In a dark sky above Versailles, France, a small but very extravagent home glowed brightly against the snow and ice. Inside was a holiday setting fit for royalty, with a perfectly-trimmed Christmas fur in the corner, decorated to a tee. Beside it, a roaring fire kept safely within an ornately-carved marble fireplace. Holly and glass figures dotted the room, along with golden garlands and bells. Three men resided in the warmly gleaming frontroom. Two countries, one civilian.

"Merry Christmas, Espagne," Francis purred, offering a small box wrapped in shimmering gold paper and tied with a tomato-red ribbon to his old friend.

Antonio sprang from his spot on the sofa and engulfed the Frenchman in a bone-crushing embrace with shouts of "Gracias!" and "Te amo, Francis!" before taking the box and pulling at the loose ends of the ribbon. He was blatantly esctatic, a man who'd never quite grown out of his childhood.

"Non!" Francis' voice could barely maintain a shrill tone as he choked back laughter, "you have to wait until morning, amour, or you'll be breaking tradition."

Neither the Frenchman nor the Spaniard noticed as their third companion, Germanic of descent, slunk into an armchair in the corner of the room, pointing away from the fireplace and enveloped in shadow. He scowled darkly at the tacky rose-patterned wallpaper; he'd come to this little party in hopes that he could enjoy Christmas eve with his so-called closest friends, but as the hours ticked by, Antonio and Francis had seemed to have forgotten he was there. He curled himself into a ball on the chair, tensing his shoulders as the duo behind him shared another jovial laugh.

In the long run, Gilbert supposed he couldn't blame his companions for forgetting him. He wasn't technically a country any more, and he knew other countries seldom paid attention to civilians. He was no longer Prussia, was no longer East Germany, he was just old, battlescarred Gilbert and he felt completely alone. He curled himself tighter, feeling a chill that was by no means caused by the fire-heated foyer.

"Gil? Gilbert, what are you doing over there?"

Leave it to Antonio to be the first to notice him; he'd always had a kinder soul than Francis.

"Prusse? Why are you hiding, mon ami? Is hide and seek awesome today?"

He could hear the Frenchman stifle a snicker. What an obnoxious fool. Gilbert wondered how they'd ever become friends.

"Gilbert, turn around already!"

Antonio's voice had become more demanding, most unlike him. He was impatient, probably just wanted Gilbert to turn around so he could see him out. In response, the Prussian tightened his grip on himself.

"Prusse?"

"NEIN. Lass mich in ruhe!"

He felt tears forming and he sniffled furiously; Prussian men did not cry.

"But...Gil...if you don't turn around, how can we give you your present?"

A moment after the Spaniard spoke, two red eyes and a scruffy mess of white hair peered around the back of the armchair. His movements were cautious, suspicious of his comrades, and this threw them idly off balance before Francis shook himself, smiled again, and offered another box. This one was wrapped in midnight blue paper and finished with a silver bow. Gilbert's eyes widened as he reached for the box.

"You thought we forgot you, mon amour? That's ridiculous!"

"Si! Gilbert, how could we forget you?"

Gilbert looked at the floor; "I thought you...I'm not Prussia..."

Antonio blinked rapidly in confusion, but Francis understood in that second why his friend was suffering. He slid around the armchair and slipped an arm around the Prussian's shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

"Mon amour, you may not be a country, but you are alwways Prussia to me. I will never forget about you."

Hot chocolate spiked with an unknown liquor was served as the three men cut a chocolate cake, laughing and chatting once more. Three men, two countries, and one Prussia.