This chapter was inspired by the song 'You and I' by Ingrid Michaelson. I think that this song suits them, and that it suits the domestic side of their relationship. Besides: ukulele. 'Nough said.

This chapter is dedicated to the guest 'Kalina' who reviewed a bunch of my stories and I just wish I could write her back. But because she never signed in, well, this is the best I can do. I just really wanted her to know how much appreciated the reviews and how much they meant to me. So… Thank you.

And a very special thank you to everyone else who sends me reviews. I may not always reply but I always wander around with a stupid smile on my face for the rest of the day. I love you!

You and I

Prussia and Canada sat in the den, curled around each other and bathed in the glow of their Christmas Tree. A menorah decorated the mantle, surrounded by sigillaria and wax berries. Creased and painted paper charms hung from the ceiling on knotted threads. Candles adorned the shelves in gold and silver and dripped onto the polished floorboards; a Yule Log crumpled in the fireplace. Their stockings were nailed to the trim, crooked and tattered and perfect, and their shoes were still on the porch from the fifth.

As nations, they had seen a thousand festivals and traditions come to pass and they tried to celebrate each one; they incorporated the symbolism and superstitions into their own celebrations. Customs were fluid, and so was religion. They knew that.

Canada pulled the worn blanket over them and Prussia settled further into his arms. He was drinking spiced cider, with cloves and ginger, while Prussia sipped hot chocolate. The whipped cream caught on the tip of his nose.

They watched the fire dance on the grate.

"I like it here," Prussia said after a moment. Canada did not bother asking where 'here' was; it did not matter. He could have meant 'here' in his arms, or 'here' in the house they had built together, or even 'here' in this moment. It did not matter.

Canada hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. His pale hair tickled his lips.

"Me too."

Canada leaned back on his hands and lost himself in the stars. They had built their house on a mountain and the view was fantastic.

Prussia opened the window and peeked out.

"What are you doing out there?"

Canada shrugged his shoulders and laughed. He was sitting on the wet shingles, bare foot and shirtless and perilous. He was sitting at the very top of it all.

"Just watchin' the world turn," he sighed, and his breath painted the air white as he shivered.

Prussia cocked an eyebrow.

"You're cold." It was not a question.

He laughed.

"Only on the outside."

Prussia disappeared for a second and came back with a faded patchwork quilt. He opened the window a little wider and climbed out onto the roof, using the eaves for balance.

He flopped down beside him and threw the blanket around his shoulders.

Canada kissed him on the cheek.

"Makes you feel kind of small, doesn't it?" Prussia whispered, watching the stars travel across the sky. The ravages of pollution had stolen some of them, but Prussia and Canada remembered where each dot and pinprick used to be. There were thousands of stars but there used to be a million more.

"I like that feeling. It keeps me grounded. Sane."

"Ah," Prussia chuckled, "that explains why I hate it, then."

Canada snorted and jostled him. Prussia just pulled Canada against his chest and rested his chin on his curls. The slope of the roof worked in his favour and granted him a couple of additional inches.

"No one would ever accuse you of common sense, Gilbert. You have nothing to worry about."

Prussia nuzzled the hollow behind his ear. He inhaled.

"No, I really don't, do I?" He whispered against his skin, soft and serious.

Canada wound their fingers together.

"Not anymore."

Canada set the log in place and backed up. He checked the blade of the axe with calloused fingers.

It was sharp.

He spread his legs far enough that the axe would not hit him on the downswing, just in case he missed. Canada raised it above his head, judging the distance and the knots and the peeling tree bark.

He brought the axe down and let the momentum do most of the work for him.

The log splintered and someone clapped. Once, twice. Canada flinched and barely managed to suppress the instinct to twirl around and drive the axe home… Into their ribcage.

He loosened his grip on the handle in controlled increments. He counted to ten. He breathed in and out.

"Hot!" Prussia exclaimed. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and Canada leaned into him, still counting. Canada was sweating but Prussia did not seem to mind.

"Rule number one," Canada admonished after a moment, catching his breath. "Never, ever sneak up on someone with an axe."

Prussia laughed and it rumbled low in his chest.

"And what's 'rule number two'?"

"Something about Fight Club…" Canada smirked. He wedged the axe into a block of wood, safe and out of reach, and bent back to wind his fingers into his pale tresses. He turned just enough to kiss Prussia on the lips.

He listened to his heartbeat and tried to quiet his own.

"Were you in my garden? You were in my garden, weren't you?"

Canada paused in the entrance and set his keys on the bureau they kept there. He slipped off his shoes.

And stared.

There were petals scattered up the stairs in different colours and sizes. Pinks and blues and purples. Prussia had coated the stairs in wild flowers.

Canada smiled. Somehow, even his expressions of affection were destructive, but he would not have it any other way. He loved Prussia, and he loved his attempt at romance.

Even though Canada would end up cleaning the mess…

He climbed the stairs and followed the trail of petals to their bedroom. The door was open.

Prussia was sprawled across the bed, naked and frowning and miserable. The silk bedsheets were covered in flowers and there were candles on the dresser and bookcase. The drapes were drawn and cast the room in twilight, despite the fact that it was three in the afternoon.

Canada leaned against the doorframe and studied him.

"Well, this looks nice. Mind if I join you?"

Prussia looked up and his glare intensified. Canada let his eyes roam and found the indicative rash of an allergic reaction spreading across his chest and hips. He snickered.

"Mattheeew," Prussia mewled. He downright mewled. "I think I'm dyiiing."

Canada brushed some of the flowers onto the carpet and sat down next to Prussia. He checked his temperature and his eyes. He ran his fingertips over the rash, touching the raised blisters and hives.

"You're not dying," he rolled his eyes. "You're just an idiot."

Prussia pouted and threw himself into his lap. Canada stroked his hair in a 'there, there' gesture.

"But thaaat's mean! I might be dyiiing!" He whined, kicking his feet.

"I doubt that." Canada picked through the petals and found a leaf. He held it up. "See this? This, my dear, it poison ivy. And you've been rolling in it."

Prussia glanced between the leaf and Canada and back again. He groaned.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"Sorry, no."

Canada hummed and leaned forward to kiss him. Prussia parted his lips easily and licked inside his mouth.

"It was a nice thought, though," he murmured against his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But stay out of my garden."

"'kay."

Canada threw a freshly washed sweater at Prussia and hit him square in the face. He giggled.

"Hey!" Prussia spluttered even as he grinned. He was slouched on their sofa, with a beer in one hand and his feet kicked up on the ottoman. Canada nudged him with his toes and threw another sweater at him.

"Help me fold," he said. He had just washed and dried the laundry and the least Prussia could do was help him fold the pile in front of him. Their clothes were twisted and hopelessly tangled, just like them, and he knew that they would all end up in the same dresser regardless of who owned them. They were close enough to a size that it did not matter.

"I hate chores," Prussia whined even as he set down his beer and picked up a sweater. He held it up and glared at it.

"And I don't care. Fold."

Prussia quirked an eyebrow. He smirked.

"Or what? You'll punish me?"

"Kinky," Canada laughed, leaning forward, "but no. I'll cry."

Prussia looked scandalized and Canada snorted, patting his hand fondly. Even after all this time, he still knew how to push his buttons. Prussia did not know how to deal with tears, and his tears were the absolute worst. He would give Canada almost anything if he quivered and pouted his lips.

"That's low," he hissed.

"Mmm."

"You're mean."

"And you're easy. Now shut up and fold."

Prussia grumbled and started folding the sweater in his hands. Badly. Canada just rolled his eyes.

They worked in silence for a couple of minutes, Canada peeking at Prussia between sweaters and towels and underwear. He had only managed to fold a handful of garments and each one was in worse shape than the last. He stuck his tongue out in concentration.

Cute.

Canada ducked his head and smiled. It was surprisingly domestic, living with Prussia, but he would not have it any other way. He liked the routine and the simple pleasures. He liked creating traditions and celebrating holidays and having inside jokes.

It was… Nice. Great. Perfect, even.

Awesome.

Canada grabbed a sweater at random, one of his, and bounced forward to pull it over Prussia's head in one swift motion. Prussia gasped and stammered as his pale hair stood on end. The red of the sweater brought out his eyes.

"Wha…? What was that for?" He asked even as he pushed his arms through the sleeves. Canada kissed his cheek. There was something about seeing him in his sweater that was sweet and intimate. Possessive, somehow.

Prussia was his. This house was theirs.

"You're cute," Canada said simply, nuzzling into the soft sweater. It smelt wonderful. Prussia wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged him closer until Canada was draped over him on the sofa, laundry forgotten.

"I could say the same about you."

It was quiet for another couple of moments before Canada tried to sit up and Prussia held him in place.

"Gilbert, chores," he reminded him, laughing. Prussia chuckled.

"I think you'll find it's pronounced 'cuddling'."

Canada gave up and flopped against him, revelling in the warmth. He liked it 'here' too.

"You just don't want to fold laundry," he accused affectionately. Prussia kissed the top of his head and pulled him even closer.

"That too."

Author's Notes:

Just a little bit of domestic bliss, because it's fun to write and it suits these two so well. They're so cute. Ridiculous, of course, but cute. (I've totally used the 'I'll cry' threat. It works.)

If you see this, Kalina, I just wanted to say thank you. You made my day over and over again.