From long before the first moment that they'd locked eyes, it had been very clear that Prussia and Belarus would never actually like one another. It was questionable whether they would ever be able to move much past utter contempt, though there wasn't much hope for that.

There was absolutely no difference as that particular day progressed. But self-serving coincidence actually leading to agreement had caused them to look at the other for the first time since the establishment of the union. If anything, their mutual dislike had only grown.

They were both selfish individuals, so solely focused upon their own survival and well-being that the rest of the world may just as easily not have existed at all; it was just that their methods were different. She sought out comrades with essentially no regard for their compliance or well-being as a result of it. He used the same, if not greater, fervor to collect and discard allies when the situation called for it.

Their individual strategies had successfully kept them both alive thus far, and maybe that was enough. It was certainly more than sufficient motivation so that they saw no real issue with using the other one that night.

Even if they refused to think about it.

The power of a million wars that struggled to release itself between her legs belonged to Russia. If she asked him to move, and he listened, it was an apology for pretending that he was terrified of her for so many years.

The woman whose nails were very purposely leaving long gouges in his back was… well, it wasn't Belarus to be sure. It wasn't Hungary either because he wouldn't accept it to be, even if the resemblance was uncanny.

There were no expectations of anything less, and thus when names were called for others who would probably never hear them, no mind was paid. And, if it could be helped, there wasn't even eye contact. It wasn't like they were proud that they had settled for fantasy, and settled for living that fantasy out with the one they were.

It was just that they were tired. Tired, lonely, sick, and more than a little scared that the next morning wasn't going to come. All it would take was for America or Russia to get tired of their little stand off; to decide that it would be so much easier to press a button than to sit around in tension. Whatever they thought of either of them, they both knew the level of childish impatience on both sides, and the possibility wasn't far off.

The two small nations knew the risks just as much as anyone else, and all they wanted was to be held and told that at least for the moment someone actually cared enough to lie to them and say that they would be okay at the end of this. That they would still be alive to see what the end of this would look like.

Neither of their egos would allow for such a concession, but that was mutually understood and expected so it was just fine.

When they finished, after she screamed for Russia and he just plain screamed, there wasn't a single word exchanged.

Body language said that they each would enjoy, just once, finding out how much more bearable the winter was when there was another body holding them overnight. Or, maybe, what the sun might look like if there was someone to wake up to it with. They both assumed, they both had heard when they had pretended not to eavesdrop, that such a thing was wonderful.

But neither one could suspend their disbelief enough to let that happen. Once the cloud of lust was gone, it was just the two of them, together. Equally pathetic, equally hated, and covered in the fluids of the other as if to do nothing more than cement that.

They'd refused to meet eyes as she hastily got dressed and headed back to her own territory. And the next day, when they ate their obligatory meals and went to obligatory meetings under Russia's close scrutiny, they would say nothing to one another. If asked what they had done the night before, they would say absolutely anything but the truth. If anyone asked, though nobody ever would.

The two would wait until there was enough fear, there was enough illness, and there was enough ability to lie to themselves for the cycle to start all over again.

Even if they refused to think about that.