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Un jour, nous vieillirons
Et lorsque ce jour viendra
Il se pourra que tu demandes l’éternité
Mais si l’un de nous deux part avant l’autre



‘The wanderer’, they called him.

She first laid eyes on him drifting the streets of Paris. It was merely a brush past, a contact of the fabric of their clothing, but she felt the tingle, the static spark of curiosity, nonetheless. He always looked so sad, the cobalt of his eyes darkening with his mood, the curve of his thin lips downturned. There was always a trace of something in the aura surrounding him – yearning, perhaps? A desire for something more? A sense that he had not yet fulfilled what he had set out to achieve, that there was  a component missing? Whatever it was, she was determined to find out.

He always seemed to be close by after that first encounter, whether it be seated in one of the cafés she passed by on her way home or admiring the same painting in the art museum. She occasionally caught a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, saw a speck of dark blue in the distance. Some sort of instinctual sensation told her that she wasn’t the only one who possessed such feelings of inquisitiveness; he felt the same towards her. However, neither of them were daring enough to approach the other, to find out why exactly they felt the way they did.

In the end, it took her five years to finally work up the courage to talk to him. In the end, it took them five years to finally learn each other’s names. In the end, it took them five years to find out that what they felt wasn’t merely interest.

In the end, it took her five years to find out his secret.


Encore un peu, juste un petit peu
Si tu retires de tout
Es-tu encore à mes côtés



She thought that if she was to write down all the things she loved about him, her words would fill up an entire book.

The way his eyes shone, for example, when he spoke of  food, of the arts. The way he would smile ever so slightly when she made an attempt at a joke, or when she unintentionally amused him. The way he gestured ever so passionately when he talked, how his words flowed smooth as silk. The way he would listen attentively when she recited even as simple a thing as the events of her day; he was a wonderful listener, paying attention to even the smallest of details, able to recall them later with the utmost clarity. She loved how his blonde hair caught the sunlight in just the right way, how he smelled so sweet, like roses or chocolate.  

But it wasn’t just the insignificant things, the trivial aspects, that mattered. It was also the way he exhibited the right amount of protectiveness, not too much as to seem clingy. It was the way he would clasp his hands in hers, how his blue eyes were filled with concern when they met her own (e/c) ones. It was the way he would embrace her, how he would whisper reassuring words into her ear, when she felt miserable. It was the way his lips were soft, gentle, tender against hers, how his breath would tickle her neck, how his hands ran through her hair in exhilaration and hers through his in return. It was how he was always so full of ardour, of zeal, that it was infectious.

It was with not the least bit of shame that she could admit that she loved Francis Bonnefoy.


Et je te regarderai
Mais telle que je suis me paraîtra être nue
Et je remercierai cette toupie de charme
Pleine de bonheur



Over the many years that they came to know each other, she learnt that he loved to talk – particularly about the past.

He would speak of the days of the Kingdom of France, of the multiple monarchs and of Jeanne d’Arc. He spoke of the period of time known as the Renaissance, how art and architecture were beginning to flourish. He told her about the French Colonial Empire, how it grew to the extent as to involve countries, continents, many islands. He often drifted into recounts about other countries and how they were faring at the time – his long rivalry with England, for example, and the rule of the now non-existent Holy Roman Empire.

Despite all this, the wars still remained the part of all his narrations that intrigued her the most. Past conflicts, such as the French Revolution, would catch her attention, but never as much so as ones that had occurred in the last century. Learning about it while she was in school was one thing, and hearing it from someone who had been there at the time, who still had a fresh perspective on all of it, was another. She learnt about the numerous – far too many, in her opinion – French casualties during World War I, heard about the Allies’ victory over the Axis Powers in the Second World War, but not without fatalities of their own. She learnt of France’s slow loss of control over the former empire, of the struggle within Algeria, of how the country progressed up until today.

All the devastation wrought upon the Earth, all the victims of war, all the suffering that not only the entire population but the select few hundred people had to withstand – she didn’t know how he managed to endure it all. It must have taken such strength, such resilience, to bear such a responsibility, to carry such a heavy weight on one’s shoulders; but when she expressed this to him, he sent her a small smile, tinged with a hint of sadness, and told her that none of them really had such spirit – they just learnt to become accustomed to it.


J’aimerais que nous vieillissions ensemble
Il ne s’agira pas d’une vie éternelle
Mais d’un air et d’une vie aussi vrais qu’un minuscule printemps



Once, she asked him what eternity felt like.

“To most,” he had answered, “it would probably seem like a dream come true, or a gift sent from a superior being somewhere. Never growing old, able to do everything and anything you wanted – tour the world, see all the sights, never forget the special moments captured in time.”

“What’s it like to you, then?” she had queried.

The corner of his lip had twitched upwards into a bittersweet smile. “The exact opposite of that, I’d assume. It isn’t really the blessing most people seem to think it is. Watching seasons change, watching the alteration of everything around you, watching people grow old, have kids, die – whether they’re complete strangers or people you’ve come to love, it’s exactly the same. Knowing that you can’t really have true companionship apart from others like you… It isn’t exactly the life I would wish to have.”

After a moment of silence, she had asked quietly, “But did you wish for it?”

“No,” he had said, eyes downcast.

“Would you change it if you could?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not.” He had glanced up from underneath his fair lashes, a flash of cobalt greeting her. “If the circumstances had been different… I probably never would have met you, wouldn’t I?”

“But that doesn’t matter, does it?” she had asked. “I’m just one person, not even of much importance. Why pick me?”

“Because,” he had replied, smiling nostalgically, “you are the one who makes eternity worthwhile.”


Cependant marcher ensemble serait tellement de joie
Et accompagner tous ceux que nous aimons, tellement tout pour nous
Well... I don't know where this came from. o.O
It's pretty random. I'm not sure whether it even makes sense, but this is one of the shortest things I have ever written. xD
Hope you enjoy it, I guess~

English lyrics:
One day, we will grow old
And when that day comes
You might ask for eternity
But if one of us goes before the other

A little more, just a little more
If you withdraw from everything
Are you still by my side

And I will watch you
But I will see myself like I were naked
And I will thank this spinning top of charm
Full of happiness

I wish we could grow old together
It won’t be an eternal life
But a tune and a life as true as a tiny spring

Even so walking together would be so much joy
And accompany all those we love, everything for us


By the way, if you don't know the song, it's the one playing in the background during Beautiful World Episode 5: Though I May Depart, You Shall Remain. It's called Tel un minuscule printemps if you want to look it up - it's a beautiful song. ;w;


Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya
Tel un minuscule printemps (c) Hetalia soundtrack
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"How long has she been like this?"

"About a week."

"Is she going to wake up soon?"

"There's no way for us to find out when. She'll wake up when she's ready."


~

Feeling your eyes get lighter, you decided to try and open them up. It was difficult at first, but you managed to open them wide enough to see where in the world you were. You noticed that your head was resting on a pillow and tubes were shoved up your nostrils. Wiggling your nose, you let out a small sigh. The lights from the ceiling were still too bright for you to see the room in which you were currently in.

You felt something brush your arm and so you quickly shot your head to the side. It was your best friend, Mei. She smiled brightly at you, tears streaming down her face. You stared at her, shocked and cracked a small smile as well. She enveloped you in her arms and hugged you tight, practically squeezing the air out of your lungs. You buried your face in her dark brown hair and closed your eyes. Why were you crying again?

As she pulled herself away, you were able to distinguish the room in which you were in. It was white. Everything was white. A couple of plastic chairs rested against the wall in the corner of the room, a small rectangular window let the small amount of sun in and a strange man stood at the end of your bed, which was rather uncomfortable by the way.

You looked back at Mei and noticed her lips moving quickly. You stared at them, wondering why they were moving so fast. As the seconds passed without you responding, her smile slowly disappeared and was replaced with a straight line. She looked at the man (whom you recognized, he was a doctor) and her lips started moving again. You looked at him with a confused face and cocked your head to the side. He squinted and walked to the other side of your bed. His lips started moving as well. But no sound came out, just like Mei.

"What's wrong?" You said. Although, you didn't hear yourself.

Struck with a wave of panic, you started to pat your neck. You tried to talk more, but you couldn't hear a thing. You tried talking, whispering, humming and even screaming. Nothing.

Mei looked at you differently and finally covered her mouth with her hands. The doctor looked down and quickly walked out of the room. Your eyes were glued to your hands. Could this be...

Minutes later, you found yourself sobbing in Mei's arms once again. This couldn't be real. A nightmare, it was just a nightmare. Right?

After about 30 minutes, the doctor came back into the room. In his hands was a sheet of paper and a pen. You looked up at him with a disgusted face and buried yourself in Mei's arms. She shook you lightly, encouraging you to look back up at him. You did as you were told, although you were sure you looked like pure crap right now. Messy and unwashed hair, ugly hospital gown, tears streaming down your face. But the tall man seemed to ignore that.

Instead, he took the sheet of paper along with his pen and started to write something on it. When he was done, he handed it to you.

Mrs. ____________, you were in a short coma for about a week. You were in an accident, do you remember? The night of August 10th you were driving on the road along with Gilbert Beilschmidt, Antonio Carriedo Fernandez, Francis Bonnefoy and Belle Peeters. Your car drifted into the wrong lane and you unfortunately ended up crashing into a larger truck. You were all brought to the hospital after a couple of witnesses saw the crash and called 9-1-1. You've been in the hospital since then. You suffered from a head trauma and a dislocated shoulder, but that was all. Although now you don't seem to hear us, correct? I just finished talking with some of the other doctors and well... You seem to have also lost your sense of hearing during the accident.

You dropped the paper onto the bed sheets, more tears threatening to spill. You started to hyperventilate until Mei calmed you down by gently massaging your back, careful not to touch your injured shoulder. You hiccuped a few times and buried your face into your hands once again, crying your heart out. Even though you couldn't hear your own cries. That is, until realization hit you. You quickly stopped crying and grabbed the pen and paper and started writing something down at a rather fast speed. You handed the paper to the doctor and watched as he read it carefully.

What happened to them?

He pinched his lips together before looking back up at you and hesitantly writing down the 12 words that would probably haunt your life forever.

Gilbert, Francis and Belle died. Antonio is in a coma.

You screamed as loud as you could, shattering everybody's ears but your own.
Please don't hate me since I practically just killed Gil, Belle and Francey-Pants :iconcanadasulkplz:

Here's Chapter 1! God, you have no idea how hard it was to write this :iconlazycryplz:

Link to the Prologue: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…
Link to Chapter 2: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz
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It was hard work being infatuated with something like her, a woman who Gilbert was sure was raised by wolves, not humans. Her hardened heart, broken many times over the years caused her to close that part of her and she was determined never to love again, much to Gilbert’s despair. She could tolerate friends, but not a lover. Gilbert was resolute to let her open her mind, to make her see the beautiful things in life and to make them a part of her.

‘Gilbert?’

Gilbert glanced down at the voice, meeting large, jade spheres. Her long, russet locks, decorated with a cerise bloom, fanned about her head in the grass, which to Gilbert made her look like an angel. Her mouth was curved upwards in a smile as she gazed at him, showing pearly teeth. In her slender hands she held a crown of dandelions and she beckoned him to bend down with a finger.

‘Come here,’ she said, giggling at the confused expression on his face. ‘I want to tell you something.’

His hearing perked up and he sank onto an elbow until he was at level with her face. ‘What is it, Elizabeta?’

‘Nothing!’ she exclaimed, quickly placing the flower tiara upon his frosty tresses. It took Gilbert a moment to realise what had happened but by then, Elizabeta had slipped away, searching the elongated blades of emerald for more yellow buds, her bright green dress flapping around her ankles.

He watched her, smiling inwardly. She caught him looking and waved a hand. ‘Hey, Gil! Help me look!’

‘But that takes effort,’ Gilbert grumbled loudly, getting slowly to his feet. He laughed at the irritated look she sent him as he walked over to her. She shook her head but a small grin played at the corners of her lips.

‘You’re crazy.’

‘So are you,’ he retorted, swinging an arm around her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. ‘But I love you anyway.’

Elizabeta rolled her eyes, pushing him playfully away. ‘I love you too, you idiot.’

Gilbert’s heart soared at that but then it came plummeting back down. He knew she only loved him as a friend, a brother even, but nothing more. If only she knew how much she means to me, Gilbert thought sadly, fingering the piece upon his bonce delicately. He took it off and put it in Elizabeta’s hair.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, a hand going to her head.

Gilbert slapped it away gently. ‘Nein, leave it there. It suits you better!’

‘I made it for you, though,’ she mumbled, kneeling down and picking out more dandelions. ‘I think it goes well with your colour hair.’

He flushed, distracting himself with plucking flowers in his area of the grass. Why does she have this effect on me? This is so not awesome of me, he thought, twirling a stem between his fingertips.

Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled backwards and his nape met something soft. Scarlett eyes going wide, he fathomed that Elizabeta had settled him in her lap.

‘Stay there,’ Elizabeta commanded lightly, setting a pile of the golden blossoms on his torso. Gilbert could only stare at the woman in surprise as she slid a nail into the bottom of a stalk, threading another through the gap she made.

He couldn’t remember the last time she did something like this to any one, let alone him. She had been reserved since that night, hardly showing affection to any living soul. Gilbert didn’t say a word, just merely relished her warmth and comfort.

His orbs trailed over her features, studying them: a face framed with sharp cheekbones, fine jawline and round chin, eyes bordered with black, curled lashes, a straight, dainty nose and lips a subtle pink. A few strands of hair danced in front of him, gleaming in the sunlight.

‘What’s wrong, Gilbert?’ Elizabeta queried, worry embedded in her tone. ‘You’re quiet. You’re never quiet.’

‘Just thinking, Liz-Biz,’ he replied, using the pet name he made for her. He heard her tsk and he let out a chuckle. ‘What? It’s a cute name!’

‘You make me sound like I’m a bee,’ she countered, glaring down at him. ‘Do I look like a bee?’

‘Nein, but it’s a cute name,’ he told her, poking her cheek. ‘And you’re cute!’

She smacked his prodding limb, blushing, which made Gilbert smirk. ‘Shut up. I’m not cute,’ she argued, her brow furrowed.

‘Ja, you are,’ he sang, seizing a lock of her hair and bringing it to his mouth. He put it between his nose and top lip and waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Moustache.’

Elizabeta snorted, then threw her head back and roared with laughter. Gilbert loved her laugh. It brought happiness in the ambience and it tinkled like an angel’s breath. It caused his beating organ to skip a beat every time he heard it and the corners of his eyes to crinkle in a smile.

‘You are such a dork,’ Elizabeta clucked, brushing his bangs away from his forehead before positioning the newly-created wreath upon his head. ‘There. That’s better.’

‘Do I look awesome?’ Gilbert crowed, hopping to his feet. ‘More awesome than usual?’

‘Yes, oh mighty King of the Dandelions,’ Elizabeta chanted, her irises alight with amusement. Gilbert struck a heroic pose but it didn’t last long as a gust of wind blew his tie into his face. He heard Elizabeta chortle as he moved it away and he gave her a blank expression.

‘Well, don’t just sit there,’ he reprimanded, holding out his hand. ‘Come, let me show you the world, my Dandelion Queen.’

‘Why, thank you, my liege,’ she gushed, taking his hand and getting pulled to her feet. ‘Where to first?’

‘This way!’ Gilbert shouted, dragging Elizabeta off in a random direction. He peeped back at her and beamed, his crimson spheres glinting with adventure and she returned the gesture with a devious grin.

They spent the rest of the day running around the field, acting like little children and Gilbert’s infatuation with Elizabeta had turned into pure love by the end of the day.

***

‘Mein Gott, it’s hot,’ Gilbert complained, pushing his dark sunglasses back up his slippery nose.

‘Be glad we’re not in Australia, then,’ Elizabeta muttered, slapping sunscreen onto her arms and legs. ‘Now there was a hot country, if there ever was one.’

‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you went until you got back,’ Gilbert rumbled, peering over his shades at her. ‘I was worrying about you for weeks!’

‘You know, Gilbert, you’re like a puppy,’ Elizabeta told him, smiling hugely. He scoffed, crossing his skinny limbs across his bare chest. She giggled at his childish behaviour.

It was a hot summer day, and the sun was taking its toll on every one, and due to this, the beaches were packed with people, Gilbert and Elizabeta amongst them. If there was one thing that Gilbert hated, it was heat and with his pale complexion, the beach wasn’t the most ideal place for him to be, no matter how badly he needed to cool down. But Elizabeta had begged him to go with her, promising a great day out.

The things I do for that girl, he mused, watching her rub in the cream on her skin. He had to admit, she looked sexy in her black one piece: it hugged her curves and showed just the right amount of cleavage.

‘Put those eyes back in that skull of yours, Beilschmidt,’ Elizabeta warned, glowering at him. He put his hands up in a surrender, smirking at her defensive stature.

‘Alright, I’m sorry for staring at a pretty woman,’ he murmured, resisting the urge to grin at her flustered state.

‘M-Make yourself useful,’ she stammered, holding out the bottle of sunscreen. ‘Can you do my back?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, ducking as Elizabeta attempted to hit him. He snickered, squeezing some of the white liquid out into his palm. ‘Turn around, Liz-Biz.’

‘Please, stop calling me that,’ Elizabeta grumbled, spinning around in the yellow grain, facing the other way. Gilbert chuckled, about to say a snarky remark when his voice died in his throat.

Why didn’t she tell me she had a backless swimsuit? He panicked, struggling to not ogle at her bare back. She was exposed from her shoulders down to the small of her back, where the shape of the costume curved into a point just above her hipbones. Gilbert spread the cream all over, his cheeks very warm, and not because of the sun.

He tried to keep his hands under control as he rubbed in the lotion; they trembled slightly as he went lower and lower. Her flesh felt smooth underneath his calloused palms and plenty of naughty scenarios played in his mind. No! Bad Gilbert! That is unawesome of you!

Wiping the excess fluid onto his own skin, he stuttered, ‘You’re ready to go, frau.’

‘Thank you, Gilberry,’ Elizabeta prattled, pecking his crimson cheek, digging around in her bag for her hat.

‘G-Gilberry?’ he spluttered, the spot where she kissed him tingling. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It’s payback,’ she replied matter-of-factly, tucking her plait into her large, straw sunhat. ‘For calling me Liz-Biz.’

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at her behind the lens when an idea came him. He waited until Elizabeta had turned away before scrambling to his feet. Sliding his arm under her knees, she let out a squeal as he picked her up. Laughing manically, he ran down the sand and jumped into the water with Elizabeta still in his hold. The sea was cold but pleasant on their hot bodies.

He let go of her under the water and reappeared from beneath the blue world. Realising that he lost his sunglasses, he looked around the ocean-floor, patting his foot in case they were nearby. He found them when his toe knocked against them and he retrieved them, putting them back on after shaking the water out of them.

Suddenly, a wave of spray splashed his face and he turned to the source: an angry, sopping wet woman with a long braid of brown hair and a black swimsuit.

‘GILBERT!’ Elizabeta yelled, clutching her sodden hat. ‘What was that for, you twat?’

‘To loosen you up,’ Gilbert told her simply, shrugging. ‘You’re too uptight. It’s unawesome of you.’

She glared at him for several moments, her hands in fists and on her hips. He blinked innocently at her, his mouth curving upwards in one corner.

‘Oh, this is on,’ Elizabeta growled, scooping some of the ocean into her hat and chucking the item at Gilbert. He yelped as the hat hit him square in the face, sending him flying backwards into the water. Her triumphant laugh filled the air, however, it was short-lived at Gilbert splashed her in retaliation.

They raged on, continuously splattering each other with the sea, their war cries and raucous hoots and snorts piercing the atmosphere well until it was dark. It was then that Gilbert apprehended that Elizabeta would always, no matter what, be the one and only woman he loved.

***

‘Elizabeta!’

Gilbert’s heart was in his throat. Fear coursed through him like a treacherous high tide, engulfing him and clouding his senses. He banged on the door to Elizabeta’s apartment with urgency, his silver hair matted to his forehead and his cherry eyes round in horror.

There was no answer and Gilbert was ready to sob. The message he had received from her earlier was imprinted in his mind, branded in his vision: It’s over.

Why didn’t I see it sooner? He scolded himself, running his hands through his drenched hair. If only I stopped it before it happened… I should have seen it!

‘Lizzy! Open the door, bitte!’ he called, his crown rested on the egress, his palms flat against the wood. ‘Please… you don’t have to do this!’

‘How do you know?’

Gilbert paused, relief washing over him. She’s still here, he told himself, breathing in deeply. She hasn’t done anything stupid.

It had been a month since that day at the beach and in the meantime, Elizabeta had found herself a new man. Gilbert had known that her most recent boyfriend was trouble and that he was going to do what the others did to her in the past. He hated himself for not realising sooner and for not saving Elizabeta while he still could. Guilt flowed in his veins, along with sympathy and anger.

‘I know because that arschloch doesn’t deserve you and you certainly don’t deserve him,’ he replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘Oh, Liz. Why do you keep choosing those who aren’t right for you?’

What would you know, idiot?

The entrance to the residence burst open, revealing a tear-streaked, messy-haired Elizabeta standing in the archway, her irises darkened in fury. Gilbert took a step back, terrified and unsure of what to do. In her sorrowed state, Gilbert was surprised at the vigour she had in her when she launched herself on him, beating him wherever she could.

‘How the hell do you know how I feel?’ she shouted, her arms flying at Gilbert’s torso. ‘How do you know what I’m going through? Who are you to know who’s right for me? How do you…’

She stopped abruptly, breathing heavily and her stature limp. Gilbert said nothing, just merely looked worriedly down at her, slowly wrapping his limbs around her. Elizabeta broke, weeping quietly into Gilbert’s shirt, her sniffles muffled through the material. Gilbert led her back inside, shutting the door with his foot. He held her as she cried, whispering soothing words and rubbing circles on her back.

‘I’m sorry…’ she muttered, gazing up at him imploringly with shimmering pools of green.

He shook his head, tucking a lock of russet behind her ear. ‘Don’t be,’ he told her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Returning Elizabeta into his embrace, Gilbert scanned her apartment, the dining room table catching his attention. Upon it were bundles of rosemary, tied together to form chariots. It was a habit of Elizabeta’s that whenever she was upset, she built random objects with whatever she could find. It seemed that the herbs in her cupboard were what she had left.

‘Gilbert?’

Gilbert hummed to show that he was listening, still hugging Elizabeta’s shivering figure. The scent of her shampoo wafted past his nostrils, the sweet smell causing memories to burst into colour.

‘Why do I keep choosing the wrong guys,’ she said, locking her wrists around Gilbert’s neck, ‘when I have you?’

He froze, unable to think straight. Did she say what I think she just said?

‘You’re always there for me,’ Elizabeta continued, and Gilbert could feel her fingers playing with the little wisps of hair at his nape. ‘You treat me with kindness, and even though you’re an idiot, you somehow manage to make me laugh.’

All that Gilbert was able to do was to stare at Elizabeta with his orbs as big as dinner plates. He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing in case it was a hallucination, but a part of him was driving him to consider it being true.

‘To be honest, Gilbert, I would be lost if it weren’t for you,’ Elizabeta resumed, threading her digits through the platinum strands on Gilbert’s head, who purred with satisfaction at the touch. ‘You’re my best friend and I… well, I thought that’s what we’ll always be. That’s why I went out with those guys: to try and forget that you and I were never going to be together. I’m so stupid, aren’t I?’

If she was expecting an answer, she didn’t get one for Gilbert, in the spur of the moment, crashed his lips onto hers. Almost instantly, she kissed him back and Gilbert’s stomach began doing flips. Her lips were warm, velvety and heavenly – it was better than he had ever imagined.

His hands rested on her hips and the back of her head as he tilted to the side to deepen the exchange, sparks exploding at their connected mouths. Elizabeta’s palms slid down his chest as they parted, her lids hooded with love swirling in her irises.

It was a sight Gilbert vowed to never forget. Too long had it been since he had seen her so full of life, so radiant with affection, so happy with being in love. He felt accomplished in terms of making her see the beauty of love and he had finally gotten the woman of his dreams.

‘Is this your way of telling me that you love me?’ she joshed, a cheeky grin playing at her features.

Gilbert looked at her seriously, nodding. ‘Ja, because you are – how do you Hungarians say it? – my awesome kedvesem.’

Elizabeta flushed and a victorious feeling bubbled in the pit of Gilbert’s being. It was rare to see Elizabeta embarrassed and flustered but whenever it happened, Gilbert couldn’t help but feel jubilant, especially if he caused it. He received a light punch in the shoulder and another passionate kiss.

‘You’re an idiot.’

‘But I’m your awesome idiot,’ Gilbert rebutted, rubbing his nose against hers. She chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile.

‘Yes, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Hello everyone~
Guess what?
THIS IS MY 100TH DEVIATION
:iconcannotevenplz:
Oh my gosh
This is crazy XD
It only took me two years to get here D:

I think you can tell that I was just waiting to make PruHun my 100th :3
I love them so much :iconblushplz:
And I love AusHun at the same time.
... Is that even possible?
Meh
Whatever XD

Anyway, this another part of the Eurovision songfic series I am doing and this time, it's Hungary's Kedvesem. This song, along with L'Enfer Et Moi, is one of my favourite songs in this year's Eurovision Song Contest. Not to mention that ByeAlex is pretty attractive //shot

So, I hope you like this PruHun fluff~
It's almost 3000 words, omg D:
And Hungary's totally OOC T^T


Comments are much appreciated~

ENJOY

Identitet: ~Coming Soon
Lonely Planet: ~Coming Soon
Shine: ~Coming Soon
Hold Me: ~Coming Soon
Solayoh: ~Coming Soon
Love Kills: ~Coming Soon
Samo Shampioni: ~Coming Soon
Mizerja: ~Coming Soon
An Me Thimase: ~Coming Soon
Only Teardrops: ~Coming Soon
Et Uus Saaks Alguse: ~Coming Soon
Marry Me: ~Coming Soon
L'Enfer Et Moi: doubleox515.deviantart.com/art…
Waterfall: ~Coming Soon
Glorious: ~Coming Soon
Alcohol Is Free: ~Coming Soon
Kedvesem: ~You are here
Eg A Lif: ~Coming Soon
Only Love Survives: ~Coming Soon
Rak Bishvilo: ~Coming Soon
L'Esssenziale: ~Coming Soon
Here We Go: ~Coming Soon
Something: ~Coming Soon
Pred Da Se Razdeni: ~Coming Soon
Tomorrow: ~Coming Soon
O Mie: ~Coming Soon
Igranka: ~Coming Soon
Birds: ~Coming Soon
I Feed You My Love: ~Coming Soon
It's My Life: ~Coming Soon
Crisalide: ~Coming Soon
Ljubav Je Svuda: ~Coming Soon
Straight Into Love: ~Coming Soon
Constigo Hasta El Final: ~Coming Soon
You: ~Coming Soon
You and Me: ~Coming Soon
Gravity: ~Coming Soon
Believe In Me: ~Coming Soon

Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya
Storyline (c) doubleox515
Kedvesem (c) ByeAlex

Preview picture is not mine.
Image found here: www.google.com.au/search?hl=en…
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Reader's POV

Walking quickly along the side of the road, you crossed your arms over your chest and furiously puffed out a warm breath of air. The chilly wind sent your hair in all directions and nipped at your nose causing you to sneeze a couple of times. Your fingers were reddened by the frisky air and so were your cheeks.

Stupid weather... Stupid school... STUPID LIFE!

Squeezing your eyes shut, you kicked a rock that wound up in your path and watched it tumble away across the street. When you realized how foolish you were being, you enabled your arms to fall on each side of your body.

School had ended about half an hour ago and since your parents were currently at work and taking the bus definitely wasn't an option, you were stuck with walking home all by yourself. Again. And to top things off, your day at school wasn't the best either. A mixture of odd glances and the feeling of being avoided. Sometimes these thoughts made you want to cry...

A wet feeling on your hand suddenly caught your attention and so you looked down to see what it was.

Oh... It's just a tear...

You rubbed your sleepy eyes with the back of your hand and kind of felt happy for once about not wearing any makeup or you would have looked like a raccoon by now. Your breath began to feel shaky and so you started walking again. It was getting dark quickly and you hated being in the streets at night. When you finally got home, you dug in your coat pocket with your right hand, searching for your key. When you felt the familiar cold feeling of the key against your fingers you hurried yourself up with the opening of the door, eager to be in the comfort of your own home again.

As you pushed the heavy wooden door, a warm gust of air welcomed you inside causing you to sigh in relief. Autumn definitely wasn't your favorite season. You made sure to carefully close the door behind you after kicking your leather boots off. You made your way towards the kitchen with the desire of making yourself some hot cocoa before starting your homework.

You looked around for a second and began taking the necessary ingredients out in order to prepare your beverage. Just as you were about to take your favorite mug out, your eyes landed on a nearby frame which held a very precious picture in it. It was a photo of you and your parents while on your vacation in Honolulu, Hawaii. Your father was holding your mother by the waist and you were standing right in front of them, doing a cute thumbs up sign with your hands. It was taken somewhere in the afternoon so the ocean behind you looked absolutely breathtaking. One thing about that photo always broke your heart, though. You were all smiling.

When was the last time you actually smiled?

You took the photo in your hands and stared at it for a couple of minutes before setting it back to its original spot.

Will I ever be that happy again?

You closed your eyes, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks. You placed your hands on the counter and arched your back inward, the sobs causing your poor body to shake uncontrollably. God knows how long you stayed in this position before you began to feel a vibration under your palms which were placed against the counter. You knew immediately what that shaking was.

Someone was knocking at your door.

Yao's POV

After seeing you storm out of the room in rage earlier at school, he knew he was going to have to work hard to get you to accept him as a tutor. He didn't see you for the remaining of the day which disappointed him a bit but right before the last bell rang, Mrs. Ackerman was able to give him your address in order for him to come to your house and help you out.

"Be gentle with her, Yao..." She said.

"I know. I will." He replied.

And now here he was, standing in front of your door with a couple of school textbooks in his hands. He didn't ring the bell, knowing you wouldn't be able to hear it so instead he knocked, hoping you would feel the vibrations throughout the house.

He had been waiting for a couple of minutes now and wasn't too sure about if you had felt his knocking or not.

"Maybe she isn't home... Or maybe if I knock again she'll-" Just as he was about to knock a couple of more times, the door flew open revealing you with a rather red, puffy and angry looking face. Yao stared at you for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

"H-Hi, uh I just came over to tell you that the t-tutoring starts tonight and you might be asking yourself right now h-how I found your address well it was Mrs. Ackerman who gave it to me since, well you know, I must know where you live in order for me to drop by u-uh anyways yeah I hope I'm not too late because-" The poor Asian boy spoke rapidly and stuttered a couple of times but quickly stopped himself as he noticed you glaring at him with a lots of intensity. That's when he remembered.

"O-Oh right... You can't hear me..." He facepalmed himself and watched you roll your eyes in annoyance. Yao quickly pulled a white sheet of paper out of his textbook and began to scribble down a few words for you to read.

I'M HERE FOR THE TUTORING. MAY I COME IN?

You read the words with absolutely no emotion in your eyes and frowned in disgust. He watched you look up at him before slamming the door right in his face. Unfortunately, he was standing too close to it and his nose ended up being squished by the wooden monster. He dropped his textbooks and brought his hands up to his nose before screeching in pain.

"OW MY DAMNED NOSE!!! WHAT THE ABSOLUTE HECK?!" Yao never swore but now he was getting tired of this attitude you kept on giving him each and every time you saw his face. All he wanted to do was help! And he was going to help, whether you liked it or not.

He started banging his fist on the door while his other hand held his bloody nose.

"Please _____________! Let me in! I just want to help you! I won't hurt or laugh at you, I promise!" After a few minutes of no response, Yao finally gave up and began to walk down the outdoor staircase leading onto the sidewalk.

Was I too rough on her? Anyways, I definitely know how she feels about me now... Maybe I should try again tomorrow. But this time I'll choose my words more carefully.
:XD: Stop being so mean with Yao! All he wants to do is help... Gawd.

'Sup guys? I apologize for the long absence... I had lots of studying to do during these past couple of weeks and I couldn't find the time to write /: I barely had time to sleep... ugh. But anyways, I checked my agenda and this week should be a little more easy for me since I only have one exam and I can finish homework pretty quickly (: I know you guys have been telling me about how short my chapters are so I tried to make this one a wee bit longer... was this chapter a good length for you guys? ;p

CH5: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…
CH7: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz
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Neon lights flashed, loud dubstep boomed through the giant speakers hanging pretty much everywhere throughout the terrace and red plastic party cups lay all over the place. Girls slipped their tops off and jumped into the pool while several guys were too busy having drinking contests among themselves. Couples hid beneath the staircase or in the garage to make out without being disturbed by other nosy guests.

Laughing, you clutched your stomach and tried not to spill your drink all over your clothes. Antonio's joke sent practically everybody around into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Your head seemed to spin in all directions, the effects of alcohol quickly getting to you. You could see that you weren't the only one getting drunk here. Francis was one step away from passing out, causing him to lean on Belle for balance.

"Guys! What's so funny?" Gilbert cheered as he made his way into the small group of friends while swinging his arm around your shoulders. You smiled back up at your loud boyfriend.

"Just a joke Antonio said." Belle giggled, a little tipsy.

"Where were you during this past hour? I've been looking everywhere for you..." You slurred, your voice carrying a happy tone. Gilbert smirked and kissed your cheek. He retrieved the arm that was around your shoulders and sunk his hand into his pocket. The white-haired teen pulled out a full set of keys and dangled them before your fascinated eyes.

"A-Are those..." You stuttered. He smiled and nodded while everyone leaned forward to get a better look at the silvers keys.

"You bet! Ludwig's letting me drive his baby back home!"

Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother, owned a very expensive Mercedes-Benz G-Class and acted like a parent towards it. Never got it dirty, took extra care of it andnever let his older sibling drive it. The young German was very aware of how extreme Gil could get and therefor refused to let him drive it, despite the Prussian's begs and pleads.

"How did you get him to give you the keys?" France asked, quite amazed.

"Easy! Just act nice towards him, show him how mature you are-"

"You got him drunk, didn't you?" Gilbert turned to you, biting his lip before planting a quick kiss on your lips.

"Will you still love me if I said yes?" You chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, of course. But enough with the talking! I want to go ride that fancy Mercedes!" You started running towards the yard's exit and out into the vast parking lot, eyes searching frantically for the vehicle. Belle, France, Antonio and Gilbert came rushing behind you, eager to see the car as well.

As you arrived on the spot, you all gasped in awe.

"It's... It's..." Stuttered Antonio.

"...beautiful." Cried Francis, half drunk.

"Well what are you guys waiting for? Get in!" Cheered the Prussian as he jumped in the driver's seat.

"I call shot gun!" You declared before rushing towards the door on the opposite side of the car. Belle, Francis and Antonio got in the back and slammed their door shut without even bothering to buckle in. Fortunately, you seemed to be the only one who remembered. You reached for the radio and turned the volume up, Skrillex's Cinema blasting through the speakers. All of your heads started to bob up and down to the beat as Gilbert turned the keys and slammed on the gas pedal. You were sent to the front from the car's sudden speed, but regained yourself pretty quickly.

Your albino boyfriend turned the wheel and drove down the town's main road. Belle rolled her window down and popped her head out.

"I feel so alive! ________, you have to try this! It's so fuuuuuuuun!" She yelled, her hair flying in the wind behind her. You giggled and turned around to pull her back inside.

"Idiot, do you really want your head to be torn off by a passing car?" You laughed as she stuck her nose in the air, also drunk.

"I can do whatever I want, thank you very much!" You rolled your eyeballs and turned back to Gilbert who wasn't even paying attention to the road.

"Hey! Eyes on the road, dummkopf." You ordered him, but he ignored you. Instead, he was trying to make Francis stop tickling the back of his neck. Worried, you slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Gilbert! I'm serious, watch the road!" He turned to you and raised his eyebrow.

"Seriously, frau? You don't think I'm responsible enough to drive? C'mon, at least try and have a good time." He slurred, getting tipsy. You narrowed your eyes and pinched your lips together, ignoring Belle, Francis and Antonio's cries in the back of the car.

"I'm not saying you're not responsible! I just don't want to end up in a serious accident like-"

"GILBERT! THE ROAD!" Screeched Toni as he violently shook his friend's shoulder. You both turned your heads to where Antonio was looking only to see a large truck coming straight towards you.

Gilbert's scream was the last thing you heard.
And so here's the prologue to my new series: ChinaxReader ~ Silent Serendipity

So as you can see, Reader-chan (aka YOU) just got in an accident with Belle and the BTT. I won't say more because that would be ruining the surprise, eh? All will come in time. I've been planning this series for a while now, I was just waiting to be done writing other people's one shots. I used China this time because not a lot of people use him and I like using the countries who don't get chosen as often as America or England, for example. I really do hope a lot of people see this and will find this interesting! <3

PS. And yes... I changed my avatar to China... to get into the mood lol

~Ciao

LINK TO CHAPTER 1: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…

The picture does not belong to me, I found it somewhere on Photobucket but I lost the link.
What Ludwig's car looks like: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia…
Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz
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Yao's POV

The next morning, Yao presented himself at the teacher's desk a little earlier than usual. Tightening his grip on his school bag, he slowly made his way into the abnormally silent classroom. It was weird seeing this class so peaceful and empty. It was usually so noisy, agitated and... never mind. The female teacher felt a presence in the room and lazily raised her head from the exams she was correcting to see who had come in. Her face brightened up as she recognized the Asian boy, since he had been such a hardworking and polite student from the beginning of the school year.

"Yao! You're kind of early this morning." She giggled at her own joke. "How may I help you?"

Yao nervously swallowed his fear down and straightened his back.

"Mrs. Ackerman, I"m sure you're aware of ___________ ___________'s... deafness? Am I correct?" The woman lowered her head and nodded.

"Yes, of course. I know what happened to the poor girl. What about her do you need to know?"

The student fiddled with his wrist watch for a couple of seconds, rethinking about the decision he was about to take. Ever since that conversation with Feli, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about what he had told him. The accident. The deaths of your friends and boyfriend. That one friend who is still alive but has very small chances of coming out of that coma. At night he would lie down on his bed and try to imagine the accident, what you must have felt back then. He tried to put himself in your shoes to see what you saw.

And not to mention the way he must have offended you when all he was trying to do was to befriend you. He constantly felt guilty and wanted to make it up to you as well as to apologize. Luckily for his brilliant self, he came up with an idea. He still wasn't sure how the teacher was going to react, and especially how you were going to react to it. But he was willing to take a chance.

"I want to be _________'s tutor."

~

Reader's POV

Lazily closing your locker, you hugged your textbooks to your chest and looked down. You didn't have that great of a night last night and all you felt at the moment was tiredness and the desire to go home and sleep for the next 2 years or so. You felt everyone staring at you as you made your way down the hallway. They weren't hateful stares. In fact, you had no idea what kind of stares they were. But they weren't stares of admiration, that was certain. Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes and so you pulled your hood up to hide your puffy face. Just as you were about to walk into your next class, a little redheaded girl came running up to you out of breathe and pointed in the opposite direction of the hallway. She held a paper up with letters written on it.

"Mrs. Ackerman wants to see you in her class right now." You frowned and took a deep breath before angrily making your way towards her classroom.

Great. Now you were in trouble. Because nobody gets called to Mrs. Ackerman's class without being in trouble.

~

You instantly ripped your hood off of your head and nearly dropped your books.

"WHAT?!" You screeched, even though you couldn't hear yourself. Your teacher rolled her eyes and pointed to the blackboard. Yao looked down at his shoes, pretending not to exist.

-FROM NOW ON, YAO WILL BE YOUR NEW TUTOR.

Anger boiling in you, you furiously grabbed a random piece of chalk and wrote down in big white letters: "WHY?!"

-BECAUSE YOUR GRADES AREN'T IMPROVING AND YOU COULD REALLY USE THE PRIVATE TUTORING. YAO IS AN EXCELLENT STUDENT AND HE CAN HELP YOU GET BETTER MARKS IN NO TIME.

-WHAT IF I DON'T WANT HIM TO TUTOR ME? I DON'T NEED HIS HELP!

Mrs. Ackerman sighed and rested her hand on Yao's shoulder.

"You'll have to be patient with her. Are you really willing to do this? ________ can be quite a... handful." Yao chuckled nervously and nodded.

"It's the least I can do. Besides..." He took a quick glance at you and noticed you were literally fuming.

"...I'm sure we can get along somehow." The female teacher clapped her hands together in glee and quickly rushed to her desk.

"Marvelous! Here, let me get your schedules!" You watched her skip away and quickly turned your head to the Asian boy who gave you a small smile. You eyed him from head to toe in disgust before growling and storming out of the classroom.

Great, now the guy who made fun of me is going to tutor me! Can this life get any worse?!

Yao's POV

Yao watched you stomp away in anger and sighed. Was this really a good idea? You didn't seem too happy when you found out about the tutoring. Heels clicked against the floor and he instantly knew Mrs. Ackerman was back.

"Here, I figured out a schedule for both of you! You two are going to meet up at _______'s house on Wednesday nights after school and Saturday mornings and... Where did she go?" Yao bit his lip and tilted his head towards the door.

"Oh..." The teacher whispered.

"You can give the schedules to me. I'll hand them to her tonight after school." The woman smiled hopefully at him and nodded before giving in the papers.

"I really do hope it's going to work out between the two of you. The poor girl hasn't been the same ever since the accident. I'm afraid things will end terribly if nobody jumps in to make things right again." The Chinese boy looked down at the schedules and looked up smiling as well.

"Don't worry. I'm determined to make things right again."
Dayuuuuuuum :iconohmygodplz: We're getting to the juicy part of the story :iconiggybrowsplz: Sorry it took so long for me to update, I have so much work to do lately! D: Screw homework and exams :iconomgcryplz:

CH4: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…
CH6: sherlockedhazza.deviantart.com…

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz
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Never before had she seen the young master in such a state of fury.

It had all started when he and his troops had stormed through the palace doors, vanquished in battle. His pristine white uniform was torn, drenched in blood, his habitual light-hearted gaze replaced with one of steel and ferocity. A crude frown twisted his thin lips as the glass of his spectacles flashed in the sunlight, the red and white flag of their country, which normally flew proud over the heads of the soldiers, clutched in his clenched fist. Bandages were wound over his forehead and torso, both soaked and matted with crimson. The once triumphant warriors cowered behind him as he strode, his face a mask of vehemence, along the hallway, obliviously leaving behind a trail of blood on the tiled floors where he walked.

She watched in bewilderment as the military force, stripped of their victorious façade, made their way past, their clothes ripped and bloodied, with fresh wounds opened upon their flesh. Their faces were the very picture of defeat: despondent, downhearted, tainted with failure. She wanted to reach out, to comfort them – after all, they were fighting for the country and to her, there was no greater honour. Of course, she could not intervene. She was merely a lower-class worker, along with a handful of other men and women – people who were responsible for keeping the mansion clean, keeping the bellies of the authorities full, making sure the people who they served were kept satisfied.

The young master happened to be one of those people. No one was quite sure of his rank, nor of his relationship to the Archduchess, with whom he frequently conversed. All they knew was that he held a position of power, and as they had been told, that was all they needed to know. He always seemed to take their losses in battle personally, although he never responded with disappointment, never seemed to show any emotion at all, at least not on the surface. The only communication of his sentiments were through gestures: a twitch of the eye, a clasp of the hands, a downturned corner of his mouth. It was as if he had been keeping it all suppressed on purpose, repressed inside, only to be unleashed in a torrent of intensity sometime later.

Later happened to be today.

He had almost made it out of her sight before he was approached by a young messenger bearing a letter. Stupid fool, she thought inwardly, brow furrowing in concern, you should know better than to approach him in a state like this. The messenger, however, did not heed the warning looks she was sending his way, instead reaching to tap the man on his shoulder and handing him the small sheet of paper as he turned around.

Soldiers and helps alike watched with bated breath as the man’s violet eyes scanned the written letter, flicking left and right, back and forth. The messenger stood with his back straight, unfazed, much to the surprise of those observing. A moment – it was no more than ten seconds, although it seemed like ten hours – passed before it happened, before she noticed the sudden rage overtake the young male’s classically beautiful features, the twist of his lips becoming more cruel than dissatisfied and the pallor of his fair skin flushing a beet red. Rage is not a fine expression on him, she thought fleetingly, only an instant before an animalistic cry of anguish escaped the dark-haired man’s lips, almost as if against his will, as he crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it fiercely onto the floor.

The messenger was grabbed by his shoulders and slammed into the wall, the sheer force of the impact knocking the air out of his lungs. The young boy’s pale blue eyes widened as the older male began to yell at him, spitting out the words in a livid, enraged tone so fast she could barely decipher them. There was not only pure wrath in those lilac orbs, she noticed – there was insanity. The insanity of a man driven to lunacy by war, by suffering and pain and conflict, and by God knew what in that fatal letter. She could only watch, frozen in horror, as the refined, polished frontage of the man they had all held in reverence crumbled.

No one knew how much time had passed before the torrent of his severe speech ceased, before his shoulders slumped and the light died from his eyes, once again a man like any other. Realisation finally dawned – she could see it, see the recognition sweeping across his weary countenance – as he beheld the sight in front of him: the messenger boy quivering, beads of sweat trickling down his pale face, the troops and the assistants petrified, rooted to their spots with terror. She could see the fear in his own eyes, fear at what he had done, what had become of the once respected young master, as he turned tail and ran down the hallway, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence.

***

Roderich Edelstein wrenched open the door to his music room, banging it shut – the resulting energy juddering the wooden door frame – as soon as he stepped across the threshold. He flinched at the noise, inhaling sharply. Sometimes he forgot his own strength, forgot the kind of power he held – just as he had done back in the foyer. Grabbing locks of russet hair in his gloved hands, he staggered blindly towards the nearest seat in sight, letting loose a tormented wail. He was foolish, he realised, foolish to believe that battle meant certain victory. Foolish to let innocent bystanders risk their lives for him, die for him.

Foolish to hurt that boy the way I did.

Pulling the blood-stained, white gloves off his thin fingers, his hands trembling with every movement, he looked down at the floor in shame. What had happened to him? He had worked so hard to build up his image – image was everything in politics and war, really – and he could tell that he had been successful. He had drawn stares as he walked, created a hush in rooms into which he stepped. He was not formidable, anything but that; those days had passed. No, he was simply someone who commanded attention, someone who was esteemed but not feared, honoured but not scorned behind his back – and one act had demolished his carefully built exterior.

The nation of Austria was a mighty force, a winner of wars, an intimidating opponent in battle, but Roderich thought himself nothing but a coward, hiding behind walls and evading the blame. Now, with his secrets exposed, he ran away.

Ran away like the coward I am.

Wiping a smear of red off his cheek as his eyes, blurred by self-pitying tears, finally regained their focus, he realised that he had taken a seat on the stool of his piano. How ironic that he turn to music at such a time, when music was his pride and joy. Chuckling bitterly to himself, he lifted the fallboard, setting it carefully into place, and began to play.

His fingers flew across the keys with the expertise of someone who had many, many years of experience, light as silk and gentle as the wind. He started off with a simple, uplifting melody, improvising as he went along. The music floated through the room, almost seeming to lighten the gloomy ambience and lift his shattered spirits. He kept to the high notes, using them tenderly yet swiftly as to not render the tune piercing and harsh. From there, he moved to the midrange, playing slower this time, more careful in his selection of keys and notes, drawing out some and shortening others. Gradually, he brought in the low notes, his slim, pianist’s fingers moving faster now, more frantic and urgent and desperate. The once joyful, heartening harmonies became dark, thunderous. Roderich’s eyes were closed, his hands moving across the keys out of instinct. This was him playing now – not his training, nor the responsibility he felt he held to music. It was purely him, and him alone.

He had become so involved in the music that he did not notice the pair of eyes watching him from the doorway. He did not notice as she stepped silently into the room, her tread as light as a cat’s, watching him cautiously as he played. He did not notice as she sat right beside him, her shoulder almost brushing his, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. He did notice, however, when she placed one of her hands atop one of his. His lightning-quick movements did not cease straight away, instead progressively coming to a soft halt as he ended the extemporised piece. She smiled at the way his fingers moved artfully across the keys, at the way he opened his eyes as he did, lavender orbs staring straight into her (e/c) ones.

He was not surprised by her sudden appearance, did not say anything at all. Nevertheless, his eyes did ask one question: do you play?

She set her own hands upon the keyboard and gave him his answer.

Roderich watched, mesmerised, as she played – not creating the piece as she went along, not like he had done. A small part in the back of his mind commented on the technical aspects of her performance. He could tell, by her furrowed brow and the biting of her lip, that she was concentrating. She did not play with the precise, well-rehearsed movements of a professional, either; her hands moved as though she was mirroring someone – hitting all the right notes but not in the right way. She had learnt through sight, he recognised, through witnessing someone else play and committing their actions to memory.

Although she does have talent.

As the pedantic side of him receded, he began to marvel at the simple details about the way she played. They way that, with no past tuition to guide her, she seemed to move in a very naturalistic way, unrestricted and freed from all the boundaries. The way her (h/c) hair fell over one side of her face in a sheet, how her shoulders moved up and down with her hands and her foot tapped rhythmically on the floor, keeping pace with the music. The way she, unlike him, never seemed to lose herself in the music; she stayed focused, trying not to make any mistakes. The way she finished off the song with a flourish unlike the original piece of music which ended quite modestly, building up to a fast tempo before abruptly ending it to create a dramatic effect – her own personal touch.

She looked up at him after that, her (e/c) eyes wide in expectation and her head cocked to one side, questioning whether he approved of her little presentation. He smiled slightly, just one corner of his lip turning upward, as he gave her a small nod. She beamed in return, and in that one expression, that one gesture, he felt his problems recede into the distance because all he saw was her, just her. She seemed so human, so alive, with such genuine emotions – something that he could not help but envy. But it was not just that; she smiled as if she did not have a care in the world, as if her status in society mattered little, as if she did not care who he was or what he was, only that she had gained the appreciation of the one pianist that no one in all of Austria could surpass.

He barely noticed as she reached to undo the sash around his waist and take off his white, although now mostly scarlet, coat, dropping it unceremoniously at their feet. He did not speak a word of protest as her hands reached up to caress his face, and neither did she as he pulled her into a tight embrace, his breath tickling her neck. He closed his eyes and she closed hers as they sat there, two people intertwined, once contained in their own little universes with their own large problems; but now, with someone else to share the burden, those problems did not seem so large after all.  

***

Here lies Roderich Edelstein, defeated once again.

He laughed, but it was a sound of no humour. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, robbing him of vision in one eye, the other obscured by the shattered lens of his glasses. He was blinded, unable to witness his own demise. A sword was clutched in the grip of his right hand, although the arm was useless, broken a long time ago during the heat of the battle. His body lay crumpled on the rubble of what was once the main hall of the palace and its walls, the grand chandelier that once hung on the high ceiling fragmented into pieces that glinted in the sunlight and the exquisite wall hangings ripped and torn to shreds. His legs were crushed under the wreckage, pinning him into place as he panted and heaved what he thought – hoped, almost – were his last breaths.

Another man stood above him, his pale hair whipping around his face with the wind, his burgundy eyes alight with arrogance and victory. He laughed, taunting and jeering at the damaged nation at his feet, as his black and white flag flew triumphantly behind him. How satisfied he must be, Roderich thought, his eyelids fluttering as his eyes made a weak attempt to see once again, to have defeated me once more. How satisfied he must be to see me crumpled beneath him. How satisfied he must be to know that my last image will be of his smug face, of his haughty grin. How satisfied he must be to be the winner.

He heard Gilbert call his name as if from a distance, but paid no attention. He had given up, no longer caring about his fate. He would die here and be remembered as a weakling, a quitter. Not as the noble, stately man he had once been, but as this. He felt as though he should care about that – image is everything, isn’t it? – but he could not bring himself to do so. The fight had left him, along with the will to live. He had never descended so low before, but what was a man at the brink of death to do?

But there was a part of his conscience, a part buried so deep he could barely detect it, that reminded him of who he was. Of life. Of the joys of living. Of humanity and music and beauty, beauty that one could not see or partake in from the grave.

Of her.

With one last ounce of willpower, he opened his eyes.

He saw Gilbert raise his sword, ready to deliver the final blow. He saw the light behind him, framing his light hair with a holy glow. He saw the blade descend, and readily welcomed death.

But death did not come.

A woman did.

A woman struck by the knife-edge of a sword, whose mouth opened slightly as she looked down at the red blossoming upon the thin fabric of her dress. A woman who fell, whose body was weighed down by gravity, beside the dying man on the mounds of debris. A woman whose (e/c) irises were no longer filled with light, with ecstasy, with images of the piano and the palace and one of Roderich’s rare smiles.

A woman who died by the side of the nation she had dedicated herself to.

Roderich descended into darkness, wishing he had not seen at all.
A contest entry in the 'Heart Pains' category for Miabia100's contest! fav.me/d6zukyq

I honestly thought I was never going to get this done, I started it about two days ago with no inspiration whatsoever. Considering that time, it's an okay fic, I guess, although I'm a bit iffy about some bits. Also, there's no dialogue! This is my first time writing a story with no dialogue. It was pretty fun to try~
As for the plotline or setting of the story itself, I guess it takes place some time during or around the War of the Austrian Succession, or is somewhat based on it. Feel free to interpret it how you want, I guess.
Enjoy!

Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya
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There she was. The girl of his dreams. (Full Name). She was a beauty. No one could deny that. Just who was this special girl? Who longed to be with her forever?

Well, it was just a certain man named Matthias Køhler. You see, Matthias and (Name) had been dating for six months. They certainly were happy times for the Dane. He was head over heels for her. That’s quite an impressive feat considering Matthias was an infamous playboy.

Though they were perfect for each other, fate had other plans. It tore apart the two lovers, but it wasn’t a typical breakup. It was actually an amicable one, a breakup that they both agreed upon.  So, the two went their separate ways, thinking that they’d never see each other again, but fate wasn’t done.

So, here he was. Matthias was taking the train to his boring job at his boring office with his friend, Lukas. He sat there with a solemn smile, thinking about all the blissful memories they had made together.  He sat there, letting his eyes drift among the various passengers when he saw her. The angel he had longed to see.

The sun’s rays captured her flaxen hair in a beautiful glow and her eyes sparkled with mirth as she laughed at a joke that her male companion said. God, she was so beautiful. Matthias could feel his face relax and turn into a smile as he saw how joyful she was. He could hear Lukas scoff at his behavior, but that was just a distant sound. Matthias was lost in a world composed of just him and (Name). He wouldn’t lose any sleep tonight. He had seen his angel and he had a plan to get her back.

As Matthias continued to stare at her, (Name) turned her gaze to the love-struck Dane. The corners of her mouth lifted up into a small smile that she couldn’t help but make. He was still the silly Dane she knew. The miniscule action made Matthias’s heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. He knew that he would never see her after this train ride, but he didn’t care; they shared a moment that would last until the end.

The train gently came to a stop as it opened the doors for the passengers to either leave or get on. Matthias sat for a millisecond more, not bothering to get up as he thought about how Cupid must be smiling at his mushy actions. He watched (Name) grasp her friend’s hand leave with him while he gave her a tender kiss on the cheek. Her (e/c) orbs brightened with joy, just like they did when Matthias did so to her.  At this, Matthias’s cerulean eyes dampened with realization and sorrow. He knew he would never be with (Name) ever again.
Yay! I'm alive!

So, sorry for not being on for a very long time. I've just had other things to do.

(I should totally be working on my series, but I'm too lazy to. Don't kill me!)

Anyways, here's a random, short, lame and bittersweet drabble about (drumroll please) The King of Northern Europe~!

So, regarding my series, I'm working on part 3. I'll finish. Don't worry.

Right....so that's it for now. I hope you guys enjoy!

Hetalia (c) :iconhimaruyaplz:
You (c) You
Story (c) Me
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White. That was all she could see.

The colour of purity, of virtue, of chastity. The colour of infinity, of renewal, of a clean slate; of newly fallen snow and of a blank canvas left unpainted. The colour of beauty and of youth, and sometimes, of love: the colour of a bride’s dress, of the veil concealing her face. The colour of the feathers of a dove, flying free into the cloudless blue sky, perhaps never to be seen again. The colour of freedom, of choice, of independence, of light against dark and good against evil. The colour of possibilities, of hope, a prospect in what was otherwise oblivion. Such a beautiful colour, white, so serene and harmonious – and yet it could just as easily go the other way.

It was the colour of hydrangeas, the flowers of a withdrawn, hard-hearted, frigid disposition. It was not only the other half, the contrasting associate, of black, but its companion, its cohort, its partner in crime. It was the colour of mourning, of loss, of a body left vacant. It was the colour of void, of emptiness, of doubt and insecurity. It was the blank spaces in between, the questions left unanswered. It was the answer just out of reach, the riddle unsolved. It was whole, it was united, but still… it was not. Too empty to be full and too full to be empty, included yet excepted. No one could really understand it.

No one can really understand me.

She blinked, and suddenly there were brown lines criss-crossing against the whiteness she had once believed to be infinite. It was infinite no longer, for those were tiles – tiles on a ceiling. A ceiling meant that she was inside. How did she get inside? What was she doing inside? Her head hurt. It hurt so much. She closed her eyes, and now all she could see was red. Or was it pink? It didn’t matter that much, because there was a pang in her chest. That hurt too. Why did everything hurt?

I want the pain to go away.

She flipped over onto her side and opened her eyes again. Now she could see a green wall. There was furniture up against the wall – a wooden table and two chairs. There were flowers on the table. Several bundles of nice, colourful flowers wrapped up in pattered plastic, adorned with bows and ribbons. They weren’t white, fortunately. She was fed up with white. Were the flowers for her? Who would give her flowers, besides… besides him?

Memories tugged at the corners of her consciousness, vying for her attention. They hurt her brain. She couldn’t let them win. She couldn’t concede. Flipping back onto her back, the white ceiling with its myriad of paradoxes greeted her once again. The lines started to blur into the white once again, rendering the puzzle whole, as her breathing quickened and the throbbing in her head worsened. The pills… where were they? They kept the memories suppressed. They made her feel better. They made the agony withdraw, numbing her mind into a subdued state.

They stop me from thinking about what happened to him.

But there were no pills. There were no doctors. She was fed up of them, too. Fed up of relying on people she didn’t know, of nameless strangers. Her wish may have been their command, but still they bent and twisted those wishes, climbing through the loopholes and tearing the biddings apart into strips of paper. She couldn’t rely on anyone – not even herself. The only person she could truly depend on was gone. He was gone and she couldn’t fix that.

Instead, she let the memories carry her away like a leaf in the breeze, like a current in the ocean. She let them take her away into the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, the places she had left unexplored for what seemed like eons. Maybe then she could find the solution to the problem, join the gaps, colour in the white.

Maybe then we can be reunited.

***

It had been raining.

The downpour slashed against glass windows, as sharp and vicious as knives, the intent to kill heavy in the action itself. The clouds hung low and imposing, the grey sky overcast and gloomy, domineering over the entirety of the small town. The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance as lightning scissored across the heavens, creating a rip in the fabric of the clouds. Wind blew, strong and insistent in its force, sending leaves, twigs and even elements of man-made structures – sign posts, roofing, wooden fencing – skidding and flying across the streets. Trees inclined to the side, their seemingly robust trunks and resilient braches now nothing more than insignificant disturbances to the profound gale force.

In short, it was the worst thunderstorm Australia had seen all year. It had come out of the blue, completely unexpected, startling street-wandering citizens out of their reveries and sending them running for the shelters of their homes. Just as abruptly as the storm had arrived, the streets began to flood, rainwater streaming and snaking down the paved surfaces like water over a riverbed. In a matter of seconds, the water was already waist level and rising fast. They had certainly experienced storms like this before, but at least there had been fair warning. Emergency supplies were dug up out of cupboards and safety equipment was prepared as people attempted to stay as far above ground level as possible.

She was perched on the bed in her bedroom on the second storey of her house. Resting her elbow on the windowsill and placing her chin in her hand, she stared out the large glass window, brow furrowed in concern. She couldn’t make out much, not with the rain being as turbulent and riotous as it was, but it was enough to see that the storm had wrecked more damage than necessary. Undoubtedly, it would have a radius spanning kilometres beyond the town, which, in fact, was her main point of apprehension.

He had left early this morning for a business trip far outside of town. He had been unaware of the potential storm – they all had, really – so he bid her farewell with not even an umbrella as protection. The weather this morning had been as clear as weather could come during winter: perhaps a few clouds, the vibrant cerulean hue of the sky slightly muted. There was not the slightest indication of a lethal thunderstorm. If anything, it had been one of the best days since autumn. However, the weather was a deceitful and temperamental thing, a system as fragile as the ice of a snowflake, prone to the winds of change – quite literally.

The storm was probably not as widespread as to reach his destination – if it was, it was truly a monster of the weather – but there would certainly be risks on the way back. She bit her lip nervously as she contemplated this. Her own job did not require her to leave town, ensuring her safety, but that meant his was compromised instead. The scales of fortune were tipped in her favour, but of course they required compensation. Everything had to be balanced. Push and pull, up and down, matter and antimatter, a death for a life. It was a law that governed the basic principles of nature and extended to something as complex as human life – for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Simple physics that could cost someone their existence.

She withdrew her arm from the windowsill and lifted her legs up onto the bed, wrapping her arms around them. She hoped nothing had happened to him. She hoped he was safe, that maybe the storm would die down before it could grasp him in its greedy little arms. She hoped for his sake, and for hers. Why mine? she thought, cocking her head. Why my sake as well? It was a pointless question, for the answer was already clear to her, but she liked to ask it anyway. From the moment they met, as two high school students cramming for a biology test in the stuffy school library, until now, as two successful adults with respectable careers, it was clear that they were meant to be. She smiled to herself, because as corny as that may sound, it was true.

He was the other piece of the puzzle, the yin to the yang. His needs were hers and her needs were his. They were two separate halves yet one in unison at the same time. They were friends, they were lovers, they were soul mates. Through the years of their relationship, a sense of trust had grown between them, a sense of belonging and of acceptance that could not be found elsewhere. They were inseparable, and as a result she could not imagine life without him; it was indubitable that he felt the same way.

As if on cue, the phone sitting beside her started to ring, the melody echoing almost eerily in the silence. She picked it up and glanced at the name on the screen, a small smile curving her lips.

Jett Kirkland.

Lightly tapping the answer button, she brought the phone up to her ear. She was met with poor sound quality, the harsh buzz of static blending in with the rush of the rain. No surprise there.

“Jett,” she chastised. They had known each other long enough to not require proper greetings. “You shouldn’t be calling while driving.”

She could almost hear the smile in his voice, see the sparkle in his light green eyes. “It’s fine. I’ve got earphones in.”

“That’s no excuse,” she said sternly, but let it slide. Jett was a responsible driver. He could handle a mere distraction.

“The rain’s picked up a lot on the way back. Is something going on there?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips into a thin line, casting a glance out the window. The storm had not shown any signs of yielding. “Big cyclone. Probably the worst we’ve had all year.”

Jett whistled in awe. “That bad, huh?”

She nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see her. Realising what she had just done, she cleared her throat, and amended, “Mm-hm.”

“Well, I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She frowned. “It’s flooding here. Be careful. I don’t think you can make it into town.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he reassured her. “I’ll stop as soon as I see anything dangerous, maybe give you a call. See you soon.”

“Bye,” she said just as he hung up.

Sighing, she swung her feet off the bed and stood up, walking over to turn on the radio on her bedside table. Sitting down on the edge of the bed next to it, she flicked through a couple of stations – the latest hits, cheesy ‘90s boy bands, country and rock ‘n’ roll – before finally settling on one with a weather broadcast. She sat back and tried to decipher the weatherman’s speech through the crackle of static.

“—one of the worst cyclones we’ve had in the past fifty years. Winds are reaching over two hundred kilometres per hour. Several car crashes have already occurred – fortunately with no casualties – and flights are being cancelled all over the country. The cyclone, currently unnamed, is fast intensifying to a category three and is expected to potentially reach category five. It’s currently centred in Queensland but is slowly progressing southward. Warnings have been sent out to prevent people from approaching beaches and coastline areas due to high tide, and evacuation preparations have been made. Stay tuned for more news as we switch over to sports—”

She switched the radio off. That was all the information that she needed. If it was severe enough to warrant evacuations, they were going to be in for one hell of a storm. Not that she wasn’t fascinated by it – she had always taken an interest in storms and the processes that contributed to their creation. Her friends had often teased her, saying that she would be far more suited to a job in meteorology than what she had chosen to pursue, but it was not really the science that interested her. It was more of the act of creation, of the spawning of such a seemingly small thing that could grow so large and intense in a short time span. The formation of a force so formidable that it could pave a path of destruction wherever it chose to go, a mass killing machine that started from something as simple as the basic cycle of evaporation and condensation.

Nature was strange that way.

The phone’s shrill ringtone cut through the silence, interrupting her train of thought. Picking it up from its position face-down on her bed, she looked briefly at the caller ID before a twinge of concern rushed over her.

“Hello?” This time, she believed a proper greeting was required.

“Hey,” said Jett’s voice. His normally carefree tone was unaffected, jubilant as ever. “I don’t think I can get through. The water levels are rising and it seems my windscreen wipers are losing the battle against the rain.”

She smiled half-heartedly at the joke before reverting back to a serious manner. “Jett, don’t panic. I think they’re sending out rescue teams right now.”

“Panic? Rescue teams?” He chuckled. “It’s not that bad, is it? I’m sure it can’t get that much worse than this.”

She shuddered as she glimpsed out the window. The trees looked like they were going to be uprooted and unless her eyes were deceiving her, large segments of rooftops had already been pulled off of houses. It was a miracle that the phone lines had not yet been cut off. “Believe me when I say it can.”

“Look, the only thing I’m worried about is the obscuring of my vision,” he reassured her. In her mind’s eye, she could see him craning his neck to get a better view. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

That did not diminish her worry. “I know, but…” She hesitated. “Promise me you’ll call again as soon as it gets too bad, okay? Just stay where you are, and—”

“Stay where I am?”

Her blood ran cold in her veins, her breath hitching in her throat. “Jett – you’re still driving?”

“Um, yeah.” She could hear the frown in his voice. “Why? Is that bad?”

“Stop. Stop right now.”

“__________, I’m sure it’ll be f—”

“Jett, please. Use the emergency lane if you have to. I’ll call for help right now.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then she heard him sigh. “Fine. I’ll pull over in a sec.” His tone was exasperated. “I can’t see very well, though. Hang on…”

“Good.”

“Okay, I’m doing it. My God, I can’t see anything in this weather.”

“Call me again later, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll—” There was a flash of silence, an instant of suspension, before Jett’s voice returned, its tone urgent and panicked. “Oh, sh—”

There was a loud crash, and the line went dead.

“Jett?” she asked, her heart thudding in her chest. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead and her breathing quickened in anxiety. “Jett, are you there?”

No response.

Jett!” she yelled, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She was shaking all over, tremors running through her body. “Jett, talk to me, dammit! Stop joking around, I know you’re there!”

Still no response.

“Jett,” she whispered this time. Her breath was ragged, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She knew she wasn’t jumping to conclusions. It was true. He was gone. “Oh my God, Jett, you idiot. Why didn’t you listen to me? W-why… Talk to me… Please…”

Her efforts were futile. She knew they were, but that didn’t stop her from trying – trying to hear his voice one last time. It was no use. The line was dead, and- and…

and so was he.

***

She clutched at the bed-sheets, a bitter smile twisting her lips. So that was what happened. No wonder it drove her insane. No wonder the doctors tried to help her keep those memories repressed, buried deep within the alcoves of her mind. What they didn’t know was that they weren’t helping her at all. They were simply making it worse, as every time the memory returned, it returned sharper, more defined, more clarified in detail. Soon, neither they nor the little white pills could make her forget any longer. She hoped that day would come soon.

Flipping over once again to stare at the wooden furniture, she delved deep into another memory – the only other reminiscence she associated with him that she could remember as precise as this one. It had been almost a week until his body had been recovered from the wreckage of his car. The storm had subsided to meek drizzles and the media was already issuing statements of cost, of damage, of casualties. She had paid special attention to that last one. There were six casualties. Six – such a small number for such a large storm, but to those who knew the deceased, it did not seem so small after all. Six lives lost – six families, six circles of friends, six groups of colleagues, six bodies left unoccupied. So little yet so much had changed at the same time.

They’d asked her if she wanted to see the body – not his body, but the body. She couldn’t remember who ‘they’ were. Probably just another shadowy, faceless entity with little regard to her issues. She had entered the room, fists clenched tight. Had she already been admitted to hospital at this point? She wasn’t sure. This part was fuzzy, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, it all came into clear focus. It was too traumatising to describe, but one aspect stuck in her mind, inerasable. The worst part was his eyes, those light green orbs, the window to his soul. They had been so bright, so full of life and of joy, looking upon the world – and upon her – with an unbound love; now they were lifeless, pallid, the colour drained out of them. She had been the one to close his eyelids.

That was the last thing she remembered.

Life is a fragile thing, she mused to herself, fingering the covers. Existence was like a feather in the wind, tossing and turning in the breeze. One push, one intervention, it could end up somewhere completely different from the intended destination. If it were snatched out of the air, its course would be ended, its quest to achieve disrupted, no longer to be pursued. It could be torn, it could be trampled on, it could flutter away, never to be seen again – so many potentials, so many prospects. Like everything else, its destiny depended on those ominous scales of balance. One small adjustment could cause a chain reaction, a domino effect.

She felt as though that was what had happened to Jett’s life – it was the feather, the petal, one of many others. Nothing significant in the grand scheme of things, although it was to her. Their fates were tied, their providences connected. Their positions could have been reversed, and it would be her out there in the wake of destruction and him inside, sheltered from harm. She was one side of the scale and he was the other; to be inclined towards her would require reimbursement on his behalf, just as she had realised months ago. Why she did not do anything to prevent the consequences she did not know – selfishness perhaps, maybe negligence and overconfidence.

Jett was a responsible driver. He could handle a mere distraction.

It turned out she had been wrong – but then again, was anyone always right? Was there really anyone so perfect, so flawless and unadulterated in their knowledge? Would they have known that the one day would have costed Jett his life? Would they have seen the storm coming, have the prudence to persuade him to stay home instead of travelling all that way? If there really was, she hated them – hated them because they had not been around, had not decided to associate themselves with her and Jett, had not really cared.

But what was done was done. It was irreversible, unfixable, irrevocably unalterable – the storm, his death, her admittance to hospital, all of it. That was the nature of life. It was the beginning, it was the end. It was the little things, like a feather, subjected to the will of greater forces, like the gale force winds of a storm. It was gentle and considerate, but it was also harsh and unforgiving. It gave and it replenished and yet it stole what did not rightfully belong to it – a childhood love, a partner, a life. It was multi-faceted, layered with meaning. It was limited… and it was infinite.

White.
A request for :iconautumn--thunder:! ^_^

I'm sorry it took so long - I actually had another concept for this story and started writing it but halfway through decided I didn't like it... so I gave up on it ._.
Anyway, I'm glad I changed it and I hope you like it and that it is sufficiently sad xD

Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya
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“Hey, look what big brother Turkey gave me for my birthday,” Bosnia smiled, holding up his birthday present proudly, obliviously pleased with it. A few pairs of eyes looked over to meet almond yellow eyes that seemed to stare into their very souls. A large, coiled body wrapped around the Bosnian’s arm, tongue flicking out, tasting the room and sensing the bodies of the five nations in the living room. Bosnia had a received a snake. Its scales were patterned with greens and yellows and hues of gray and black. Judging by the large size, it was probably a constrictor.  
Macedonia flinched back a back due to reflex when the large, man crushing snake looked her way, flicking its tongue out in interest.

“A snake…” Slovenia muttered. “He got you a snake out of all things he could’ve given you… Well isn’t this amazing.”
Bosnia, being oblivious to sarcasm, smiled. “You really think so? I knew you’d like him.”

“I was being sarcastic…” Slovenia mumbled under his breath, which Bosnia didn’t catch; he was too busy stroking the creature’s head with his thumb in a loving manner.

“Where’s big brother Serbia?” Bosnia asked, looking side to side for his older brother. “I want to show him my snake.”

“He’s showering,” Slovenia explained, pulling his legs up onto the couch, lounging on it.  

“That thing is creepy…” Macedonia whispered to Croatia in a hushed voice, trying not to upset her older brother, though she doubted he would take offense to that comment. Croatia’s blue orbs peeked over the newspaper she was reading and took in the sight of the happy-go-lucky Bosnian stroking his snake like a cat. She looked back down at the newspaper.

“Yeah, I guess…” She muttered, not really seeming to care. “Bosnia, you better have a cage to keep that thing in…”

“Of course I do,” Bosnia looked slightly offended that she didn’t assume he had this all planned out. “It’s in my room.”

“Well, can you go put it in there?” Montenegro grumbled, having a stare down with the reptile. “It looks like it wants to eat me…” The snake just stared deep into Montenegro’s brown robs with a look of interest.

“He has a name,” Bosnia argued.

“And I bet it’s a good name,” Croatia mumbled, flipping over the newspaper and then mumbling something dark about Serbia. “Just put the snake away before Montenegro flips a table.”

Bosnia gave a small sigh of defeat before he headed into his room where he had the enclosure for the snake set up. Lightly stroking its head, he lifted the lid and set his reptile down in the cage, smiling innocently at him. For a moment he thought the snake winked at him but he assumed his imagination was getting ahead of him again, it had a habit of doing that. Without another word, he smiled and headed back to where most of the family was at, so he could badger them about dinner, which Macedonia already seemed to be doing.

But, he was unaware that he didn’t close the lid properly, he was a bit scattered brained at times. He didn’t mean harm at all; in fact he was just trying to put his snake away like he was asked. But the snake had different plans.

It simply pushed against the lid of the cage, its large mass easily pushing it off the glass enclosure and giving it freedom. Promptly, the reptile worked its mass out of the tank on onto the table the tank had been placed on, and then to the floor after that.

Eventually, it was free to room to wherever it wished. Tasting the air with its tongue, it naturally wanted to find a warm place, so it set off to find it.
Serbia ran his finger through his wet black locks, trying to get all of the shampoo out of his hair. His eyes were squeezed shut to keep the product from getting in his eyes and causing them to become irritated, he hated when that happened. Singing a song softly to himself, the noise drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the shower area, he rinsed out his hair and dared to peek open his eyes.

Facing him was a pair of yellow orbs, only a mere few inches away from his face.

Out of reflex, he leapt back as far as he could go, letting out a loud cry of shock, and staring at this large, scaly creature that had managed to work its way into his shower. Its large body coiled around a towel rack, its tongue flicking out in what Serbia thought was amusement.

“Did you hear that?” Macedonia asked Croatia, who seemed very absorbed in her reading material. “That sounded like big brother Serbia… should we check on him?”

“Ne,” Croatia shrugged, looking rather ticked off at something in the paper. “He’ll figure it out on his own.

Not even a few moments later, Serbia came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, his body still dripping wet, foot prints off water in the carpet behind him. Those green orbs of his seemed to be alive with some sort of anger as he gestured to large reptile wrapping its way around his arm.

“Does this belong to any of you?” He asked disapproval in his voice.

Five pairs of eye were shot at the Bosnian who seemed very occupied in his pack of cigarettes.
Random crack written at one in the morning xD
Sorry if the quality sucks xD I'm dead tired.
The idea just randomly popped into my head one day and I thought it'd be fun to write. So here it is.
I don't own Turkey or Hetalia but my OCs belong to me.

Drabble One: [link]
Drabble Two: You are here
Drabble Three: [link]
Drabble Four: [link]
Drabble Five: [link]
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