|
|
Post by ☆ Y e l l o w ☆ on Dec 13, 2010 21:12:59 GMT -5
100 Themes ; Poland, Lithuania, LietPol 2. Love ;Love is a strange thing; this is something that Toris knows very well.
It started out innocently, just a friendship. Well, maybe not so innocently. Frankly Feliks annoyed him when he first met the small blond. He was inconsiderate, rude, and weird. And he never did his fair share of work, either. For the first several months of their relationship he couldn't stand him. And he wondered how in the world he was supposed to put up with such a lazy, selfish person as a partner.
Somewhere along the way, though, they had become friends.
That's what a relationship is about, isn't it? Seeing past the bad and finding the good of the person inside. Feliks wasn't all bad. He was actually funny and interesting to be around, and he was even kind when he wanted to be. Somehow Toris had went from bracing himself and dragging through each day to, well, bracing himself and enjoying each day. Feliks was his first true friend and, although he had his faults- a lot of faults, he would admit- Toris was grateful for the companionship and the loyalty that the unusual Polish Nation gave.
And then, somehow, he had even fallen in love.
Happiness doesn't last forever, though, and all too soon the two were separated. And even after they were reunited, it wasn't the same. Feliks had changed, somehow, and was demanding things of him that Toris just couldn't give up. Things that meant the world to him- even more than his friendship with Feliks.
It pained him to fight with his best friend. He didn't want to fight with Feliks, and every time he thought about their fight it just brought him more pain. But as long as Feliks was acting like he was, they could not be friends any more. It was the hardest decision Toris had ever made, but it was necessary.
He knows that after all these years, their relationship has never completely recovered. It has not been the same as those days when they'd been together, in the rye fields as young children. But, they've endured, and he hopes that if they lasted this long, maybe one day, it can be the way it once was.
Toris will always love Feliks, even if he will only admit it to himself.
And, deep down, he hopes that Feliks will always love him, too. 6. Break ;They were falling apart. Toris didn't want to believe it, but it was true. Their nation wasn't as strong as it once was, no longer defeating almost any enemy that stood in its way; now things had changed. It was difficult to accept that their enemies were growing more greedy and dangerous while they were weakening. But it was frustrating, and as a result his relationship with Feliks hadn't been going well either.
Feliks had been meeting with his bosses more often in attempts to help fix some of the problems. He would return home, though, frustrated and angry, always muttering about how nothing could ever get done. Stupid liberum veto or something of the sort. Toris knew that it was not his fault, or Toris' fault, that things were looking bleak. So he often tried to help them, hoping that they themselves wouldn't fall apart before their nation did.
This was one of those days. Feliks had walked into the house, without saying anything, and huffed and fell onto the couch that Toris was sitting on. It was quiet for several moments, neither speaking. They both knew what was happening, they were both stressed. It was times like these that made it obvious the rift that was forming between the two.
Toris moved closer to Feliks, reaching out to take the other boy's hand. "Do you want to talk?" He asked simply, softly. Feliks continued staring at the ceiling, but squeezed Toris' hand in return, his eyes closing briefly. It was still quiet.
It was some time later before Toris finally stood up. "I should probably, uh, check to see if all of the dishes are washed. Are you hungry? You probably are after being gone all day, I could see if I could make something..." He rambled on. "I could make some soup, or maybe kugelis, or how about-"
"Liet."
Toris froze, looking back over to the couch. Feliks was looking at him, his face completely blank, but sadness showing in his eyes.
"...Yeah?"
"No matter what, like, happens... we're totally still friends, right?"
"Of course."
They were breaking apart, but they would never give in. They would keep on fighting until the very end before they let their country be destroyed. They promised each other this. 10. Breathe;Toris used to love the winter. The peaceful serenity, the quietness, the beauty of it all. Winters in his homeland were bearable, actually pleasant because they were rather mild. He also loved the holidays, spending time off of work and celebrating. But all that had changed when he had been forced to live with Ivan. Winters in Russia were horrible, freezing, cold... if it wasn't the winter that he hated, it was his memories of the place. The loneliness, emptiness, everything about there was all too easily associated with the cruel season. Winters were no longer something he enjoyed but a reminder of things he wished he could forget.
He glanced outside the window of his home as he passed by and immediately froze. His breath hitched as he stared out the window at the infinite expanse of white, cold, emptiness. Flurries of snow blew about in the wind, forming random shapes, nothing comprehensible to the normal eye but not to Toris. All of the color drained from his face as he saw Ivan out there, his face cold, watching him. He saw Ivan smirking, the monster that he knew all too well, outside, staring at him. No, he couldn't be here, Toris was free, he couldn't be coming back to claim him, no, no, no-
Breathe.
Toris blinked and the vision was gone. He saw nothing but snow outside, the wind and his horrible memories playing tricks on him. Ivan was not here, he told himself, the times of being under his control were over. He took a shaky breath and backed up, leaning against the opposite wall and closing his eyes.
How long would it be before he would forget and move past this? He knew he had only become free recently, but more than ever he wanted to put everything behind him. The nightmares, the torture- everything. Right now he was focusing on rebuilding his nation so that it would become strong and never be taken over again, what more could he do? Maybe only time would tell.
If he could focus on other things, then maybe he could forget about everything else. Leave the past behind and look to the future, people say.
And having someone as high-maintenance as Feliks around often left him little time to worry about the past. 12. Insanity ;"Hey, Lithuania. We don't want children who can't play nice, right?"
Toris could not stop the chill that ran up his spine as he heard those words, nor could he prevent the sharp intake of breath as he realized what those words meant. Ivan stood, half turned, holding the gun in one hand and wiping a tear from his eye with the other. The chants of the people grew louder and Ivan paused, a pained look coming over his face. Toris froze, sure that the biting chill blowing in from the outside was not the only thing that was turning his blood to ice. In that moment, understanding hit him with an overwhelming force. The increasing instability of Ivan's emotions was not due to the situation in the war with Japan, as he had previously thought, but the result of something far more straining. As Ivan started to move, Toris broke out of his trance. "N-no! Wait, Mr. Russia, don't-"
It was too late. He was already gone, stepping out into the winter air and leaving the door open behind him. It was only moments before Toris heard the first of the gunshots, a noise that stopped his heart, terror rising up where realization had just been. He stepped away from the door, squeezing the papers he was holding as he tried to shut it out. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. Not even Ivan was that cruel...
He may have been a Nation and seen many wars before, even seen people die before his eyes, but there was something different between the battlefield and when innocent people came into the mix. As the screams started up, from angry to horrified, desperate screams, Toris fell to the ground, clutching his ears in a vain effort to block out the gunshots that assaulted them. He trembled, more scared than he had ever been in his life, terrified to imagine the scene that was playing out on the other side of the walls. Please, stop... he urged silently over the cries of men and women, until finally the explosions of gunpowder ceased. Then there was dead silence, the only noise being the wind as it howled angrily, blowing snow into the now freezing room.
For several minutes Toris did not move from his spot on the floor, crouched down with his hands covering his ears. He did not want to get up and see what his master had done, he couldn't. It seemed ages before he heard footsteps at the door, and he looked up to see Ivan finally walking back in. Toris couldn't believe his eyes.
Blood was splattered onto the Russian's coat, fresh and bright red. Even his precious scarf was stained with blood, but Ivan didn't seem to mind at that moment. The gun was swung casually over his shoulder, and he was grinning. A lighthearted smile which did not reach his eyes. His violet eyes, which had always been unnerving and rather scary, now were dull and cold. Staring into them, Toris felt a horrible sense of foreboding. Ivan had snapped. 14. Smile ;Feliks was stuck.
For the past several days he had been trying to come up with some sort of present to give to Toris. Recently the Lithuanian had not been in the best of moods. Something was clearly bothering him, either some issue with his home or his boss or something, Feliks didn't really know. Toris didn't tend to talk about his problems, instead keeping them to himself without trying to burden others. But the blond could tell that something wasn't right with his partner, and he wanted to cheer him up.
But what? Toris didn't have any hobbies that Feliks was aware of, and he was so kind, never asking for anything himself. There had to be something he would like, something that would bring a smile to his face. So, unable to come up with anything himself, Feliks went out to see if anyone else had an idea.
He went to his friend Italy first. Pasta, of course, was the first thing that came out of Italy's mouth when he was asked for a gift idea. "Maybe you could make him a white flag too~ that's a great present!" He exclaimed, grinning. "Or, you could sing a song! I'd love it if someone sang to me~" Needless to say, Feliks kept looking for more ideas after that.
Ugh, why did he even bother going to Francis? It was clear that asking him was a baaaad idea after the first two words that came out of his mouth. Alfred didn't have any good ideas either, so next Feliks found himself asking his good friend Hungary. Her advice, at least, made sense and it made him think. "Sometimes something material isn't always the best present," She'd said. "Think about a time when he was really happy and figure out why that was."
It had been good advice but it still left him wondering, so lastly he went to find Toris' friends, Eduard and Raivis. They spent a while rambling off ideas, from books to cleaning supplies to computers. None of it was stuff that Feliks thought Toris would like, and then finally they both seemed to agree on one thing. "Toris might like that stuff," Eduard had spoke for the both of them, "But we know him well, and we think that Toris is simply happiest when he is with you." Raivis had nodded in agreement.
Feliks knew what to do then.
The next time Toris had come to visit, he hadn't told him of his plan. He'd simply grabbed the taller boy, told him they were going somewhere secret, and made him promise to keep his eyes closed the entire time. The journey was long and Toris was getting impatient by the end, but when they arrived and he opened his eyes, he could only stare. For what seemed like miles, tall stalks of grain sprouted up from the ground, covering the entire land as far as the eye could see. Feliks grinned and turned to him, asking, "So what do you, like, think?"
Toris was speechless.
It wasn't the same rye fields as they had grown up in, but it was a good enough substitute. For hours the two sat on a hill just like they had when they were young, and talked until the sky started to turn the same golden shade as the fields. And for a while they seemed to have forgotten that they weren't little kids any more, lost in their memories. As the sun started to set they sat in silence and watched, the sky turning from orange to pink and then to dark blue.
And just as the sun had almost disappeared, Toris turned to Feliks and grasped his hand, squeezing it softly. "Thank you," he said.
And the smile that was on his face was brighter than Feliks had ever remembered. 19. Gray ;Toris stepped back after knocking on the door to Feliks' house, waiting for his friend to come answer it. While he knew that spending time with the blond was more headache-inducing than not and that they tended to argue more than normal for a healthy relationship, he always found himself missing their time together whenever they were apart. He hadn't been able to visit Feliks as often as he liked recently, and things with his boss and higher-ups were more frustrating than usual, so he hoped that today would lift his spirits a little.
Although maybe he would be wrong.
The door suddenly swung open, revealing a very excited looking Feliks. He was wearing casual but stylish clothes, dark brown pants with a lighter cream long-sleeved shirt, and had his hair tied up in a small ponytail. Upon seeing the brunette a huge grin spread across his face. "Like, ohmygod, Liet!" He squealed, jumping forward as if to embrace him, only to freeze a second later, staring at Toris with a look somewhat akin to horror. "Like, ohmigawd, Liet."
"What?" Toris immediately looked down at himself, asuming something was wrong with the way he looked. His clothes appeared to be clean- gray pants with a matching jacket- and didn't have any stains on them. Was something on his face, or-
"Are you serious? What are you doing wearing, like, gray??" Feliks' nose wrinkled with disgust.
"Umm..."
"Gray is so not your color, Liet! Haven't I ever told you that?" Feliks let out a frustrated sigh, then turned his critical eyes back on Toris. "It looks totally bad on you. Come on." Grabbing the taller boy's wrist, Feliks dragged him inside and through the house, not letting go of him until they reached his room on the second floor. "And I thought that my, like, totally great fashion sense had rubbed off on you. Ugh," He ranted, turning toward his closet and whipping the doors open.
"Feliks? What are you-"
"I'm getting you some new clothes. Even if we're not, like, going anywhere, it's totally not cool for you to be wearing that." The blond turned back for a moment, casting another horrified look at the brunette's choice of clothing before returning his attention to his closet.
"Is this really necessary?" Toris sighed, knowing he should have expected Feliks to launch into some crazy shenanigan as soon as he'd arrived. Although he hadn't expected his outfit to be the source of such a reaction. Then again, this was Feliks he was talking about. Feliks, who, whenever they did go out somewhere, always felt the need to critique the outfits of every person he deemed not fashionably inclined. "I think my clothes look fine."
But Feliks was ignoring him, already rumaging through the racks of clothes in search of something acceptable for his friend to wear. It was a colorful assortment, Toris noted, full of all sorts of styles and shades but each piece seemed to scream out 'Feliks'. In the back of the closet he could see glimpses of skirts and other feminine clothing, not surprising to him but something he still found unusual about Feliks.
"There!" Within minutes Feliks had separated several outfits from his cramped closet and held some up for Toris to see. "Now, you could, like, wear this shirt with these pants and it would look totally great, it does on me at least, or you could take that same shirt with, like, this over here..."
"Feliks-"
"Oh, I know! Wear this," Feliks held up a leaf green shirt, "and it would look, like, even cuter, trust me. It matches your eyes."
"I don't want-"
"Like, wait! I have an even better idea, Liet!" A devilish smirk crossed the Polish nation's face and he dropped the shirt, running and disappearing into his closet again. For several more moments all Toris could hear was the sound of Feliks rummaging though his collection, and a few muffled giggles that he wanted to believe he couldn't hear. Toris backed up a few steps to sit on the bed, noting the soft, pink comforter and rolling his eyes in an affectionate sort of way. Feliks never changed.
When Feliks emerged again, grinning wildly and holding up the piece of fabric, Toris jumped back to his feet, an appalled look on his face.
"Feliks, I'm not wearing a skirt."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleeeeease?"
"No."
"Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Liet?"
"No way! It's completely humiliating!" Toris wished he could hide the blush dusting over his cheeks, but convinced himself it was more of anger than embarrassment.
"If you wear this, then I'll, like, totally wear one too!"
"That's not much of a bribe, Feliks."
The blond pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his lower lip out. "No fun. You're a total killjoy, Liet." When the other didn't respond, he went on to whine, "You, like, never want to do anything that I want to do. Seriously, it's so not fair! Why can't you just-"
"Fine." Toris found himself sighing, unable to bear seeing (or putting up with?) Feliks upset. "Fine," he repeated, "I'll wear it."
Toris flinched as Feliks let out an excited (ear piercing) squeal and had to catch the skirt as Feliks threw it at him before it fell to the ground. Feliks went back to find something to match, and within a few minutes- and a little more arguing- Toris was wearing a green skirt with a matching tank top and a sparkly pink necklace for good measure (which he hated).
He felt positively stupid.
Why had he agreed to this again?
"I, like, like it." Feliks looked over him approvingly, and Toris thought he caught a glimpse of something else in his expression. "It looks totally great on you, I knew it would."
"I feel like an idiot."
"You shouldn't. You look, like, really, really good." A smirk stretched over Feliks' face, and he slunk toward the brunette.
"I- umm.. uh..." Toris studdered as the blond got closer, feeling another blush color his face. And he was pretty sure it wasn't just because he was wearing girls' clothes. He felt Feliks' arms slide around his waist and he gulped nervously. "I, uh, I guess it's not so bad..."
"Good. 'Cause you should, like, take my advice more often." Toris was about to protest, but then Feliks leaned up to kiss him, and any remaining words of resistance fled from his mind. Listening to Feliks more often suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea. 24. Want ;Toris hadn't spoken to Feliks in years.
As much as it pained him and as much as he wished it wasn't happening, after Feliks had completely gotten ahold of Vilnius their relationship was worse than ever. He refused any kind of contact with his former friend, too offended, too hurt by his betrayal to do anything else. His people were wronged and angry and he felt the same feelings as they did; it wasn't right that his capital had been taken from him, that no one supported him (Except for Ivan, but Toris wasn't sure how trustworthy he was). And it was even worse that Feliks thought nothing of it. Selfish jerk, Toris would often think to himself whenever October 9th rolled around or whenever he simply thought of Vilnius.
It had been years, but the last thing he'd expected was to hear an offer from Poland. More like an ultimatum, the terms of which had ticked Toris off the moment he'd learned of it. After all this time, Feliks had the nerve to make him act like he forgave him and that everything was okay. He had no idea what was going through Feliks' mind, but he was angry, and his people were angry, and he did not want to accept it. It wasn't that easy, though. His brothers (not really his brothers but that was what he thought of them as) pressured him to make up with Poland. They'd said it was dangerous for them to have any more conflicts because they were already weak enough as it was. England and France pressured him, too, which didn't help matters. As a matter of fact the only one who seemed to be on his side was Ivan. Even his new boss was for the idea, so in the end Toris was forced to give up his protests and just accept it.
He was powerless in this decision.
Feliks, much to Toris' surprise, acted perfectly normal upon their first meeting in years. The exact same as he had been all those decades ago, cheerful, vain, happy, Feliks. If anything, though, that just annoyed Toris more. Feliks didn't care about him, he just wanted to pretend that everything was fine. He just wanted to gain more allies because he knew that tensions were starting to rise in Europe and he would soon be at risk of losing his independence again.
It was all about what Feliks wanted. Toris didn't have a choice.
What if Toris wanted nothing to do with him any more? What if he wanted his independence, his freedom from the bossy nation?
That didn't matter.
Somewhere deep down, he was happy to see his old friend again. To see his smile, hear his laugh, to hold his hand again like nothing happened. But on the surface he couldn't feel that way. Despite their nations formally restoring relations, Toris just couldn't forgive Feliks. After everything, there was no way they could truly be friends again.
Toris didn't let him know that, though. They wouldn't be together again for very long anyway. He knew that once war broke out, he would be powerless against stronger nations like Ivan. So just for a little while, he wanted to pretend that things were normal. 28. Sorrow ;January 27th. He finally had a date and a name to put to this feeling he always had that some things should not be forgotten. It was a holiday now- they called it a freaking holiday! And it had only taken them sixty years to actually realize "hey, this was a really sucky thing, Feliks, we're sorry." Of course, he was grateful that the other nations had actually acknowledged it now, because a couple of randomly placed memorial days just didn't cut it for him. Above all, it was just nice to know that someone else cared.
Time passes quickly for nations, but it felt like centuries ago that that nightmare had taken place. Feliks tried not to think about it, or all the pain he and his people had been in, but the memories were still horribly raw, and he dreamed about those atrocities more often than he liked to admit. It just wasn't fair, he would always think to himself, it wasn't fair that he was the one to suffer like this, that no one had helped him when he needed it. Sure he'd done some pretty nasty things but did he- and especially his people who had suffered so badly- deserve it?-----
"You made it," Toris murmured, pulling the small blond in for a hug. He felt the weakness in Feliks' body, the lack of enthusiasm that was normally present on his smiling face as he hugged Toris back, and he felt his own heart drop. Even after so long, Feliks tended to get in these moods when he would mope around, not wanting to do anything but lay in bed and struggle through the memories that tortured him. Toris couldn't help but think that it was about time he moved on, put the past behind him and cheer up, because that was the Feliks he loved and was used to seeing. Then again, Toris still hadn't gotten over some of the shitty stuff in his own past, so he shouldn't be talking, he thought guiltily. And Feliks had an excuse now- spoiled boy, Toris thought affectionately.
"Mmm, 'course, Liet..." Feliks mumbled into his shoulder, making no move to separate from his friend, so Toris just stood there and held him tighter.
Regret panged at the back of Toris' mind, a regret that he tried to push away but which kept on coming. Toris reminded himself that Feliks had very few friends- of which even fewer were nations like themselves- and when Feliks got like this Toris was the only one he would come to for comfort. And here he was, trying his best to comfort him, the same person who Toris had hurt so long ago. When he thought back to those times and the source of his friend's pain, the image in his mind was always of a familiar German man, with a cold stare and hate-filled eyes that had been so unlike his true nature before his boss brainwashed him. But he could not forget the horrible things he did, brainwashed himself by Germany and driven by blind hatred of his then-former friend. A vivid memory flared up in his mind- one he thought he had forgotten. One of him holding a gun so closely to the lifeless body crumpled on the ground in front of him, Polish blood staining his uniform.
"I'm sorry," Toris shuddered at the memory, tears welling up in his eyes ('Damn it, why am I crying?'). "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," Feliks said, his own voice strained. "Just... help me."
Toris held back a choked sob, squeezing Feliks tighter. Did he even know what Toris had been thinking of just then? Did he know how much he regretted hurting him like that? Would Feliks be angry if he brought that up now? Probably, he realized, so he kept his mouth shut. There was no use in making him more upset, not when he was messed up enough as it was. As horrible as Toris felt about the things that he did, there was little he could do about them now. The only thing he could do, he knew, was to be there. It was the only way he could think of to make it up to Feliks.
"Okay," So Toris told him, "It's okay. I'm here." 30. Rain ;It wasn't often that the two got to see each other any more, what with work in their separate countries that often took up most of their time. It had been much easier when they'd been united, back in the old times, but there was nothing they could do about that now. They were separate countries again, so they made the most of it, visiting each other whenever the opportunity arose. Toris thought quietly as he gazed out the window of Feliks' home, wondering what it would be like if they lived together again. The sky was dark with storm clouds and it looked like it was going to rain at any moment.
"You okay, Liet?" Asked a voice behind him, and Toris turned to see Feliks walking into the room, wearing a tight sweater and skirt as always.
"Yeah, I was just thinking," Toris responded, glancing outside again. The soft rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and it had begun to drizzle.
Feliks scoffed. "You're so, like, weird, you know that?" After a moment of pouting with his hands on his hips, he moved a bit closer and looked out the window as well. Then a smirk crossed the blond's face and he grabbed Toris' hand, pulling him off of the couch. "Come on, I have a totally cool idea!"
"Wh-what are you doing?" Toris stuttered out, all but dragged with Feliks as the smaller man pulled him toward the door, grinning all the way. Sighing, he supposed he didn't have a choice but to do what Feliks wanted, but he wished that he would be a bit more considerate. (Wishful thinking but, he couldn't help it.)
"We need to, like, have some fun."
"In the rain?!"
"Of course!"
Toris sighed, so much for keeping his clothes nice, as he allowed himself to be dragged outside. He squinted as rain dripped down into his eyes and chilled him, and he wished he could just go back inside and dry off. But Feliks was already running out into the rain, giggling like a child and trying to catch raindrops on his tongue. Toris just watched, having no desire to participate.
Well, after a little while Feliks looked back at Toris and saw that he was still standing there. "Like, come on Liet! Loosen up a little!" He whined, moving up closer to him. He slid his arms around Toris, who began to blush despite the rain, but Feliks only laughed and leaned in to kiss him. Toris was surprised by it, but still returned the gesture by pulling Feliks closer, letting him deepen the kiss.
And then Feliks suddenly pulled back, smiling mischievously at him. He said nothing but only tugged again, pulling his partner further away from the house. This time Toris followed willingly, shaking his head at Feliks' ability to change his mind so easily. Most of the time it was annoying, but sometimes he didn't mind it.
They stayed out in the rain for a long time, until they finally couldn't stand the cold any more. 32. Night ;Toris had been reserved about this union with Poland from the start. He didn't outwardly hate the idea, but he wasn't in love with it either. Feliks was odd (anyone who'd ever spent more than a few minutes around him knew that) and they didn't exactly get along perfectly, but that wasn't even it. The idea of marriage (to another boy no less, but he had to push aside his views on that matter and suppose it was different because they were both Nations) made him uneasy, and he was simply hesitant about the whole idea. He knew that he didn't have much of a choice; this union was beneficial for both countries and it was something he had to do as a duty to his nation.
The fact that they were living together he was alright with, but the fact that Feliks expected them to be sleeping together brought on a whole new level of awkward for the poor boy. "Come on Toris, we're, like, married! It's totally not a big deal!" The blond would whine, and Toris would come up with some excuse not to or just flat out decline. He should have known that he would eventually have to give in, though. There was only so much pouting, whining, and annoying pestering that he could take.
Feliks got his way, and that night he giggled and cuddled up next to Toris underneath the covers, obviously amused at the other boy's uncomfortableness at the whole situation. "This isn't so bad, is it~?" He teased, and Toris sighed, saying nothing. Soon, though, they both fell asleep, and Toris had figured that it really wasn't so bad after all.
Later that night, though, Toris woke up. He was cold, freezing actually, without the covers or the warmth of another body next to him. Shivering, he sat up and glanced toward the other side of the bed. There Feliks was, the little blond with all of the covers around himself and sleeping blissfully. Sighing, Toris tried to pry the blankets away from his surprisingly strong grasp, but Feliks wouldn't let go. And even more surprisingly, he didn't wake up. He just kept sleeping, and after a bit more trying Toris knew that it was no use. So instead he found some extra blankets and curled back up on the bed, too tired to do anything else.
From now on they would be sleeping separately, Toris decided.
(He would probably end up giving in again at some point, though. That was just how he was.) 39. Dream ;Feliks squinted his green eyes against the snow, the thick blizzard disrupting his view. He couldn't see anything; everything that should have been there was blocked out by the whirlwinds of white like a dust storm. His body instinctively curled in on itself, trying to preserve the little heat left in his limbs before they froze off. Yet he couldn't bring himself to move, because in the distance he could see a single spot of color in the white. A large figure of a tan color that he instantly recognized with dread. The smaller figure next to the large one was darker and stood out, making the boy's heart tug painfully.
"L-Liet..." He gasped, "is that you?"
Somehow his faint voice managed to carry over the roaring of the wind, reaching the tall figure. It smirked, a cold, insane smile that made Feliks shake even more. "You are mistaken. This is not Lithuania. Lithuania is mine anyway, da?" He smiled again, a little chuckle hanging onto his words. Feliks hissed out, clenching his fists where they were tucked under his arms.
"No way! Liet's not yours! Like, give him back!" He yelled through the wind, his voice raising and trembling at the same time. Anger shook him, anger and terror. "He's mine! Not yours, give him back to me..." His eyes landed on the smaller figure, shrouded by whirling snow so much that he couldn't see who it really was. A feeling of unfamiliarity came over him as he looked at it, but it was definitely him, it had to be! "Liet..."
"Lithuania is mine. He always will be. Because, little Poland..." Ivan's voice now took on a more hollow tone as he started to walk forward. Feliks looked back to him, his eyes widening as the other man got closer. Ivan's own violet eyes were like ice, staring down at the small blond as he reached him with nothing short of hatred. "You are nothing. Weak, useless. I've partitioned you before, would you like me to do it again?"
"N-no..." Feliks choked out, his eyes falling downward as he crouched, curling up even more.
"Perhaps I should anyway, da. You need to be taught a lesson." Ivan's hand found the front of Feliks' shirt and pulled him to his feet effortlessly. Feliks let out a gasp, his face pale with shock as he tried to struggle away, but Ivan held on to him easily.
"You're so small, da. I could break your neck if I wanted to."
"No!" Feliks yelled, resistant even as Ivan started to lift him off the ground by the front of his shirt. "Let go of me!" He kicked his legs out, his hands locked around Ivan's wrist as he felt himself starting to choke. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't...
He looked past Ivan, again to the figure that was still standing in the same spot. Drawing in a shaky breath, gathering as much strength as he could so his voice would make it, he called out the only thing he could. "LIET!! HELP ME!"
Ivan let out a furious growl and tightened his grip on Feliks, but Feliks' gaze remained on the figure. It started to move, stepping forward slightly, and a hand lifted up to move the hood that was covering the person's face. The hood came back, revealing wavy brown hair and green eyes, filled with shock.
"LI-"
Feliks' call was cut off as his face hit the snow. Ivan was suddenly on top of him, one hand around his throat and the other pinning his shoulder down. Feliks stared up at him, unable to move as Ivan's face twisted into an expression that was far more terrifying than he thought possible. Feeling the breath getting sucked out of his lungs, he struggled in vain, helplessly stuttering out protests, "Please, you can't, like, kill me, you can't..." In the back of his mind flared the realization that he was going to die and that made his pleas grow. No, no, no, this wasn't possible, he couldn't-
"Ivan!" Shouted the familiar voice, closer now than it had been, and the Russian's grip on the boy suddenly loosened. Relief washed over Feliks as Ivan got off of him and he was able to breathe again. But it was only seconds before the relief was replaced by horror. Ivan was turning toward Toris now, bloodlust in his eyes as he started toward the boy. Toris gasped and backed up, but Ivan was quick.
"Toris needs to be taught a lesson too, I see. That can be arranged, da."
"N-no! Please, I-" Toris yelped, tripping and falling backward onto his bottom and staring up at Ivan.
"Would you like me to snap your neck as well? It would be a shame, because then I couldn't play with you any more..."
"I'm sorry!" Toris sobbed, "I'm sorry, just please don't hurt-"
Everything flashed by within seconds at that point. Ivan was raising up his fist to hit the brunette, a look of unrestrained madness on his face. The next second, Feliks was on his feet and in between Ivan and the boy, screeching protests despite the fear in his own voice, and he heard another terrified whimper from Toris. "Like, don't you dare hurt Liet, or I swear I'll-"
A fist collided with the side of Feliks' face and he went flying to the ground. Pain seared through his body, and he tried to get up but he suddenly felt as if he could not move. Panic set in, and as he struggled to move his muscles which now refused to respond at all, Toris yelled, "Feliks, watch out!"
Something flashed in the corner of his vision but before he could react something hard and cold hit the back of his head. He heard a sickening crack and his own screaming dying out before everything went black.
Feliks awoke with a start, his pulse racing and a cold sweat breaking out over his body. When he opened his eyes everything was dark, setting him into even more of a panic and his breathing picked up, making him cling to the thing closest to him, which happened to be his blanket. After a few moments his breathing slowed as he gained control of himself, and a faint light shone in from a nearby window, providing some illumination to the room. The light touched on the figure sleeping next to him and Feliks instantly felt relieved to see Toris- his Liet- appearing unharmed. It had been a dream, he knew, and that it hadn't really happened, but seeing Toris comforted him more than knowing that fact did. Sighing a bit, the blond slid under the covers again, cuddling close to Toris.
"Feliks?" Oh... he hadn't meant to wake him up. Feliks blinked as their eyes met, and Toris obviously saw something in them for a concerned look came over his face. "Feliks? Is something wrong?"
"N-nothing, Liet, I just, like, had a bad dream." Feliks looked away, feeling embarrassed in confessing it. He'd had lots of nightmares lately, they were no big deal and after all, he wasn't supposed to be the one who needed comforting.
Still, as Toris shifted closer to him and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, Feliks couldn't help feeling grateful for the warmth of his friend's caring embrace.
"Thanks Liet," Feliks mumbled as he snuggled into Toris' chest, now confident that no more nightmares would be bothering him tonight. If he was free from nightmares, that meant he was able to protect Toris from his own nightmares, as well. 45. Two Guns ;Širvintos; November 19, 1920.
Toris could not believe that Feliks had once been his friend. After everything they'd been through, united, he couldn't believe that he had turned around and invaded him, betrayed him, tried to make him give up what was rightfully his. He had thought that after becoming a country again, Feliks would have been grateful, even peaceful, not be as idiotic as to get into wars right away. And especially not as idiotic as to think that Toris would be alright with him taking over his country. He had been wrong, but he would not let him get away with this.
"What's your problem?" Toris fumed as he approached his former friend. For weeks they had been defending against the attacks from the Polish, and had lost Vilnius to them as a result. Vilnius hadn't even been enough for their greed; they continued pushing through and capturing as much Lithuanian land as they could. On this occasion the Lithuanians had pulled a victory- a sneak attack in which they had been able to capture about 200 enemy soldiers- however as soon as he'd spotted Feliks among the Polish troops, he was once again furious.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Liet." Feliks said coolly, looking up from where he was being interrogated by one of Toris' bosses. The man gave an uncertain look in Feliks' direction, looked to Toris, and quickly excused himself, letting the two to their argument alone.
"Of course you know. I'm talking about you thinking you have the right to invade me and try to take over my country."
Feliks stood up and glared at the taller boy. "So what? It's not like it's never happened before, ya know."
"I didn't think you of all people would do something like this to me. Taking my land, my capital!"
Feliks rolled his eyes. "Are you still mad about that? Come on, it's, like, not even that big a deal."
"It's my city! And you just took it!" Toris was trembling with anger by this point. "You said you were just there to fight Ivan!"
"Wilno has mostly my people in it." Feliks retorted. "That means it's mine."
"That's your reason? It's been my capital for centuries!"
"Ugh. What's your problem, Liet?" He suddenly exploded, stomping closer to Toris so that he was close enough to glare up at the brunette. "Why are you being so dumb about this? Why can't you just let me have what I want-"
"Do you even hear yourself?"
"And besides, you can't be the one complaining when you can't even keep your promises." Toris' eyes widened, and Feliks stepped closer, continuing, "I should have known not to, like, trust you."
"What?"
"You let Soviets onto your land!"
"That has nothing to do with it."
"Yes it does! You said you were going to be neutral, but you're totally siding with Ivan!"
"No I'm not!"
"You're a liar, Liet."
"And you're selfish!"
"STOP!" Feliks yelled, startling Toris. In a split second he was staring into the barrel of a pistol, the handgun pointed right at him as Feliks' face looked more angry than he had ever seen it. With emerald eyes furious, he glared at his former friend. "You don't care, do you? About everything I've been through." He hissed. "You got to stay with Russia after the partitions, but what did I have? Nothing. You don't know what it's like to lose your entire country, everything-"
"You don't get it," Toris spat, breaking out of his shock. Within moments he had pulled out his own gun and aimed it right back at Feliks. "You don't have any idea what I've been through living with Ivan. I'm finally free, and I want to stay free, not controlled by him or you or anyone else." He paused, tears welling up in his eyes. "If you can't accept that, then I want nothing to do with you."
"But Liet-"
"Don't call me Liet."
Silence fell over the two. They stayed standing where they were, each aiming at the other, neither realizing how different they were until now. They both realized they had changed, but they hadn't expected it to be this much.
"I just want to be strong again," Feliks whispered, the gun falling to his side as he slumped visibly. Although he didn't say it, the words stung at the tip of his tongue, wanting to be said, 'With you.'
Toris looked away and lowered his gun as well. He had no words; there was too much of a rift between them now for anything he could say to get through. He missed his best friend, terribly, but Feliks had changed too much for them to reconcile. Or maybe he had always been this way and Toris was just realizing it, or remembering it, now.
"Goodbye, Feliks." Was all he could say, as he turned away and walked, not looking back.
I want to be with you again, too. But not like this. 50. Breaking the Rules ;After only a short time of having to live with Russia, Toris decided that he hated it. Ivan was cruel and mean and worked him hard- him as well as the other Baltics. He only fed them the bare minimum that they needed to keep fit to work, always claiming that he would feed them more if his country had enough food to (It wasn't too long before Toris stopped believing that, seeing how much Ivan ate). His house, although huge, was in the middle of nowhere and it was always cold. Yes, it was a terrible place to be, and Toris wished for nothing more than to be free of that place. The only thing he looked forward to was when Ivan would go away to visit his boss, or the front lines, or wherever he went when he disappeared. Toris didn't know, and he didn't care.
He liked when Ivan was gone because those were his chances to see Feliks again. He knew that he wasn't supposed to leave the mansion in Russia but, Ivan couldn't do anything to stop him. (The beatings hadn't started by that point, so he had nothing to fear). Toris and Feliks would arrange to meet up somewhere, usually where the land of their countries had been before the partitions, and for those few precious days they would pretend that this whole situation was just a dream.
They would go out to the fields like they used to, talking cheerfully at first, perfectly normal. But then as the day goes on a solemn mood would fall over the two. They would talk about what it was like for the both of them, how they were coping, how their people were getting by. And then Feliks would get very quiet for a while. He would talk about the fighting, the rebellions, and the hope his people had to be restored independence; that those were the only things keeping him alive. Toris would hold his friend as a single tear fell from the blond's green eyes, and he understood. Feliks wanted to be united, he wanted them to be together again just like Toris did. But more than anything, he wanted to be a true country again.
For the first time Toris was grateful to be under the control of Ivan; it meant that he wasn't suffering as much as Feliks was right now.
One time, however, he had miscalculated. Ivan returned home sooner than Toris had expected, and when he finally got back to Russia, Ivan was waiting for him. More angry than he'd ever seen him look. That was when the beatings started. Eduard and Raivis tried to hold Ivan back, tried to help their 'brother' but, there was no calming Ivan when he was in one of those moods. That was the last time Toris ever snuck off to see Feliks.
It didn't keep him from wishing, though. And hoping that they would both gain their freedom again, some day. 76. Broken ;Feliks could always tell when Toris had one of his nightmares. If it wasn't the screaming that woke him up- the heartwrenching cry usually shouting things like "Ivan", "stop" and "please"- it was the soft creak of the door to his bedroom as Toris walked quietly in. Feliks had no idea what Ivan had done to Toris to make him like this; he was not the same Toris that the blond remembered: strong, fearless, smiling, happy. Now he was changed; it was like he was broken.
Sometimes he would sob into Feliks' chest, speaking incoherently but always uttering out "I'm s-sorry," as if Feliks would even think of turning him away when he needed someone to be there. Other times Toris wouldn't say anything, he would just cling to Feliks silently while Feliks stroked his hair. And when he calmed down Feliks would try to get him to talk about it, but Toris usually wouldn't tell him much. That frustrated him; he wanted to know, he needed to know what that monster had done to the boy he loved. The fact that it was too hard for Toris to talk about just made him need to know more.
Would he ever smile again like he used to? Could he be like he once was, happy, before they were torn apart so many years ago? Feliks hoped that he could, not for his own sake- although he did miss those times terribly- but for Toris'. Every time the once strong boy woke up crying from another nightmare of what he had endured, it whittled away at both of their hearts. When Toris would finally drift back to an exhausted sleep, Feliks would kiss his forehead softly, and pray that his dreams would be sweet and free of fear. 82. + ; Looking back, it had been a silly idea, but at the time Feliks had thought was the most brilliant idea he'd ever had. One day back when they had been a Commonwealth, he and Toris had gone out behind their house, and the blond had picked out his favorite tree from the line that marked the beginning of the forest. It was tall and strong, but with low branches that provided easy footholds for climbing. From the top of the tree he'd always been able to see past their house and out to the rye fields, and the view during sunset was absolutely beautiful. He'd pulled out a knife and set to work on the tree, carving out 'Polska + Lietuva' in the tough bark. After some thought, he added underneath, 'Feliks + Toris'. "Is that really necessary?" Toris had asked after seeing the tree, obviously not understanding the point the carvings, but Feliks simply smiled at him and said, "Like, of course! It's so that we totally won't forget that we're friends, even if we're, like, split up."
He wondered if it was still there today. The home that they'd lived in was long gone, destroyed and buried by time, but somehow he was sure that that tree was still there, standing strong just like it had during the hundreds of years they'd been together though the centuries they'd been apart. 83. Heal ;Inspired by: [x]
It had been too long, Feliks decided, since they'd been friends. Too long since they'd talked, or joked together, or spent time together. He may have been self-centered but even he could tell that things were not the same. Ever since those... incidents all those decades ago that he tried not to think about. It brought him pain and bitterness to think about those things, so he pushed them out of his mind. All that mattered to him was that he and Toris were together again. It was some kind of miracle that they had been able to salvage their relationship, since it had seemed nearly impossible that they ever would. After all those years of fighting and hostility, and then that long period when they had just avoided each other, he had no idea what had drawn them back to each other after the Soviet Union fell. But he thanked God for it, whatever it was.
They were going to heal, he knew it. They were going to heal their friendship somehow, and he was going to heal Toris. The scars that marred his friend, both physical and mental, that that bastard Ivan inflicted. Toris was changed- there wasn't that same light in his eye, and he didn't laugh as much, and he kept more to himself than he used to. It hurt Feliks, and it also made him angry to think that Ivan had caused this. It made him want to march over to Russia and knock on Ivan's front door, demanding a fight right then and there. But he couldn't do that, he knew, although he sometimes fantasized about being able to someday. Toris needed him here in order to go back to how he used to be, before everything changed.
And he would be there. Feliks was determined to do everything in his power to make sure that this time they stayed together, and that they wouldn't be split up again. It would be hard, and there would always be that rift, the memories of everything that had caused them to fight in the first place. But if there was one thing that Feliks was good at, it was never giving up. And he knew that Toris wanted them to fix their relationship, too. Because there were times when he would get very quiet and say, "Thank you for staying with me, Feliks. I'm glad that we can be friends again."
Feliks would always grin and say back, "I, like, told you so." Toris had never believed him when he said that this time, things would be different. |
|
|
|
Post by ☆ Y e l l o w ☆ on Dec 24, 2010 12:22:18 GMT -5
((THIS IS WHAT MY SUDDEN INTENSE EXPLOSION OF BELARUS MUSE HAS PRODUCED. IT MADE ME SO SAD WHILE WRITING IT. D:))
Brother, listen to me. I need to talk to you. I know you're scared and you'll probably tell me to go home, to leave you alone. But please, just listen for once.
Where did I go wrong? After all these years, everything that I've done, or tried to do for you, you still don't notice me. Why not? We're siblings, we've been through everything together. I know that you've cracked, that you can barely hold on to yourself any more through all the hardship. I know that you're still hurt by the memories of the Mongols and what they've done to you, to all of us. I won't lie, those memories still hurt me too. But we, Katya and I, care about you and we try to help you. Half of the time you ignore us. But I know that Katya loves you, and she tries her very best to be a good sister. And I know that you love her, too.
But nii-san, I love you too, can't you see that? Isn't it obvious? I can see the demons that lurk in your mind, torturing you, and I know of the nightmares you sometimes have that make you wake up screaming. When you're scared you welcome Katya into your bed to comfort you, but you always yell at me and tell me to leave. You say that you don't want to be with me, even though I know you know that we'll be happy together if we get married and---
...Everyone tells me to give up on you, to go on a date with that Toris kid for once and forget about you. But I can't, Brother, because I love you too much. We're siblings and we're supposed to be there for each other, that's what Katya says. And you say that too, sometimes, yet you still push me away. My boss tells me to forget about you, too, that I just became free again and my people want me to stay this way. But I don't care what they think. I'm not only Belarus, the nation, but I'm also Natalya, a girl who wants to free her brother from everything that hurts him.
I keep these knives, Brother, to protect you. To fight for you. You may like Katya better than me, but I'm not a crybaby like her. I'm strong, and I can fight if you want me to. I'll fight away anything, anyone, to protect you. Because that's what family does. Even if you don't want it. I'll always be here, even if you hate me, until you finally realize that even after everything, we'll always care.
You may not like me, but I don't care. I'll always be loyal to you, nii-san. Even if it kills you.
New Years Eve. In the past there had always been some war going on, some conflict between countries, that prevented all of the Nations from getting together to celebrate. (Actually, there was always some kind of drama going on, but whatever.) But, this year for some reason Alfred had deemed it absolutely necessary for them all to get together at his house to celebrate. Whenever anyone asked him why it had to be this year, he would wave off the question, mumbling something about 2012 and the end of the world. It was weird. Anyway, most of the Nations had agreed, many of them reluctantly, except for China, who had stubbornly refused because it wasn't new years yet for his country. Japan didn't seem crazy about the idea either, and had only agreed to attend because he had feared that all of the other countries would decline. Others, like Germany and Austria, only came because they didn't have anything better to do. Only some, such as Italy and Spain, actually thought the idea was a good one. But, the important thing was that most of the countries had attended, because without guests it was impossible to have a party. The party itself was chaotic. Francis spent the entire time getting drunk and flitting about the room, trying to get as many people to sleep with him before the new year as he could. Arthur spent the entire time avoiding him. (And everyone else too, it seemed. No one knew why he had decided to come in the first place). Ivan avoided Natalya and picked on the Baltics. Katya cried because no one would talk to her. Everyone ignored Matthew. Toris was feeling put down when Natalya rejected him rather harshly, in favor of stalking Ivan. He'd been rejected by her many times, but somehow he expected this time to be different. He hadn't seen Feliks at all yet, either, so that just made it more distressing. He didn't know where either of his brothers were, and he was pretty sure he could see Ivan out of the corner of his eye. Feeling a tug on the back of his shirt, he gasped and turned around, only to look down at the familiar face of Tony. "Oh! You scared me for a minute there, friend." Toris chuckled a bit. "It's good to see you again." Tony said nothing, just grumbling a bit, but Toris didn't mind. The party had turned out to be not so bad after all. He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he realized it was only five minutes to midnight. Most of the other Nations had gone to crowd in front of the huge tv in Alfred's living room, and Tony had just hopped up to join them. Toris was about to as well when he heard a familiar voice in his ear, though with an unusual slur to the words. "Heeey, Liet~ Like, where have you been?" "Feliks!" Toris gasped at the sight of his friend, dressed in scanty clothes that would have made him groan with embarrassment under normal circumstances. "I've been looking for you all night! And have you been drinking?" "Of course! It's, like, a party you know!~" Feliks giggled, and Toris simply sighed. "Alfred can totally party! Why didn't you tell me before?" Feliks laughed again. "That doesn't matter. ...I'm just glad I found you before midnight." Ever since they'd been free from the Soviet Union about 20 years ago, they'd spent nearly every Christmas together, and often new years too, though it didn't always work out that way. The minutes passed by quickly, and before he knew it the countdown had started. Toris glanced over toward the tv, mostly being blocked by the heads of other nations eagerly trying to see the screen, though he caught flashes of numbers appearing on it. "Hey, Liet. Guess what my resolution is." "What?" Feliks grinned. "'Can't tell you yet, duh! It's not the new year yet! What are you, like, stupid?" Toris rolled his eyes. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1! "Happy new y-" Toris couldn't finish, because he was cut off by a kiss from Feliks. Toris simply blushed and was too surprised to respond, but by the time Feliks pulled back he was smiling. "Like, happy new year, Liet." "Happy new year, Feliks." They had been together now for many years, and they both hoped for many more years in the future. |
|
|
|
Post by ☆ Y e l l o w ☆ on Aug 25, 2011 0:15:39 GMT -5
1953 Concordat"It is my honor, as Pope Pius XII, to close this meeting with the Kingdom of Spain and to open a new age of peace and understanding in its place. The time has come to put the events of the Second World War behind us and look to the future; one filled with hope, charity, and of course, a blessing from our merciful God..."
Romano crossed his arms and yawned, slinking further into his seat as he listened to the Pope drone on. It was all the same at these dumb meetings; he would go on and on about peace and goodwill and God's grace and shit, and it got very old after a while. That wasn't to say he didn't agree with the Pope: he was as much a catholic as anyone else here, but you could only take so much of the meaningless words and dumbed down bullshit before you thought your fucking ears would melt off.
There wasn't any reason Romano had to be here, really. He wasn't the representation of the Vatican City; he usually left these ridiculous meetings to the stuffy old man they belonged to. But being the representation of Southern Italy, the lands in which the Vatican was located, sort of gave him a right to be here when he wanted to. Same with his younger brother, although Veneziano was busy dealing with his own thing right now. Romano had to guess that his brother would be here if he could, although he was very glad that he wasn't.
That's right, Romano had chosen to be here for this meeting. And it was for only one reason... the Italian's eyes drifted across the table, scanning over the men of the opposite party before they finally rested on a familiar face. As soon as he'd heard the Vatican would be meeting with the people of Spain- to discuss appointing bishops and rights of the church or something stupid like that- he had dropped everything and made plans to assure that he would be at that meeting. It had been a long eight years since he had seen that dumb, annoying face, so Spain had better be freaking glad Romano had taken the time to see him! S-stupid, ungrateful bastard...
His eyes locked onto those of the Spanish nation's, and Spain's face instantly lit up, his green eyes filling with pure happiness and that... impossibly charming smile spreading across his face. Romano's face instantly heated up in return and he looked away quickly, muttering a curse underneath his breath and scooting further down into his seat. God, he suddenly didn't want this meeting to be over...
"...Now, to officially end the meeting, the nations of Spain and the Vatican City will shake hands to symbolize the successful agreement of the terms in the Concordat. Everyone else will follow."
...Shit. Romano sat up a bit in his seat, knowing this was the part where he would finally have to stand. Hours upon hours in that damned uncomfortable chair, the sadistic bastards who had designed this room... He watched as Spain and the Vatican stood, scowled a bit as he watched them shake hands, staring at the goofy, overly-happy smile on Spain's face and the unusual grin that the old man wore. (The old coot almost never smiled.) Romano stood as the rest of the men did, stayed where he was as the Spanish embassy went around the room, hearing congratulations and good natured comments murmured, and waited impatiently.
Finally, Spain stood in front of him.
"Spagna."
"Romano..."
The Italian fixed him with his characteristic scowl, determined not to let him or anyone else in the room think that he was any less than his usual self. However, when the look on Spain's face went from cheerful idiocy to... what could only have been sorrow, grief and longing, Romano felt his facade immediately disappear. Spain grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, causing Romano to stutter out a surprised curse and only wonder why he hadn't shook his hand like everyone else did, too shocked to react any other way. Spain didn't respond, though. He didn't say a word as he wound his arms tightly around Romano, holding him, and ignored the curious and annoyed stares that were being thrown their way.
It wasn't long before Romano's arms found their way around Spain in return. A choked sob threatened to burst from his throat, and his eyes stung with tears before he even realized it. Stupid, stupid tears, and stupid Spaniard for doing this in such a public place, with everyone watching. No doubt the Pope and the old man were scowling at him, probably freaking scandalized, but in that moment Romano didn't care. He simply held onto Spain as if his fucking life depended on it. How the hell he had missed this asshole so much, he would never know...
"España!"
Spain immediately pulled away at the angry sound of his boss's voice. His face paled slightly once he saw the furious look on Franco's face, and Romano's eyes widened in response, his hold on Spain's arm tightening instinctively at the sight of the dictator. After a few moments, however, Spain turned back to him with a sheepish look, his smile touching his face once more, an embarrassed laugh breaking out.
"Ah... sorry about that, Romano..."
Romano blinked a few times, stared at Spain, and then just like that, the angry scowl returned to his own face and he yanked himself away from Spain, but not before aiming a not-so-tough punch to the arm he had just been clinging to. "Damn right you're sorry, you bastard! What the fuck did you think you were doing, dammit?! And with everyone here, you freak!"
A-As if the bastard hadn't just made him almost burst into tears, dammit...
________________________
...
Romano hadn't seen Spain for the rest of the day after that. He hadn't seen him for most of the next day, either, though he assumed Spain was busy with his embassy, making sure the terms of the Concordat were alright and in order, and preparing to return home. Despite the fact that he would never admit it out loud, Romano was disappointed. He had expected to be able to see at least a little bit more of him, after years of their only communication being letters and the occasional phone call. Hell, as far as he knew the asshole was avoiding him, going to as many meetings as he could to keep from seeing him, just like when Romano had been little and living in Spain's house. Just the thought of that pissed him off, the dirty bastard. Why couldn't he just show up so Romano could kick his sorry ass for avoiding him, huh?!
Romano stomped down the hall after dinner, thinking these very thoughts as he skulked around with an irritated scowl on his face. The dumbass hadn't even been at dinner either of the days since the meeting, and if that couldn't be considered avoiding him, he didn't know what the hell was! Yeah, he was busy, but that was a bullshit excuse to completely disappearing, dammit! Oooh, when he got his hands on that Spaniard...
He was passing by one of the closed doors in the hall when he heard a clicking noise. Too irritated, he ignored it, continuing his march down the hallway when suddenly the door swung open and something grabbed his arm. Romano shrieked, flailing against the grip and about to yell in protest, "I-I didn't do anything, dammit! I'm sorry, I surrender, just don't hurt me!" when the unknown figure tugged on him harshly, pulling him into the dark room and closing the door. He instantly felt strong, secure arms wrap around him and he struggled even more, wanting to cry out, scream, do anything that could save him from whatever was attacking him.
"Romano..." A familiar voice said, making the Italian quiet down immediately. The arms wrapped around him suddenly felt familiar as well, and he breathed out with relief when he realized who it was. A flare of anger soon replaced the relief, and Romano wanted to yell at the jerk for scaring him so much and for dragging him into a closet in the first place, because it was freaking dark in here and scary as hell, but even that was suppressed when Spain's head fell onto his shoulder and his grip strengthened, leaving Romano little room to do nothing but wiggle feebly and mutter out a half-assed complaint.
"Shit, Spain, let go of me, dammit! You're gonna fucking snap me in half or something, damn bastard..."
"I missed you so much..."
...Oh. Romano went completely quiet then, even able to hold back a groan of annoyance. Spain's breath hitched and he was soon crying, trying to go on and speak but his stuttering, broken speech made his words incomprehensible. The arms locked firmly around Romano were starting to get really, really painful, but he stopped trying to push them away. Slowly, very slowly, he even raised his arms a bit, wrapping them around the other so lightly that he hoped Spain wouldn't even feel it. "Spain..." He mumbled, quietly as possible, a sigh draining him of his desire to resist.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Spain cry. Not even during the war, when they hadn't seen much of each other but when they had, Romano had been so much of a mess that he wouldn't have even noticed if Spain had been upset himself. Then there was Spain's civil war, in which he had been too involved with trying to keep his country together to worry about how much pain he was in. Romano shuddered at those memories; he never wanted to think about those dark times ever again. The earliest he could remember Spain being this upset was, well... probably the day he'd gotten Romano back from Austria. Spain had been a mess that day, and even though they were happy tears, the sight had been no less upsetting to the young nation. It hadn't been long after that, that Spain's colonies began to break free from him. But that didn't compare to this very moment.
He just kept on crying. And clinging to Romano like his life depended on it, very similar to how tightly Romano himself had clung to him the other day. He was being so loud that Romano was sure someone would hear them and open the door at any moment, bringing with them an agonizing barrage of questions and accusations for the two of them, because honestly it was a pretty freaking compromising position they were in. But tears still stung at Romano's eyes as well, threatening to spill over, so he decided he didn't care. Let them find them. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Spain and buried his face into Spain's neck, allowing himself so much because he knew that no one was watching them.
...He needed it. Romano had a whole decade of pent up pain and frustration to let out, so boy, did he cry as well.
It was over ten minutes later that they both finally began to calm down. Romano quieted first, becoming too embarrassed by his behavior to allow himself to go on any further. As soon as Spain's sobs died down into tiny little sniffles and his arms around the Italian loosened ever so slightly, Romano took a steadying breath. "When are you leaving?"
"Tonight." Spain replied, his voice shaky, but soon he let out a little chuckle of embarrassment. Romano couldn't help a slight whine escaping his throat in response to Spain's answer, and Spain pulled back a bit, smoothing Romano's hair and placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Ah, now don't get upset, Romano... I'm very busy these days, it's actually wonderful..."
"Where do you have to go so fast, dammit?" Romano grumbled in response, reluctantly removing his head from the crook of Spain's neck. He fixed a teary-eyed glare at the other man, a glare at which Spain smiled warmly.
"We're heading straight to America after this. You know that we just signed an agreement with them as well, ¿si? Ah, but there's a tiny problem with it, so we have to address it with them in person." Spain's smile widened. "It feels so great to be outside of my own country. It's been years, I think, since I've seen those who cut off contact from me. I've missed seeing everyone. Especially you, Lovi."
Romano still glared, but he felt a sudden longing to reach his hand up and wipe the remaining tears out of Spain's eyes. He was able to keep himself from doing that, however, and he growled and pulled away with a blush when Spain's hand rested gently on his cheek. Spain sighed and once again pulled the other man into a hug, which Romano struggled against, but Spain refused to let him go.
"I'm so sorry, Romano..." Spain's voice was pained, and Romano could have even guessed that he was about to start crying again, but Spain steadied his voice before he allowed it to happen. "I wanted to be here for you. I know how hard all this was for you, and I hated it every day that I had to stay in Spain, away from you when you needed me..." His grip tightened, and the other grumbled some more, but somehow he stayed right where he was. "I know it's a little too late, but I just hope you don't hate me too much, and will allow me to make it up to you somehow, my precious Lovi..."
Oh, f-fuck. Romano felt tears welling up again, but he hid his face from Spain, not allowing him to see this time. "You bastard, just... j-just stop talking, dammit." He sniffled, tensing up as he refused to either pull away or hug Spain back. Spain didn't seem to mind or notice. He just kept holding the Italian nation, murmuring sweet, apologetic words to him while Romano grumbled in response, calling him a variety of names and curse words, to which Spain chuckled affectionately.
"Awww, how cute, Romano. It's a shame you're not being such a sweetie any more, though, I liked that just a few minutes ago..."
"Oh, I thought I told you to shut up already, dammit!"
"Never mind, you're not being cute at all, Roma."
"Like hell I am! I was never trying to be, you idiot!"
They spent a long time in that closet, joking and laughing, and talking about everything from the war and how they were doing in the past few years, to lighthearted things like how unusually happy the Vatican was and how easy it would be to piss him off and turn him into his usual, stuffy self again. Romano returned to his usual temperament as well, and it was almost like they'd never been apart at all. The occasional few tears still found their way out of Romano's eyes, but Spain was always quick to wipe them away with a gentle finger. Eventually, Spain's arms fell from around Romano and his hands closed around the Italian's as the taller man sighed.
"I have to go soon, Lovino. They're going to be looking for me." Regret filled Spain's eyes, and Romano could see that Spain wanted nothing more than to stay with him for the rest of the night. He looked down at their connected hands, frowned at them after a second, and tried to pull his own hands away, but Spain held tight. "It was so great to finally see you. I really, really missed you, you know..."
Romano let out an angry huff. "I don't get why you have to go straight there from here. You're not in any hurry, dammit."
Spain nodded. "I don't get it either, honestly. You'd think they would give me time to rest for a little while, ahaha... but there are certain things I don't have any say in, such as when my embassy decides we go places."
Romano huffed again. "It's a stupid embassy."
Spain grinned. "I know, right~? They drive me crazy sometimes! And it especially sucks having to be around my boss for so long~!"
Romano went quiet, looking away again. So many emotions bubbled up that he didn't even know what to think of. Anger and embarrassment that he and Spain were locked away in some room, disappointment that Spain had to leave already, longing for them to spend more time together, longing for Spain to just hug him again, with those strong, safe arms, confusion over why the hell he even felt this way... and more anger, wanting to just blame Spain for it all even though he, himself wanted to just tell Spain to fuck his embassy and stay with him.
"S-shit, dammit..."
"Hey..." Spain's hand cupped underneath Romano's chin and lifted his face up so that Spain could smile at him softly. "I won't be gone for so long this time. It shouldn't be long before I get to come see you again as Italy, not visiting the Vatican. I have a good feeling that soon I won't be so isolated any more~!" Romano grumbled, unconvinced, and Spain simply chuckled. "When did you become so clingy, hmm?"
"H-hey! I am not-"
"Ah, you'll hear from me soon, anyway. I still haven't replied to that last letter you sent me." He grinned again.
Romano scowled, finally pulling his hands away from Spain and crossing his arms, glaring at the Spaniard while the other man laughed some more. Romano blushed, color quickly filling his cheeks just as he tried his hardest not to let it. He blamed the stupid bastard for his crazy emotions, dammit. It was all his fault, everything was...
"¡España! ¿Dónde estás, tenemos que irnos!"
Romano's head jolted up, his face pale with shock. Spain looked up as well, less scared but more with a look of tiredness and annoyance in his expression. He let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "That would be them. What did I tell you?" He took a step away from Romano, his eyes troubled, and Romano suddenly realized that this was it. Spain was leaving tonight, and they wouldn't see each other again for, what, probably years? G-good riddance, dammit, then the bastard couldn't be around to play with his emotions so much like he did... i-it totally wasn't fair. Not fair at all.
"Don't try to blame all this on me, dammit. This is all your fault, after all."
"Hmm? What do you mean, Romano? Ah, I suppose it is, in a way... if I hadn't helped out you and Germany in the first place, the rest of Europe wouldn't hate me right now..." Spain looked thoughtful, even scratching his head as his brain worked more than Romano thought it ever could. What a surprise, honestly.
Spain smiled at him again. "Oh well~! There's nothing else I could have done. If this was the punishment I deserved because of it, I don't care." Spain's grin turned warm and loving, and he stared at Romano in a way that the Italian hadn't seen for many, many years. "If I had known, I would have done it anyway, just so I was doing everything I could to keep you safe." The Spaniard pulled him close for one last embrace, holding him tightly because they both knew it would be the last time for a while.
Although Romano didn't respond or even resist this time, he didn't want Spain to let him go. Even in Death
Romano couldn’t remember how long it had been. Five years, ten, twenty? He had stopped trying to keep track a long time ago. The months had blended together into a haze that was impossible to decipher for someone who just didn’t have anything to do with the real world any longer. He’d left it behind as soon as the last breath left his body. In a way, he was glad to leave it all. He hadn’t been able to stand most of the sheer bullshit in the world. Bosses, meetings, work, world conferences. He could have done without any of it. Being detached, now, away from it all, it was better.
He got to see his older sister and his grandfather again. He hadn’t been able to admit it, especially not in the case of his old man Rome, but he had missed them terribly. In fact they had been the first two waiting for him as he crossed unwillingly to the other side. He’d seen his mother, too, although she had never paid him much affection in his younger years, and he knew Greece would have liked to see her and almost regretted it. He was calmer now. Away from all the stress and frustration of the real world, things that had built up his defensive wall and his perpetual bad mood, he was allowed to let go. Of course his true personality was still there, with all its insecurities and faults and things that he’d always been ashamed of having but never able to change. Even in death he was still Romano. Being an angel only required him to act a bit more holy.
Keeping watch over the Earthly world was challenging. Having to see people acting just as pitiful and foolish as they’d always had during his long life made him pessimistic that things would ever change. The idiots that were running his country would always be idiots, and his brother would always let them walk all over him. Veneziano. He still watched over his little brother, like a protective sibling should. Denying his supervision every time Rome pointed it out to coo over how “sweet and adorable” it was, he watched, often failing to hide his disdain every time he saw him with Germany. He would never learn, just like no one ever fucking would, yet he still had to watch out for his little brother.
There was only one thing he missed from the living world. It wasn’t the delicious taste of pasta or any other food of his nation, or great fashion or being able to flirt with pretty girls. Although he did miss those things, the only thing he truly missed was the person he left behind. Spain. Romano had been shocked when God allowed him into Heaven considering how much he’d sinned. He’d asked for forgiveness, of course, but all of the things he’d done, taken lives, brought hate upon others, cursed and swore and pursued a relationship he’d always thought of to be wrong and sinful… he’d thought it would have been too much. It was Spain who had somehow managed to convince him that his love wasn’t bad, that it was genuine and not wrong at all… and that was almost enough to put his mind at ease during his lifetime.
He watched over Spain the most. It was painful. He hated the sadness that tore at him whenever he saw Spain so upset. He knew that Spain missed him. Would have done anything to save him, if there had been a way. And every time Spain started to succumb to the loneliness and pain, and break down and cry, Romano knew he would do anything to be with him right then. It wasn’t fair. They’d promised they’d always be together, even knowing how long that would be, the ring on his finger proved that… yet it was ironic that death still managed to separate them from what should have been hundreds of years together.
He couldn’t take it any more. He wanted to be with him so badly. Even if he was breaking rules, he didn’t care.
Romano watched as Spain returned to his home after another day of work. Since his death, Spain had completely buried himself in nation affairs, leaving Romano surprisingly unable to tell if he’d moved on or not. There were always bad days, but he just didn’t know. Spain walked into the house, removing his coat as he always did and proceeding into the hallway toward the living room, the same place he would sometimes greet Romano after getting back from a long day. Romano’s heart ached just from those memories.
Spain paused, though, as he turned toward one of the tables and his eyes filled with sorrow. Romano watched, confused, and it took him a moment to understand. Spain’s gaze was on a picture frame sitting on the table, bearing a photograph of the two of them together shortly after their wedding. So that was it.
He moved closer, eyes fixed on the shape of Spain’s back, following the line of his broad shoulders and filling with longing that he knew he shouldn’t have. He wished he could touch him again, and hold him, and tell him he would never leave because he had meant it every time he’d said it before, up until it all turned out to be a lie. Spain must have heard something, because he quickly turned around, tears in his eyes, only to let out a gasp and a disbelieving stare.
Romano stared back curiously, a sudden rush seizing him. He could see him? All the times he’d watched Spain, Spain had never shown a sign of knowing he was there. He was supposed to be invisible. “Roma…” Spain started to murmur with a choked sound, and Romano didn’t know whether Spain thought he was just seeing things or if he knew it was really him, but Romano didn’t care, and moved closer still, feet never touching the ground as he drew near him, expression unreadable.
Romano lifted his hand up and used it to pretend to wipe away Spain’s tears, but his entire being froze when he felt liquid on his fingers. Felt Spain’s skin underneath his hand, and the cool touch of the tears that made his eyes suddenly widen and his mouth gape open. Spain watched him, his expression now unreadable as Romano gently, slowly brought his hand down Spain’s cheek experimentally. His fingers barely brushed him as he brought his hand underneath Spain’s chin, bringing his face up to Romano’s.
The feeling as their lips were brought together felt better than Heaven. He kissed Spain gently, sweetly, longingly, and after a short, tense moment Spain was immediately returning it with just as much desperation. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d kissed, but now he didn’t give a damn. Everything fell to the back of his mind except for his lover, the feelings of sadness and loneliness that they were both suffering, and the fact that he never wanted this moment to end.
At last he pulled back to let Spain breathe, just watching him and his slightly flushed cheeks with a soft expression. Spain looked at him, the briefest hint of love in his gaze behind his outward mask of caution. Romano understood. Spain didn’t want to get his hopes up because in reality, they could never be together again. However, he was determined to make the most of this impossible moment, whatever that would be. He leaned in for another kiss, and this time Spain responded more quickly.
In a sudden rush of desire, he pushed Spain back into the table and brought one knee on top of it, realizing his legs were now solid as well, wanting to get as close to him as possible. Spain obliged and moved back onto the table, leaning into the kiss as Romano grabbed Spain’s tie in one hand and his other hand moved to the back of Spain’s head. Spain’s hand reached up until it was clutching the fabric of Romano’s clothing, practically clinging, begging him not to leave. “Romano, I…” He whispered as Romano looked at him, tears filling his eyes once more which caused Romano to pause and a small smile to appear on his face.
“Shh, don’t-“
Romano gasped, freezing completely as his face went alarmed. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t be doing this. No, no… It was wrong, he’d known it from the beginning, but it was too soon for this to happen, way too soon. “Don’t leave,” Spain pleaded, reaching up to touch Romano’s cheek gently, causing Romano’s own eyes to begin to water. I wouldn’t if I had a choice. Romano reached for Spain’s hand but felt nothing there. He looked down and saw his now disappearing arm going right through Spain’s.
No…
“I-I have to,” Romano murmured, his expression pained. He leaned forward, hoping to savor the touch as the rest of his body disappeared back to its ghost-like form, burying his face into Spain’s neck for the shortest of moments before kissing his husband for the final time. “Ti amo, mi precioso Antonio.” He said in the mixture of their languages that reminded him so much of home. He then drifted away from Spain, not touching the ground once more as the same sad look as before appeared on his face. Within moments, he was gone.
It won’t be the same. He will keep watching over Spain but it doesn’t take the place of actually being with him. Some day, maybe hundreds or a thousand years from now, they’ll be together again. But until that time the only thing he could do was be his guardian angel and pray away all of his loneliness. The sooner Spain moved on, the faster time would move for both of them.
|
|
