'A mother understands what a child does not say.'
Russia, to put it lightly, felt like shit.
He wasn't sure what exactly had hit him so hard - was it the economic downturn? The western sanctions? Or was this just another reaction to his past, a way of dealing with it? It could therapeutic, as they say. Maybe afterwards he would feel better, lighter. He shook himself mentally and continued to walk down the corridor. He ignored America, trampled Canada (not that he knew it of course), dodged France... Crashing straight into England.
England, being smaller than him, took the brunt of the crash, flying to the ground with a yelp, his briefcase popping open and sending his notes scattering. America started laughing hysterically and walked off, not bothering to help his mentor (and mother-nation) making England grumble, and whack France as he attempted to scoop the nation into his arms. France huffed and sauntered off, then shrieked as he spotted his trampled baby Canada on the floor.
"England," Russia said, offering him a hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."
"It's fine, it's fine," England said, getting up, scooping up his briefcase and his notes, stuffing them haphazardly inside. He straightened up and paused. "Are you feeling well?" he asked, and his voice had dropped it's hard edge, Russia realised - he had not even known that England's voice could be so soft, so warm, so...
Motherly.
"I," he paused. "I feel a little ill," he admitted. England looked around, then stepped forwards and placed the back of his hand on Russia's forehead, the tension leaving his face to reveal a softer expression. "What are you...?"
"You've got a bit of a temperature," England said, as though he hadn't spoken. "You have a headache too... You should lie down for a while, it's probably caused by staring at that damn screen in the meeting room."
Russia hadn't even realised he had a headache, but now that England mentioned it, there was a slight pressure in his head. He remained silent and nodded, England's hand warm and comforting against his head. He almost cried out as England pulled away.
"I really must stop doing this," England said. "I know you're perfectly capable of looking after yourself, Russia. Please ignore me." His voice had regained the hard edge to it, and his brows furrowed again, making his eyebrows seem larger than life and intimidating. The tension returned and the moment was over - the intimidating, 'splendid isolation' England was back in business, marching past him.
Russia nodded, voice lost, not sure what to say, or what to make of the light hope that filled his heart - just knowing someone had noticed.
09/08/18: Up to chapter 22 has been written. Also, anyone got any good quotes for inspiration? I'm kinda running out... There's only so much google you can use...
12/08/18: damn I'm sorry, that was meant to go on my other story account, sorry sorry sorry!