AN: Okay I'm going to try and explain this really quickly. This is a Britain and fem Russia story. Russia doesn't look like the official one though. She's short because I personally don't like it when a girl is taller than a guy. It just looks… weird (then again being short and never having that happening to me has a lot to do with that). She has dark because most of the Russian's I see on T.V (both fictional and real in documentaries) had dark or brown hair so I want to make her look more like her people… or at least that's the case. Everything else is the same. Sealand is a little girl simply because it's easier for me to write about little girls than boys (but writing in Britain's POV is quite fun). Also there are too many boys in Hetalia? Don't you think? And Belarus will not chant "Marry me" to Russia but still be obsessed with her. :) Featuring some new former British Colonies-Australia and India! Maybe some Ireland and Scotland also (I have to... my family comes for both places! :]). The story will be mainly from Britain's POV, unless it is as usual requested to have a chapter from Russia's POV, but I'll probably put some in anyway. Human and Country names will be used, flash backs will be in italics.
ENJOY!
TRUE COLORS
CHAPTER ONE: AN UNCOMFTERBALE CHOICE
Arthur Kirkland, better known as Britain paced furiously in a rather large room inside Buckingham Palace. It was completely empty sans for his clobbering footsteps that aptly filled the large open space. One would scarcely believe that the room was once peaceful, and Arthur was not in a completely foul mood. However within ten minutes of the blonde's arrival events took a drastic turn. Britain had come for an important reason that was escaping him in the midst of his anger. The morning had started out with his Prime minister ever so kindly reminding him that aside from a few of his former colonies, most of the world despised him. Arthur's huge eye brows and scrunched together is furry as his boss went on to say that it was about time he had a healthy relationship with a country.
Britain had staid quite for a short moment, even though his first instinct was to let out a river of obscenities while proving that one again Great Britain was and always will be right. The Prime Minister was not wrong in his claim, much to the chagrin of the island nation. Britain's past made him revered, feared and reviled. He knew that with the world practically falling apart, it was important to have more than one country that was willing to come to his aid. Aside from that practical nature of making a meaningful friendship, he was tired of always at odds with every other country in the world. Britain agreed with his boss's claim, stating that it was about time he forged a good relationship with another country besides some of his colonies and yes…. France.
His boss however had a completely different plan in mind. To Britain's utter horror, the Prime Minister said he had to do more than make an acquaintance or friend with a country. Oh no that would be too easy and almost pain free for the sliver tonged Britain. He had to MARRY another country. For a moment all Britain could do was staring at his boss with an appalled expression, feeling his heart pond all too quickly. He could not; he did not want to believe he had been given such a horrid order. If it was not for the dead serious expression on his boss's face, Arthur would have exploded in a fit of laughter. The very notion was laughable, Arthur Kirkland a MARRIED man?
He desperately tried to see if there was any sense of compromise in his Prime minster, his heart beginning to pound faster and faster as he quickly began to realize there was no flinching, no middle ground. In a matter of seconds Britain went from a terrified, confused soul to leaping out at his chair and throwing a childlike tantrum. It would have been no surprise to those in Palace if the many people wandering London could hear his long stream of obscenities. The last time Arthur had let his mouth slip was during the economic crisis of 2008, when he got his hands on too much gin. His prime minister left the room at the height of Britain tantrum, just as the country was about to grab the man's tie and fling him on one of the guards in red standing outside of the palace. As he left, he claimed no matter how angry Britain got there was no way out. In fact, he expected Britain to propose to the first Female country that walked through the large, golden door.
"Bloody bastard!" Britain hissed as he continued to pass back and forth, attempting to gather his senses and calm his heartbeat. However his heart did nothing but pound painfully, his body still continued to vibrate with furry. He could not escape the feeling he was thrown smack in the middle of one of America's elaborate particle jokes, only the brute Yankee would find such amusement in Arthur's displeasure. It was plausible, however he knew for a fact America had far too much on his plate to plan such an elaborate joke. As he continued to comb through all the possible reasons for his boss's crazy demand, a strange sensation began to plus through Britain. It was so out of place that Arthur almost ceased his loud pacing. He had only felt it three times during his long existence, three very low points.
The first was when he suddenly began to lose the American Revolution, for he had never imagined he would find himself being outwitted and defeated by his own charge…. his brother. The second was during the first World War, when he had to tell King Gorge V that his favorite cousin Tsar Nicholas II had been brutally murdered, along with his entire family. Again Britain had found himself in a strange, unfamiliar situation. The last and what he hoped the final time he felt such a sensation was during the battle of Britain, when Germany continually and mercilessly bombed him. Once the war was over he had described the feeling to France, whom himself had just come out the grips of Germany's iron control. His friend/enemy laughed quietly and said, "Ahh that is panic you were feeling mon ame."
Britain stopped in his tracks as he remembered that slightly drunken conversation with France. He slowly looked down at his pale hands to see him shaking; as a matter of fact his whole body was shaking. As humiliating as it was, the Great Britain was indeed beginning to panic. It was not without merit though. Marriage had always been the very last subject on his mind. His bosses had always considered him unfit for marriage, which was completely understandable. Though he would deny it for eternity, Britain knew very well that it was his own fault America had rebelled. It was his own fault of his colonies had eventually left him. He had never been able to sustain a truly meaningful relationship with anyone. Was his back and forth relationship with France not proof enough?
How on earth did his boss expect him to be in a successful marriage? It was foolish on so many levels. The only way Britain could see any marriage with him ending was in tears and war… which he had tried so hard to avoid. Not only that, he did not even know who he was supposed to be married to. Britain was supposed to propose to the first female country that walked through those closed doors. If he was not was confused and panicked, Britain much have begun to think the Prime minister already had someone in mind. What were the odds though, that one of the rare females' countries was going to simply waltz right through those doors?
Suddenly, as if someone in the great beyond was purposely messing with him the doors slowly opened. Britain's head shot up as he heard the door slowly creek, as his eye brows raised in surprise. Was the Prime Minister giving up on his foolish endeavor? A feeling of hope raced through him for a spilt second. Maybe, just maybe he would be free from the responsibility of maintaining a happy and healthy marriage, not to mention the awkwardness of just asking someone to marry him out of the blue. For one spilt second, he thought things would once again return to the way he liked it. Great Britain would be triumphant, and at the end of the day would be able to the strange situation into the fop's face. He almost started laughing with glee from the sense of relieve that was coursing through his veins, all in the matter of one second the world seemed the way it should be. One second alter it completely fell apart once more.
No more than a moment after Britain began to celebrate his premature victory, the person entered the room. His carefree smile disappeared when he saw not the familiar figure and face of his prime minister, but a petite young woman. Her hip length dark brown hair was neatly braided down her back, her bangs falling just above her eyebrows. She was dressed in a thin, pure white cotton long sleeved shirt with a rather girlish knee length navy skirt. Her thin legs were covered by black stalkings, along with black flats on her feet to top of the look of innocence. All Britain could really notice though were hee large, striking violet eyes. His heart almost dropped to hell itself when he saw those wide, childlike eyes staring at his chalk like complexion. He could feel his hands beginning to shake once more as he remembered why he had ended up in the large, gold accented room to begin with. The young woman, whom the world knew as Russia was supposed to come for a meeting today.
Then an explosion that could rival the atom bomb went off in Britain's mind. It was now painfully clear that the Prime minister and possibly Russia's president had purposely set up this meeting to arrange the details of their marriage! That was he had been told to propose to the first female country that walked through the door, because the Prime Minister knew Russia would be the unfortunate soul. The country's emerald eyes grew impossibly wide as he watched Russia walk up towards him, her dark skirt effortlessly swishing around her short legs. He watched her full, heart shaped lips moving but he could not register what they were saying. He only saw all the color drain from the world around him, felt all the happiness and life disappear. Oh the cruel humanity that he was to become one with Russia! The world, or at the very least his people had better begun to prepare for the worst, for all the joy and beauty in life to be destroyed, and it would be all his fault. Of all the countries in the world it had to been the former Soviet Union, the land of blood and snow. He was positive someone in the great beyond had gotten bored and decided to play a cruel joke on him, a cruel and horrible joke.
He barely noticed Russia's small fist gently tapping his forehead, barely heard her soft voice say, "Britain… hello anyone in there?" Britain looked down at her, and began examining her appearance in great detail for the first time.
She had always been exceptionally beautiful from the very beginning. Her dark hair contrasted beautifully with her marble white skin, Britain noticed for the first time that she had a reddish tint elegantly mixed in. Despite being the largest country on earth, she herself was a rather small person. Her all too innocent outfit perfectly showed off her tiny frame. He also noticed though being petite, Russia did not lack womanly curves and features. She had a perfect, delicate hour glass figure. Everything about her was exquisitely proportioned unlike her unfortunate big sister. Even her small, turned up nose was just perfect for his thin heart shaped face. What seemed somewhat out of place were her large, sparkling violet eyes which he found himself staring deep into.
They were immensely childlike, filled with obvious concern. Britain never noticed how stunning her eyes were, those concerned pools of purple. His heart gave a not gentle tug as his brain slowly began to work once more. Russia had been his ally during the days of Imperialism. He had never seen much of her, expect for the one time her last Tsar had come to the Isle of White with his family. Russia had always looked beautiful in her photos; however she was stunning in person. Britain would have been lying if his heart didn't skip a beat when he saw her in that pale, mint green dress. It would always be a lie if he wasn't shocked and slightly delighted at the fact he could look down on her. He had expected her to be rather cold and harsh, very much like her Tsarina could be. At first she did appear rather cold, extremely conservative and formal. It was no surprise to him when he was greeted by an expressionless face
However as their visit continued, he found her to be the exact opposite. He hardly saw what laid behind the porcelain doll's calm exterior, for she always staid stiff and proper. In fact she hardly spoke a word at all, unless someone spoke to her. Britain remembered feeling a sense of gloom as he began to think she was not enjoying her stay, enjoying him. He never admitted to himself, but Arthur was going tou of his way to be extremly corgial and poilte, hoping to make a lasting expression on the angel country. Imagine the disapointment he felt as the her visit dragged on and her Tsarina showed more enjoyment than she did. However he found himself taking a stroll with George, the heir to the thrown and Nicholas on one of the final days of their visit.
As they walked, they happened to see Russia and the Tsar's five children play on the beach. She merrily romping around barefoot in the cool sand with the children. To Britain's utter amazement, she allowed all five of children to topple her down to the soft, yellow sand bellow. He would never allow any of his Royal children to do such a thing. However that was not what stopped the island nation in his tracks. Arthur was stunned by the sound of her wild laughter rising above the children, by her wide carefree smile. He had seen a sight only the Tsar and his family saw behind closed doors, a happy Russia. "She certainly has a way with your children Nicky." George commented as the children wildly waved at their beloved Papa, still on top of Russia. "Yes she does." Nicholas replied, in a perfect English accent as he waved back. He then called out to his brood, "Children please don't crush Anya I need her in one piece-and please mind your little brother." The children, even the little rebels Anastasia and Alexi did as they were told. Russia stood up and brushed her simple white dress of, and despite her emperors order began to merrily chance the children around the ocean. Arthur noticed she always made great care to make sure Alexi never bumped into one of them, always caught him if he was about to fall. He thought nothing of it as the group continued their little stole.
"Why are you staring at me like that? It is being a little creepy." Russia questioned, taking a small step away from Britain and bringing him back to the 21st century. The former Empire where the sun never sat shook his head, for he was silently amused that he was making a country such as Russia uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back, instantly returning to the role of the perfect gentleman. "No reason. Russia, do you know why we are having this meeting?" Britain began, sounding all too formal and cold for what he needed to accomplish. It was all he knew and to be quite honest Britain thought the cool, gentleman approach would work. Russia had never seemed to be the emotional type. How could she be with her burtal history, poor thing would have gone mad if that was the case. She appeared to be the type of person who was all business and did not care for anything that got in the way of achieving a task. Well, it turns out the Great Britain is capable of being wrong. He watched carefully as Russia looked down at her dull black flats, her pale checks flushing red with embarrassment.
As she whispered softly, "Nyet… I don't. They just told me to be packed and ready to fly to London in two hours." Britain's heart began to feel oddly heavy. She looked so vulnerable, almost like a little girl with her slightly hunched back. It didn't help that she had her hands clutched in such a childlike manner in front of her. If he was not feeling embarrassed at the harshness of his words, he would have wanted a camera to capture the strange moment. The country that was once the master of Eastern Europe, the country that had come close to humbling America was standing right in front of him, appearing ashamed for simply not knowing why she had been summoned so far from her Moscow home. Obviously her boss was keeping her blind to his dealings with The Prime minister. Britain could not help but to despise her boss for putting her in such a situation, at least he had known of the meeting for the past two weeks. How could he soften his every inch of his body, every harsh line on his face?
A small smile spread across his face as Britain slowly walked over to a hunched over Russia, gently putting his fingers gently under her chin and lifting her face. "Don't look so embarrassed, I didn't know until five minutes ago." The blush on her delicate face intensified as she found herself staring into Britain's wide emerald green eyes. For a long moment they found themselves staring deep into each other's eyes, their faces barely and inch from each other. Arthur could even smell sweet mint from her toothpaste as she gently breathed in and out. For one hair of a second, Britain could have sworn he felt his body tingling with delight at the feel of her breath brushing agents his cheek. It felt so sweet, so warm. A strange part of him wanted to lean in just a little closer, feel how soft those full lips really were.
However, that second pasted all too quickly as both realized how close their faces were. In an instant both looked down and their shows, the thickness in the air beginning to grow intolerable. Britain silently wondered if Russia had felt that same rush of emotion, felt the same short spark of electricity. He knew it was stupid, for their new situation had absolutely nothing to do with love and emotion. Yet there was a strong part of him, as he gently took her hand and led her to one of the chairs that wanted to believe that they could be happy. Something deep within him said it was possible as he noticed her delicate little hand fit perfected with in his. He could not help but to watch her as she sat down with an almost doe eyed expression on his face.
"Britain…. why are you being so nice? Is there something going on that I am not aware of?" Russia asked in a soft, confused voice as Britain sat down close to her. He looked down at both of their hands, silently thinking of the best words to say at such a moment. As one would suspect it was no easy task. For at least two minutes the two countries sat in perfect, awkward silence. Arthur's heart began to pound as he felt the pressure of time falling on his shoulders. It didn't help he had the sickening feeling both of their bosses were standing outside of the room, listening and waiting for the right moment to enter.
"Mr. Britain… either let go of my hand or I will be breaking it clean off if you do not wish to tell me what is going on." Russia suddenly hissed, her purple eyes narrowing as he eyes brows scrunched together. Britain's head shot up at the sound of her voice. He would never say this to anyone, but he almost leapt out of his seat at the sight of Russia's angery face, watching her purple aura slowly forming around her tiny frame. In fact he could have sworn he felt his breakfast stirring in his stomach. Britain franticly shook his head as he denied her accusation, his nerves not calming until he saw her purple aura begin to fade away. "Alright than please be telling me because I am getting very confused."
Britain nodded once more and gave her small hand a gentle squeeze. He utterly regretted what he was about to do, and he silently prayed that France would never hear of what came out of his mouth. "Yes Russia… Anya… there is something I need to ask you." He paused, silently moaning as he repeated the same words France had said during one of the many awkward moments between the two old rivals.
"I would like for you to marry me."
For what seemed like an entirely, Russia did absolutely nothing except grow deathly pale. How Britain wished he could read her mind as she sat there like a perfect marble statue. He could only tell by her ghastly wide eyes she was obvious caught off guard and terrified. In fact he could have sworn he felt her hand shaking with in his. He gave that trembling hand another gentle squeeze, hoping it would cause the literally frozen country to at least blink. However she still refused to move. The last time Britain had seen someone so stiff was the one time he accidently turned France into a frozen statue for the hair cut incident many years ago. "For the love of god Russia at least blink!" The Brit demanded, finally causing Russia to at least blink her large violet orbs. She still staid in a frozen position as she swallowed hard, but to Britain's great relief at least she was blinking was blinking once more. He continued to watched with slight terror as Russia struggled to speak. "Wh… why do you want to marry me?" She asked in an emotionless whisper.
Britain was once again at a loss for words, a feeling he did not particularly enjoy. If the last ten minutes had proven anything it was that Russia was much more the emotional type than he expected. He couldn't just come right out and tell her there he had more choice, or more importantly that saying no was probably not a valid option. The very prospect would be too dangerous to his physical well-being. Not to mention, he simply did not want to hurt her. With no other option in sight Britain opened his mouth and prayed his quick, sliver tong would return. However before he even got a syllable out, Russia asked in a cold voice, "This was our bosses doing?"
All of Britain's functions stopped for a brief, embarrassing moment as he held his mouth open. "Apparently she's much smarter than I gave her credit for." He silently thought as he slowly closed his mouth. Arthur was unsure what to do at that point, for there was no reason to deny a fact she already seemed to know, yet he did not want to admit the cruel fact out loud. So what did Arthur Kirkland, the master of debate and the English language do? He simply nodded, looking down at their loosely intertwined hands. "And we do not have a choice in the matter? We are to get married?" Russia asked in the same, Siberian tone voice. Once again, the home of the world's greatest empire was only able to nod in agreement.
For yet another moment there was no movement for either party. One pair of green eyes stared at two pales hands, while another pair of violet eyes began to grow damp. Britain only knew or the violet's eyes tears when one lonely stray feel on their hands. He looked up to find a sight he never thought he would see, the heartless and brutal Russia suppressing a river of tears. It truly was a first glimpse of what was truly brewing inside of the cold exterior the former Soviet Union had become known for. In her attempt to stay composed, he saw how horribly her boss really treated her, saw the real pain this strange arrangement would cause. Arthur felt a rush a furry race through him as he wtached Russia, wondering how her boss could be so crule. She appeared nothing more than a child who was told their puppy died.
Something cliked inside of him the moment he realized how innocent and child like she appeared. Britain, easily remembering how to comfort a child in distress was adapt at stopping Russia's tears. He moved a closer to her and placed her delicate hands on his laps, mimicking how he used to soothe America when he was upset. He didn't feel the strange sense of pleasure filling his stomach at the feel of his former colonies hand.
"Russia… I know this is an uncomfortable situation. I'm just as confused, scared and angry about this as you are." He paused as he attempted to gather the necessary amount of courage do something he had never done in his long existence, something that he was never able to do. Britain knew that if he was going to at least attempt to make his…fiancé happy he had to admit a small portion of the unfamiliar emotions that consume his heart as they held hands, as he watched a few more tears escape from her eyes. He let out a sigh, gently rubbing her hand with his thumb as he finally found the courage needed to speak the words that needed to be said. Arthur looked her straight in the eye, and strangely felt no regrets about what he was about to do.
"I believe we can make this work though. I know we were enemies for a long time, but were allies once. It was awkward during your visit at the Isle of White because we hardly knew each other, and the only reason we fought together in World War Two was… well you know why. The point I am trying to make is we can live peacefully. We don't have to love each other, that's not the point of this of the arrangement. I will however, do what I can to make sure you are happy. That is all I really want out of this, is to make you happy."
Britain did not dare move his eyes from Russia once he was done, even though he wanted nothing more than to let them dart down to their hands. He was too afraid that she was going to return to the frozen, statue like state she had only just come out of. It was amazing how much one could pray in one short second. Despite his fear that he put Russia back into a state of frozen shock, a small amount of the weight that had been placed on his shoulders had been instantly lifted. Whether or not Britain's kind words turned her back to stone, he had eased a small portion of his soul. He never realized how gratifying it felt to speak from deep with in, how it made the world a little brighter.
Arthur was brought back from his lightness when he felt a small hand gnelty squeeze his, making him realize for a spilt second that he had an annoying habit of falling deep into his thoughts. Then he noticed something that would have caused him to loose his gentlemen composiure. He did not see the same frozen, unmoving expression painted on her pale face that had sent shivers through his body. Russia simply stared into his eyes with a thoughtful expression. She even had a small, innocent smile on her face. He had no idea how beautiful a small smile could be, how bewitching it could be. Britain could feel his heart beginning to pound wildly; feel his stomach twist into ungodly knots. Oh how lost he could get in those angelic eyes, in that simple smile. As he heart continued to beat a little faster than it should, he could feel sweat forming at his hairline."Get a hold of yourself Arty! God what the hell is happening to me?!" Arthur frantically thought, refusing himself the pleasure of simply getting caught up in those kind, thoughtful eyes.
Russia's small smile grew a little wider, causing Britain to fall even deeper into the new, other wordly emotions taking over his senes. He could not help to wonder if the bewitching country was someone hypnotysing him. However as she lifted one of her tiny, delicate hands and whipped away a stray tear, he knew it was not true. Was every movement she made so elegant and graceful? Obviously she had never completely given up her beloved Imperial ways.
"Well Mr. Britain, I must be admitting that you have made the arrangement seem much more pleasing. Since we are having no other choice…. It would be my honor to become one with you."
Every inch of Britain's body went cold at the sound of Russia's infamous catch phrase. He had personally seen what thoes words could do when she spoke them so sweetly to China after the Opium Wars. Thoes seemingly innocent words had caused one of the worlds oldest and greatest countries to clolapse to the floor in the fetal position, screaming "No!" in between his sobbing. For his long, somewhat pitiful existance Arthur Kirkland never imagined he would hear that phrase directed at him. As he silently cursed his boss, a terrified smile was forced on his face. Yet there he was, sitting almost litteraly frozen to his seat, the words reapting over and over again like a broken record. The famously composed Gentleman nation finally began to crack as he let out a rather loud, nervous chuckle. It radited through out the large room, if not out the thick doors and into the palace halls. "If only the walls could talk" Britain thoguht as he tried to maintain what ever dignity he still had.
It was, as usual when he is in such a state no use. His skin once again when chalk white, and one of his massive eye brows began to twitch. He could feel his body begin to tremble as he prolonged his chuckling, causing Russia to let out her own soft uneasy chuckle. For a spilt second Britain wished he had staid a Catholic, so he could give the Prime Minister ten Hell Mary's (or what ever Catholic punishment France threatened at least once a week). "Dear god I'm done for!" He thought, silently wondering if he could say one last goodbye to Whales, and give one last hardy trashing to Scotland, Ireland and Australia. He never got to tell America how sorry he was for his horrible parenting, or tell India he actually admired Gandhi. He would never get to tell Sealand he did not think she was an annoying little twit. France still had not gotten the nessicary revenge for the hair cut innocdent! Tears began to form in Britain's eyes as he thought about his last, unfinished endever. There was nothing on Earth that could ease the crushing blow of France getting away with anything, even if it did happen centries before. All Arthur could do was continue his uncomfortable chuckling, accept his life as he knew it was over, and pray Russia would show him mercy.
Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain on his cheek, causing him to finally stop his nervous tick. His eyes grew wide as he placed his hand on the red cheek, stunned that little Russia had delt him such a hard slap. To his surprise she did not have an angry expression of her trade mark crazy smile. Instead she had a genuin look of regret and concren. " I am sorry but you needed it. I only used that phrase because you used Frances... uhh what's the word?" She explained, pausing for moment, her eye brows scruncthing together as she tried to remember the right word to use. With in a five seconds her eyes widen and a huge smile spread on her face. She claped her hands together as she excalimed "Crappy! That is the word! I am only using the phrase because you used the same crappy proposal France used on you." She paused once more as she smoothed out her skirt and calmed her expression. She finished by daintly placing her hands on her lap, appearing more regal than ever. "I am being so sorry if I gave you the wrong idea."
Britain could not help himself, and once again found himself laughing. However it was not his horrid nervous chuckle. It was his usual, carefree laugh. He was no longer cold with fear, but in fact oddly warm. Her child like excitement was just what he needed to ease the terror he had felt. It certinally did not help that she once again blushed a bright red and fumbling with her hands. Britain silently wondered how anyone could be fearful of someone harmless. Oh sure he his cheek still stung to hell and back, and she had threatened to rip his hand off eariler. However when he saw her excitement over simply remembering and English curse two things became clear; either she was not the horrid monster everyone thoguht her to be, or she was extremly bipolar. Britain's laughing died as he came to the conclusion that she was not... or hopefully not bipolar, shaking his head in amazement. "It's quite alright Russia, I should have seen it coming." Arthur commented, causing a gentle giggle to escape from her lips.
There was one last moment of awkward silence as both countries smiled shyly at each other, unsure what was supposed to happen next. The air grew extremly thick as the seconds by with out a word being said, with out something being done. Both could sense their bosses listening, waiting for something to happen. Neither would be surprise if they were expecting to barge in while they were having and intament moment. Neither were willing do move durring that moment on awkward silence for that very reason It was Russia who caved into the thickness of the air and their prying bosses, or at least that was what Britain believed until Christmas.
The reason though did not matter at that moment. What mattered to Arthur was the fact she was catiously wrapping her thin arms around his waste, resting her head on his shoulder. Britain once again found it hard to keep his calm facade as he felt his heart racing a thousand miles a minuet, felt his stomach pay homage to the gymnist in the Summer Olympics. One could literally hear his breathe escaping him. He had never been so close to a female before, not even with his beloved Elizabeth I. Britain was was so shock he could barely move his arm to put it around Russia. Everyone claimed she was so full of hate and missery that she was as hard and as cold as ice, icluding Arthur himself... right in front of her face. How untrue the rummor was. Even before he somehow managed to place his arm around her surprisingly broad shoulders, Britain could feel how soft her small frame really was. He could feel it was as soft as a baby's, even her acient hands were still so smooth and delicate. Arthur realized how little a delicate she really was, the strong and steal like Russia. He watched carefuly as she closed her eyes birefly, letting out a gentle sigh. His heart gave a not so tug at the feel of her breath on his skin, the sight of her appearing to be a sleeping child.
"Maybe... just maybe this can work." Britain thought, closing his eyes as well.