"Thank you so much for this favor, Berwald," you say, giving him a warm smile as he opens his front door. His reply was only to nod, then reach and grasp the handle of your suitcase before you could. "Oh! That's not needed, Berwald! You're already letting me take a spare bedroom from you."

"It's not a problem," comes his soft yet rusty deep voice, nodding to you as he takes your suitcase inside the house, you trailing behind him after hurriedly slipping off your shoes. Walking into a spacious bedroom, Sweden sets your suitcase on the finely made bed and excuses himself, allowing you time to unpack and settle in.

Your life's stress had decided to skyrocket, your brain going on a writing hiatus as writer's block set in, causing your editor to hound your every wasted day as no words were formed on the blank paper. It was your first real job as a book author, having written for multiple newspapers during the years and occasional fanfictions you posted online. So of course, having the dumb luck you did, your dream of finally being a real author was set on hold as writer's block, which you've never had before, decided to ruin everything.

It was during this time, where your pen stayed, unmoving above the paper, that you decided to get away from it all and just relax for a bit. Maybe, away from all the stress and worry and going someplace beautiful with good scenery, you figured, your mind may beat what's been plaguing it and inspire the words trapped inside your mind.

But, then, where to go? You knew some of the countries, and had visited their houses occasionally due to budding friendships, but who did you trust enough to stay with while you got your life and mind in order? You needed someplace quiet, calm, but with enough activity to keep you occupied and not give you a headache.

It seemed Sweden had noticed the new twitch in your eyebrows and worry in your eyes, because he had come up to you and asked what was wrong. Being the sweetheart country he was, and being good friends with him to begin with, you told him your worries, his calm, level eyes never leaving your own. After you had finished with a sigh, he seemed to take no time to invite you over, which you almost immediately accepted.

So here you were now under Sweden's invite, borrowing one of his spare guest rooms as your vacation away from life started. His house was quiet, but the small sound of the crashing waves outside set a calming, constant rhythm throughout the house. His home was located right by the ocean, and as you unpacked and explored your room, you found that Sweden had given you a room with a window that looked out over said ocean, giving you an excellent view. Giving a small smile, you couldn't help but appreciate Sweden's gesture of kindness, knowing full well that he had done it on purpose.

Unpacked and settled in, you stretch as you walk out into the hallway and stand there, uncertain, before remembering the house's layout and head for the living room, hoping to find Sweden there. Instead, you found yourself alone, so after some thought, you retrieved your journal and a pencil and made your way outside, finding a lone tree to lean against as you stared at the waves.

You seemed to have arrived at the right time, for the sun was starting to set and cast an orange glow over the sky and waves. Bringing your knees up and hugging them with your journal squished between your chest and legs, you allow your mind to wander, to let the words somewhere in your mind try to describe what you were seeing, but to no avail. Sighing in defeat, you set your journal down somewhat roughly on the ground.

"Shouldn't you be careful with that?" comes that familiar deep voice. Looking up, you take in the form of Sweden as he sits next to you, resting his back against the trunk of the tree.

"Why? It's just a journal. It's not like I'm tearing it up or anything," you reply, stretching your legs out and leaning back on your arms, eyes returning to the view before you. Sweden stayed quiet, and you flicked your eyes back towards him as you felt his gaze. "Thanks again for letting me stay here, Berwald. And for the great view from my window."

He nodded, his face unreadable as always, yet you could sense his pleasure from noticing his small act of kindness. Small things, you had realized, meant a lot to Sweden. You could understand where he was coming from, since small things meant the most but was often overlooked.

"You have a beautiful home here, Berwald," you continued, knowing him enough to know that he wouldn't say anything unless prompted, so you took it upon yourself to continue the conversation. Some would say it was always one-sided, but you knew him enough to know it was indeed a double sided conversation, just one participant was quieter than the other. "I wish my home was like this. Man, if I had a view like this right outside my home, I'm sure I never would have gotten writer's block!"

There was silence for a few moments, then you felt Sweden shift and watched as his fingers grazed over your journal. You nodded your approval, and he picked it up and opened it carefully, as if even the littlest touch would make it fall apart.

"There's nothing much in there. Just some poems and some hastily written scenes."

You moved to lie on your stomach, your chin perched on your raised hands, as you listened to the man next to you flip through the pages. Usually, you never would have let anyone touch any one of your journals, but you trusted Sweden enough to know he wouldn't make fun of you or judge you. There was just… something about him that made him special.

Not that you would actually tell him that, or the reason for that fact. Really, you couldn't quite believe it yourself, but you knew it was true in your heart. Somewhere between the talks and laughs, Sweden had taken a part of your heart. He was always there when you were troubled, always knew how to cheer you up. Just like a silent shadow, he had slipped into your life, and now your thoughts and feelings for him had grown into something much more than just simple friendship.

You were brought back to the present as Sweden's voice said your name. Turning to him with a smile, you were surprised when he handed you your journal, flipped to a page full of words. Tilting your head in confused, you took it and realized it was one of your love poems. Wondering why he was pointing this out to you, you skimmed over the first few stanzas, then felt your heart skip a beat.

So THIS was the journal I had written this in!

It was a poem you had written with Sweden in mind, after you had finished watching a romantic episode of a TV show. As you continued reading, you realized more and more that the "subtle" hints describing who the poem was about weren't so discreet as you had first thought.

Swallowing and trying desperately to get your scrambled thoughts back in place, you say, "I forgot about this poem. I wrote it a little late at night, so it's not that good."

"I like it," he replies, and you turn to lock eyes with him.

"Thank you, I guess. It could've been better. I mean, it's not even finished." Which indeed it wasn't. Thinking you were a ridiculous love-sick geek, you had put down your pencil and shut the journal with a blush.

"That's fine," he says. "It doesn't have to be finished to be good."

"I guess so…" You shivered, realizing that the temperature had dropped while you had been out here, the air from the waves not helping the matter. Sitting up and closing your journal, you wrap your arms around yourself, not quite wanting to leave yet. The sun was just hitting the horizon, and you wanted to watch the full sunset.

"Cold?" comes that sweet voice.

"Nah, I'm fine," you reply, even though your actions said otherwise.

The country seemed to have caught onto that, for suddenly a strong arm wrapped around you from behind, leaning your shoulders into Sweden's chest. Eyes wide from surprise, you couldn't help your blush from spreading as your mind frantically tried to take in the situation.

"Better?"

"A… a little," you stammered, letting yourself relax a little in his grasp. In reply, his free arm came to join his other, practically dragging you into his lap as your back was pressed against his warm chest fully.

You really didn't trust your voice, and you were sure he could feel your heart beating like you had just run a marathon. Glad your face was facing away from him, you let yourself relax, slowly, in his arms. So much so, that your hands had come up to hold the arms around you.

One thing was for certain: you weren't cold anymore.

The disappearing light, the feeling of warmth and security, and the rhythmic rising and falling of Sweden's chest lulled you into a state of drowsiness. Your head nodding, your eyes shutting, you didn't even notice as you slipped into sleep.

Sweden knew, however, as your breathing slowed and the rest of your body relaxed completely. Allowing his lips to split into a smile you had seen only rarely, he didn't move, just kept his arms around your sleeping form. As the moon rose into the sky, it peered through the gaps in the leaves, its light dancing on the two of you, now both sound asleep.