It's not like I'm unhappy here. It's not like I don't want to see her. But sometimes I wonder what's going on back home. Do you miss me? I miss you, bruder. But when she talks to me, I stop thinking. It's almost like Gott sent her my way to help me through all of this. Was findest du? And I know, in minutes, she'll be here to wake me up personally, like she's done every morning for the past month. It's pretty nice.

Gilbert sighed, stuffing the letter that would never be sent under his mattress. Natalia had given him the paper and pen. "It's always something I do when I need to vent all my emotions. Vanya only gives sestra and I the materials, but we give them out when he's not home." He slipped back into his bed, the rough white pajamas covering his toes as he walked. Every morning, at one, she would come to his room with her comforter, and lay it on him. He would move over on the tiny cot, she would lie under the blankets, and their body heat would be their only comfort. It was odd how they'd begun this ritual.

It was only a month ago, and he'd been in the house for nearly four. He'd been more open, and all though he wasn't as hyper and talkative as he had been before, he was still alive. Natalia often had to come and clean up his messes- She offered whenever there was a crash or a yelp from him- and he would feel terrible. The day was a bit of a haze to him, since the most he remembers is that they went to bed early. Katyusha had said that "If Ivan comes home to see us all again, things could end up even worse." So Natalia laid all their throw blankets onto their beds for them before any had gone to their rooms, and they had all curled into the comfortable freezing blankets. Gilbert was sitting in his room, staring out the large window, his breath fogging the glass. His eyes were focused on the falling snowflakes, and he only wished that he could catch on, and trace the stems of it. After all, all snowflakes are different. As he thought about the stems of the snowflakes and of their beauty, he heard the door of his room gently and softly creak open. He didn't care to look, though: Last time it had been Ivan, come to beat him, and Natalia had come to save him. Two hands fell upon his shoulders, the slight body heat from them seeping throw the cloth to his skin, making him shiver. "Hibliert.." The silky voice whispered in his ear, tearing him from his thoughts and dread. He turned, seeing Natalia in her pale white night gown. It was made of cotton, and hung to her knees. She had a robe over it, too. When he turned to look at her, it was obvious something was wrong, he could tell by her mannerisms. She looked meek and timid, rather than bold, and confident and strong. "Hey, Natalia. Something wrong?" He asked, laughing internally at how she shuffled her feet and looked at her hands which were clasped so gently in her lap that the shadow from them was long and dramatic. She looked up, a slight flush on her cheeks. "I have heard you often complain at night of how cold it is." She mumbled, before turning, a slender, frail arm outstretched to her open bedroom door across the hall. Gilbert looked at her for a moment, before understanding her proposition.

That cold, heartless attitude was always just a façade, eh?

He offered her the most genuine smile he could muster, as he was still deeply lonely without his brother, and he couldn't possibly pretend to be happy in this place. He gave a heavy sigh, before shaking his head. "Danke, but Ivan would kill me for going into your room again." (This is something we may perhaps dwell on later.) Natalia's brow furrowed in strict thought, her hand holding her chin as she shuffled from foot to foot. She then walked out, causing two crimson eyes to follow her, of which noted that even in the loose, straight gown, her rear-end was rather subtly formed, and in his mind he came to the conclusion that once she was no longer suffering from malnutrition, it'd be shapely and full and certainly worth grabbing. I should go to Hell for that, he thought. He was broken from his thoughts when she reentered, shutting his door behind her. She then covered his bed with her comforter, before taking his hand- ever so gently for a woman like her- and sat him down. He climbed under the two blankets, a new heat rising through his body, as if the furnace had actually been turned on, and saw her grab the comforters and begin to tuck him in. It was rather cute that she was taking so much care to be gentle with him, as if she expected him to fall apart if she dare to touch his flesh. After she had finished, she curled up, on top of the blankets, her feet and legs bare to the frozen air of the mansion. And, although it seemed as if she wasn't even aware of it, Gilbert very irritatedly pulled the blanks from him and from under her, before remaking the bed. When she turned to stare at him with hatred, he gave his signature grin. "I'm not letting you come in here to keep me warm and then freeze to death, kesesesese!" The girl sighed- Was she annoyed with him?- and turned over, facing him, her nose covered by the blankets. Every night afterwards, she'd come to lay with him.

As he dwelt on this subject, he hadn't at all found himself drifting to sleep any time soon. He heard his door creak open, and in the doorway stood a small Natalia, her pillow and blanket in her arms. She threw the blanket over the bed and crawled underneath it, cuddling into her pillow as per usual. The most interesting she did, though, was that she turned over, and poked Gilbert in the ribs. "Why aren't you asleep?" She asked monotonously, peering at his blood red blood shot eyes. He gave her a nervous smile before ruffling her hair. "I was writing. And got in bed once I was done." He gave his nervous laughter once again, as he wasn't always sure how she was feeling at any given moment. "You mean you're using the paper I gave you?" He nodded his head. He could have sworn, that in only milliseconds, that cold and heartless, that off-putting and emotionless Belarus, had given him a smile.

A genuine smile.

Natalia lay quietly, her eyes shut as she lay against the Prussian's back. She had stopped sneaking into Katyusha's bed when they were both very young, and she'd stopped sneaking into Ivan's only a century after she returned form Lithuania's care. She hadn't felt the need to sleep with another person, no matter how painful the aching in her chest got, no matter how much she cried silently from the pain of loneliness. She could always handle it, no matter what was sent her way. During WWII, when Prussia shot her, it was physically more painful than the pain in her heart. Yet, somehow, she was comforted when he told her what happened. He knew she existed and that even she had felt pain. If he knew she felt it physically, that she could feel anger, betrayal, and fear, then maybe he knew she could feel sadness, too. After a while, he began asking her about how she felt. She at first would shrug him off, telling him to mind his own business. Eventually, she warmed up to the idea of actually talking to him. Of course, this was after an incident before Ivan left.

On the snowy morning of which it all happened, Ivan was late in waking up. Belarus had cooked a good breakfast for them, since she was in one of her rare good moods. As they all sat in silence waiting on Ivan to come down the stairs, their stomachs grumbled and complained to them. Of course, after having worked hard that morning on the breakfast, Belarus was quite irritated at her brother. It was rare that anyone stood up to Russia, even Belarus, who took no disrespect from any person. Today was a special day: The first day Prussia would see a truly angry Natalia Arlovskaya. She stood from her chair, dusting off her apron before grabbing the knife in her napkin. All eyes watched her quietly, wondering what was going on, why Natalia was getting up, and why she had a butter knife. They all stood soon, hearing her footsteps clack clack up the stairs. She walked faster than the others, naturally, her long hair billowing behind her. Gilbert followed behind the pack, curious about their frantic breathing and murmurings. As they rounded a corner he had never gone by, heard something heavy hit the wall. Everyone jumped, and scuttled behind the corner, before hearing frantic screaming from inside the room.

"I am tired of you making this rigid schedule for us all to follow, and then being late yourself, brother!" Natalia shouted, throwing his bottle of vodka onto the floor. Her violet eyes locked onto his, which were angry and pained at her screaming. He threw back his chair, slamming his hands on the desk. "Then why don't you disobey my orders, sestra? Why don't you just leave? Since you hate it here so much!?" Gilbert was entirely shocked at them.

"Where am I supposed to go? You've gained control of my country like a selfish coward! Are you really this self-centered that you refuse to let me, sestra, Hilbiert, and the others go?"

"It is not selfish, I am taking care of you, you ungrateful child! Get out of my sight, you disgusting child! Go back to your damned room and cry in those pillows that I bought especially for you, and regret being my little sestra as I often do!"

Gilbert snapped out of his trance, having heard no more sound from the room. All of them stood, shocked and terrified, waiting for one of the two to leave the room. Time stood still, engulfing them in its frozen hands and holding them for eternity, for no person emerged.

Natalia slammed the door behind her, walking down the halls and past the others, her knuckles red and the sleeve of her dress torn. Katyusha jumped, tears welling in her blue eyes, before Gilbert laid a hand on her shoulder. "Let me talk to her, kesesesese~" He commented, before following the small girl to her room. Inside, she had a ratty old suitcase opened, filling it with the little possessions she owned in this home. He knocked on the door, but found himself ignored as she rushed about, dropping knives here and there as she did.

"Natalia, let's talk." He said, a slight smirk on his lips as he watched her grimacing, burning with hatred as she moved. "Nyet, just go away." She snapped, all though she stopped her packing, her shoulders hung and her hair touching the bed. Gilbert stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him, before putting a hand on her lower back. She shivered, before her breathing calmed. Almost, as if by instinct, he pushed a lock of hair from her cheek behind her ear, the distant touch making her wince in pain. She had the slightest hint of a bruise on her cheek bone, where his hand traced gently. "He hit you?" She voiced no answer, but her head gave a hesitant nod. HE sighed- Something he rarely did- and turned her to face him, taking her face delicately between his hands. He brought her face up to his lips, before mumbling for her not to blink or move. His tongue flicked out, licking the blood from her eye, the girl's tear-stained eyelashes batting against his tongue. He let her face go, the girl not turning from him, nor taking her eyes from him. He did not deter his gaze, holding his arms out slightly. Her lower lip trembled, her brow furrowed, and she plummeted into his chest, holding onto his shirt for what little bit of life she could contain in her limp, useless body.

Natalia shuddered. That was the first time she realized that perhaps in this world, Prussia would be her only savior from Hell. She turned over, seeing the bony, slender back of the albino man, her fingers trailing over an old scar he had received from war. It wasn't delicate nor tender any longer, but if pressed against too hard, it still caused him pain. The girl gave a weak smile at the gentleness in which she found herself capable of having towards this man, even though before they had lived together, she loathed his entire being. She had loathed everything about him, and she could not understand why she had. He had saved her from causing her own demise- Even though there were darker secrets she held in her chest, she felt safe within this bed that held their dying bodies. As she traced the ridges of the tattered flesh, the albino rolled over, catching her fingers between his own. Their eyes met for only a moment, before he closed his, his hand still clinging to her skeleton fingers.