Belarus did not feel the need to be famous.
She did not need paparazzi, her name in magazines, or the attention of the masses. Throughout the years, she'd only ever needed attention from one person. If she had the attention from that one person, she was content.
For years, that person had been her brother, Russia. She wanted nothing more than his undying attention, for him to notice no one but her. She pursued him constantly, desperate for him to make her the sole object of his attention.
Then, it switched. It switched to a man who possibly had the shortest attention span she knew of: the United States of America. Funny how things work out; she spent years wishing the man would leave her alone and stop bothering her, and now she yearned for every ounce of his attention.
Granted, Belarus still liked attention from her brother. Now, however, it was America's attention that she desperately needed. As long as he focused on her, she was fine.
And, despite his extremely short attention span (Belarus was certain he had ADD), he managed to comply by that pretty well. As he'd told her once while they snuggled on the couch, watching one of those chick flicks Belarus secretly adored and let no one but America know that she was his world.
Which, considering they were both nations, Belarus found that expression a little bit amusing.
Of course, when he wasn't paying attention to her, Belarus found herself getting annoyed. That was usually when they had some of their fights. She would comment he "didn't care", and he in turn would retort back that she "needed to just back off and accept things weren't always about her", usually culminating with him saying she was a stalker and her storming off, tears forming in her eyes.
She would find somewhere quiet then to gather her thoughts and cry in peace, wondering why she loved this man who infuriated her so much, who was so tremendously annoying to be around.
Eventually, America would track her down, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, and a long stream of apologies at his lips. Belarus would pretend that she didn't care, that he'd damaged things beyond repair, and keep the icy walls up around her heart, but she always relented when he started getting desperate, blue eyes filling with tears.
She hated seeing him cry.
So she'd accept the apologies and flowers, and pull him in for a kiss, assuring him that she still did love him and was no longer angry. And everything would be back to normal, attention on each other, fingers entwined in love.
Yes, Belarus did not need to be famous. Being famous in America's eyes was enough for her.