A Kiss with a Fist

Redamancy

America screamed as the door to the bathroom smashed open.
"America," Belarus said looking at him fiercely, "What does this mean."
She then proceeded to throw the crumpled up airplane letter at him. He stared at it, slowly turning redder and redder.
"...You know this is the guys bathroom, right?"
"I'm aware of this, now explain this letter."
America sighed, running a hand in his hair. "You're really going to make me say it?" Belarus firmly nodded her head. "...It's a love letter. Natalia, I love you."
"Really?" She hated how she sounded, like she was desperate. "Why? How did you know? When did you find out?" She was inching towards him, her eyes wide in disbelief.
For as long as she remembered, she had always loved Russia. She never thought they would ever be apart. It was her firm belief that if one day, she said "I love you" enough to Russia, he would give in and love her back.
That day never came.
When the USSR broke up and she was ripped away from her dearly beloved brother. She was forced to live with the foolish America. Then she found herself thinking less about Russia and more about America. He would do the stupidest things to make her smile and be happy. He would also do the sweetest things, too.
Like put flowers all over the house.
Like building her her own studio, so she could read, sew, make art in a quite place.
Like stay up all night with her on days she couldn't sleep, even though he was dead tired.
She started to realize during her stay with America that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't really in love with her brother.
She was just in love with the idea of not being alone.
That was one thing America never let her be at his house, alone. Whenever she was with her beloved brother, though, she felt very lonely.