Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
(Set in AU, sometime during the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth)
The Polish youth trudged back to the little cottage overlooking the fields, wading through the waves of golden rye to hang his well-used sickle up on a hook outside the door. His hair was pulled into a short ponytail to keep his neck cool, but his face, bare torso, and basically everywhere else was glistening with sweat. His back ached from all the stooping, his arm from carrying the woven basketball in the crook of his elbow, and his legs and feet from being at work since the crack of dawn...not that he had wanted to be, but it was harvesting time, and if the rye wasn't reaped quickly, else the stalks would shatter and allow the kernels fall to the ground. Feliks would have enjoyed this time of the year had they-he and his partner (you may interpret this any way you wish)-a workhorse or a scythe; preferably both.
He wiped at his forehead as he turned back towards the half-harvested field to look for a head of brown hair sticking out in the ocean of gold. Toris would probably be angry at him for stopping so early, but he was thirsty and tired, and the sun was simply cooking him. Feliks was unable to see him-he was likely bent over cutting with the short sickle-so he hurried through the open door into the shade.
It may not have been as bright and overbearing, but the air inside the cabin was stifling. Feliks vaguely remembered being asked to open all the windows, but had been too groggy to actually carry through. It had been before sunrise, though, so he cut himself a little slack. He set his basket on the table in the main room, not caring that his housemate would have a fit for not storing it properly right away, and proceeded to follow the orders given hours prior. He was grateful for the weak breeze that freshened the stuffiness of the room, making the short hair around his face stir gently, though it was a warm, summery wind nonetheless.
The blond was just tearing himself a piece of rye bread from the loaf from the pantry when he heard labored breathing and the rustling of clothes-why had he worn long sleeves in such hot weather, anyway?-and a familiar voice from the doorway.
"Feliks," he sighed, removing his straw hat, "Don't you know how much work we have to do? And at least put them in their proper place." the Lithuanian added when he saw Feliks' basket.
"But I was like, really hungry and thirsty and hot!" he whined, nibbling on the piece of bread. Even with his mouth full he managed to pout, catlike green eyes sparkling for he knew he'd win this little argument like all the others.
"Fine then," the ever-relenting Toris began, letting his shoulders slump as he took his own basket-which had twice as much as Feliks'-and went to take care of them as his friend ate and rested.
"Hey, Liet, could you like, get me some water too? My throat is totally-aaah!" Feliks immediately sat up again; the moment he had leaned back against the chair his back had protested with a sharp stinging. He twisted around to see what the matter was, even tugging at the reddened skin to examine it more easily. However, the contact just made it hurt more and he let out another cry of pain, this time summoning Toris not a moment later.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he blurted out immediately, dropping the now empty baskets on the ground to kneel by the seated blond. He was surprised to see those misty emerald eyes and rested a hand on his rather warm shoulder.
"Don't touch!" Feliks shrieked, ducking away from the physical contact. "It hurts." His eyebrows were furrowed into a pained and distressed expression, looking a bit lighter on the reddened skin.
"Sunburn." the taller male murmured, his concerned expression lightening slightly. "I'm sorry; let me get some wet rags for your face and especially your back."
"Okay," Feliks replied feebly, the searing feeling barely dulled yet as he watched the brunet bring a pail of water and strips of cloth. Though he wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever been, he did enjoy having Liet's total attention and care.
"I told you to at least wear a shirt, Feliks. And a hat wouldn't have hurt either." he chastised lightly, carefully placing a damp strip on the Polish boy's upper back. He let out a yelp of pain and glared at his friend.
"What was that for?" he hissed, shocked by the sudden burning feeling.
"It'll feel better once the stinging subsides, be patient. After I take care of your back, you can lie down and I'll head back out." Toris explained, smiling faintly and cautiously applying another rag to Feliks, who just winced and took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth.
Though he didn't like to show humility or weakness and rarely thanked his Lithuanian friend sincerely, Feliks felt that he was the single most important person to him. The loyal hound of a man was always there even when the blond did silly things or got himself in trouble.
"Dziękuje, Liet." he mumbled with a flushed face-be it from the burn or his own sheepish blushing-and propped himself up on his elbows to press a quick peck to the cheek of the mousy haired male leaning over his bed before throwing the covers over his head.
A/N: This is actually a sample post for an RP forum...but I liked it so now it's a little drabble-y thing. I'm pretty much just throwing you guys a bone, those of you who are waiting for my 23893452 chapter fics. =n= I'm thinking about it, really. But I have a big exam coming up in three weeks and countless projects...~SIGH~ YOU KNOW THE DEAL.
Also, I typed this on my iTouch so if there are grammar/spelling errors, please let me know. (.3.)b
Dziekuje - Thank you (Polish)