It's completely unorthodox. There's nothing that should link us together; he's not my father, not my brother, not my neighbor. He isn't my enemy, we've never fought or held a treaty. He's just Germany.
None of the other countries expected it. They thought that France would come back to sink his claws into America and I had something and it was just a matter of time before I ended up with one of them. He was destined to fall in love with Italy or Romano, not a shy country from the North.
What an unlikely couple we make, but I wouldn't want things any other way. I love his calloused hands stroking my hair when we cuddle. His strong arms around me when we hug. His slightly parched lips that tell me tender things I don't understand; that kiss me so gently.
He can spot me across a crowded room. He finds me and slips his hand into mine. We walk together, nobody sees me, only Germany alone. But it doesn't matter like it used to, he sees me, he pulls me close and our lips meet. He whispers that I'm beautiful, and I wrap my arms around his waist and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.
At night I cuddle close to him and play with his fingers. I gently kiss his palms and cheeks. I'm too shy to meet his mouth, instead I hide shyly in his neck and mumble in French, he chuckles and pets me softly. I look into his eyes and blush furiously. I sleep so soundly in his arms every night; my dreams are filled with gentle things now, the nightmares quelled by his presence.
When I wake his heart still greets me, He once confessed that it quickens every time I'm near. He kisses my forehead and murmurs gently, "Good morning Canada,"