Warning: Language... I think that might be it. Maybe some sensitive material? .u. Who knows?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia.
It was a cold, bitter, gray January afternoon in the city of Moscow, Russia, 1973. People dressed in gray overcoats and black hats hurriedly walked along the streets, some in pairs, some just walking alone. Inside a magnificent house, a man watched out a window glazed over with fog from the top story, blood-red eyes occasionally flicking to people who looked interesting. When the man was done with his people-watching, he backed up from the window with a little 'humph' and fell back onto his burgundy bed spread, his hands behind his head, and his gaze on the ceiling.
Knock, knock.
"Gilbert, may I come in?" without waiting for an answer, the door opened, revealing a tall man with a Russian military uniform, black gloves and winter boots on, and a childish smile on his face.
The other man groaned and rolled over, muttering curses and threats at the Russian man in the doorway.
"Don't you fucking dare say my name like we're friends, Ivan, you commie bastard. I hate you."
"Fine, Германская Демократическая Республикa*," Ivan walked over to the bed and sat down, Gilbert getting up after flashing him a glare and walking over to the other side of the room. He put on a mocking frown, and placed his hands on his lap, looking innocent as always.
"Gilbert, you are making me sad…"
"Fuck you. I don't care."
Silence ensued, Ivan shifting on the bed to get more comfortable, the bed making gentle squeaking sounds.
"Hey, uh, is it always gray here, or have I just been catching a look outside on all the wrong days?" Gilbert finally broke the awkward silence, chuckling bitterly and dragging himself back to his window spot.
"Mmm? Nyet, Russia has very nice weather. Count out the cold, of course! But usually it's not overly gray like today's weather. Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"…"
"…"
Quiet crept over the two men once more, and Gilbert falling back onto his bed and made sure that he laid on the opposite side of Russia, and tried to go to sleep. Ivan smiled warmly at him, got up, and turned out the light while walking out the door.
"…Gilbert? Are you sleeping?"
"Ngh… Fuck, I was… What the hell do you want?"
"The sky," Ivan started, "isn't gray anymore…"
Gilbert groaned at the useless phrase, and attempted to go back into his slumber. But the Russian clearly had other ideas. Ivan yanked the Prussian man out of the bed by the top of his shirt, and dragged him a short distance to the window.
"See?" Ivan held Gilbert up-by the top of his shirt still-to see out the window, holding him up a little too high, just enough to where his feet couldn't touch the ground at all.
Gilbert made a gagging noise, and struggled to be put down. Ivan immediately let go of the shirt and watched as Gilbert fell on his butt, streams upon streams of German curses and insults pouring out his lips.
"Lemme see out of the damn window so I can go back to bed…"
The Prussian stood up and looked out the window, completely irritated and grumpy having been woken up from his peaceful sleep. But, what was outside was totally worth it. Bright lights dotted the streets and beyond, contrasting the black of the night and it was snowing lightly, the snow having a yellow tint from all the lights. Cars occasionally went down the streets that were visible, and it seemed the sidewalks only had a few teenagers or drunkards stumbling down them.
"Wow… It's….kinda pretty."
"Da! It is."
"….Hey, Ivan…"
"Da?"
"I guess…I guess it isn't always gray in Russia."
They both laughed softly at the comment, and continued to watch outside.
And Gilbert made damn sure that he would people-watch at night from now on, so he wouldn't have to see gray all the time.
A.N. FUCKING HELL, WHAT IS THIS SHIT. Eh-ehm. Please review! It would make me very happy if you did.
*Deutsch Demokratische Republik (German Democratic Republic): East Germany controlled by Soviet Russia. 1949-1990