Wednesday, November 28th, 1991: 28 days until Christmas
A soft knock near the entrance to the guest room calls my attention to Canada standing against the door frame.
"Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?" He asks.
"A movie? Where?"
"Here. I have a few VHS tapes, you can choose."
"VHS?" I ask.
"Yeah. . . Come on, I'll show you."
I follow him into the living room and sit down where he gestures to. He picks up a small cardboard box and puts it in my lap.
"These are tapes, pick one and we will watch that movie." He says while sitting next to me. I smile a bit as I go through the different tapes in the box.
"I've never heard of any of these. . . The Shining? This looks a little unnerving." I comment. He laughs.
"Yeah, I mostly have horror films. I highly doubt American media ever reached you in Russia anyway."
"No, it never did, that kind of stuff was illegal. . . Though I did listen to American and British news a lot." I say while picking up a tape called Poltergeist.
"Oh, that one's good."
"Ah, it seems. . . evil." I say while placing it back down.
"I forgot that you were rather superstitious, paranormal things make you uncomfortable?" He asks in a teasing manner.
"You could say that, I just don't like inviting that kind of energy in my life. Even as a priest I never engaged in," I begin while moving aside a tape called Children of the Corn, "that side of things."
He laughs again and pulls out a tape from the bottom of the box.
"How about this one. It's the only kid-friendly movie I have." He hands me the tape and I roll my eyes and look over it.
"What is this?"
"The Secret of NIMH. It's an animated movie about a mouse who must save her home before a tractor destroys it. Of course along the way, she learns the secret of NIMH."
"Animated. . ." I repeat, not understanding the English word.
"Yes, animated." He says in French.
"Oh, I see. I've seen a few animated films in the 30s." I also switch to French.
"Only in the 30s?"
"Unfortunately, Russia wasn't really one for film or TV. He preferred books and made that quite clear." He's smiling at me in a way that makes me shift a bit. "What? You are looking at me like I've told you the most extraordinary thing."
"Nothing, I just forgot how well you spoke French." He comments.
"Well, it is my third language."
"It is my first." He says before taking the tape from me and walking over toward the TV.
"What were your first five?"
"Five?" He asks, a bit surprised, "bold of you to assume I know five languages."
"Do you not?"
"I mean, I know six, but it was still a bold assumption." He laughs.
"What are they?" I ask as he comes back over to me and sits down.
"In order: French, Russian, Italian, English, decent German, okay Mandarin."
"Russian is your second language? How?"
"Well, my mother had a relationship with Russia when I was a child so I ended up learning it from him."
"Wasn't France married to Austria at one point? And you never learned German?" I tease.
"To his credit he tried, but. . . truthfully I thought the language a bit barbaric so never really paid attention to his lessons. I don't think that now though, it is a wonderful language, truly, I just had France in my ear when I was younger." He says quickly in an attempt to make up for the fact he thought German was barbaric.
"That's alright, I understand that the connection between France and us German states were, how do you say, grim."
He gives me a little smile before turning on the TV.
"I'm surprised Russia didn't like films," he changes the subject, "the Russian films that have come out over the past few decades were pretty good."
"Oh, well, he did like a few. . . Alexander Nevsky in particular, but that came out before the war and. . ." The film was a bit brutal to say the least, or, at least watching the Teutonic Knights drown was. It is true, I fell into the lake trying to fight him, but not like that.
"It's okay. I understand." He says while placing his hand on my thigh.
The movie is beautiful and, unsurprisingly, unlike anything I have ever seen. I felt like I was watching a painting move and speak to me, the characters felt so real and the voices were so clear. Canada would smile every single time I commented on the beauty of the film, or when I would get too invested in the plot. It's days like this that make me forget why I'm here in the first place.
November 29th, 1991
"How do you feel today? Energy wise." Matthew asks me over breakfast.
"Pretty good."
"Would you be up for taking a drive out to the town? I need to pick up a few things."
"I couldn't see why not." He smiles and picks up our plates before heading over to the sink.
"Perfect. The drive is a bit long so you'll have plenty of time to rest before and after. You should also take a jacket. It is supposed to snow today."
I thought the snow would bother me but it doesn't. I find it peaceful, watching it fall slowly from the car window. Canada wasn't kidding when he said the nearest town was a long drive, it takes us nearly sixty minutes to reach just the outskirts of the small development. It sure is cute though.
We pull into a parking lot and he sighs.
"Sometimes it's hard to justify driving this long to spend twenty minutes in a store." He comments while turning the truck off.
"Could you move closer?" I offer.
"I could. . . but I like the silence."
"Hmm."
We are mostly silent as we walk through the store, really I'm speechless. My attention is caught by the produce section and I stand and stare at it for a while. I feel him stand next to me and cross his arms.
"Do you want something?" He asks softly. I shake my head slowly, looking for the words I want to say.
"This sounds silly but I feel like I could cry. . . There is so much here." I almost whisper. He smiles and laughs a bit.
"It's just produce."
"Not just produce. . . The store I used to live near never looked like this. I mean," I begin, walking over to the apple section, "we had one kind of apple if there were apples at all. This is insane, how do you choose?"
"I like the red ones." He says, picking one up and putting it in the hand held basket.
"Wow." I breathe out, causing him to smile.
"You're cute." He comments before picking up another apple and giving me what I can only describe as a smirk. My cheeks and stomach heat up and I look down. "Come on, if this section makes you want to cry wait till you see the bakery."
We spend a lot more time in the store than he was probably planning on. I couldn't help but to look at all of the food. And not just that, but the options! There were different brands for everything, sometimes an entire section devoted to one type of thing and the numerous brands that supplied it. Needless to say by the time we got back to the car I had a headache.
"If you still have it when we get back to the house I'll give you some Advil." He offers.
"Thank you." I say softly, watching the snow begin to pick up outside.
About thirty minutes into our drive the snow starts to pick up considerably, and around forty-five minutes in I feel the car begin to slow down before coming to a stop. I open my eyes and look around.
"Is everything alright?" I ask.
"There is too much snow on the road. I usually have chains on the wheels but this is the first good snow of the year so I haven't put them back on yet. My mistake."
"Hmm." I hum a bit anxiously.
"Don't worry, we are only ten minutes or so away from the house, when the snow dies down a bit we will continue."
"Okay." I sigh out, closing my eyes and willing myself to go back to sleep. Being stuck in the snow makes me incredibly anxious, I don't like being trapped in the cold. Yet all I can think about is an icy grip, so cold it burns, that familiar tired feeling as everything gets harder and harder to move. Laughing at nothing and drifting off to have a comfortable nap, only to not wake up.
"It's so cold." I say, seeing my breath.
"It is." I look over and notice goosebumps on his arms.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yes, but I'm going to move to the backseat." I watch him unbuckle his seatbelt and crawl into the back. He unfolds a plaid blanket and covers himself with it. "This sucks, I apologize, it is unlike me to be so ill prepared for something like this."
"It's okay." My words shake as my teeth chatter.
"It really isn't. Would you like to join me? I could probably keep you warmer than the jacket you have on."
I try to fight the blush that threats my cheeks as I nod and crawl into the back with him. I take off my jacket and he puts the blanket over us, wrapping his arms around me. He is considerably warm and I feel my body relax into his. He stiffens as I nuzzle into his neck.
"Sorry." I apologize.
"It's alright." He says while placing one of his hands on my lower back. I splay my hand out on his chest and he pulls me closer, his heart beat picking up a little. I bite my lip to control my body's reaction to all of this. We are just trying to stay warm, no need to get excited. But my body disobeys my wishes, and I'm sure he can feel that.
After a few moments I shift to get a little more comfortable and that's when I feel how much this has impacted him as well. He sighs at my squirming, shifting a bit himself. Eventually it is clear neither of us can remain still, and one glorious movement puts our hips together in such a delicious way. I'm starting to thank the snow outside.
A shaky breath leaves him and I bite my lip. The feeling is wonderful, bubbling up in my stomach and groin. Our hips begin to move together timidly, creating the loveliest of friction. Just before I can really get into it his hands come down to my hips and separate us. I look into his eyes, faint blush across his cheeks.
"We shouldn't." He whispers. I cup his cheek and sigh.
"I still fail to see why."
"I'm in a position of power over you, I should not abuse this."
"Position of power?" I ask while pushing my hips forward, leaving his grip and grind against him roughly. His eyelids flutter as a pleasurable sigh leaves him.
"Please, you're making this unimaginably difficult for me." He begs.
"This is difficult for me as well, you have no idea how much I want this."
"It is you who has no idea how much I want this."
"Then let go." I offer, grinding into him once more. He moans softly and meets my hips, beautiful eyes struggling to remain open. The air is filled with our panting, the windows begin to fog up. That familiar, white hot sensation begins pooling in my groin and I know I'm almost done for. I look at him just in time to see his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise.
"Oh, goddammit, fuck." he whimpers, moving me off of him and sitting up. Startled, I look at him worriedly.
"Are you alright?" I ask nervously, watching him place a hand on the car seat before him while the other grips himself tightly over his pants.
"Yes, just, we really shouldn't. . ." He practically moans, closing his eyes tightly. I was afraid I had hurt him but I see now he is trying not to orgasm. It's amusing to watch him fight so hard, but upsetting that he would not allow himself to. I was almost there myself, but the prospect of hurting him killed my excitement.
He sighs and relaxes back into the seat.
"Gilbert," he sighs out, closing his eyes, "please stop making this so hard."
"You're not innocent here, I hope you recognize." He looks at me, a look of confusion on his face.
"What do you mean?"
"Really?" I ask a bit incredulously. "Do you not know how you look at me? Or the gentle touches that linger for longer than just an innocent graze? Inviting me to press my body against yours in this tight space? How do you expect me to react? We have history, it is not like this is coming out of nowhere, you know full and well what is between us." I'm rather irritated at his insinuation that he is some saintly, innocent figure who is being constantly tempted by me - a person who can not control themselves nor their most basic desires. I admit that I have been eager to start things, but he is by no means blameless. Not to mention this is a sore spot for me, being seen as some sort of unruly seducer.
". . . My apologies, I do not mean to upset you. I-I understand our history perfectly, I had hoped it wouldn't have gotten in the way of my ability to help you. I see now that was rather foolish of me to believe."
I sigh and place my hand on his knee.
"You have helped me considerably, there is no doubt in that." His gaze meets mine for a few moments before it trails down my body.
"You look cold still, here." He says while laying the blanket over me. "The snow has let up enough for us to go home. You are welcome to stay back here if you wish." I watch him climb back into the driver's seat and I stifle a sigh.
November 30th, 1991
The Canadian wilderness is gorgeous. It fills me with nostalgia as the cold, late fall wind blows through the dark green pines. It reminds me so much of home. . . It's only missing a sandy shoreline.
"We can go out in it if you'd like." Canada says, leaning on the tree I'm sitting under.
"I'd love that. . . But I have my doubts on whether or not we can." I say while pointing to the dark clouds off to the south.
"Ah, that's right. The forecast did mention a record breaking storm."
He sits next to me and looks off into the forest.
"You have a look of longing on your face." He comments. I take a deep breath before answering.
"It kind of reminds me of home. . . A home that's no longer mine, I guess. It was cold like this, filled with these dark green pines. My house was a short jog from the shoreline, hidden from the main roads and the little trails." We sit in silence for a while, probably because Canada has nothing to say to me, and that's okay. Our silence is comfortable, even after yesterday. Speaking of.
"So, yesterday. . ." I begin.
". . . Uh, I'm not really sure what to say about it. . ."
"Do you still feel like this is wrong? If you tell me right now that you don't want anything like we had after the war I promise you I will stop."
"I don't think it's wrong per se, just. . . you are vulnerable and sometimes not entirely clear, and I do not want to make things worse by triggering you or pushing you past your boundaries."
I cup his cheek and give him a sincere look.
"I appreciate your consideration and respect."
"Of course." He says softly before biting his lip. And he says I make this hard! Our lips only brush before the sound of someone clearing their throat reaches us.
He gasps and pulls away from me and I look up.
"England so owes me thirty euros." America says while smirking at us. Canada groans.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" He asks.
"Oh, nice to see you too Matthew." He teases.
"You have thirty seconds to give me a good reason Alfred, or I swear to God I'll-"
"Okay, okay, calm down. I'm here for a good reason, and I showed up unannounced so you couldn't weasel your way out of seeing me. Some stuff went down in Europe and I have Sealand with me. . . He refuses to go back to England and wants to live with me but I can't take care of a child right now, not when I'm never in The States."
"So you thought I could take care of a child, America? With Prussia here no less, you know what Sealand was created for."
". . . Well, now that you say it I guess it does kind of seem like a bad idea."
"No shit." Canada says while standing up. I've never seen him angry before so I remain seated, reeling at the sight. "Where is he?"
"Still in the car. . . Look, I can see that you two are rather busy. If this isn't a place for a child right now I can always m-"
"Shut the fuck up." Canada says before walking back toward the house. America looks down at me.
"It's a rare sight that only I seem to be able to unlock. Don't worry, he wouldn't snap on you like that." He says while offering me a hand. I take it and sigh.
"I've never seen him angry before, it's very strange."
"Yeah, that's what they all say. He's so sweet and quiet until I start talking," He laughs, "we used to fight a lot as kids."
"I thought your relationship was better?" I venture asking, remembering how Canada mentioned that their relationship never used to be so good.
"Oh it is. I mean, I did just cockblock him so. . . Plus if I did this when we were younger my arm would definitely be broken." He laughs before making his way down the trail.
Once back to the house I see a child, about Latvia's age, jump out of the car in the small driveway and run straight to Canada.
"Matthew! I missed you so much!" The kid says in a strong British accent, hugging Canada tightly.
"Hello Peter, it's nice to see you too."
"This has been the best week ever! I got to spend most of it with Alfred and now I'm here with you. I couldn't have asked for any better!"
"Me neither little one. Now let's get inside before this storm starts to pick up."
As Sealand gets comfortable in the living room, Canada pulls America into the kitchen. I decide to lean on the wall that separates the two rooms, facing the living room. I can hear their hushed voices.
"What exactly happened?" Canada asks.
"What happened to me. . . Sort of. . . He's a very free spirit and Arthur, as per usual, must control every little detail about everything."
"So, Peter is rebelling?"
"Classic you to label him a rebel." America comments a bit defensively.
"America, this isn't as serious as it was in the 1760s, Peter is simply a teenage boy rebelling against his parental figure. This is completely natural and has no political, social, or economic ramifications for either of them."
"I know that, Canada. . . But, I'm concerned because. . . Well, I guess sometimes while they are fighting England will slip and call him Alfred which would be hilarious if it didn't have certain implications."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"
"Yes! Because quite frankly you are the most annoying person I know, and if someone was being equally annoying I would also have trouble not calling them by your name."
". . . One, ouch. Two, let me set the scene for you so you can understand why I'm worried. One day England gets a bit drunk, or loses his inhibitions in some way, alright?"
"Okay." Canada says slowly.
"Then let's say Sealand and him get into a little tiff for some reason or another and the lines between Peter and my 1760s self start to blur a little too much. Unresolved anger and passion coupled with unrequited love may lead him to physically take it out on Sealand in a way he should not. He might even. . . Sexually take it out on him."
A long silence transpires between the two of them for a while before Canada speaks up again.
"Oh. . . Has he ever laid a hand on Peter?"
"Twice. The last time caused Peter to run away to France because he heard I was staying there."
"I see. . ."
"So now do you understand why I brought him here? I know that Prussia is here, but he's good with children right? He always has been."
"Yes, I understand now, but this can not be permanent. We have to go back to Europe soon, so this is what I propose; I'll talk to him and gauge how he has reacted to everything that has happened. After that, you take him to Norway."
"Norway?" America asks, confused.
"Yes, Norway. Just do it."
"Okay, okay. . . Do you think he will believe we don't want him?"
"I'll talk about that with him as well. You can not properly take care of a child and neither can I, not long term at least."
"Hey, Prussia, right?"
I look down and see Sealand standing before me.
"Yes. And you're Sealand?"
"Sure am! Your accent is funny, doesn't sound very German to me."
"Well it's not German." I unfortunately have to admit.
"What is it?"
"Russian. . . Hey, Canada has some board games over there, want to try one?" I ask, desperately wanting to change the subject.
"That sounds awesome!" He exclaims, running over to the TV stand.
December 1st, 1991
The rain bangs heavily against the small house as the wind batters the windows. The TV is playing some cartoon that is very different from the other one I watched. The art is a lot simpler and the colors are funny. Coloring people as yellow, it's quite comical.
"What time is it?" Canada asks softly.
"Midnight thirty." America answers.
"Poor guy, he's knocked out. You should probably take him to bed, I already prepared the guest room for you both." Canada suggests.
"Alright. . . where is Prussia going to sleep?"
"Don't worry about that."
"Mhm." America hums while standing up from the couch to pick up Sealand. Canada rolls his eyes as they go down the hall to the bedrooms. I can't help but laugh.
"He is very invested in what may be between us, isn't he?" I ask.
"Yeah, he thinks most of my problems would be solved if I hooked up with someone. . . He just doesn't understand how I could like being alone all the time."
"There is nothing wrong with being alone, as long as you're not lonely."
He looks at me, smiling a bit.
"Sometimes I get very lonely, usually late at night. But it never bothered me enough to change my situation."
"Ah." I answer simply. I'm not sure what I was expecting, for him to tell me he couldn't stand living out here? Of course he enjoys it, or he wouldn't be doing it.
"But, recently. . . I've been very aware of how lonely my nights can be and how much I really want to. . ." He trails off and casts his eyes down.
"To?"
"I know I'm not making this easy, but it's so hard to keep pretending that you have no effect on me. I think it's pretty obvious that the feelings we had for one another after the war are still here. Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to explore that but you're going back to Europe in a few days and I'll be staying here once all this is over and. . .There is no way we could be together in a meaningful way and if I let myself get attached to you I will literally go insane here without you. . . . And I've said too much, haven't I?"
I answer him by slowly closing the distance between our lips. His hand softly cups my cheek and we slowly sink down onto the floor. He begins to trail kisses down my jaw and neck, stopping at the top of my collar bone to bite and suck. In the heat of the moment I lace my hand into his hair and he falters.
"Mmm." He moans out.
"I swear I didn't do it on purpose." I say breathlessly.
"It's okay. It just throws me for a loop, is all."
"If it's okay with you, could we move this somewhere a little more-"
"Private?" He finishes for me, "of course."
He helps me up and I follow him into his bedroom. He closes the door behind us and turns back around to look at me. His pale lavender eyes are darker now, filled with an intensity that causes me to break out in goosebumps.
"I don't think I can resist this any longer." He says softly.
"Then don't."
He quickly closes the distance between us and we end up on the bed, kissing and feeling and relishing in the warmth. My fingers hook under the bottom of his shirt in a bid to pull it off of him. He lets me and I rake my eyes over his naked torso, taking in his lean chest and stomach. A large burn scar over the right side of his chest catches my attention as do the slightly raised scars across his abdomen. I lightly trace around the damaged skin on his chest with my fingers before running them over his stomach. I've seen him shirtless before, many decades ago, so I knew that he had these yet they surprise me nonetheless. My mind reels as it did in the late forties to find a reason for these scars, I've always thought North America had it easy when it came to being brutalized by others. I suppose I was and still am mistaken.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks.
"How much this must have hurt." I say softly while trailing my hand down the scars again.
"Not as much as it looks, but it's in the past." His voice is airy as I reach his belt and begin unbuckling it. He helps me take off his pants before beginning to unbutton my shirt. This, of course, is not the first time he's seeing me shirtless either, but I'm nervous nonetheless. My collar bone, ribcage, and hip bones are visible and it's a little unnerving, not to mention the scars and my green and blue veins that pop out against my pale skin. But he doesn't seem fazed by my appearance as he begins taking off my pants.
"Oh, sorry." He says with a smile, running his thumb across my collar bone.
"Hm?"
"I left a mark earlier."
Before I can answer a large clap of thunder practically shakes the house and the power goes out. My eyes adjust quickly to the absence of the lamp light and I sit back in his lap.
"Well now I can't see." He comments with laughter in his voice.
"How unfortunate." I tease while bending down and placing my lips against his neck. I can feel his pulse accelerate as I try to mark him how he did me. His hands find my hips and like last time he seems rather undone by this simple act alone.
"Gilbert?" He asks breathlessly.
"Hm?" I answer against this neck.
"We should be cautious. If I know my brother he'll be spooked by the power outage and come looking for me."
"Well," I begin, moving down his body, "I guess you should be quiet."
"That shouldn't be a prob- ah, oh shit!" He calls out as I take him into my mouth with no warning. I lean back up and give him an incredulous look.
"What happened to quiet?" I whisper, trying to keep a smirk off my face. Before he can answer a knock sounds on the door.
"Canada? Please tell me you have a back-up generator." America's muffled voice comes through the door. Canada just groans and covers his face with his arm. I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.
"I do but since it hasn't kicked on something must be wrong with it. . . It's almost two in the morning Alfred, go back to sleep."
"I can't, not when we are all about to be attacked by some unknown assailant lurking about in the woods."
"Alfred!"
". . . Fine, okay, I'll try to go back to sleep."
I wait until I can hear his footsteps walk down the hall before resuming what I paused earlier. Canada puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a groan and I resist another smirk. His right hand laces into my hair and I take him in all the way. I'm disturbed as I note this is easier with him than with Russia due to the size difference, but I'm quickly pulled away from thinking about Russia as he moans out, "oh fuck, I'm close," in French. I'm not surprised that he doesn't last long. He tries warning me again but I pay no mind to it.
The almost feminine moan that leaves him as he orgasms makes me swoon, those little gasps that match the shuddering of his body is an incredible sight to behold. At this point I'm aching to be touched.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that so soon. . . I wasn't expecting you to do that to me, and I have an embarrassing stamina as it is." He manages.
"Don't apologize, there is nothing wrong with that. It just flatters me."
He smiles and flips our positions, attacking my throat with a fervor that makes me melt into pudding. His hand is warm but I break out in goosebumps in its wake despite this as it trails down my chest and stomach then back up again. He'll lightly trace his fingers at the band of my underwear, sometimes just barely going underneath to tease the skin there. I try rolling my hips to get any sort of friction, but he's careful not to give it to me.
"Matthew." My voice is airy as I plead. He doesn't relent, but rather runs his hand up my arm to my left hand, pressing into my palm and making me see stars. I can hardly keep my eyes open, the pleasure is absolutely mind-blowing. But the aching in between my legs is not satiated. I continue to become more and more desperate, the end nowhere in sight.
"Do you want me to beg?" I ask, shuddering in his embrace.
"It wouldn't hurt." I swear I can feel him smirking against my neck.
"Matthew, please, I can't stand this."
He bites me and presses into my palm at the same time sending a wave of pleasure through me strong enough to bring me just before the edge. I whimper and grip his hip with my free hand.
"Uhh, you're going to kill me, please."
That torturous hand of his slowly runs down my body dipping under the band of my underwear and gripping me tightly. A few firm pumps from his hand and I finally get the release I so desperately wanted. The feeling is so strong that it flows out from my groin and into my waist and thighs, then through my arms and legs and back to my groin again.
After the intense waves of pleasure stop crashing in my body I finally breathe and look at Canada who is trying in vain to not smirk at me.
"Using my hand against me like that," I smile and shake my head, "not fair."
"All's fair in love and war." I lift an eyebrow.
"All's fair you say?"
"Yeah." He says, much too confident for his own good. I reach up and lace my fingers in his hair, pulling him down to kiss me. He moans into the kiss and I switch our positions, hand never leaving his hair. As we pull apart, nothing could have prepared me for the look on his face. He almost has a worried expression, eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip in between his teeth. I give his hair a light pull just to see his reaction and his eyelids flutter, eyes crossing slightly, as he grabs my wrist.
"I'll literally do anything you want." He whispers in French.
"That intense, huh?" I say while pulling his hair a bit firmer. He arches his back and whimpers, body shuddering then falling limp. After a few moments of me thinking he passed out, I shake him lightly.
"Matthew?"
"What?" He says in a high and airy voice.
"You okay?" He just nods his head. "Is this why no one's allowed to touch your hair?" He nods again. "I'm sorry." I say while cuddling up to his side.
"All's fair in love and war." He says and I smile.
December 2nd, 1991
I can't remember the last time I woke up in arms that felt like a shield wrapped around me, protecting me from the outside world. Nothing can get to me, no one can hurt me. This young, strong, North American nation makes me feel like I'm the most important thing in the world. I snuggle in closer to him and he holds me tighter.
Maybe I'm not dead and in hell. . . Maybe this is heaven.
"Matthew it's snowing outside!" Sealand's voice comes from the other side of the door. I feel Canada sigh behind me before letting me go and standing up from the bed.
"I know sweetheart. After breakfast we can go out in it." He answers.
"Awesome!" The boy exclaims before running off down the hall.
Canada looks back at me with a smile on his face and I raise an eyebrow.
"What?" He asks.
"You're smiling. . . Like a lot." I tease.
"Sorry," he begins, covering his mouth, "this is your fault."
We get dressed and ready for the day, but leave the room at separate times to defuse what America might say. By the time I came out to the living room, Sealand was playing outside in the snow and Canada was out with him. America looks up at me from one of the armchairs.
"Hm, long night I see." He says, barely containing a smile.
"What?"
"You have-" He gestures to his neck.
"Oh, uh, I bruise easy." I say a bit awkwardly, zipping up my jacket in an attempt to cover the love bites. I take a seat across from him and look out the window.
"Sealand sure is a cheerful kid." I comment, thinking about how Latvia should be like that.
"Yeah, he's always been a little ball of energy. I'm glad Matthew is talking with him, he likes Canada the most and missed him greatly."
"Is that why you brought him here?" I ask, relaxing back into the couch.
"Partly. . . Are you going to stay in Europe after all of this?"
"Well. . . Yeah, I mean Germany is my home and I can't imagine Ludwig is doing well right now. I miss him greatly as it is."
"True, he is very lonely. . ." Before America can continue, Sealand and Canada walk back in.
"Are you all packed up?" He asks Sealand.
"Yup!"
"Alright. Well it was really good seeing you again so soon Matthew. I wish we spent more time together."
"Hm." Canada hums a response as they embrace.
Before long, Sealand and America are long gone.