Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, Himaruya does!
This is another I'm-a-writer-so-I'll-write-this-for-you story for PunkIggy.Hope you like it, ma chère!
This is one of my only stories that started with its title. I couldn't get it out of my head.
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Light On the Thames

Bare hands braced the icy sandstone lip of one of the designated sightseeing spots that flanked the immense Tower Bridge as emerald irises overlooked the eerily still waters of the Thames a few dozen feet underneath the place in which the young, flaxen-haired man stood. Tepid breath ghosted in front of him for only a few seconds before dissipating as a pensive sigh betrayed him, periphery lifting from the water to gaze straight out to the midnight horizon at which the formidable river ebbing gently below him bent downward, following the curve of the earth. Luminescent orbs of light swirled and mingled within the waters below him, like enigmatic fairies waltzing along the river's surface; a distant memory tugged at the edges of his mind though he mentally forced it away, not desiring to be bothered at such a peaceful moment, one of the most serene in his existence as the human personification of Great Britain.

A subzero breeze wafted from some unknown source behind him, ruffling his hair and toying with the ties on his coat with the naivety of a child's touch. "It's going to be a rather cold winter this year, isn't it, Flying Mint Bunny?" Britain seemed to speak to the air though his eyes locked on the fluffy, mint-green form of a rabbit equipped with fuzzy wings lazily fluttering a few feet in front of him.

The creature turned its obsidian gaze upon one of the only humanoid people who could perceive it as it rushed toward Britain, stubby feet reaching out to land upon his left shoulder and subsequently curl around the back of his neck. A hand flitted up to pat his rabbit's head now perched along the curve of his neck as an easy smile piqued the corners of his mouth—he could almost hear the skeptical voice of his American ally across the choppy waves of the Atlantic Ocean question his mental health once he had introduced the other to Flying Mint Bunny in sepia-tinged decades buried within the past. The winged rabbit cooed absently as its polished onyx eyes flickered shut: after all, flying all the livelong day and attempting to avoid smacking into the denizens of England that dotted the streets did take a toll on the mystical animal's bountiful energy. "Tired, are you?" Britain inquired in soft tones, head tilting as his cheek met the silky fur of his companion. "Maybe we should head back home, then. It's freezing out here, after all."

As he pivoted about-face, his hand having returned to his side, he smacked straight into whomever decided to stand only a handful of feet away from him in silence. "What in the bloody hell's your problem, man? You don't stand that close to someone—" his protests died in his throat once he decided to glance up into the face of the rather tall man that appeared in front of him. "Oh, hello Russia. Nice evening we're having, isn't it?"

The personification of Russia nodded absently, his usual plastic smile having already affixed to his face. "Da, it is! It reminds me of home. What were you doing out here, Britain? I did not expect to run into you tonight—or to have you literally run into me."

"Well, seeing as how this land is my home, it's not at all strange to imagine that I was out for an evening stroll about the city, is it?" Britain shot back with a question of his own, one thick brow quirking into choppy bangs obscuring his forehead as his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I should be asking you what it is you're doing out here."

Russia shrugged before brushing a few steps past Britain, replacing him at the very end of the manmade circular jetty connected to the bridge. "I get restless at night when I have to spend time in a place where I have not been very much before, so I tend to go out and see the sights until I get tired enough to return to my hotel and go to bed. It does not help that I feel a little sad tonight, too." His voice lacked its usual childish cheer, instead replaced by a somber tone.

"Why's that, old chap?" Britain turned back toward the river and paced up to the left of Russia, watching the taller nation from the corner of his eye; in passing he noticed that his company wore hand-stitched earmuffs sporting the design of his country's flag on the outside of the muffs.

The other's head cocked off to the left in the direction of Britain, sighing before he explained, "My younger sister is becoming more vicious in her pursuit of me, and it's just unnerving… I do not want to marry my own sister, there are so many things wrong with that prospect, but she apparently does not think on the same level as me… and that always makes me think about my relationships with the other countries and how distant they are to me. Long story shortened, I'm lonely. All I have are my sisters and the Baltics, but they would choose to not be around me if they could… they only stay around for fear that I might kill them if they did not."

A hand extended tentatively to pat Russia's shoulder. "Stiff upper lip, there's no need to feel lonely. You have more allies, and more friends, than you can possibly think of. What about China? You both seem very close."

"I think he only stays around for the business opportunities in my country… I do not know of his motives." Russia's amethyst gaze turned to Britain then, at once establishing eye contact for the first time since they had been talking.

Britain chuckled wistfully, glancing away from his company while he spoke, "I know how it is. That's what I'm beginning to think about America myself… but, in your situation, I'm sure he's around for the friendship you two share among other things." His eyes returned to Russia's as the last word of his sentence fell from his lips.

Russia shook his head slowly, mouth twitching for a fraction of a second in doubt. "I do not know what to think, especially since most of the other countries only interact with me out of fear. I know I can be intimidating sometimes and that gets in the way of a lot of things."

"It's a great quality to have, though," Britain piped up. "I would love to be able to scare off those that I don't want to talk to, but… the only thing I really succeed in is turning the stomachs of anyone that tries to eat my scones. They taste fine to me, but not to others, it seems. Either way, I know where you're coming from, feeling lonely and all that. I'm not at all popular with the other countries either."

"America seems to like you well enough, and what about France? Even though you both fight you seem like you have a good relationship somewhere deep down."

It was Britain's turn this time to shake his head. "America still resents me for what happened around the time he gained his independence. I think he'll always hate me for being rather crude to him in those colonial days… and France isn't as close to me as he used to be, back when we were young. He's turned into quite a douche bag now."

Russia nodded knowingly, unintentionally reaching up to adjust the rose-colored scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. "I have a bad past with America as well—he won't be able to forgive me for what went on in the Cold War, he has too much pride for that. I thought France has always been like that." A lighthearted chuckle punctuated the end of his sentence.

"I think every country has problems with America somewhere in their history," Britain remarked, returning Russia's nod. "Anyway… I think I need to head back to my house now. The cold is starting to bother me."

Russia turned to face Britain as one gloved hand reached up and took the one that rest upon the upper part of his back and clutched it. "Da, understandable. Thank you for hearing me out… and for not shoving me away like most of the others would. Before you go…"

His free hand partially unzipped the huge khaki coat he wore and darted inside, rummaging around in one of its hidden pockets before extracting a pair of earmuffs much like his own, though their design differed slightly. Before Britain could really discern the muffs' pattern Russia stuck them on his head, adjusting them to fit snugly over his ears. "Stay warm tonight. It would be a shame that the leader of this year's World Conference were to catch cold, da?"

Translucent rouge swelled within the apricot complexion of Britain's cheeks from the unexpected action. "A-Ah, yes. Thanks for this, Russia. I'll have to repay you somehow."

"Okay. You can repay me now then!"

Before Britain could properly react Russia relinquished his hold on the other's hand as his arms twined around the blonde's narrow frame; an ethereal hiss resonated from Flying Mint Bunny as it launched itself into the air off of Britain's shoulder, its fur bristling as it hovered about a foot above the heads of the two nations. "R-Russia," Britain began as a hand flitted up to his chin and nudged his face up to look into the face of his smiling companion, "what are you—"

Russia leaned down close to Britain before tilting his head slightly to the right and claiming the unsuspecting blonde's lips, hands laced together and resting against the malleable small of the other's back. Britain's blush deepened, scorching the bridge of his nose and cheeks but despite himself he relaxed into the kiss, welcoming the summery warmth that seemed to roll off of the perceptibly-frozen Russian in waves. Shaky arms found their way around the waist of the taller country and gently squeezed; Russia's tongue playfully prodded Britain's bottom lip before pulling away, a genuinely tender smile instantly replacing the superficial one that he previously wore. Britain's eyes widened at the glimpse of light reflected back at him within the pools of wisteria that comprised Russia's irises—it inwardly surprised him how alike his comrade's eyes were to the surface of the river that he loved, mysterious in every aspect.

Russia's arms uncoiled from around Britain then as he turned back toward the Thames, holding one hand up in a gesture of farewell. "Be safe tonight, Britain. See you bright and early tomorrow at the conference, comrade."

Flying Mint Bunny floated back down and resumed its perch upon Britain's shoulders as a gust of polar air struck him, stealing all of his newly acquired warmth. "R-Right then. Until tomorrow, Russia."

It took him no time to all but dash back to his home, holding both his new earmuffs and Flying Mint Bunny in place and muttering his apologies to his magical friend. He keyed the tarnished copper doorknob embedded within the cherry wood of his front door, bursting into his foyer and hanging up his keyring upon a nail jutting out from the wall just above a stout table designated for collecting mail. He gingerly removed his earmuffs while flicking on a nearby wall sconce, peridot eyes scrutinizing the design upon the circular muff part: one half of it appeared to be a well-crafted rendition of the Union Jack, while the other—separated by thin black thread running diagonally across the circle—depicted the white, blue, and red horizontal bars of the Russian Federation's flag. An amused chuckle reverberated from Britain's throat as a grin traipsed across the oval shape of his face, moving toward the flight of stairs that unfolded in front of him. Judging from what just happened, I wonder if this was his way of saying that he likes me. Either way… I can't let my boss, or America for that matter, get their hands on these. Lord knows what they'd do to them, and besides… I needed a new pair of earmuffs for this winter.

Fin.