Shadows and Silhouettes
Pairing: PruCan.
Warnings: Lemon, yaoi.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and/or the characters in any way, shape or form. Although, I do own the poem used in this fic. Link will be at the end of the fic.
-Canadas' POV-
"Maple!" You exclaim as you slip over something, hitting your head against the kitchen table as you do so. You blink back tears and attempt to repress the throbbing pain in your head, turning around after a short while to find that you had slipped on. You quickly lock the front door as you take the letter from under your door, envelope-opener in hand, curiosity getting the better of you. It wasn't marked specifically with your name, although it was perfectly addressed and had the right amount of stamps on it - Canadian ones, at that. You feel your heart swell a little at the notion, placing the letter-opener down gently as you remove the contents from the envelope - a note and a drawing. You frown slightly as you look over the note, reading it aloud.
"What if when we're awake,
Everything is just a dream?
Ticking away so slowly,
Tearing at the seam."
You frown at the note, quietly setting it down on the black coffee table before you in exchange for the drawing. You carefully unfold it, frown only becoming deeper as you take in the picture. Two people, no doubt, their faces close, lips pressed together. The one on the left is blushing, violet-blue eyes glowing slightly from behind black-rimmed glasses, harshly contrasting the black silhouette on the right. You sigh a little as a wave of unidentifiable emotions wash over you, taking the note from the table, turning it over.
'Finish me.' It reads in the same handwriting, nothing more than those two simple, black words against the paper. You quietly take your red pen from your pocket, picking up the notepad that resides on the living room table. You sit and stare at the paper for a time, wondering what to write, feeling yourself drift in and out of consciousness as you begin to feel the full blow of your head injury. You sigh as you set the pad down, laying back on the couch as you quickly drift to sleep.
"... And I'll be the hero!" You groan as you hear your brother rambling on about the latest topic of world meetings - the impending zombie apocalypse Everybody knows that it won't happen, but even so, your government has already discussed plans for what to do it it ever were to happen. You quietly draw the note and pan from your pocket, once again setting them on the table before yourself.
"This can't be that difficult..." You mutter beneath your breath, re-reading the verse quietly to yourself.
""What if when we're awake,
Everything is just a dream?
Ticking away so slowly,
Tearing at the seam.
...What if our nightmares,
The things we know so well,
Are actually our reality,
A colourless, painful hell."
You quietly mumble the second verse in a state of semi-consciousness, quickly rousing yourself so as to write them down. You smile a little as you re-read the lines once more in your head, writing a small 'Continue me,' with a hastily-drawn polar bear on the back. You silently ask the Russian man next to you if he has an envelope, pulling gently on his sleeve to get his attention. You smile slightly and nod a little as he hands you one, address and postcode being written deftly on the front, stamps stuck to it with the most dignity a stamp could be stuck with. You quietly stand and leave the room, wondering over the road from the conference building to the small post office. You slip your letter into the red box outside the building, smiling slightly as you hear it hit the bottom. You turn on your heels and go back to the meeting room, staring into space as you anxiously wonder what will happen next.
"Whatthefuck!?" You yell out all in one breath, your top half shooting up out of bed, eyes wide in fear and wonder. You quickly grope around atop your head, only for your eyes to widen a little as you feel an envelope sitting there.
'It came so quickly...' You quickly turn on your bedside lamp, grabbing a letter-opening from your nightstand - hell, you have them everywhere - and opening it. You smile a little as you grab the note first, reading it to yourself.
"What if when we're awake,
Everything is just a dream?
Ticking away so slowly,
Tearing at the seam.
What if our nightmares,
The things we know so well,
Are actually our reality,
A colourless, painful hell.
What if our own lives,
Had begun like a rainbow?
The colours of bright fading,
To the ones that we now know."
You smile at the paper, the handwriting and colour of the text different, according to its respective owners. Red for you, black from the sender.
"What a strange person..." You mutter under your breath, taking out the enclosed artwork once again, looking it over, blushing gently. This time, a picture of both you and the silhouette - obviously male - stand naked in a forest, the mans' mouth against your neck, your head back, hair messy, eyes closed as your mouth hangs open. You don't care to think about what had been drawn, your blush increasing as you fold the artwork back up, returning it to the envelope. You reach for another piece of paper to write a reply, grasping it gently as you withdraw yet another pen. You take the note from before, judging enough space to write your reply before wracking your brains to think of something. As you're drifting out of consciousness one again, something comes to mind, the thought of replying breaking you from your sleepiness. You quickly write down your reply, turning the note over as an afterthought, smiling a little at the small drawing, accompanied by more writing.
'I am 20, a country and can speak multiple languages. Who am I?' You look over at the small drawing of a bird, resembling a small, fat canary, your mind drawing a blank as you attempt to connect the two. You hastily write a reply.
'I am 19, a country and bi-lingual. Who am I?' You smirk as you choose your drawing carefully, drawing a single stack of pancakes beside your neat print. You quickly return the paper to a new envelope, the artwork remaining on your bed as you seal it, trudging down the stairs and out your house to the nearest mail box.
By the time the next world meeting came, it had been almost a week since you had sent the letter, and you were beginning to get impatient. You quietly take your seat - once again next to Ivan - and begin to watch everybody. You make mental notes of who was speaking which languages, who was acting strangely or who just simply wasn't there.
You sigh in disappointment as the meeting adjourns for a ten-minute break, the other nations jumping unceremoniously from their seats as most of them make a beeline for the tea table, the others holding back. You slip out onto the balcony, looking out over the beautiful gardens as you sigh thoughtfully, your head spinning with one question - who is he? You groan with feigned annoyance as the call to come back inside rings through your ears, sighing as you wonder over to your seat, accidentally bumping into the clumsy Italian brother along the way.
"Watch where you're going, barstardo!" He yells, your form visibly flinching away as he glares at you, his younger brother madly trying to calm him. You bite your tongue as you sit back in your seat, fishing around your pockets for your iPod - the time between the first and second breaks is always the longest. Your eyes widen slightly as you feel something cut your fingertip, a quiet "Shit," being uttered under your breath as you feel paper against your fingers, making your heartbeat increase slightly. You quickly pull it out, opening it carefully before emptying the contents into your lap, completely disregarding your stinging, bleeding finger. Yet another picture and the same piece of paper are revealed, a small smile crossing your lips as you read the newly-added verse to your secretive poetry.
'What if those colours,
Were to return harsh and bright?
Returning to our dreary eyes,
As we sleep throughout the night.
What if everything we knew,
Was really just a lie?
We create this harsh reality,
This never-ending sky.'
You shudder visibly at the eerie feeling that overcomes you, quickly shooing it away as you set the letter down, opening the artwork slowly, having the paper angled so that neither the Russian nor the Polish man sitting next to you can see it. You lean back in your chair a little for extra precaution, blushing as you finish unfolding it. In the picture, you're portrayed creepily well. You're leaned up against a tree, the shadow with one leg between yours, another helping to keep you pinned on the other side. Your eyes widen slightly, blush darkening as you follow the silhouettes' arm downwards, said figures' right hand down your pants whilst the left is down his own. You quickly return the picture to the envelope, trying to repress your sudden wave of lust, picking up the letter once more, flipping it.
'I know who you are, you're Canada.'
You frown a little, re-reading the sentence.
"That just doesn't sound right..."
'Here's another hint - my family would rather die than turn down a good drink. Any guesses?'
You rub your eyes slightly as you look at the small drawing of a pint of beer next to the writing, mentally making a list of who it could and couldn't be.
By 10pm, you're nailed it down to one of the two Germans, Russia or England. You mentally cross out Russia - he drinks Vodka, not beer - and face your three remaining options. You sigh slightly, trying to imagine if you've ever seen the Brit drink beer. If anything, Wine seemed to be more his thing, as much as he'd never admit it. With that thought, you're left with the two German brothers - Ludwig and Gilbert.
"Hmm..." You moan thoughtfully as you re-read the letter and notes, debating internally on which of the two it may be. After coming to no conclusion, you sigh as you pick up the note more again, quickly formulating a response to the poetry.
'What if this sky we know,
Was actually our imagination?
Anyone being told of your theory,
Calls you an abomination.'
You re-read the poetry proceeding it, happy with how it flows. You flip the paper over, considering what to write for a short time before putting down your reply.
'You're one of the German brothers, aren't you?'
You quickly put the note into another envelope, sending Kumajiro down to the post box for you, being too lazy and somewhat nervous to go yourself. You wonder up to your bedroom, pancaking onto your bed with exhaustion. You groan quietly as you feel the bed shift beside you, assuming that it was Kumajiro sneaking in again. You don't care to heck as you slowly drift off into a deep slumber, your face contented as you slip from consciousness.
You awaken slowly the next afternoon, smiling a little as you realize just how much of a sleep-in you managed to get. You slowly clamber to your feet, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen, a small, white ball of fluff pawing at your heels.
"Food."
"Sssh, Kumajiji. In a minute." You smile at him as you pick him up, hugging him gently before placing him down on the kitchen table. You grab out the ingredients for pancakes and begin to make them, only to find a pleasant surprise when you grab for some eggs - an envelope taped neatly to the inside of the carton, black and white striped tape keeping it in place. You quickly take the note off the carton as you set the eggs down, smiling slightly as you pull out the note.
'What if nobody knew, though,
That you were actually right?
The things that you dream about,
Fading in the light.'
You shudder and smile slightly, turning the note over, reading the single line of carefully-written black script.
'Meet me at the conference room at 7pm.'
You smile widely, although a little apprehensively, returning to your pancake making, humming a small, happy tune as you do so. You cook them and serve some to both Kumjiro and yourself, drenching both piles in maple syrup.
"Oh my goodness, what do I wear... ?" You mutter to yourself as you pace around your room naked, hair freshly brushed, glasses and teeth both cleaned. You reach into your chest of drawers as you pull out a pair of red satin boxers, quickly slipping them on as you turn back to your cupboard. You pull out a pair of black skinny jeans and a deep red long-sleeved top, a black zip-up hoodie being hastily thrown over it. You silently slip out of the house, wondering to the conference room - a mere 10 minute walk away. You check your watch and smile happily as you realize that you're 15 minutes early, setting yourself down on a conveniently-placed park bench as you wait.
"H-Hey." You jump slightly as you hear the voice, turning your head towards it, sapphire eyes locking with crimson.
"Hello..." You mumble, blushing furiously. You smile up at him, the older returning a shy, yet calm, smile. You pat the bench next to you, the man shaking his head as he puts out his hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you up, stumbling into a gentle hug.
"Matthew..." The man sighs into your hair as he hugs you, his appearance seeming even more obscure than it already was as you stand beneath the street-lamps. You say nothing as he breaks the hug, immediately relaxing as you feel his hand in yours, your heart warming significantly.
"Hmm?" You mumble, smiling up at him.
"... Thanks for coming." He smiles, his 'awesome' demeanor dropped somewhere along the way, only his kind, lovable side shining through. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, so you quickly stand on your tip-toes, pecking his cheek softly.
"It's alright..." You smile, taking his hand in yours one more as you begin to walk down the street, smiling at the faint blush across the cheeks. You steal glances at him as you walk, his hair and eyes just making him look downright sexy in the dim light of the streetlamps, a blush sneaking across your face. After a few minutes of silence, you decide to speak up.
"... Where're we going?" You look up at him, not really caring where you're going, as long as you're with him.
"Hmm?" He looks down at you, smiling a little. "... Oh, just somewhere." He replies, smirking a little as you continue to walk, hand tightening around his slightly as you begin to weave through the small shrubs around your feet, mentally hugging yourself for wearing boots. Your eyes widen a little as you find yourself in the middle of one of the more remote - but beautiful - national parks in the area. The secluded, shadowed park bench seems to beckon the two of you as faint light sparkles on the water in the fountain, small specks of dew on the various coloured flowers and plants gleaming in the moonlight.
"I-It's beautiful..." You mumble under your breath, staring up at Gilbert in awe.
"I know someone that's more beautiful than this park will ever be..." He mutters as you blush, his lips meeting yours gently. You moan softly as you feel him deepen the kiss, his tongue licking gently at your bottom lip. You comply, opening your mouth gently, his tongue slipping inside of your mouth, exploring the unexplored. Your breath begins to come out in gentle pants and light moans as you wrap a leg around the other man, pressing your clothed lower bodies together, moaning softly.
"G-Gilbert..." You break the kiss with a soft moan as you look up at him, his gentle, smiling eyes locking with your slightly hazy ones. You hug him tight, pulling him close to you.
"Thank you..." You mumble, burying your head into his chest. Your eyes widen a little as he pulls away, coming down a little so his eyes are level with yours.
"My pleasure." He quickly scoops you off your feet before placing you onto the park bench gently, clambering on top of you, not caring for the soft groaning noise that the bench makes. You stare up at him as his face nears yours, your lips meeting in a gentle yet passionate embrace. Your tongues battle with one-another, no questions needing to be asked about who had won within the minute, your mouth opening wider in submission. The older of the pair of you moans slightly as you relax beneath him, his arms wrapping around you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, pulling you into a warm, loving embrace. You clamber out from beneath him, sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist as you hug him one more. The silverette says and does nothing as you lean into him, inhaling the scent of him - beer, awesome and all. You pull back and look him in the eyes, pressing your lips against his once more in another open kiss, your eyes slowly sliding shut as you feel his hands move to your waist, lanky arms wrapping around you in a gentle, warm embrace.
In that moment, you can feel that final piece that makes up the puzzle of your life finally click into place, and all the shadows and silhouettes slowly begin to fade.
A/N: I hope that was readable, my grammar patterns about halfway through that fic decided to go ' ' and just buggered off on me. This fic was inspired by an app called Tiny Tower. One of the residents in my tower claimed that someone kept slipping rude pictures under their door, so that was what kinda sprouted the idea. Thank you, tower creep.
Anyways, please rate/review, I won't bite!
Laters,
-Nimu.
Poetry link: art/Questions-and-Queries-355566206?q=gallery%3Alorenzo-chan&qo=0
(Take out the space between the . and the com.)