Day 49: Summer
I do not own Hetalia.
He thinks that for the first time, he can divide his life neatly into two chunks.
Before. After.
Cancer's big, after all. Life-changing in the way that dangerous diseases tend to be. He's definitely not the same guy who'd spent last summer laughing and swimming and ki-
Well. It couldn't be helped. He doesn't believe in things like fate or destiny, but self-pity wouldn't heal him. He can't say as much to anyone, though.
Seriously, how does one go about telling everyone that he has cancer? He knows that he's literally weeks away from hospitalization, what with the unexpectedly rapid deterioration of his physical state. He'll be glad for it, almost- being at home is stifling, the pinched, unhappy faces of his family oppressive and irritating.
He wants to scream that he's not made of glass, that he's fine, that it's just... cancer.
Well.
He scowls, getting up from where he's sitting to glare at the snow outside. He really hates winter, the chill that settles into your bones, the treacherous sidewalks, his newfound inability to navigate even the paltry consolation of an ice rink.
He's a summer child, born for the sun in a country where the heat stretches far into August. He thrives in the humid heat, the light of the sun, the bustling of busy streets, the way how the earthy color schemes of spring burst into sheer vibrancy.
And especially now, when summer was the last time he got to spend careless and free, an arm draped across a shoulder as he laughed at the joke that-
You and your pride. He thinks bitterly, knuckles white on the sill. You had to push him away.
He pushes his forehead against the cold glass of the window.
If he imagines hard enough, he can still feel the sun beating down on his shoulders, hear the shrieking of children under the crashing of waves. Taste the sweetness of patbingsoo* on his tongue, feel a slender ha...
It's still summer, he tells himself. He still loves you.
He can almost feel a slender hand in his. It is not salt but sugar that sits on his tongue, and his heaving shoulders are from laughter.
For a glorious handful of moments, summer stretches on in December.
Thank you for reading, and please leave a review with your thoughts.
Patbingsoo is shaved ice with red bean paste and milk! It's a dessert found in cafés everywhere in summertime.
This is more of a drabble, but is connected to an earlier chapter. Kudos to those who can guess straightaway!
