"I'll take the bed. You can have the couch."

That's what Belarus had said shortly after dinner, much to America's dismay. Not that he was in this for a physical relationship, oh no. He simply liked to cuddle, and it got cold at night.

"Of course!"

That's what America had said. No fighting. No arguing. He even refrained from puppy dog eyes this time. It's what she wanted, and so it's what he gave.

But he was still alone. Alone on the couch, the night growing ever colder, the dark ever quieter. There would be a creak every so often, the house being so old it was settling, and America would tense.

He wasn't afraid. Of course not. He wasn't afraid of the dark. He wasn't cold. He was a hero. He was a good boyfriend. He'd persevere, even if he knew the bed would be warmer.

There was another creak, this one louder than the others. America further stiffened, carefully listening. If it was a ghost, he'd have to save Belarus. It wouldn't be right of a hero to leave a young lady--he ignored the fact that she was probably older than he was--by herself.

"Are you still awake?"

America jolted up. "Belarus?"

She stared at him from the doorway for a moment before walking over and sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Is...is something wrong, Bela?" America held back a gulp as Belarus shot him a glare. She did so hate that nickname.

"No, nothing's wrong," she muttered, laying down alongside--and against--America. "The bed was too big. This is far more comfortable."

America put his arms around Belarus, holding her close, smiling.

The night continued on, cold, silent but for the occasional creak. But America didn't mind as long as Belarus was by his side.