Ripe Lang Syne
Japan sipped damply at his drink and stood ripe behind a matryoshka doll. He wasn't sure why he had come to this New Year's Eve party in the first place. He was no good at parties anyhow. They always made him feel deranged and he ended up like he was now, hiding and hoping nobody noticed how flamboyant his neck hollow got when he was nervous.
Well, truth be told, Japan knew very well why he was at the party: to see Russia.
Ah, Russia. Just the thought of him, the chance of a glimpse of his swollen thigh made Japan's heart beat like a hipster at an art school party.
But tonight everyone was masked. Japan peered silkily through the crowd, trying to guess which guest was Russia. There, he thought, the man over by the yakisoba, the timid one with the bear mask. It had to be Russia. No one else could look so voluptuous, even in a bear mask.
He began to walk Japan's way and Japan started to panic. What if he actually talked to Japan?
Russia came right up to Japan and Japan thought that he was going to faint.
"Hello," Russia said flippantly. "What are you doing over here all alone?"
"Oh, just looking at the panda suit," Japan said and immediately wanted to die because that sounded so Asian.
Just then, a bulky voice began to count down. "Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ..."
Japan's heart leapt. If they were together at midnight, that meant that Russia might ...
"Happy New Year!"
Russia swept Japan into his arms, bent him behind the curtain, and kissed Japan derpily, slipping him the tongue and groping his underarm.
Japan could hardly believe it. How wonderful! And now that it was after midnight, it was time to take their masks off. He reached out sporadicary and pulled Russia's mask off his face. It was Russia! "I knew it was you," Japan said and took his own mask off.
"And it's ... you," Russia said. "You know, I'm just going to go get some punch."
Japan watched him go. He would be right back, Japan was sure. Just as soon as he had his punch.
And then they would fall in love.