Senseless ramblings from the struggling author: hello everyone :) Summer finally started a week again and now here's a little...uh, something that I made in an attempt to get rid of my writer's block. I've always wanted to try to write for Lithuania and Poland and since this ship doesn't receive as much screentime, it was kinda hard imo. This may not be my best work, but I did try my best and I hope I was able to give sufficient justice to one of my much-loved hetalia ships. Just a warning though, Poland may be a bit OOC because I haven't had enough exposure to fics of/about/with him. Anyway... Happy reading and please do leave a review! Thanks so much everyone, I love you all :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Where are you?
In all those times that I've cried, that I've been scared, and that I've been hurt, you've always been there for me. To see you smile and call out my name would be the greatest thing that God could ever grant me.
But why?
Why is it that now, when I'm lying here all lost and alone and broken; now, at the time that I need you the most – why is it that you're not here anymore?
I'd give anything if that meant seeing you once again.
-x-x-
This is how the morning begins.
There is a hand on his shoulder, a voice calling out his name, and it is strangely warm despite the usual coldness of his boreal climate. Green eyes dart open as he recognizes the stark change in his surroundings; his mind registering the silhouette of a stranger in his room, a crouched figure that is blurred in the haze of the blonde's sleep-induced vision.
Feliks wakes up with a start.
He is surprised at first, at the sudden onset of another's presence – he's been living alone since not too long ago - but it is calming somewhat and Poland can't really be bothered all too much by it. Honestly, he doesn't really mind if someone else was there or not. So it is without warning that he feels his eyelids slowly fall once more to a close, as he departs on a journey to return to his dreams, his will bending over to the beckoning, lulling call of slumber.
There is the rustling of sheets and the murmur of his name and the feel of the mattress dipping slowly from a weight pressed against his side. He hears the voice call out to him ever so gently, and only then does it register to the Pole just how much closer it is now than it had been last.
"Polska, it's time to wake up, please."
One lid cracks open as he turns towards the owner of the voice – brown hair just a bit above his shoulders; eyes like the ocean, a vast blue tinged with the slightest, but most intriguing of greens; lips curved upwards in the warmest of smiles. Gone is the identity of the stranger basking in the limelight. It is only Toris, Feliks realizes at the end of all his scrutiny, come to rouse him from his sleep before it becomes too late for him to greet the sun and face the day.
"Come. Let's go downstairs. I've made us breakfast."
It is warm, almost enticingly so, and when Feliks obeys and gets out of bed, he doesn't feel the usual shiver that the morning chill sends down his spine. He stares at the small calendar at the edge of his night table instead, discarding the value of time and ignoring the clock that stood alongside it. He squints his eyes groggily, hoping to get a better view.
The calendar reads February 16. The year is 1918.
He sees the muted shimmer of the morning sunlight streaming through his curtains; hears the subdued chirps of dayspring birds perched outside his window. His feet dangle in the air, a few mere inches above the ground, knees bent and legs swinging in a slow, steady rate.
Something rests upon his foot by then. It's fuzzy and warm but it isn't all too heavy, and when Feliks glances down he finds Toris on one knee with a slipper in hand – and it isn't just any slipper, Poland realizes, it's pink and cotton and with ponies printed all over it so it must definitely be his favorite pair.
"Oh," he says, expression bemused. He doesn't know how he has gotten used to forgetting all about their old routine. "Hey there, Liet."
The boy smiles, and Feliks can't help but notice that there are now wrinkles that form at the corners of his partner's eyes. Crow's feet.
"Labas rytas, Po."
-x-
He's here.
He's finally, finally here.
-x-
Breakfast is a simple and quiet affair.
That is, if the Polish boy's incessant chattering would suffice to be called as "quiet."
"So, like, I was saying, Liet…." Feliks says between mouthfuls of food, stuffing himself with yet another forkful of blynai, "wouldn't you agree that having a grey coat over a grey suit would be too bland? Like I know that the saleslady was possibly trying to be all chic and grey is classy, but too much of it would've been so boring!"
"Yes, Po-" he tries to placate, cutting himself another slice of Juoda Duona, but his voice is halted by the continued prattling of the younger's frustrated mind.
"So I got to thinking, you know, I, uh, like, put my great fashion sense to use… and I figured, why don't we add an accent colour? And scarlet seemed like just the perfect one! But I can't decide if I want to change the coat, or my shoes, or the suit itself. What do you think, Liet?"
"The coat, maybe?" The brunette grimaces, voice unsure, coupled together with an off-handed shrug of his shoulders.
"Knew it. That's, like, totes fab. Thanks, Liet."
There is a silence that holds out between them. A little awkward, but not too much, and yet it is heavy and pregnant with meaning. The air is brimming with uncertain longing, and Feliks, for a moment, stops to hold his breath. Lithuania turns to look outside, admiring the view trapped within the window's perspective, his eyes gazing past the glass and surveying the sight held out before him.
"You're beautiful," Toris breathes; his voice quiet and low, akin to that of a mumbled whisper.
But Feliks catches it, and he pauses.
"…Liet?"
"Ah! I'm sorry, I mean, it's beautiful…your country is beautiful. The weather seems really nice today, doesn't it?"
The weather.
Right.
"Would you like to go out with me, Polska?"
"Sure, Liet," he says, plastering a smile onto his face. "Give me a sec, I'll just go get changed."
-x-
Feliks grabs his favorite dress from the leftmost end of his closet; the pink one the same shade as frosted tulips, which hugs at his hips and drapes loosely over the rest of his body to hide his boyish frame. He wonders if this will be enough to make him look beautiful, at least, in the Lithuanian boy's eyes.
He looks in the mirror and flashes a smile moments before he bolts away and right out the foyer door.
-x-
"Remind me," Toris heaves an exasperated sigh, their footsteps falling into the same rhythm as they take a walk outside, "why are you dressed like a girl again, Poland?"
"'Cause I feel so much more fab like this," Feliks reasons with a giggle and a skip in his step, breaking out into a childish grin. His fingers curl at the hem of his dress, his grip latching onto the cloth as he keeps the wind from lifting it up. "How do I look, anyway?" he asks the boy aloud, interest gleaming as the sunlight catches in his eyes.
"You look fine," he says with a shrug, his arm raised up to scratch the back of his head, "I guess."
"You guess, huh…" the Pole inquires as he crouches down to the meadow below. "Would you have liked it more if I wore guy clothes instead?" He plucks a stray corn poppy from the field, twirling it in pensive thought. "Like…my military uniform? Would that have been better, then?"
Toris stares at him, and Feliks stares back, curious as he waits for the Lithuanian's answer.
Would that make me beautiful in your eyes? He wants to add, but he doesn't dare raise the question, and leaves it for his mind to ponder on instead.
"Whatever makes you happy, Poland," Toris says at last, grabbing a fistful of cornflowers and showering the Polish boy in the petals' rain, his face easing back to his usual expression. "That, I think, would be the best."
-x-
There's a side of Lithuania that Poland does not yet know.
He chances upon it later on that night, by the time the cornflowers are in the vase – arranged by Toris, of course – and the boy is in the bath that Feliks ran and had prepared earlier on just for him.
The lock clicks open with the key in his hand, and as he turns the knob in hopes to play a prank, his eyes are met instead with the view of the other's back. Lithuania is no longer a barren, empty land. It is a moonscape, littered with worn wounds, creviced scabs, and darkened scars. The war has left its mark on him, cicatrices of battle trailing down his sides, and Feliks spots the signatures of Russia on the cicatrix of the elder's back.
And yet, as he sees the bruises on his body and the scars upon his skin, he still thinks that he is the most beautiful thing that his eyes have ever seen.
But the door closes shut sooner than an apology can escape from his lips.
-x-
When dinner is over and darkness falls over them, the time arrives for Lithuania to tuck the younger Pole into bed. The lamp is flicked on, the dim light illuminating itself against their pale faces, and as the silence holds out between them, Feliks takes it as his chance to lock their lips and kiss him goodnight.
"For practice," he reasons. "Dobranoc, Litwa. Good night."
"Yes, yes," the brunette coos, attempting to break free of the other's hold. "Goodbye, Polska."
"What are you talking about?" Poland laughs. "It's 'good night,' not 'goodbye.' Silly Liet," he scolds him with a smile, pleasantly occupied with the warmth he held in his hands. "Sleep with me Liet?" Feliks offers a mumbled invitation, honest to admit to his need of the other being by his side.
Toris says nothing to this, naturally, but as Feliks shifts on his side, the older boy sets himself into place and he wraps the sheets around their frames.
"You know…I, like, missed you, Liet." Feliks says as he takes the other's hand in his once more, his grip weak against the elder's calloused hands but still refusing to let go. He sends one last glance to the cornflowers in the vase one last time, his voice slurring from the growing desire to sleep. "So so so much. I'm so glad you're back."
"Me too," Toris replies, a tired smile gracing his features. Poland feels the faint brush of lips against his skin, the sensation of a warm kiss being planted atop his forehead. "Labanakt, Feliks. Good-"
-x-x-
night.
Good night, he was supposed to say, never goodbye, but the dream ends there and Feliks knows better than to lie and convince himself that the boy in question didn't say otherwise.
-x-x-
This is how the morning begins.
Green eyes crack open, body curling up as he pulls the duvet tighter around him. The bed is bare lest for his own body, the empty sheets colder against his skin than the summer air that fills the room.
The Pole stares at the clock, not bothering to read the time – it is probably a quarter to noon from what he can tell from the brightness of the sun, but he is mistaken, and it is only half past seven in the morning – as he rises out of bed and rips out a page from his daily calendar.
It is the 14th of June. The year is 1940.
His slippers are white now, the pair patterned with ponies have long since then been discarded.
Feliks decides it best for him to skip breakfast as well.
-x-
The phoenix has fallen, but as he rises, he is alone once more.
-x-
Today he picks out the outfit from the rightmost end of his closet. The military uniform that is green like the grass and baggy at the sides but tight enough to feel constricting and suffocating against his skin. There is no reason for him to get all dressed up today, anyway.
His hand reaches out, resting against the reflective wall. He stops and stares, his face left blank, and he says nothing to the man in the glass pane standing before him.
"How do I look?" he wonders, fingers touching the surface, voice cracking midway as he asks out loud.
The silence breaks.
But the mirror says nothing to him in response.
-x-
And there lay the flowers, now wilting and rotten.
Promises of forever, lost and broken.
Words of love, once spoken, now forgotten.
-x-
Four rings later, he hears a familiar voice pick up the phone at last.
"Hello? Braginsky residence. How may I help you?"
"…"
"Hello?"
Feliks tries to speak, but his mouth remains dry and he struggles to find the right words that lie hidden on the tip of his tongue.
"Is anyone there?"
"…"
"Uhm," he hears the voice speak up reluctantly, "I'm hanging up n-"
"H-hey, Liet…" Feliks interrupts, and he can't help but wince at how he can even hear the hesitance coating his own tone.
"Oh! Poland. Hello. If this is about ponies again –"
"No," he replies, "it's not."
"Oh? Then what did you call me for?"
"Nothing," he stops to pause for a moment. "No reason at all."
"Really now, Po? If it's nothing then I'll have to hang up on you. I've got work to do and I'll be in big trouble if Mr. Russia catches me on the phone-"
"Poczekaj-"
"Taip?"
"…Nevermind," he coughs. "I'm sorry."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"It's just…" he starts, voice trailing off before he begins to falter. "I miss you, Liet."
"Oh, I-"
"And did you…" Poland tries to add, his voice now only a strained whisper, "did you miss me?"
"But of course, Polska," he hears Lithuania whisper back at him, and Feliks can almost see the gentleness of his smile in the tone of his voice. "You needn't even ask."
Translations:
[Lithuanian]
Labas rytas – Good morning
Labanakt – Good night
Taip – yes
[Polish]
Polska – Poland
Dobranoc – Good night
Litwa – Lithuania
Poczekaj – Please wait
Cultural & Historical References:
-Blynai would be the equivalent of pancakes while Juoda Duona, would be black (rye) bread. Both of them are common food items in Lithuanian breakfast cuisine.
-The first time Russia took over Lithuania happened in 1795 when the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was dissolved by the third partition. Lithuania was then able to regain its independence on Feb 16, 1918. On the midnight before June 14 of 1940, however, the Soviet Union issued an ultimatum to allow an unspecified number of Soviet soldiers to enter the Lithuanian territory and to form a new pro-Soviet government (later known as the "People's Government"). The ultimatum and subsequent incorporation of Lithuania into the Soviet Union stemmed from the division of Eastern Europe into the German and Russian spheres of influence in the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact of August 1939. Lithuania, along with Latvia and Estonia, then fell into the Russian sphere.
-The national flower of Poland is the cornflower or corn poppy.
-Telephones were invented back in 1875 so they'd already exist by then.
-Most residents of Poland adhere to the Christian faith, and it is in fact the most Catholic country in Europe; hence, it is only natural to have God mentioned in the first segment of this story.
-Since Poland usually refers to Lithuania with a shortcut of his Lithuanian name, ('Liet' comes from Lietuva), I figured it would be appropriate for Lithuania to call Poland 'Polska' since he would probably want to refer to Poland by his Polish name as well. Think of it as a correspondence of sorts. (thank you though, Ekouta, for pointing out my mistake earlier ^^')
Author's Explanation:
If in case you were confused, basically this story begins with Poland's lonely ramblings, and all this build up of longing and want caused his inner mind theatre to allow him to dream of the time that Lithuania gained its independence from Russia and returned to him back in 1918. He then relives his vivid memories of the day they spent together, but as all good things must come to an end, Poland is forced to wake up later on in the real time of the world wherein both he and Lithuania are separated from each other because the Soviet Union has taken his partner away from him once again. Poland now lives alone but is able to rekindle his bond with Lithuania as he connects with him through a phone call.
In my headcanon, one of the reasons Poland crossdresses is because he wants desperately to please Lithuania and make him love him.