Prompt: Smell

Characters: Canada and France

Canada woke up with a slight frown. He didn't have to check his phone to know it was early—too early, in fact. Still, the sunlight streaming through the curtains kept him from falling back asleep, so he was stuck like this.

He rolled onto his back with a soft grunt, rubbed his face, and reached blindly toward the nightstand, where he had put his glasses the night before. Then, with a long yawn, he stretched his whole body, letting the tension in each muscle build and then release. It filled him with calm energy, which, though not enough to make him feel more rested, alleviated his grogginess for a moment.

Until it all sank in again: his loneliness over the past several weeks, the melancholy that had no apparent cause, the anxiety that had been nibbling at the edges of his consciousness but was now burrowing into his mind. The bone-deep weariness. The burning sensation prickling beneath his skin.

He couldn't explain it. Over time these feelings had simply taken hold of him, and one morning not too long ago—a morning just like this one—he'd suddenly felt too worn down to get up. Just as it lacked a clear beginning, so his dysphoria seemed not to have a definite end in sight. It simply continued, ignorant of time.

Meanwhile, every remedy seemed to slip through his fingers. Extra sleep didn't help. Neither did burying himself in his work, or getting exercise, or spending time outside soaking up the sunshine. In the end, his lack of improvement disappointed him, which both made his anxiety worse and discouraged him from trying to make himself feel better.

He was so frustrated with himself. It must have been his fault he couldn't feel happy. What else could explain his continued misery?

Too worn out to keep dwelling on his situation, Canada picked up his phone and scrolled mindlessly for a while. No one had texted him recently except France, who had come over for the night and, by the sound of it, was still asleep in the other room. Much as he had tried to hide his feelings, Canada was fairly certain France had picked up on his anxiety.

"Are you okay?" he had asked while they sat on the couch watching Lupin on Netflix. Canada hadn't really been in the mood for a mystery/thriller series (even though he normally liked the genre), but France had said it was really good, so he acquiesced.

"I'm fine. Really. What makes you think otherwise?"

France rested his chin on his hand and leaned in Canada's direction, gazing at him thoughtfully.

"You're just… quiet," he said. "Quieter than usual, I mean. And you keep fidgeting and moving the pillow around like you can't get comfortable."

"Really, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." After a beat, Canada added, "You were right. This is a good show."

He was glad when France decided not to push the issue.

Canada kept scrolling through Twitter, eyes glazing over at the memes, bits of drama, and gloomy news stories appearing and disappearing on his screen, until a noise from the other room alerted him that France was up. Guilt pinched his heart. He should have gotten up first, like a good host. He should have made coffee and breakfast for them both. He should have focused on France's needs, not his own.

Instead, he was stuck in bed, unable to summon the will to get up.

Canada set his phone on the nightstand, lay back against his pillows, and covered his face with one arm. If only he could go back to sleep and escape his worries for a while.

Then, he noticed it—the smell of pancake batter, and with it the sounds of butter sizzling on the griddle and water boiling for coffee. Without being asked, France was making Canada's favorite breakfast. Without making a fuss or saying anything at all, he was taking care of him in the best way he knew. It was a quiet sign of love, and it gently chipped away at Canada's anxiety, unfurling the tight knots of fear in his stomach and quieting his racing heart. After a few moments, he could push himself onto his elbows, and from there, he slowly got to his feet.

He was still afraid of everything, and he still couldn't explain why. But at least he knew he was loved, and he wasn't alone.