AN: Oh no! Not another one-shot! I'm working on two more as we speak. Oops. Anyways, this idea came to me while I was listening to one of my favorite songs, Selenite by Rurutia. It definitely inspired this, and I took a few descriptions straight from the English translation of the song. I was just itching to write a quick NiChu one-shot, and this just started writing itself while I was listening to the song. I hope you enjoy it.
Please read and review!
The mushroom cloud from the explosion was still visible for miles, even hours later. The once beautiful city had been completely flattened. It was as if nothing had ever existed here. No planes flew over the ruined city now.
The sun was beginning to set, the burning orange and yellow of the sky slowly being dyed the cold blue of the night. Japan blinked once, unable to tear his eyes away from the beautiful colors in his barely conscious state. How clear everything seemed now…and how foolish they had been.
The raven-haired nation coughed violently, suppressing a cry of pain as his wounds were aggravated by the movement. How dishonorable, he thought bitterly, to be lying here so pathetically in a pool of his own blood.
He forced himself to breathe, crying out in pain as his chest expanded, the deep wounds stretching. He needed to go, to leave, but he couldn't. He couldn't move. All his strength had left when the wounds appeared.
The nation briefly wondered what became of his allies, of Germany and Italy. Had they been attacked in the same manner? He wondered how many humans had died, how many countries had disappeared forever. So destructive, the war had been. Was it even worth it?
No, he thought as memories of China filled his head. The proud nation was laying on the ground, bleeding from several wounds, those golden eyes looking up at him in such fear and…
And hate.
He forced his eyes open again, watching the burning sky cool as night approached. The moon was climbing up slowly, ready to light the ruined city when the sun was gone.
He breathed again, shutting his eyes tightly as the pain from his expanding chest moved to every limb. Blood trickled out of the wound across his chest, the metallic scent caught in his nose.
The war was over. They couldn't keep fighting. It was only a matter of time before America came to ask for surrender.
As long as Russia didn't show up first. The thought of surrendering to the Northern nation made Japan's blood run cold. He was so sneaky, so cunning, so cruel.
Forcing his heavy eyes open again, he stared at the sky, watching as the night completely devoured the day; the sky had set and was gone.
A light flickered in the distance, as small as the flame from a candle. Probably just a fire, he thought tiredly.
Another breath was forced into his lungs and he cried out suddenly. The pain had doubled, setting every limb, every nerve on fire. He shut his black eyes, panting from the pain, tears dusting his eyelashes. "Kiku?" A soft, almost musical voice came from above Japan. He felt cool fingers gently brush his hair back and move down to his torso, examining the wounds. "Kiku?"
He forced his eyes open, struggling to meet the golden eyes above him. The golden eyes looked back at Japan and blinked once, a single tear sliding down the man's cheek.
The cool hands brushed back the folds of Japan's kimono, touching his torso with such gentleness. The raven-haired nation allowed his heavy eyelids to close again, breathing becoming less of a struggle now. He felt safe, for the first time.
His dark hair was brushed back again by a cool hand and soft lips were pressed to his forehead as the man with the golden eyes lifted the fallen nation from the bloody ground and held him tightly.
Japan clung to the other nation with all the strength he could muster as he was taken away from Nagasaki, from the ruined city.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, Japan wondered if he was imagining this. The other nation's shoulders were so slender, so boney, they almost weren't there. He seemed to fade in and out of existence and an unexplainable fear gripped the dark eyed nation that this man would fade away forever.
His heavy eyelids began to close again, this time to sleep, and he became aware of the soft voice singing to him in a language he had almost forgotten.
"Qǐng jǐnkuài xǐng lái," the voice whispered to him before Japan was taken over by sleep, "Wǒ ài nǐ. Wǒ ài nǐ."
Qǐng jǐnkuài xǐng lái: Wake up soon.
Wǒ ài nǐ: I love you