Here in Your Arms

I like it here. Just lying here, curled up together, just the three of us. The two of you have no idea just how much I love this. To be able to roll over and see the two people I love the most lying on either side of me, strong arms wrapped around me in a tight yet gentle grip, one set nearly pure white, the other sun kissed… To look at your sleeping faces and admire your beauty.

There is nothing I wouldn't give to just stay like this forever with you both, away from the cruel world. But the Earth keeps spinning, and nights come and go, everyone's problems growing with every rise and fall of the sun and moon. I wish I could just stop time. If we didn't have to leave this room, this bed, we could be happy, happy all the time, forever. But we have to get up eventually, every morning, and we'll all go back to the meetings, to people who do nothing but make us cry, who do nothing but try to rip everything away from us, just to make us miserable. Gilbert, you will keep being ridiculed by the rest of the world for still being alive, though they say you have no right to be. Don't listen to them. Listen to the two people who love you, the ones who never fail to dry your tears and remind you of just how awesome you are. Forget the rest of the world. And Antonio, still bothered by Britain because of what happened centuries ago. He won't let it go, he just keeps holding it over your head like a trophy, the knowledge that he made you so much weaker, sicker, your economy unstable. I can tell you first hand that it is always better to ignore that monster.

And then I look at all of our scars. Ones left by England. Some left by Germany, and, on Gilbert's part, many by Russia. And then there are the many that we have given to each other. Not one night goes by that I don't hate my self for what I did to you, Gilbert. I became power hungry, much like your baby brother had later, causing you even more pain… I'm still so sorry. You say it has all been forgiven, but I still see the pain hidden in your eyes. Some wounds, many left by me, still ache, don't they, mon amour? I'm so sorry, desolé, je regret. Je t'aime.

Et toi, Antoine… How many times did I fight you over that Italian boy? Three, four, five times? You beat me every time, often just leaving me bleeding on the battlefield to go back to that boy. But several times, you sent your own medic out. While you didn't stay, you still sent me help. Thank you. I didn't deserve it. I didn't see how much that boy meant to you. He was like your brother, your son, and I'm so sorry I tried to take that away. Thank you so much for forgiving me.

And I? How many times have the two of you said something to me once thought to be unforgivable? How many times have you made me bleed, made me cry? Too many times to count. But I don't care.

And as I simply lay here, awake and contemplating, I can't help but smile as I see the both of you shift in your sleep, both subconsciously snuggling closer to me, tightening you grips on me like you never want to let me go.

I don't want you to let me go.

But it's nearly dawn, and soon we'll have to leave each other for the day and face our daily dose of heart piercing pain inflicted on us by the rest of the world. But It's okay. We will all be waiting once the moon rises once more to wipe away each other's tears, and it will be time for me to resume wishing that time will just stay still, so that I can stay with the two of you, cradled here in your arms forever.