Inspired by Saturday Smile – Gin Wigmore.

Saturday Smile

Canada sat with his chin in his hand and watched Prussia eat his breakfast. He ate with the single minded determination of a starving man, although he was not. As a 'nation', he could not starve.

The sun filtered in through the window and brightened the kitchen. The wind chimes in the garden jingled and the sound wafted through the open window on a breeze. The birds were singing in the trees and the world was peaceful for one blissful moment.

It was one of the reasons he loved Saturdays.

"Hey, Birdie, are you alright?" Prussia wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You seem out of it."

"Hmmm?" Canada blinked and pulled himself out of his reverie. He cocked his head.

Prussia laughed and leaned forward to ruffle his hair. His fingers were coated in the maple syrup from his pancakes and caught in the blonde curls.

"I said that you seem out of it."

"Ah, no," Canada fought to remove his hand. He grimaced when the fingers disappeared but the syrup remained. "I was just enjoying the moment."

"So… Watching me eat, then?" He raised an eyebrow. "Basking in my glory, right? I knew it. I'm awesome."

He was laughing again, his smile contagious, and Canada could not help but join in. He never wanted the day to end; he never wanted to say goodbye.

But that was the thing about Saturdays…

They only lasted one day.

Prussia lay on the grass with his hands behind his head and Canada using his stomach as a pillow. They were watching the clouds drift overhead, white and fluffy, without a care in the world.

"A lion."

"Gilbird."

"A rose."

"Gilbird."

"An exact replica of a double helix."

"… Gilbird."

"Gilbert, you think every cloud looks like Gilbird," Canada sighed.

"That's because they all do!" He exclaimed, tightening the muscles in his stomach to jostle the other nation. "Don't you see it?"

"No."

Prussia pointed to one cloud and then another.

"Look, it's round and fluffy and cute. So is that one. Just like Gilbird!"

"Cute. Right," Canada chuckled and rolled his eyes, "I see it now."

"… You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Me? Make fun of you? Never."

Prussia pouted.

"You're mean to me."

"Never," he repeated.

Canada sat up and supported himself with a hand on either side of the other nation's head. He smiled down at Prussia, soft and sweet, and his heart skipped a beat. He was beautiful. His blonde curls contrasted against the blue skies and the clouds acted as a halo.

His eyes were patient and as constant as ever.

His smile was beyond words and reserved for their Saturday outings. It was the one day of the week that the two of them were able to see each other without pretence or excuse; it was the one day that they were able to be themselves. That meant the smile was reserved for him, and only him.

Prussia shifted his attention to a cloud above them.

"Oh," he said slyly, "that one looks different."

Canada tilted his head up to see and Prussia took the chance to lean forward.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That one looks like mistletoe."

Prussia sealed a kiss over his lips with a smile of his own.

Canada stood naked in the candlelight with hands that wanted to cover himself and a partner that forbid it. Prussia watched him with narrowed eyes, as if he were a predator and Canada, the prey.

"This is embarrassing," Canada mumbled.

Prussia stalked across the bedroom and pinned his hands above his head. He swooped forward to nip his earlobe.

"Nonsense. You're beautiful."

"You're just saying that."

Prussia shifted his attention to his neck and kissed down to his collarbone.

"Here, let me show you."

Prussia was not his first lover but sometimes Canada wished he had been. He was sometimes brash and unthinking, true, but Canada could not imagine a more compassionate lover. He accepted his insecurities and doubts and worked to show Canada how he saw him instead.

Prussia thought Canada was beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, Canada would believe him one day.

Prussia tucked Canada beneath the blanket with a smile. The other nation was sprawled across the couch with nonchalant grace. His sweater was hitched up around his ribcage and one of his socks was missing.

He picked a novel at random and sat on the carpet in front of the couch to wait for Canada to wake up.

Canada mumbled and turned over. Prussia caught the words 'maple', 'pillow', and 'Saturday' and his smile widened.

He wondered what those three words had in common but he could wait to find out; it was not Sunday yet.

Canada wrapped his arms around Prussia and rested his ear against his chest, listening to his breath and his pounding heart. The bedroom smelled of sweat and semen and echoed with their moans. The bedsheets were soiled and the carpet was littered with discarded clothes and the various trinkets that had been knocked over.

"I love you," he whispered, unsure whether Prussia could hear him over the sound of their panting.

He heard him anyway.

"I love you too. Go to sleep."

Canada shook his head.

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"What if you're gone when I wake up?"

Prussia chuckled and kissed the top of his head, smoothing the dampened curls with one hand. Canada traced nervous patterns against his skin.

"It's not Sunday yet. I'm not going anywhere."

Prussia saw the end of the world coming. It was hard not to; the days grew shorter, the nights grew longer, and the nations grew weaker as their children died.

It was funny then, as the world fell to ruin, that some people still bothered to use a calendar.

Prussia and Canada were two such people.

"What do you want to do next Saturday?" Canada asked as if there would be a 'next Saturday' and Prussia played along. Canada coughed into a handkerchief and ignored the blood. He huddled next to Prussia with his knees drawn up to his chest. The rest of the nations, the ones that were still left, gave them a wide berth.

"We could go to the park or visit the zoo," Prussia supposed, nevermind that the parks had long since burned and the animals were all dead, "or we could... Uhm... You know."

"Have sex?"

Prussia laughed in spite of himself. England glared at them from where he was perched, frustrated and exhausted and unable to see the humour in the situation, but Prussia ignored him.

"Yes, that." Prussia kissed Canada and tasted blood. It would not be long now. "Or we could 'make love' instead."

"I would like that," Canada sighed and settled his head against his shoulder. Prussia ran his fingers through his hair. His fingernails were black with dirt but it did not matter when the once blonde curls were coated in filth and grime. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"I'll miss you."

Prussia jostled him.

"Hey, it's not Sunday yet. We don't need to say 'goodbye'."

His breath was shallow and harsh. He reached for his hand and Prussia clutched it like the lifeline it was.

"Goodbye, Gilbert."

Prussia growled and clenched his fingers so hard that he pinched and bit into his palm. Canada did not even flinch as his blood trickled onto the stones.

"It's not Sunday yet! You hear me? It's not Sunday yet!" He shouted in desperation but Canada did not answer.

It was too late.

It was finally Sunday.

Author's Notes:

Uhm… I am going to go and write something more cheerful now. Yes.

My love to everyone. The powers that be switched my medication a couple of weeks ago… It did not go well… I'm back on my previous medication though and feeling a little more stable. I send my love to those who are ever so patient, and especially to Mayurei13, who has been waiting for a reply for a couple of weeks. She is as patient as she is lovely. (I love you!)