So, the Berlin wall was down, everyone was reunited, everything was awesome.

Prussia himself was perfectly happy, far happier than he ever expected he could be (Prussia didn't know why he wasn't dead, and he didn't know if he would die, and he didn't know if his living was hurting Germany somehow, and he didn't know if his being alive meant that something catastrophic was about to happen to Germany, and he had never been perfectly happy and at peace before and he didn't know what to do with himself and-).

However, in this modern world of happy perfection there was one great, glaring imperfection .

Hungary and Austria's love life.

Or rather, lack thereof.

When Prussia had asked Hungary about it (yes, really, he'd asked, okay maybe not directly, but she'd known what he meant) she'd said something about times changing and moving on, and how they were their own nations now and who knew what the future would hold, a relationship could complicate things.

And it had been quite a long time since they were married, and it honestly hadn't been the happiest of marriages then. It wasn't like Hungary needed Austria, seriously, it was Austria who needs him, but Prussia could tell by the way she laughed about it that she still loved him, and sure she was perfectly fine without him, but she missed being with him. She just wouldn't admit it.

And of course, Austria, the idiot, had no idea.

The problem, in short, was communication. Austria and Hungary needed to talk about their feelings (don't laugh).

So, this wasn't the first time that Prussia had done this. It wasn't even the first time that he had done it to Austria. Prussia had, in fact written countless fake love letters to Austria over the centuries, posing as all sorts of people, much to other people's anguish and Prussia's own amusement.

Prussia had never, however, done this with good intentions before.

It somehow made the whole thing feel morally iffy.

But Hungary was pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't, and Austria was pining. He wasn't even trying to pretend not to be pining, because Austria, the melodramatic sop, let his emotions dribble all over the place. Not, like, loudly, because he was a gentleman, or whatever. But his pining drooped everywhere, annoyingly obvious if you knew him at all, which Prussia unfortunately did. He was pining so piningly that his whole country was covered in Essence of Pining, a miasma so thick that it threatened to leak over the border. Ew! Gross! No! Something had to be done.

Enter the Awesome Prussia.

Prussia was very good at what he did. The handwriting forgery was not the easy part , but it was the part that Prussia was so practiced at he could almost do it in his sleep. He'd forged the handwriting of almost every nation in Europe, as well as nations outside of Europe, people who weren't nations, etc.

The trickier part was the actual content of the letter. Prussia had written these before, but never like this. No, this time it needed to be sincere . No clever insults that are only apparent on second or fourth reading, no subtle undertones that imply that the sender is an idiot, only deep, genuine heartfelt love, the love that both parties felt, but were too stubborn to come out and admit. Idiots. (really, don't.)

The letter to Austria was by far the easier of the two, even though Austria was about as attractive as a damp rag. Less attractive, actually, damp rags are useful. Still, it wasn't too hard to write a fake love letter to him, firstly because Prussia had done it before, and secondly because because as far as Prussia could tell Austria didn't have the good qualities God gave damp rags, any good qualities he could think of to mention were ones Hungary had told him about, and finally because he knew Hungary pretty well, so impersonating her wasn't too hard or, like soul-crushingly horrifying or anything.

Hungary, on the other hand, had innumerable good qualities, and Prussia had no idea which ones of them Austria actually appreciated. And furthermore, writing to Hungary involved impersonating Austria. It involved getting into the headspace of Austria, it involved getting into the headspace of Austria deeply, amorously in love with his best friend. Ew! Yuck! Who would ever want that ? Also, Prussia had only written Hungary a fake love letter exactly once. It was supposedly from Poland, the fallout was fantastic, and Hungary had made him promise, on pain of terror, Never to do that again.

… This was for a good cause, though. Hungary would forgive him.

… … Right?

He didn't really need to send a letter to Hungary. She could see Austria's egregious pining as well as anyone else. But still, there's a difference between knowing and being told outright. Just because someone knows you love them, doesn't mean you don't still have to tell them. Austria was a wimp. (...)

Anyway, Hungary wouldn't be any less furious with him for writing a fake love letter from her, he'd never done that before. Might as well go all in.

The letter came on a sunny spring morning. The sky was blue, the birds were singing, everything was beautiful and as it should be.

Hungary's heart stopped a little when she saw Austria's familiar handwriting on the envelope.

It was a love letter, and it was so incredibly romantic and heartfelt, that she teared up a little in spite of herself. She read it through, and then read it again.

Some highlights include:

"I think of you often. I think that I have never stopped thinking of you, you who have always held my heart in your keeping. But now that there are no barriers between us, no physical ones at least, I cannot seem to think of anything else. My thoughts are always turned towards you, and it breaks my heart to wonder if you ever think of me in return."

And:

"Though it's embarrassing, I'll admit that I spend hours of every day staring out my window, the one that faces you. I miss you so very dearly. All my music is mournful, yearning music now, I try to play more cheerful things and my heart is not in it."

It concluded:

"I don't know if you have feelings for me still. I know that we were not married long, and our marriage was not always a happy one. I only write this to tell you how I feel, and to ask: are you willing to try again?

If you have moved on, if you have no romantic feelings for me, I will understand and accept it. I cannot promise not to be hurt, but I know such feelings are selfish, and I will hope and endeavor to one day be a better friend to you than I was once a husband.

Yours eternally,

Roderich Edelstein.

Hungary thought of all the reasons she had to not to pursue a romantic relationship. They all seemed so hollow and empty in the light of Austria's letter. She wanted to speak to him in person. She called him.

Austria, meanwhile, had received his own letter. He had suspected it was some cruel joke of Prussia's at first, but upon reading it all doubts left his mind. The letter sounded like Hungary, it felt like Hungary, and it was such a very kind letter. He didn't think that Prussia was capable of such kindness even as a joke. He had read the letter five times and paced around his house with it held tightly to his chest, as if he could inscribe its words on his heart. He hadn't dared to hope. He had no idea what to do with himself now. His phone rang.

"Hello," he said, not sure yet if he was relieved by the distraction or annoyed by it.

"Hello Austria?" It was Hungary, her voice uncharacteristically shy, "I would like to speak to you. Could I come over to your house this afternoon?"

"Yes, of course, yes!" Austria said. In his heart, he was agreeing to a proposal of marriage.

"I read your letter," Hungary said, taking it from her pocket.

"My letter?" said Austria, "But you wrote…"

Both of them realized in the same moment.

Prussia will Pay , Hungary thought.

It was like a swooping empty feeling, the realization that all those things in her letter, all those things that had made her heart warm and her eyes tear up, had been empty, hadn't been real at all. And almost worse than that, it was a betrayal. She would never have dreamed that Prussia would do this to her, not like this, not with something he knew she cared so much about.

"Give me yours," she said to Austria. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

She began to read and… She couldn't be angry anymore.

Whereas the letter Prussia wrote impersonating Austria was sweepingly romantic, hers was much more frank. It detailed her feelings, all of them, as if Prussia had looked inside her mind and scooped them out of her.

"But what do you see in him," Prussia had asked her once, it must have been close to a century ago now. Here were all her answers. Sprinkled in lovingly between all her present hopes and fears. All the things she'd told him in conversation, and all the things in between that she hadn't said, but he had recognized all the same. He had remembered all of it, understood all of it, and put it all into words for her. She thought it might be, in it's twisted, Prussia sort of way, the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

It ended thusly:

"I've told myself so many times over the past few years that I don't need you. And in all honesty, it's true that I don't. But I think that we, as nations, sometimes get too swept up in what we need. We forget that it's alright to want things, that what we want matters too. I don't need you, but I want to be with you. I've decided that what I want, what we want, is important enough to overcome any difficulties that might come.

With love,

Hedervary Erzsebet"

He's right, Hungary thought, he shouldn't have chosen for me, but he's right.

Austria cleared his throat cautiously, "You read this," he said, holding the letter she'd received in his hands, "and then you came to see me?"

Hungary smiled at him. What did it matter that it had taken Prussia's meddling to get here, they were here now.

"I meant this," Hungary said of the letter she'd just finished, "every word. I didn't write it, but I should have."

"I would have written this too," Austria said, "if I'd gotten up the courage."

"Please, as if you could come up with something as romantic as " your smile is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, it warms me to my very soul,"' Hungary laughed. Now that she didn't feel quite so lied to, the whole thing felt ridiculous, "Do you really stare out your window in my direction for hours every day?"

Austria blushed, "That could have been an exaggeration."

"It could have," Hungary agreed , "but was it?"

"No," Austria admitted. Hungary grinned at him.

"You're adorable," she said.

"How did he know about this ," Austria said, hints of outrage coming back to him, as the situation truly sank in. He pointed to a part in the letter that read,

" I wrote a piece for you. I didn't mean to, it began as something else, but as I wrote it, and as I played it in my house, in the loneliness, every note was for you. So I scratched out the title and wrote For Hungary at the top of the page."

"I imagine he broke in and went through your things," Hungary said.

"He did break in and steal all my underwear once. And," Austria added thoughtfully, "Someone has been cleaning the house while I'm not looking. I thought it might be you?"

"Austria, I love you," Hungary said, and oh how easily she said those simple words now that it felt as though her soul had been laid bare, "But I don't love you nearly enough to be that deranged. Apparently Prussia does, though."

"Prussia," Austria sniffed, "is simply deranged. I think I'll start making messes on purpose now."

"No you won't. I'll be coming here often, and I refuse to be in a pigsty.," Hungary said.

Austria sighed. "I suppose I won't then," he said, "Really, though what was the point of all this?"

"The point," Hungary said, "Was that we, or, well mostly me, were being ridiculous, and he put a stop to it."

"What, and there's no ulterior motive?" Austria scoffed.

Hungary shrugged, "You can keep reading the letters until your eyes bleed, but I doubt you'll find any."

Austria shook his head, "My love life was rescued by Prussia ," he said, "I don't know if I'll ever recover from the ignominy."

Hungary laughed, "I won't tell," she said, "It is an irony, though. Prussia would die before he'd admit he has emotional needs. Now, come play me the music you wrote for me. I've been wanting to hear it all day."