The windows were shut, the curtains drawn, more articles of clothing were pulled on his body; he even went and received the thickest, heaviest comforter he owned.
Yet he was still cold.
Canada tugged his numerous covers even tighter around his form. This was ridiculous. Yes, the night was a little on the cooler side (negative eighteen degrees Celsius) but he was the Great White North! He's slept through much harsher elements with far less blankets! What was wrong with him? Despite himself, his eyes fluttered open, only bringing to mind how large and empty his bed seemed without the other there to occupy it. He rolled to his side to avoid the sight, forcing his eyes shut once again. He began silently counting, hoping that would be enough to finally find the sweet embrace of slumber.
One, two…
Stupid Prussian, why did he always have to be so difficult?
Three, four…
He had brought it up as a minor issue, one that civilized people would be able to work through with no problem.
Five, six…
It was like he had sat down and carefully formulated each response with the intent of getting under his skin.
Seven, eight…
He was literally hundreds of years older than him and his sibling was Germany for Christ's sake. Couldn't he be serious for five minutes?
Nine, ten…
He hoped it was colder on the couch than it was up here.
Eleven, twelve—this wasn't working.
He roughly threw the covers off himself, shivering violently against the sudden cold before he steeled himself. Perhaps if he walked around he would tire himself out. Careful to avoid looking at the shining numbers that indicated the time (what was the point? He already knows he's been up for hours) he put on his specs and clambered out of bed, making a beeline for a rocking chair in the corner of the room. He grabbed the vibrant red robe that rested there and quickly pulled it on with shaking hands—damn cold. The robe was cozy and warm but it did nothing to ease the chill he could feel nestled within his very bones. Putting on more layers wasn't enough; he needed something to warm him from the inside out.
Pausing only to step into his slippers, he exited the bedroom and made his way downstairs. As he dropped down the last step and turned into the hallway that led to the kitchen he couldn't help his eyes from wondering over to the couch he was sure the Prussian was sleeping on. From his position he couldn't actually see the white haired man but he quickly told himself it didn't matter. He snapped his head forward and clutched his jaw, immediately drawing up a list of why Prussia was a jerk and why he didn't deserve his attention.
Reaching his destination he didn't bother switching on the light as he walked to the kettle. The pale blue of the moonlight coming through the windows were enough to guide his way plus he had lived in this house for so long he could prepare an entire three course meal with a blind fold, but that wasn't his intent right now. Grabbing the electric kettle he filled it with water and placed it back on its stand, flicking it on.
He took several deep breaths as he gathered the necessary materials to make tea. For reasons he knew he could place but didn't want to he found himself irate. He tried to fight it but he found himself glancing in the direction of the couch, in the direction of him, the force behind his woes. He snapped his gaze downward and set his jaw, indignantly tapping his finger against his received mug in an attempt to distract himself. Why did the kettle always take so long?
This was the beginning of a oneshot PruCan hurt/comfort/drama fic that I lost the muse for half way. Basically Prussia had done something to make Canada mad enough to make him sleep on the couch and for some reason Canada finds himself cold when he tries to go to sleep. Through a series of unimportant events he realizes the reason why he's so cold is because he had gotten used the other's body warmth, which makes him sad for personal reason. It's a bit of a shame I never got round to it, the tone was fairly decent. Oh well, maybe one day C:
Thanks I-am-the-Wolf for the review!