely nothing. It was just like Germany and Italy or Spain and Romano or America and England, but Belgium and I were of the opposite gender. It was the same thing. Where was the problem? There was none, and so I leaned into Belgium's kiss, pressing back.

Belgium grinned, then quickly kissed again, stroking my wrist where she held it. She began to push against me, walking backwards carefully and taking me with her without breaking our contact. Suddenly I found myself against the door to the pantry, just right of the doorknob. Her hand on my waist snaked up my side over my shoulder and to my hair, where it was tied back with a ribbon. She pulled on one of the ends of the ribbon, untying it and freeing my long tresses to fall down around my shoulders.

She ventured forth to suavely dart her tongue out against my bottom lip and I opened up my mouth a little to let her in, now as completely into this as she was. This was real, unadulterated passion like I hadn't felt in centuries, and it felt amazing. But I realized at one point or another that I wasn't just kissing Belgium back for the hell of it. I actually felt something, in my chest; a happy, fluttery feeling rose up in me and set a gentle fire, warming me up from the inside out.

Did I love Belgium as more than a friend?

Well, yes.

I slid one of my hands, previously caressing her face, into her hair, messing with it and entangling my fingers in the golden locks, reveling in their silkiness. Belgium ducked back away for just a milisecond to breathe, and I took advantage as well, and then she was back and kissing me again, like she never planned to stop. Needless to say, I was okay with that.

Of course, just as I would have holding my own, we were interrupted.

The oven began to beep, alerting me that my quick-bake cake was done, as I wished that it wasn't so quick to bake.

Belgium had jumped away at the noise, startled, one hand in my hair and one still on my wrist, cursing quietly in Dutch. I took back my arm and turned away, face flaming, as I grabbed an oven mitt and took the cake pan out of the oven, setting it on the stovetop. It looked done, or close enough, anyway, and so I left it there and turned to Belgium questioningly.

Belgium was blushing, too, and looking down, awkwardy rubbing her arm. She glanced up at me, then back down, blushing brighter. "I'm - uh - sorry," she muttered quickly, embarrassed. "I didn't, um, I mean... I just felt, uh-"

"Don't worry," I told her, taking a few steps closer and taking one of her hands. She looked up again and I smiled a little bit. "I felt it, too."

"Really?" she breathed.

I nodded, and cautiously leaned up a little to kiss her quickly.

"So...what do we do now?" Belgium asked quietly, taking my other hand.

"How about we just see where it goes?" I suggested. "And I'll go get a new apron."

"What?" Belgium asked, raising an eyebrow.

I gestured down towards my apron. It was now covered in chocolatey batter, flour and egg.

"Oh..." said Belgium with an odd expression on her face.

I rolled my eyes, knowing what it was. "You can laugh..." I muttered.

Belgium cracked up, doubling over with laughter while still holding onto my hand. She straightened up only after a minute or so, tears in her eyes. "S-Sorry," she giggled. "Gah, Hungary, you're... Gah!" she collapsed into laughter again, and I put my hand on my hip.

"Yes, yes, it's all very funny," I murmured, a small smile forming on my face in response to her amusement. "Can I go get changed?"

Belgium slowly let go of my hand, still laughing, and nodded, covering her face to hide her grin. "Yeah," she managed. "Yeah..."

I walked off into the bathroom to put my hair back up with something else and try to straighten up my apron, calling behind me, "And finish your cookie-things!"

"You're just jealous of my most beautiful cookies!" she called back, bemused irritation in her voice. "Quit nagging me, woman!"

I chuckled as I scrubbed the batter out of the apron. I wasn't really mad, in fact, I was elated by our discoveries and this new approach I'd be taking in my life. I was grateful to Belgium, and excited to see how we would work out. But when I got back out there, I was attacking back hard-core - Belgium didn't know where I'd hidden the icing.