He trudged up beside the blond and rested a hand above his brow, though the snow below was brighter than the soft light coming from the clouded sky. The white expanse flanking them was flawless, snow twinkling infinitely on even through the gaps between bare, slumbering trees. In front of them, however, footprints, mounds, and marks of all kinds littered the park.

America let out a happy breath and placed his fists on his hips, squinting in a very pleased way at their snow town. He called it Washington D.C. Junior, seeing as the placement of its buildings greatly resembled the ones in the city they were modeled after.

But now was not the time to become sidetracked. Lithuania's mitten was missing, and the sun was starting it's trek to the horizon. America had lent his gloves to him, saying he had to be a good host, though the cold was now definitely getting to him.

They started with picking through the outskirts of the town and slowly spiraled toward the middle.

"Toris, this is it, right?" America called.

Lithuania genlty set a clump of snow acting as a roof back onto a building and tiptoed through the uneven streets in his clunky snowboots. They were an old pair of America's and were a bit too big. So it was no surprise to the Lithuanian when the toe of one boot got caught in a hole they forgot to fill causing him to fall forward with a thump. America gave a shout, then a louder shout and told him not to move. Lithuania could hear him dancing though the blocks.

"I'm sorry," he said, chancing a look in America's direction. He could feel the hours of cold, patient work under his body, smothered beyond repair.

"Don't you worry," the blond replied, batting a hand as he knelt next to an unrealistically large pile of snow by the fallen country's elbow. "Those little snow people were away anyway. Besides, at least you didn't hit this fella, here." He gave Lithuania a grin as he jabbed a red thumb toward the mound. "See, this is the White House. And if you destroyed it, that would be a pretty serious terrorist act."

Lithuania raised his eyebrows and gingerly pushed its roof into place.

"This is it, right?" the blond repeated, holding up a woolen mitten.

"Yes, that is it." He slowly lifted himself into a sitting position and took the article from America's offering grasp.

"Swell! Now let's get outta here," America said, jumping to his feet. "We're behind schedule—if we don't hurry, everyone's gonna close up shop before we can find proper gifts!"

"G-gifts?" Lithuania asked, standing and brushing the town off his front.

" . . . For the party? Rememb—Aw, applesauce! I forgot to tell you. Sorry, pal. But there's a party tonight."

The Baltic felt his insides dropping in temperature, and it wasn't from his most recent blunder. "A party."

America edged his hat up and scratched his forehead. "What's eating you? It's just a party."

Lithuania focused on making it safely to the city limits before responding. Another party. With drugs and alcohol and young women that weren't loyal to their partners, and most definitely the same for young men. "I . . . will it be different than before?"

"Of course! There'll be a lot more dames, since they get free drinks, tonight. And we're going to pass around Valentine's Day gifts. And everyone will look like humans. I think. There was a costume party last year—lotsa love bugs and cupids—so I'm not really sure. I forgot to ask that part. But it won't matter much. Not everyone dresses up, so we won't look like a couple of killjoys or anything of that sort." America shrugged as he grabbed the sled's rope.

Lithuania closed his eyes and pinched his nose as they made their way to the sidewalk. Liaukis. You are not helping anything. He didn't need to act out. He just had to tell the blond that he did not want to attend. America would listen. But would it be rude? Inconsiderate, it seemed. Lithuania frowned. Not inconsiderate. He was considering America.

"Hey, buddy. Really, what's got you all balled up?" America paused and dropped his hands to his sides.

"I-uh—"

"The air's fresh with love, the sun is shining on the other side of those clouds, and the neighbor lady's son is selling cupcakes for half-price at the shop just down the block! So why in the world aren't you smiling?"

"U-um, I . . . " No. America was right. A party could actually be fun. If he ignored all the law-breaking and—

Who was he trying to deceive? Certainly, it couldn't be himself. He knew better. He wasn't like a young adult going through a rebellious streak, convinced that they weren't going to be the one to get bogged down, chewed up, and spat back out by the city. He wasn't going to be hypnotized by the dazzling lights that would mingle with the stars come nightfall. He had been young, once. He had thought he would succeed. But pretending to be invincible was foolish—thinking it would last for more than a moment, a mistake.

Living from year to year, day to day, like a normal individual was enjoyable, yes, but made it much harder to spot impending dangers. Thinking back through hundreds of years, he knew his past was riddled with errors, ranging from personal to continental.

America was still young, however, with hardly a century-and-a-half of experience. Though, as far as Lithuania knew, he had not yet failed, it did not mean things would continue in such a fashion. And with the chance that they could in mind, for it seemed a little early to tell, it did not excuse the fact that the blond would still have personal regrets, and probably already did. Everyone had regrets, didn't they? Or could America really be such a wonderful place that—

". . . Toris?"

Lithuania broke from his trance-like ponderings and whipped his head around to face America.

The blond laughed. "Welcome back to Earth, pal. But while you were gone, I was thinking. And I think I get it."

"Y-you do?" Relief warmed his tingling fingertips.

"Yeah. I do. You don't wanna go to the party."

Lithuania nodded vigorously. "Yes, I don't. I-I mean—yes, that is right. No, I do not."

"Because you already have a special someone."

He blinked. "W-wh . . . pardon?"

America whooped, a large cloud of fog forming around his head. He slapped Lithuania on the back and laughed, then shook his numbing fingers. "Ouch. Anyway, I knew it! Well, I didn't really, but I had a notion. I mean, at first I was a little worried, because you are sort of an Ethel, and you don't seem the least bit interested in girls—I was hoping it was just 'cause you're European and all, and I haven't met any European fellas that'll go right up to a girl and flirt with her besides Francis . . . but then again he's France, and flirts with everyone. And, um. That's as far as I got." He shrugged.

"I do not—do not think I understand what you are inferring."

"For a minute there I thought you were batting for the other team."

Lithuania shook his head.

"Um." America was gesturing at the air, trying to grasp the words to form the explanation he was searching for. "That you . . . like men."

"I like plenty of men."

The blond arched an eyebrow. "Ro . . . mantically?"

Lithuania's eyes slowly widened as he realized what America was saying, and what he had said. "No, I, um, friends."

"So you do have a girl."

He wasn't sure how America made the connection. But Belarus came to mind, and he tried to stay calm while he reddened from his ears to his nose, hoping it wouldn't be conspicuous, since he was already slightly red with cold.

America's face broke into a grin. "And who might she be?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

The brunette closed his eyes as he painfully drowned in burning embarrassment. "Sh-she is in Europe—"

"Aw, that's too bad. Why don't you ever write her letters? Unless you do in secret." America nudged him with his elbow.

Lithuania shook his head. "It is . . . difficult. We, um . . . " Dievas so help me, why is this discussion taking place? "We were—had a union, and she and I were m-m—"

America's eyebrows shot up, and it was his turn for his eyes to widen. "You mean you've already walked the middle aisle?"

"T-taip, more than once—but not with her, I . . ." He shook his head harder. Why was it so difficult to say? Why did he have to stumble over his words like such a—

"Wait, you were married before, too? How many wives do you have? Is that normal where you're from? Because I thought—"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No, I-I am not—not married at the moment. Right now. I have not been for a long time. Though it was a short time ago. I . . . marriage is not a regular thing for me."

"So who were you first married to?"

"Felik—Poland," he replied without thinking. He realized an instant too late that of course America would jump to conclusions.

"So you do swing for the other side? And yet you were married to a—"

"M-Mi—Alfred, no, please, I . . . you are making it sound different than it is. Was. Y-you are diverging from the—"

"Wait, so was it just one of those alliances?"

"We became a commonwealth."

"And what about the dame? Is he jealous you married her?"

Lithuania paused. Such a thought had never occurred to him. It wasn't as if he and Belarus had essentially wanted to be wed. Maybe under disparate circumstances. But Poland had known that, right? The brunette pulled his sliding hat back over his ears. Then suddenly everything snapped into place with such clarity, he felt giddy.

America's brows knitted as he steadied his friend. "Maybe we should sort this out at home."

Lithuania nodded, though he could already see that the topic would not be brought up again. At least not for a while. He picked up the rope America had dropped, and followed the tall country straight through the city to his house.

The cupcakes and gifts that wouldn't be bought all looked so lovely in the shop windows as they passed by.

When they reached the house, America went straight to firing up the stove and heating water in the range boiler for their hands. Then hot chocolate.

Lithuania was sweating, though, even as he took their winter gear to the cool cellar so he could hang and dry it all. Stuck in the strange medium where his extremities were next to freezing, yet everything else was burning from excursion. He took some anyway, simply to help warm his fingers.

"So," America started.

He sighed. The pit in his stomach told him he had been wrong. America could be very persistent at times. The Baltic started to understand that the blond opted for history from the source, not university books and newspapers. "Yes?"

"You married Poland, and then you married this girl? Did you, you know, divorce first?"

Lithuania leaned forward wearily. So it was back to Poland. "We were married hundreds of years ago. We were not much more than two children. It . . . was . . . broken up. Toward the—" Lithuania dropped his eyes to the sugary foam swirling together into a blanket over the hot chocolate beneath it. "Toward the end . . . the partitions. I worked for Russia un-until just recently."

"So you didn't want to divorce?"

"No, I . . . I do not know."

America raised his eyebrows, forming a very skeptical look he often focused on other people when it was obvious they were lying. Lithuania had seen it dozens of times. The pit in his stomach grew into nausea, so he moved the hot chocolate to the counter. "And about the dame?"

Lithuania sank to his seat. "She is Russia's young-younger sister."

Silence filled the room. He watched America thoughtfully swish the contents of his cup around for a full, painful minute.

"So you married Russia's younger sister."

"He wanted it."

"But you carry a torch for her?"

"I—pardon?"

"You like her. Romantically."

"Y-yes."

"Well, then her brother can't be that bad of a guy, right?"

"He is insane," Lithuania replied flatly. He was not about to thank the Russian for helping him with his romantic problems. Especially since they were for tactical advantage. Why else would he be allowed to do that? Russia was very protective of his sisters. And things he was protective of never stayed out of his grasp for long.

"Wh . . . really?"

"Mentally unstable." The Baltic could remember watching him break. But he would spare these recollections. Even from his closest friend.

"Why aren't you married now?"

He bowed his head, running fingers through his hair. "Lietuvos–Baltarusijos Tarybinė Socialistinė Respublika. That is what we were called. Within months, the government dissolved. Neither of us really wanted it. She didn't want it. She . . . thought of it as her annexation. She is tired of me, I think." His lungs felt like they were caving along with his hope. He rested his forehead on his palms and studied the table. "Poland . . . he and Russia were waging war with each other. We were in between. We were under control. Poland overtook the capital–my capital, originallythen hers. And . . . more war."

"Oh . . ."

"He will not give it back."

"Couldja repeat tha"

Lithuania looked up. America was doing this on purpose, he could see it in his expression! His cheeks were heated with agitation, but he didn't have the heart to glare."He will not give it back."

"Come again?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed a fist on the table and raised his voice. "Poland stole my capital!" He crumpled in his chair, head slowly falling to the table. "Tu avigalvi!" he shouted, slapping the tabletop with more force. His hand balled up as he calmed himself. This was ridiculous. unacceptable. It left him feeling empty. Yet so much better.

But the pain, the pain was so unbearable at times. To have a heart but not completely your own. Rending itself and mending itself. Always beating. The sound foreign yet familiar from centuries of listening to the idle rhythm.

If Poland took it out of jealousy, he was wretched. More self-centered than the Baltic had always assumed. He was a child at mind, just like the Russian. But instead of trying to force what he wanted into his reach, he took what he wanted and broke what he couldn't have.

Lithuania was broken.

"All I wanted was freedom," he managed to get out.

He heard America's chair scrape across the floor. A hand on his back. Lithuania peered up, trying not to look as hopelessly lost as he felt.

"Then you came to the right place." The corners of his mouth drew up into a solemn smile. "Welcome to the Land of the Free."


AN;;

And the hero strikes again!

Hey, guys, this is the first time I wrote the majority of a chapter in the document thingy here. Mostly because I got a laptop as a reeeeeaaaally early Christmas present (yay~!), meaning I have nothing besides notepad, and partly because I wanted to see what it's like.

So far it's pretty cool. My open office on the other computer didn't have a dictionary, so I was relying heavily on my spelling skills. For some reason I constantly spell living room wrong, though just now I didn't because I don't know why. My brain and I harbor a love/hate relationship. And for some reason it's more of a meh/extremehate relationship when I'm writing.

It kinda sucks.

A lot.

SORT OF LIKE HOW MY PARENTS KEEP COMING DOWNSTAIRS WHILE I'M TRYING TO WRITE MY AUTHOR'S NOTE AND I KEEP ACCIDENTALLY CLOSING THIS TAB AND HAVING TO START OVER FROM "FOR SOME REASON" A BAJILLION TIMES. Though I guess it's not really their fault. There's a rule that I'm not supposed to be computering at bedtime. It's a few hours after bedtime so I'm obliterating that rule as I type this...

Anyway, I hope you guys understand that no, America and Lithuania aren't super amazing snow sculptors. Mounds does not describe a quality anything. Maybe a quality candy bar, but that would be based on opinion. For example, I find coconut to taste so horrible it makes me gag, therefore I do not find the candy bar to be quality. Because I think part of the quality would be the taste.

But I'm going off on a tangent aaaahhhh.

Guys. I'm a sophomore. It's amazing. Bye bye fresh meat, hello squashmore. And I'm in the band. Pure. Awesomeness. And I have my permit. Scary awesomeness.

Enough about me! D :

So basically, my plan was to squish three days into one chapter. Not so hard, right? Start on the 14th, end on the 16th, hilarity and possible fluff ensuing like usual.

Not so much.

So I'm writing, writing, writing then-

brain: HEY. YOU. YEAH, YOU. WTF DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? HUH? THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE VALENTINE'S DAY. WHOEVER HEARD OF ANYTHING GOOD HAPPENING ON VALENTINE'S DAY (besides your parents getting married (true story))?

me: ... So what do you suggest?

brain: Just follow my lead~

me: /follows

me: What in the world just happened to my cute-fluff story. You killed it. I hate you.

brain: Nah, you love me and you know it. Now get this - - it's Valentine's Day. He deals with love. Valentine's Day has hearts, right? Guess who is dealing with his heart? Eeeh? So whaddaya think? Good stuff, right?

me: Oh my gosh I hate you less. This is why you're (usually) in charge. So it's love and hearts and angst-type stuff at the same time. And how did you ever come to the conclusion Poland was jealous? I seriously did a double-take when I typed that.

brain: Miracles, bby. B]

Basically how it all went down.

No, they never made it to the party.

And I feel like a troll or horrible person or something. Because I wasn't actually planning on ever sharing what they got for Christmas.

: x ...Sorry.

Oh, and apparently using expletives in Lithuanian is not like using them in English. Well, I don't know about now. But definitely back then. It's hard to explain, and this note is already pretty long-winded.

But he's pretty much saying "You blockhead!"

Or at least that's the best I understand it.