This chapter was inspired by the song 'Structure' by Innerpartysystem. It was requested by denise134. Thank you!
Structure
Canada leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, watching the other nation preen in the mirror. He frowned as Prussia combed his hair back with careful consideration. He was standing with his feet apart and his shoulders back. His mouth was set in a taut grimace.
He looked more like his brother than himself. Where was his crooked smile? His slouching shoulders and exaggerated mannerisms?
Canada tapped his fingers against his arms in a comforting pattern of one, two, three.
Who was this man?
"Gilbert…" Canada sighed, pushing off of the doorframe. "Where is your uniform?"
"I'm wearing it," Prussia said, his voice hollow as he straightened the lapels of the green uniform. It looked awful and wrong on the pale nation. Just wrong.
"No, that's Ludwig's uniform."
"I'm part of Germany now. I have to wear the same uniform as him."
Canada stepped into the washroom.
"Did Ludwig say that?"
"No."
"Did his boss?"
"No."
"Then why?" Canada asked, exasperated. It felt like Prussia was losing himself. It was getting harder and harder to find the man he had fallen in love with. He knew that Prussia was depressed, and confused, and lost in the echoing, black depths of his dissolution.
He knew that, but it was still hard.
"Look, I can't wear Prussian Blue anymore. I'm part of Germany now. It's all I have left." He pressed his palm against the mirror, covering his face, and his knuckles went white with the pressure of holding himself together. "Let me be."
Canada wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. He studied the man in the mirror.
"Gilbert, you're still you. That hasn't changed. You're still Gilbert."
His eyes hardened.
"I can't be Gilbert. I have to be Ludwig."
"I don't want Ludwig. I want you. You. I fell in love with you, not your brother."
"Matthew…"
"No, damn it. What are you trying to prove?"
"That I still matter!" Prussia growled. He tried to wiggle out of his arms but Canada tightened his grasp. He knocked the products off of the sick instead. "That I still exist! That I have a place in this world!"
"You do have a place! It's here, with me!"
"That doesn't count!" Prussia turned around in his arms so that he was facing the other nation.
"It does too!"
"It does not!"
Prussia growled. There were splotches of colour high on his cheekbones. Canada glared at him and wound his fingers into the foreign uniform. He tugged him even closer.
Prussia bared his teeth. Canada hissed.
And then he kissed him.
It was sloppy and desperate and greedy. Their teeth banged together. Prussia slipped his hands under his sweater while Canada pushed him up onto the sink and ruffled his hair.
"I want you, Gilbert. You, you, you." Canada whispered in between kisses.
"I can't… I can't…"
"Yes, you can. You don't have to change. No one wants you to change."
Canada started unbuttoning his uniform. He ran his fingers over the white undershirt beneath the terrible green jacket. He tugged on his identification tags.
Prussia wound his legs around Canada and pulled him even closer.
He slipped his hands under and dusted his fingers over the scars that Prussia, not Germany, had earned. He traced the patterns of his history; the battles, the language, the horrors. The bliss of a nation, and the suffering. The past.
"I can't… I want to but…"
"Gilbert, I love you. Just the way you are." Canada kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and then his lips again. He decorated his face in kisses.
Prussia was gasping now, not quite crying but as close as he ever came.
"I… I… I…"
Canada tossed the jacket onto the tiles and unbuckled his belt, pressing against him. Prussia held onto his shoulders and threw his head back, hitting it against the mirror.
"You, you, you."
He kissed his collarbone and the chain of scars adorning it. Prussia bucked against him.
"I can't…"
"You can," Canada stressed. "I know you can. Here, let me help you out of that uniform…"
Canada pulled down his pants and kicked them to the side. He ran his hands over Prussia, pausing for a moment to lavish each scar. He kissed them.
Prussia was ashen and thin and covered in wounds. His hipbones pushed against his skin; his wrists and ankles were skeletal and prominent. Canada pushed between his legs and his feet dug into his back, holding him close.
His crimson eyes burnt with fear and lust and something deeper. Darker.
Scarier.
And Canada loved him all the more for it.
Author's Notes:
I like this one a lot, although I cannot pinpoint the exact reason. It was nice to explore the loss of identity in the dissolution of a nation. Nice, but sad.
Still, at least he has Canada.
All of my love. The saga continues tomorrow.