He stared at the small child that was probably just starting to reach teen-hood that England had just brought home.
The kid was cute in a slightly gangly way, and with the way that he was squinting only seemed to make him cuter as he leaned gently against England's arms as if Scotland was the scariest person in existence as if war was about to be waged in person on the small preteen.
Scotland stared in awe at the cute child; a part of him wanted to harm the kid stop him from looking that adorable, and to break the already broken child that looked so lost, that longed for his Papa back.
His papa made him feel safe, and he could not quite trust England or this strange red haired man in front of him.
A part of Scotland wanted to hold the adorable child close in his arms to protect him from the world like a doting parent or a strong, concerned lover.
It was foolish, so he held on to the part that ridiculed the child that made him flee in fear and pain.
How could he let this kid take over with his cute, fearful innocence when it was much easier to push him away?
It was the fear of the power that the young child held over him that made him try to stop the sudden emotions that consumed him when he just looked at the small Canadian before him.
The kid could not even be called his own country yet, and still there was a power in his innocence that seemed to control Scotland's every waking thought and decision.
Life with the Canadian was Hell. Scotland had quickly decided, but it only got worse as he grew.
Watching the boy become a man was so much worse as the desires grew with the boy.
Why did he have to long to have the innocent teen beneath him, moaning and writhing?
It wasn't fair the control that Canada held over him.
Yes, he was relieved when the child finally received his independence from England.