Yep, another drabblish fic. I love all of you who read these!
Reviews would do wonders to get my creativity jump-started ^_^
Synchronicity
n. 1: the relation that exists when events occur at the same time; simultaneity; synchronism.
2: coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related, conceived in Jungian theory as an explanatory principle on the level of causality; used especially for psychic events that are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality.
Canada loved red. Red was his favorite color now – the exact shade of ruby red that he saw in Prussia's eyes. It wasn't blood red, or the red of fire, or the shade of a demon's eyes – it was a brilliant, perfect red that accented Prussia's personality and filled his heart – with pure red. In it, he could see each and every one of Prussia's emotions reflected there – anger, love, happiness, sadness – each had its own, unique reflection in the pool of ruby red. Canada always knew what Prussia was planning because of it – he wore his heart on his sleeve, as it were. It was so glaringly obvious that Canada wondered how nobody ever noticed it – hiding in plain sight, perhaps. Though when Canada looked into the red, sometimes he saw strange things – a hint of sadness, a wisp of anger – that made Canada wonder if Prussia was really as childish and simple as most made him out to be. It was a depressing thought, really. In fact, Canada had gotten so used to reading Prussia that when Prussia proposed – Canada had said "yes" before Prussia had even opened his mouth to speak, which had Prussia wondering how he did it for weeks – until Canada had finally told him, leaving a very bewildered Prussia. Yes, Canada loved red – just as much as he loved Prussia.
Prussia loved violet. Violet was one of the most "awesome colors ever" – the shade of purple that he saw in Canada's eyes. It was so perfect, airy, and innocent – it matched Canada perfectly, and Prussia loved it. It was so light – it was just, simply perfect in every sense of the word. Prussia couldn't stop staring into the beautiful, shining shade of violet, imagining what his reflection in Canada's eyes must look like – blood red eyes, the red of fire, the shade of a demon's eyes – it matched Prussia's personality perfectly, a sinner, a demon, an evil being. His eyes were shaded – weary from years of war and bloodshed and hatred that had worn Prussia down - until he had met Canada. Nobody had ever understood him as well as the sweet nation, always knowing what Prussia was thinking, what he was feeling. Even when he put on the mask of cheerfulness he always did – Canada saw straight through it and into the reserve of hurt and anger that lay under it, built up over centuries of resentment and anger – and Canada could always drain it away from him, bit by bit, until the mask faded and all that remained was him – and he wondered how anyone, especially Canada, could love him, even as he saw all the sin and blood and death that had formed Prussia – it was such a depressing thought. In fact, Canada had seen straight through him, even when he had proposed – he hadn't even spoken yet before Canada had said "yes." Prussia had wondered for weeks before Canada had confessed that the secret was his eyes – his demonic, evil eyes that for some reason, Canada loved so much – almost as much as him.