Please tell me I'm not the only one who monologues... well, that's where this little... thing... comes from. I was monologing in the shower, then wrote it down. Why I decided to post it at 3:06 in the morning, who knows. All I know is that I'm tired, and I wrote this when I was not-so-tired. It's got boy love in it, as in yaoi. If you don't like it, that's not my business, so you should just turn around and walk away. Or exit out, that works to. If you stayed, then I applaude you, and thank you. Please enjoy and feel free to leave a comment, or not. They are appreciated but not mandatory.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Hi. My name is Matthew. Matthew Williams, that is, and I want to tell you about me. For starters, my family. I have a brother, a father, and a papa. I know that some people think it's weird that someone has two dads, but I don't.

My brother's full name is Alfred F. Jones, and he is a red-blooded American. My papa's name is Frances Bonnefoy, and he's French. My father's name is Arthur Kirkland and he's British. Oh, and I'm Canadian.

I know this all sounds weird, but it will all make sense soon.

Okay, so Francis is actually my dad, but Arthur stole me when I was younger. Don't worry, it'll all work out, I promise. So Arthur is Alfred's dad, but he and Francis fought over who would raise him. And no, when all this happened, they were not together.

I guess I should tell you that we're all countries. Sorry that I forgot about that earlier. So it goes like this:

France (papa) found Canada (me), but England (father) wanted him (Canada) for himself, so he kidnapped me. England found America (Alfred), and now (somehow), we're all a happy family. I think that's about it. Oh! Except for the Cold War. I should explain that one.

So Alfred wasn't happy that Ivan (that's Russia) and I were together. That doesn't necessarily mean that the countries were 'together', it was just us, and that was fine.

Anyway, so Alfred didn't like the fact that his baby brother (my birthday's actually three days before his) was 'in love' (he didn't believe it. I think he thought I'd been brainwashed or something) with 'That Commie Bastard'.

This lead to a war, which ultimately lead to Ivan breaking up with me. Don't worry, it was staged. After the war, however, I got really pissed at Alfred. I talked him (literally) into submission. He tends to leave me alone most of the time now, which gives me plenty of alone time with Ivan. I sort of have to both thank, and curse Alfred for the staged breakup. I thank him because it made mine and Ivan's bond stronger. I curse him, because it almost ripped us apart first.

After the 'breakup', Ivan wanted to assure me that it wasn't real, so he showed me his body for the first time. He'd always hesitated before, and now I knew why. His body was marred by dozens of scars.

He had stood there, for several minutes, with a completely exposed torso, for the first time in forever. And I said nothing. I did nothing. He saw nothing from me. That look on his face when I stared vacantly, unable to move, was enough to break my beating heart.

I guess when most people see something like this, they might say words like 'monster', 'horrible', and 'hideous'. The only word that formed in my mind, however, was 'beautiful'. I thought Ivan's scarred, mangled-looking body was absolutely beautiful. Too bad I couldn't breathe, I could only stare at the expanse of Ivan's chest, and his back.

I wished more than anything that I could have reassured him, that I could have expressed my feelings. Unfortunately, I was unable. I wished that I could have at least shown him with my eyes, but I think all he saw, as insecure as he was, was hard, cold hatred.

For almost an hour after he left, I just stood there, the words he'd said seared into my mind. "You are no different than anyone else."

That was when I finally broke down. After an hour I fell to the floor in shock. It was the kind of shock that doesn't allow you to cry or feel anything. I had shakily pulled out my phone and called Ivan. He hadn't picked up. In fact, he never picked up after that.

I cried a lot for the next several months. I wouldn't see anyone, not even Alfred. I became self-destructive, and Canada almost died out. Nobody knew, however, because nobody cared enough. There was only ever one person who had ever really cared enough, and that was Ivan, and he was gone.

Finally, I couldn't stand it. I couldn't live without Ivan, the only person who ever loved me more than I loved him.

There I stood, with a knife in my hand, crying my heart out in my living room. Someone burst in, and as I looked over to see who it was, my still-beating heart leaped into my throat. There he stood, after all those months apart. Ivan rushed over to me and took the knife, dropping it onto the floor. He took me in his arms, petted my hair, and said, "Oh my sunflower, I am so glad I came here." I cried into his jacket as he calmed me down. We fell to the floor, he was on his knees, and I was clutching to him with all the strength I had left.

After what felt like hours, I finally stopped crying. He held me in his arms and said everything would be okay. That was when someone else came in, and it registered with me that it was the military. They took Ivan away from me, they handcuffed him and fought them all the way to the door. Before they could take him away from me again, I took the knife in both hands and with fresh, angry tears, said, "Don't you dare take him from me! I swear to God I'll do it! Let him go!" Of course, they had thought he'd been hurting me, but in fact the opposite was true.

They uncuffed him and he ran back to me. Ivan took the knife and threw it, almost taking a man's head off before it struck the wall. He hugged me, I hugged him, we hugged each other in a loving embrace. As the soldiers looked on, watching awkwardly from the door, Ivan tilted my head back to look at him, then kissed my tear-stained lips. I have yet to experience something sweeter than a true and gentle kiss from one's long lost lover.

Even after we reunited, I would wake up crying in the middle of the night, fearing that it was all just a dream. On those occasions, now less and less often, Ivan would be woken up by the sound of my sorrow, and would tell me that it was all okay. He would promise that it would never happen again, and he would forever guard my injured heart.

A while later, I got to see him again. His body exposed for me to gaze upon. He feared my hatred, though there was none, and was terrified by what I would say. He flinched as my hands found their way along his scars, and he winced as I kissed his body. Never has a love as powerful as this one been found. When he asked me what I was thinking, I replied with a smile, saying, "You're beautiful."

At first he could not believe his ears, until I revealed my reasoning. I told him, "Yes, every scar that flaws your skin is a reminder of every battle you've won or lost, but each is also a reminder that you survived. You made it through so much pain and suffering, but the fact that you're here now is amazing. I do not fear your many battles, nor how many people you've fought. The only thing I fear is that you believe I'd think that. I do not see a monster, I see a man. A man marked by his history. How is that not beautiful?"

He asked me why I hadn't said so before, and I told him that I was afraid. I had been afraid that my smaller number of minor victories would not, no… could not, measure up to his greatness.

I just now notice how far I've strayed from my original intention. I cannot recall what it was. I suppose that this is, now, a story about true love, and how it can never be lost to darkness, fear, or even war. Through all it surpasses, and finds its way into the lightest of souls, to pierce the darkest of hearts…