Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
Warning: This will be a gory story, and there will be possible character death. The genre should have been a hint.
Russia hummed a favorite lullaby of his as he went around the greenhouse that was full every year of the sunflowers he requested and adored. It was devoid of anyone but him and the beautiful plants, also per his request.
He lovingly stroked the petals of a flower big enough to replace the sun in the sky. "Sometimes, you guys are my only friends. People only ever run away from me. I wonder why?" He grinned to himself.
It is because you scare them away, my dear boy.
When Russia giggled, it was only slightly edged in hysteria. "I suppose you are right, Father." He continued around the garden, whispering things to his friends, and in turn, his father whispered to him.
Maybe he should've felt worried when he felt the wind rustle his hair- it was indoors, after all- but he felt no sort of trepidation. It was a comfort, having his father by his side. He'd have to introduce his sisters to their dad one day.
Maybe it was because the winds were playing with him, but little bits of the yellow handkerchief had fluttered onto his uniform. He ignored them in favor of his wonderful flower, as it was offering much more comfort than some torn up scarf. They fell to the ground and littered the floor, but he simply squashed them underfoot as he moved from flower to flower. Perhaps the janitors would actually earn their pay today.
It seemed none of his flowers had shed their light, after all.