Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Along Moon Washed Streets

Rain. Again. It's been raining for the past week now, and I am starting to share my flatmate's revulsion of rain. The grasses around our courtyard had turned mushy, flooded, and brown. It was repulsive to step into the squelching, muddy ground. Finland would say that soon I would like ketchup as well. He's been incorporating it into all of his dishes. It's been a week since I called USSR and told him. I sort of had a courageous moment, and when Ukraine picked up, all of my bravery fizzled out. What I didn't expect was when USSR called me back. I just told him what I wanted to say, and hung up. After that, I declined every single one of his calls, voice messages, sms, mms, etc. I knew he was either angry or fuming. But everything else was going smoothly. The mid March weather wasn't going to be any better than it was now, a thick mist. Some of the more withstanding and desperate students went outside to stand or walk in the fog of tiny droplets. I watched them from my balcony with Finland, who was close to finishing his project and was smoking his e-cigarette. Along with him was Serbia today. The practical man in a white raincoat and tan turtleneck was talking to my flatmate about applying for graduate studies, and they were in deep conversation. Since both weren't the talking type, they spoke in low muttering tones with sparse wording. I, as always, half listened to their conversation.

"So, finished your project yet?" Serbia took in a long inhale of smoke. "I have." He tapped his cigarette against the balcony railing letting the ashes fall over the edge.

"Soon enough," Finland murmured. "I've almost gotten my data in order. The writing part is the worst."

"Yes, having to write so eloquently has been a pain," Serbia agreed. "Did you go to the first presentation? They would have most of the information on writing."

"Yes, I did," the other groaned. "But all that did was waste time. They talked nonsense and I didn't even understand half of what they said. What does making an outline have to do with anything?"

"I went to get some help from my advisor," Serbia said. "It could help you." He nodded in my direction. "I wish I was a first year again."

"I don't." Finland sighed, pausing to have a drag on his e-cigarette. "It was very boring."

"Speak for yourself," the other smiled. "I actually never learned anything, but it was a gratifying experience."

"...to be incessantly told things, caught black market trading, and not to mention, getting homework?" Finland finished for him. "No way."

"Hey, the black market thing wasn't even my idea,"

"Uh, yes it was," his friend argued. "Who else would be so rash?"

"Estonia."

Finland let out a bark of laughter. "Hah! You're funny."

"I'm serious, ask him,"

"Fine, I'll ask. But Estonia? He can't even order food at a restaurant without saying 'sorry'." He reached for his phone and texted his friend. After a few moments, his light blue eyes widened. "...how?! How are you right?"

"As if I'm ever wrong. Serbia is always right." Serbia replied in a cocky tone. "I told you. Anyway, don't think your best friend is that innocent. He might behave childlike, but that gives huge advantages." He stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and exhaled the last bit of smoke. "This weather is driving me mad." He shook his head like a stubborn ram. 

"I know," Finland muttered. "Wet."

"Ah, can't get any worse, right? I need to write some emails, revise my speaker notes, sleeps, and start filing my stupid application for graduate studies. Apparently, I'm overqualified for other programmes." He left soon after. Finland continued to smoke till his e-cigarette ran out of power and then he too went back inside. I looked down onto our mushy brown courtyard, now a marsh, thinking of whether or not I should finish my paper when I was told not to. A bird cawed somewhere in the distance, and several crows fluttered about, their feathers slick with rainwater. Even they were sick of it. Too much was too much. The railing on our balcony was cool and wet to the touch as a grasped it to look out into the distance.