A/N: I love this pairing. It just seems so raw to me. These two nations really have some tragic history, but somehow I think it brings them closer. Such a nice thing, really, to have someone who can understand your experiences. Sorry for the POV changes, it went from being China-centric to being about both of them to being about Russia before I could stop it.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not awesome enough to own Hetalia, it seems.

No matter how many of his poets wrote about love, no matter how many of his artists tried to capture it in paintings and ink, China knew that what they depicted was but an illusion.

Love wasn't easy; you didn't find it, you weren't swept off your feet by it, and it sure as hell hurt a lot more than it brought happiness to your life.

No, love was a luxury you had to work to keep.

Russia was nothing that China had ever imagined for himself--he was much too tall and much too blonde for that to be even remotely true. Their bodies did not fit together like puzzle pieces; China fit awkwardly against his chest and Russia had to bend down uncomfortably to kiss or hold him. Kissing Russia didn't make fireworks explode behind China's eyes; it was simply a feeling of pressure and wetness, something he was just used to after all these years. Sex wasn't a slow, loving experience; instead it was almost violent, a desperate attempt to solidify that what lay before the two nations was real, that the person they needed most in the world was alive, and with them.

The mold that China had created in his head of what made a loving relationship shattered right in front of him upon meeting Russia. The blonde didn't fit in any of it, and yet he loved him, needed him, more than he could ever explain.

Both China and Russia had seen a lot in their lives. They had seen pain, torture, murder of the most gruesome kind…and those memories did not fade or weaken with time. No, those were the kind of experiences that burned their way into memory like none other could, that haunted you in your dreams and crippled your psyche.

They needed someone who understood that pain, that could help numb it, if only for a little while.

And no matter how childish, possessive, or needy Russia was, he understood China's soul, and that was all that the older nation truly needed. Someone to just know.

---

Russia woke with a start, images of famines and fires and blood and killing and disease pulling him out of sleep. He looked over at China, lying on his side next to him, his eyes closed and his brow slightly furrowed.

Russia pulled China closer to him, running his fingers through soft, inky strands splayed out across the pillow behind China's head. He readjusted himself to accommodate the new closeness of his bed partner, moving one arm up to serve as a pillow for his head.

The sleeping nation didn't stir, he didn't wake up to ask what was wrong or offer comforting words or small touches. And he didn't need to. There was nothing he could say, anyway, that would make it better.

Presence alone was enough.

Review? Sorry for the fail at angst, I need to practice.