Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu.
Our distance and that person
Written by: Aetriqa
Elizaveta peered at herself in the mirror one final time, willing herself not to accentuate her features with make-up lest it make her look unprofessional. Despite her rough childhood, she had always dreamed of a traditional wedding while wearing an off-white bridal dress, her husband-to-be holding flowers (most likely behind his back) hand-picked for her. He'd grin at her without any trace of his usual arrogance, and in return her smile would light up his world.
Those dreams vanished when the severity of their continent's wars became a reality. The promises of the past would echo for years to come, but that was all they were in the end: the past. She needed to focus on the present. They had grown up; it was as simple as that.
She pinched her cheeks to add the barest hint of colour, and smoothed out her military uniform. She was getting married today, and it would take place in the war council room.
Roderich had always known that he would marry for politics, not love. If he were a romantic, he might have claimed that his only love was his piano; it stayed constant and faithful, and sure it might be out of tune occasionally, but he could fix that. He liked to have control over his life, rituals and order being his way. The ongoing wars may have dampened his plans but no matter; all it took was an allegiance, and marriage wasn't such a big deal.
He watched his to-be-wife's eyes drift towards one of the many flags hanging on the wall. She outlined the black bird with her eyes, from sword to sceptre before finally resting on the red and gold crown. As if it gave her strength, her green eyes softened with the barest hints of a smile. Elizaveta took the pen and signed her name with a flourish.
Elizaveta and Roderich. Their agreement was inked out with two names and without much ceremony, and they became the second largest nation.
Roderich had dismissed her straying behaviour. He had asked for the marriage, she had asked to retain some of her independence. He thought it okay because the bottom line was that they were married, but he had not taken their feelings into consideration.
He had always known he wouldn't marry for love. He just hadn't known how much it would hurt to be with someone so clearly in love with his enemy.
She was off again in one of her daydreams; or that was what he assumed them to be. It was a mutual understanding that stabilized their relationship, and he loathed to disturb her at times like these when she clearly wished for so solidarity.
"Elizaveta?" He left her name hanging in the air, and it should have been enough to draw her back into their shared home. But her attention was drawn towards a yellow canary, a five-foot tall glass pane separating her and the birdsong she would have enjoyed even more than his piano.
He should not have done it. So caught up in his anger that in her mind, he was second place to very man who had stood victorious against him all those years ago, he did not pause to think about her reaction upon hearing her childhood nickname.
"Eli?" Her head snapped up, and he had drawn away her attention as he intended; but her green eyes were almost angry.
"Don't call me that." Her words, however, were anything but. They carried her pain as much as the phantom scars on her heart.
It tugged at his heart and perhaps he wanted to wrap his arms around her in a gesture of comfort; but their relationship had been always been one of convenience before friendship. He closed the distance between them in three easy strides and sat beside her on the alcove, looking anywhere but her face.
"Do you want to talk about it?" It was probably the most heartfelt offer he could make, and given a better time and place she may have taken him up on it. She gave him a heart-wrenching smile and said three words that instead broke his heart (had he chosen to look up, however, he would've seen her budding affection for him).
"No, thank you."
Their bedroom harboured not feelings of love, but assurance. 'Marriage' meant little to him; she had learned to suppress her childhood fantasies. It would not do to appear divided by having two sleeping quarters, so yes, they did share a bed. But there was an invisible boundary that neither cared to cross.
He probably wouldn't admit it, but he had grown attached to her. She was so strong that he couldn't help but wonder about the person she had to be in reality, the person behind the woman who selflessly agreed to be his wife for the sake of her people. Did he admire her? Yes. And maybe, just maybe, he sought to be someone worthy of her.
Most nights, he heard her sobbing softly. It would have been against his principles to reach across that invisible line and physically comfort her with an embrace, so he buried himself deeper within his thoughts to stifle the sound of her tears. They weren't his business. He wouldn't interfere.
Some mornings, she would find a bouquet next to her, wrapped with a ribbon and lying atop the pillow where his head should have been. Often it would contain several Edelweiss flowers picked from his garden, and sometimes he would add a few tulips to signify their bond with their two national flowers.
She would never know, but one of his fondest memories occurred the day Elizaveta ran into his office with a radiant smile, the bouquet held tightly in her hands as she gave him a light kiss on the cheek. She did not wait around, determined to place the cut flowers into water before they dried; had she lingered, she would have seen his cheeks darken as a blush spread over his face.
She appreciated his efforts, and that was more than enough for Roderich. He would carve his own way into her heart instead of competing for a place she was not ready to give up.
A/N: A one-shot written to a prompt on the LJ community 30_kisses, also the title of this piece. My apologies for any historical inaccuracies; I did some research, but history has never been my strong point. Thank you for reading, and it would make my day if you could leave a comment too. :)
&Aetriqa.