A/N: I exist! That's right. I still exist. Hello. Wow. Been a long time hasn't it. Anyone still with me? Now I know I promised someone some LietPol/PolLiet somewhere early on. So. Here you are. Do enjoy, darlings! Sorry for the absence!

It wasn't as if he'd been putting it off. Oh, no, not at all, Feliks would never do that! He was just air-headed sometimes. That was the only reason that he hadn't been around, that he hadn't been knocking down his friend's door - his best friend, above everything else, his friend in the rye fields, his Litwa, his Liet. There was no connection to the fact that when he had first seen him after that freedom had been reached there was no Liet in his eyes, only Toris. No, nothing at all.

It wasn't out of shame for the fact that Feliks could do nothing for his friend while his dearest friend sat in the over-tight grip of that monster-man Ivan. That he just stood there - fell there, crumpled and useless and useless - and watched him be taken away while he did nothing. It wasn't that he was scared of Russia. He truly wasn't, though he was called a fool for it. It was just that he couldn't do anything. Couldn't help, couldn't try, couldn't even be there.

It also had no relation to the fact that his face was still bruised and bloodied and so very ugly from both Russian and German hands. No, there was no connection to the mars that had refused to fade on his well-kept skin. Feliks couldn't stand ugly things, but loved the beautiful. That's why he had mirrors all over his - pink! - house, why he put so much care into how he looked every morning and made sure everything was perfectly arranged even if only he would see it. Especially if only he would see it. It was also why every mirror that hadn't been smashed had been covered in his home, and why over half the money he made went into thousand little tubes of cover up. 'Out of sight out of mind' was the saying, wasn't it? And Feliks made double sure that no ugly reminders would be able to catch his eye.

That's why he didn't frown as he traded out outfits for the fifth time that morning. Frowning caused wrinkles, frown lines, mars. Ugly ugly ugly, he wouldn't let himself be ugly. Light fingers pressed to the back of his scalp, where the knot had yet to go away, a horrible mar, but at least he could hide it fairly easily. Golden locks were flipped over his shoulder and smoothed down, blow-dried to make them fly out more in the back, and while he would normally detest the fly-away that this created (there's a reason he uses a straightening iron - flat hair looks more chic, and far better on him), but… it was far easier to hide any unsightly bumps when the contours of the head were hidden behind a mask of hair.

It was only because he wanted to look his best for Liet that he spent twice as long as usual dressing, not to cover up any lingering blemishes that might still exist. He was only making sure that he looked good for him. Perfect. Like before, like back when they grew up when the days were all warm and bellies were always full but not stretched. When nights lasted forever and they would stay up for hours and talk and laugh. When the rye fields always smelled sweet and the sun hit the stalks just right so everything turned to gold. Back when every single day was beautiful, and so were they.

And that was why it had been over two and a half years since he had so much as seen Liet - he had, of course, run out to see him first thing once he heard his friend was out, free, finally, and he heard quick, gossip hit Feliks before it hit anywhere else. Of course he had thrown open the doors and rushed out, fully planning to bang on his door until he was let in and pick up exactly where they had dropped off in a time that seemed forever ago.

Then he had remembered. Remembered that his hair was unbrushed and his head had a knob on it so large that he still couldn't cover it right, even with all the practice he'd had. That his face was bruised and his lip was fat and that he looked disgusting, dirty, ugly.

Then he had remembered, too, that his Liet wouldn't care about that, even if Feliks himself would feel gritty and terrible about it. And then he was full set to open the door anyway, because if anyone could see him ungroomed it would be Liet. And it was in that moment of decision that he saw Lithuania.

Lithuania, not Liet. Not Litwa. Not his friend from the rye fields. There was no Liet in that form, it was all Toris. Cowering, trembling at each little strangeness. Here was not the one he'd longed to see, who he'd been waiting for and left the house in tennis shoes and a hoodie and sweats to see. Here was no old friend, no dear one held close in his mind and heard, a precious memory waiting to be let out. He didn't know this broken body of a man, pale, gaunt, not even a shadow of his Liet, his Litwa. Liet he knew. Not… not this stranger…!

And Feliks ran. He ran until he couldn't anymore, until he dropped to his knees inside the doorway to his house and cried. And he cried until he gagged, until he choked on his own tears and had to run again, a stumble-run that took no account for little vintage-looking (in truth they were genuine antiques that he'd had around for ages but had put away until they were cute and fashionable again) tables and chairs and furnishing, until he was crouched over his toilet heaving out nothing.

Because he had seen. Because he had seen and been disgusted with more than just himself. And because he knew. He knew.

Liet, his darling, precious Liet who he loved above all else, who he held the highest image in his head and longed for, waited for… Liet was beautiful. But Liet was gone, and in his place was this… this trembling, twisted thing called Toris.

And he was unbelievably ugly.

A/N: Reviews make my heart soar. Some even think they make me write more!