Notes: Direct sequel to 'Scenes'; nyotalia Poland and Lithuania in the 1990s. OH SO FLUFFY.
There's this fun little psychological trick America showed us once. What you do is you close your eyes and imagine a colour. Think about it from all sides, picture it intensely, think of its texture and taste, how that colour makes you feel. After a minute, open your eyes and see how everything that's green or purple or whatever jumps out at you.
That's been on my mind a lot because it's the only thing that explains it: I guess I've been thinking of you again, all the time and a bit too intensely. Because awake and with my eyes open I'm seeing you everywhere, shades of you in someone's face every day. The streets are all-of-a-sudden full of people who look so like you if only for an instant.
Poland was developing a theory. Relationships were like chess. You had to plan all these moves ahead of time.
The trouble was, whenever Poland did this she catastrophically failed to factor in what the other person might think or do.
The trouble was, she kind of sucked at chess.
The trouble was, this was a crappy analogy.
But the actual point was, Lithuania had seemed stressed lately and Poland wanted to help, and make absolutely everything better, because of course she did. So Poland was going to be perfect: perfect host, perfect counsellor, perfect friend.
It didn't quite work because then Poland had to work late and that meant her plan for pizzas with the proper homemade dough like Romano did was pushed way back, and then she got distracted so one of the pizzas was badly burnt, so she gave the half-decent one to Lithuania and pretended she'd eaten earlier, and Lithuania picked at it politely and Poland felt like crying.
But none of that mattered. They were fed and watered (pretty much) now, which meant over the hot chocolate she prepared un-asked for and which Lithuania accepted with surprise, Poland could say the thing she'd been meaning to say. She'd been steeling herself to say it. It was a repeat of probably the coolest and bravest thing she'd ever said ever.
The adrenalin made her feel heroic, and by the time the words were out of her mouth, Poland was already six moves ahead and at the part where Liet was blissfully happy and unstressed and blushing and confessing, Oh Poland I've always loved you, you silly, come here... And there they were snug on the sofa together, sharing one blanket and Liet was stroking her hair and then... Well, truthfully she was a little hazy on what then, but the sofa would have been enough.
"Lithuania, I want you to know—even, even if things are difficult now and you feel like no one's listening to you, your friends are still here for you, and that includes me. I'll always support you, and stuff. I'm... going to try and be totally unselfish from now on!"
Lithuania cast her this odd, old look.
Poland's mouth went dry and shut up like a trap.
"Ah, thank you, Po, but... I just meant I was feeling stressed at work and things like that; there's nothing you need to change about your behaviour."
Poland was hardly listening.
She took that look and treasured it up like a dagger in the jewel box of her heart: something with which to prick her illusions, her self-importance, any stupid hopes she might harbour.
She had read the look, and knew for sure it said: Poland, you're not my world, you don't make my weather; how dare you assume you have the power to upset or comfort me.
Lithuania was around less weekends. They were down to one this month, and then that was cancelled. Work, or something. Poland told herself this was fine. (And she couldn't invite herself to Lithuania's place, definitely not.) But so recently it had been so nice between them. She had even been hoping... Well, this state of impossible hope was just the default now. She was very very afraid she had somehow messed everything up again. But maybe it wasn't as drastic as that. There she went again, over-calling her own importance. Maybe Lithuania was just bored with her.
That morning, the morning it happened, Poland had slept in and picked up her mail late. It was was half past ten by the time she walked back to the kitchen to look through it.
An envelope with the address handwritten. She recognized Lithuania's writing. Some instinct made her sit down and she was freaking out, veins shot through with ice, sick with the premonition of—what?
She tore the top of the envelope open with a table knife, unfolded the letter and scanned it in a glance, saw the whole thing in an instant. It wasn't a long letter. Green ink.
The phrase – we need to talk – leaping out from the first line. And then—
WHAT?
She jumped to her feet, chair scraping the floor, sprang back from the table, from the letter. Then she pounced again, picked it up in trembling hands, WHAT?
I'm sorry to do this in a letter but there's something we need to talk about...
...been trying to ignore these feelings for...
...truth is that I like you, as more than a friend...
...I know you probably don't share...
I'm sorry...
SORRY?
WHAT?
Poland was doubled up laughing, wheezing, gulping in air in breaths like ugly gasping sobs.
Both of them. All this time.
BEEP
«HI! Hi this is a message for f-for L-Liet, for you, I mean. This is Poland by the way. Hi. I GOT YOUR LETTER and okay number one WHAT and two—I really like you too! I really do. I don't know what else to say now um. So... call me back! Like, if you want, if you haven't changed your mind, I mean that's fine too. But, I really like you, I've really liked you for, like, ages, this is majorly embarrassing actually?! Ha... Okay, well—bye, see you, maybe soon, I hope! I really—»
BEEP
«Hello? Oh this is your answerphone. Poland! I'm so happy! I can't believe that you... And no I'm NOT changing my mind, of course I'm not. Y ou don't seem to be home at the moment, so I'll try again later on. Oh, this is Lithuania, and I'm calling at... 12.45pm. I hope no one else is listening to this anyway, this is your private home phone, right?»
BEEP
«Liet? Where are you! Answer your phone! Sorry that was sucky timing, I went out just when you called! Okay I'm just gonna be here for the rest of the afternoon so... totally call me! Also you know the phone tells me what time messages were left so you don't have to do that!?»
«Hi!»
«Hi! It's Lithuania. Look, I'm really sorry, just after I tried to phone you they called me into work this afternoon, so I can't talk long. I've said it was an emergency and ducked out of a meeting.»
«YOU DID? That's so rock and roll of you.»
«Well, after all this is an... international matter.»
«Oh my gosh.»
«This is... I'm so happy, Poland.»
«Me too. Oh my gosh, thank you for writing that letter.»
«Thank you for... reading it. I still can't believe this. O-okay, I've got to go but I'll be home this evening and then can I call you properly?»
«Yes. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here.»
«Okay! Then... talk to you later.»
«Talk to you later!»
«Okay.»
«Yeah.»
«Talk to you in a bit.»
«Cool!»
«Mmhm.»
«Liiiiet. Go to your stupid important meeting.»
No one tried to call Poland in for work that day, fortunately.
She played Haydn sonatas and Chopin waltzes double-time on the piano all afternoon.
«Hello?»
«Hi, Poland.»
«Oh hey!»
«Oh hey to you too!»
«It's you. And me. And we're... totally talking on the phone again, yep. Like we've done before only...»
«Are you... laughing, or crying?»
«I'm just, like, smiling a whole lot. Liet... this is totally crazy.»
«I know.»
«Not in a bad way. In a really, really good way.»
«That's what I mean!»
«So... what do you want to... do now?»
«Now?»
«Do you want to... I mean do we like go on a date, or?»
«Well—I was already going to visit you weekend after next...»
«Oh! Yes! But I thought you'd cancelled that weekend. I, uh, kinda thought you were mad at me.»
«Yeah... and no, that wasn't what it was. I'm sorry, could I... uncancel it? I... um, I was planning on just avoiding you until I got over you.»
«PLEASE DON'T DO THAT.»
«I don't have to now!»
«Nnnngggh.»
«You make the cutest noises, Po.»
«whaaaaat?»
«Just like that.»
"...yeah yeah," Poland waved a forkful of cake around as she made her reckless confession to Hungary and the cafe in general, "alright, so, everything I thought was wrong, I have to start again from the beginning. Fine. Okay, I admit it is a thing to wake up to think of someone and want to talk to them like every minute of the day. Also I'm a dirty liar anyway because I already knew that, I thinking of her like that anyway, you know, the whole time. At least—like, I thought I was, but no this is... EVEN MORE."
"I can tell," said Hungary. "You're in love and it's so cute, you're smiling like..." He performed an exaggerated lovesick sigh.
"Am I?"
"Yeah."
"...Is that cute?"
"Yup."
"This is... so much, like? I'm loving this?"
(But I'm dizzy thinking of her. I'm not sleeping, and then waking up bright and quivering—don't even feel like eating much at the moment, it's more like bumblebees than butterflies in there—I'm so happy...)
Hungary snorted. "There you go drifting off again. You're adorable... Don't worry. You can't be sighing and not eating and not sleeping like this forever."
(How did you know, I didn't even say all that, is that a thing too?)
Surely, she thought deliriously, her heart couldn't take the pace much longer!
Trying to be Objective, Poland looked ahead, and came up with a Worry. If the Physical Symptoms faded... she'd miss them, maybe? Was that a problem? Sure, everyone said the first flush of infatuation is fleeting but... It was so nice, and... was that all this was?
What actually happens:
In four months' time, Lithuania is holding her close, kissing her hair, and she's blushing and squirming, peeking up at her, then flinging her arms round Liet's neck and kissing her lips in return. And her whole body is alive and singing. There is no lack of physical sensation. She has quite, quite forgotten that earlier worry.
The general busy-ness of life that year sadly refused to completely and immediately abate so they could take an immediate full-time holiday and spend totally all their time together.
I know it's silly (Poland whined to Hungary on the phone), like, ugh what do you mean European politics can't just chill for a bit because me and Liet have finally sorted this romantic tension? (ROMANTIC! her mind echoed, turning cartwheels in her head, we! are! in! a! romantic! relationship!). I just wish they would, okay?
Away from her, and there were times that hurt, physically. Because you'd let down a wall, made yourself weak to this (it's both a choice and not a choice and again a choice you made). Sometimes the rush of it, like a river, like blood to a bruise, is so strong. It's okay, but you just have to bear it, hold on tight and get through the loneliness. It will be okay. I'm so happy. This waking in my body shows I'm not alone.
She felt the longing like a lump in her throat, like where it aches when you're about to sing or about to cry: I miss you!
This is how it happened, the next possible weekend after The Letter, the Friday evening. Not the sofa yet but sitting across from each other after dinner.
"...I'm sorry, though," Poland said, looking down, "that you had to be so unhappy."
"And you, too..." said Lithuania, concern in her voice.
"Oh." Poland shrugged. "I wasn't... unhappy, I was... just... I was okay to sort of carry on like this..."
Lithuania laughed; that sounded so utterly unconvincing. "Alrighty then! That's good I suppose!"
A pause.
"Were you," Lithuania started again, hesitantly, "were you ever going to say anything to me?"
"No, NEVER," said Poland instantly, "Like, I couldn't, could I?" She looked up. Is this something we can joke about yet? "I'm... oh, you know, still in a position to put pressure on you, or whatever—sorry but it's true—so I thought... no."
"So..." Lithuania smiled, unruffled, just a little quizzical. "Sweetheart, what did you think would happen? How did you think this would end?"
"I don't know!" Poland said, and to her horror she started to cry. "I guess I thought maybe—s-something magical would happen—and, and now it has!"
She burst into unrestrained sobs, and Lithuania ("oh, no, oh, do you want a hug?" "yes—(sob)—now, please!") comforted her, until they were only tears of joy.
After a while, they meandered to sleep, in their own rooms as before, that first night. Happy, happy so happy still but... There she was two rooms from you, sleepless too, and there was every word of the day's, the week's conversation, buzzing round through your heads.
Well, that arrangement lasted approximately no time at all.
Late the next night, sleepy conversation with long pauses to the flicker of the test-card pattern on the television:
"I'm falling asleep here," mumbled Poland, not for the first time. "But this is nice. What if we just fell asleep here..."
"Mmm. ...what... if we moved to a bed first."
A change in the quality of the stillness.
"Like... the same bed..?" Poland asked.
"Only if... how do you feel about that?" Lithuania groggily turned to look at her.
"REALLY GOOD." It was so suddenly loud and enthusiastic that they both giggled. "I mean... how do you?"
"Yes. Okay, I think we're good here." She stirred herself, sitting up straighter, and took Poland's hands in hers. "...Come to bed, dear."
"Ohh." Poland felt her face heat up. "Okay." They stood up. "Wait heyy," said Poland, swaying and leaning against Lithuania, "no fair I wanted to say it... anyway... my bed, 'kay?"
"...Come to... your bed, my dear?"
Poland batted her weakly on the arm. "Iii wanted to sayyy it."
"Go on, then!"
"Come to... come to...!"
"Stop laughing, this is serious!"
"You stop laughing, you're putting me off... Like totally, bed, now. Okay?"
It was very comfortable, to go to sleep like that and dream of the morning finding the two of them still close together.
The world had pitched over last month, turned upside-down, and everything in Poland's little universe had righted itself.
It's just, she thought, apparently the world can work this way, and what the hell, why did nobody tell me. She wouldn't have believed them, anyway. It was hardly credible now. After so many decades of evidence to the contrary, proof that life is basically cruel and unfair: the recklessness of this counter-proof. The extravagance of this blessing.
To know that the person you are thinking of is thinking of you, too.