Angels Fly

🇩🇪.:|Chapter 7 - Lovers|:.🇩🇪

Soviet's pov.

I was working at my desk on this miserable evening. There were piles and piles of papers and due dates everywhere, I was never an organised worker. My office wasn't grand or flashy like the other countries, mine was small with a warm wood fire to my left and large bookshelves to my right. Russia was out with his friend Germany, Belarus was downstairs playing with her dolls, Ukraine was in his room down the hall listening to that awful music as usual. Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia were out playing in the snow, apart of me hoped they'd be eaten by a bear.

Lithuania was close to my nephew Poland when he passed, they were good friends and talked a lot. Lithuania said Poland had gone quiet over the span of a couple months but I brushed it off as the two children having a fall out. Now he is dead and Lithuania refuses to speak to me, it is not my fault that he died, I did not kill the comrade. I continue scribbling down what the papers ask of me, most are about politics and the tension between the United States of America. It is always war with those people, declare war on this declare war on that, it's foreign we don't like it, declare war on it.

I sigh in frustration and sip the last of my water in my cup. I place it back down and let my mind refocus on my work, I was on the grind. I work 13 consecutive hours like this, I have small breaks in between but usually my brain turns itself off and my body goes into ramble mode. Words that make sense on the paper but have no real meaning or reason to them. I can feel the heat building in my cheeks, goodness that fire is hot. I stand and shed my coat off my shoulders, leaving me in a light brown blouse and some tracksuit pants. I could feel the weight leaving me as I hung it over the chair.

I grabbed my empty cup and went to take a sip, to find it was in fact, an empty cup. I place my pen in my pen holder (it was actually a mug with my flag stamped on it with "worlds best comrade" written on it.) One of my boys got it for me years ago before all this mess happened. I walk outside my office without bothering to put the fire out, I'll only be a second. Holding my cup in my left hand I stepped down the stairs, my eye scanned the room. I could hear people talking, well, I could hear Belarus talking. I place the cup on the table and open the front door to see my daughter chatting the ears off of Britain.

The poor man looked like he had been waiting to get a say for some time now. I let a smile form and butt in.
"I'm sorry to break up your riveting story darling but wrap it up and go play with your dolls Belle." I say, using her nickname so she knows I'm not all that mad at her. She ran back into the house to play with her doll house, I pitied them for having to listen to her too. I turned my attention towards our sudden guest, and gave a friendly smile.
"Britain, what on earth are you doing here?" I say in a half serious half playful tone, we had been seeing each other in secret for some time now.

"Oh you know, I have come to discuss politics and other boring subjects that are not worth spying on." He nearly yelled the second half, America had gotten close to discovering about us but Britain fixed the problem or so he tells me.
"You'd better come in so we can discuss all of those painfully boring topics together." I say, mimicking his volume. I let him in and he leads me upstairs. I forget about my work and my cup on the bench, I just wanted to see him. He opens the door to my bedroom and I close the door once we are both in, he immediately kisses my lips and runs his hands through my hair.

"I missed you sugar." He whispers softly, we did have to be quiet just in case one of my children heard us talking. We had never done, that, before together since neither of us was comfortable with the idea. So we did what we always did, I'd sit on the bed and he'd snuggle up to me. Today he was muttering about France and how she takes his money without asking anymore. I can see it upsets him so much and she honestly has no right to be doing that in the first place.
"Why don't you leave her Buttercup? That is financial abuse and you shouldn't have to deal with it." I mutter to him as I gently pet his nose and back. At this point I'm not sure if he is even awake.

I didn't mind if he fell asleep in my arms, he looked so peaceful while he slept and I had a book in reach. France was absolutely ridiculous but I understood why Britain wanted to stay, he had children with her. He had Canada, America, Australia and New Zealand to look after, I as a father understood. I couldn't imagine another person raising my kids, they were mine. My little babies with stumpy legs and stumbling walk patterns. I loved when Britain came around because I knew for once that he would be getting a rest from that household, a rest from the kids and the wife. As I said before neither of us were comfortable enough with each other to do anything without clothes on but I loved his arms wrapping around my side and his cheek resting against my chest.

He looked how I loved him, peaceful and warm. He looked like his dream was of something that a child would reflect in, maybe tall flowers were talking to him after he fell down a rabbit burrow. Maybe he was having tea with a man in a tall comedic top hat, a mouse and a hare. Maybe he was playing croquet with the Queen off of a deck of cards with flamingos and hedgehogs as the sticks and balls. I felt him grip tighten around me as a thin layer of sweat appears on his brow. Maybe it wasn't a dream at all, maybe it was a nightmare of rolling thundering waves crashing down against his ship during a storm. Maybe he is calling out for help but the ocean was drowning him.

Whatever he was seeing or doing off on his little adventure, he was clearly worried about it. So I gently began petting his hair and whispering soft things for him to focus on subconsciously. Things like 'deep breaths', 'it's okay', 'I am here Buttercup' and 'it's only a dream'. I let my eyes close making it easier to concentrate on my own breathing to help steady his own. Our relationship wasn't about money or sex or status (no one actually knew we were together), it was about love. I leaned over to grab my book, I hear a soft grown leave his lips and I just smile.
"Sorry Buttercup I didn't mean too." I mutter softly. I turn to the last page I read and continue on reading.

This evening was nice.

.:|1258|:.