Tʜᴇ Isʟᴀɴᴅ Iɴ Bᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ

Tʜᴇ Mᴏsᴛ Eɴᴅᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴏғ Mᴇɴ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4

"Hey."

Russia pulled his head up, his eyes meeting an older man standing in front of him, his hair white and his eyes overshadowed by dark sunglasses. "You're Soviets son right?" The man asked, his star spangled complexion catching the darkened sun, making him look as though he was much younger than he was.

Russia didn't reply, he simply stood and stared at his fathers new found ally. "Not much for talking huh?" The man asked with a smile on his white lips. Russia wasn't even sure why this man was speaking to him, he was only here because his father had given a vague excuse. Perhaps he wished to look more presentable by having a young child with him, as Russia was only 9, or perhaps he simply wanted him to be connected to other countries at a young age.

The Russian knew little of this conference his father was at, however he knew he was safely within the Soviet occupation zone, which meant he didn't have to be worried about seeing western ideals play out. He had been told they were in Potsdam, but this meant little to the child, he didn't understand what this meeting was about nor why he was here. But he knew even less about why this foreign man was speaking with him, or trying to would be a better phrasing.

He recognised his flag, the one that his father had warned was a symbol for the dirty capitalist world, the filth of humanity; the fallen man. He was raised on the concept that the man before him was a devil in his own right, and that he must stay away from him. However the Russian couldn't understand why his father told him all that. He quite liked his glasses, they looked rather fun to wear and they made the man somehow look more approachable. Part of him wanted to ask to try them on, only for a second though, they were probably too big for his head.

"What's your name little guy?" The man asked, bending down so he was squatting to look the Russian child in the eyes. Russia pondered for a second, staring into the barred eyes of the man before him. "Russia." He answered in his childish high pitched voice, his rather noticeable lisp causing his name to sound a little silly.

But the man just smiled, finding endearment in the child's subtle struggle. "Russia huh? That's a nice name." The man said as he stuck his hand out for the Russian to shake.

"My names (𝚈/𝙽)."

Russia blinked, as if it would shake off his potent déjà vu. He then took your hand in his, and shook it, though he couldn't help but admire your silky soft hands. God, his must feel like sandpaper in comparison. "It's nice to meet you (𝚈/𝙽), my name's Russia."

You smiled at the tall country. You found it rather cute that he told you his name instead of saying something like 'I'm sure you already know my name,' it was endearing of him to say the least. It was rather amazing to see him up close. He was tall, incredibly tall, perhaps over 8 feet. Although you could see he was rather handsome, it seemed to be rather hidden under his deep eye bags and the solemn expression he kept on. He wore a blue and white striped shirt under a puffy blue jacket, which he kept his hands tucked snuggly in. Atop his head was some kind of fur hat, grey in colour with a pop of red where he had a small star in the middle. "The pleasure is all mine Russia." You smiled, dropping your hand back to your side and straightening your back, praying to god that you looked at least somewhat presentable.

"Are you too jet-lagged to go for a walk?" You question, trying your best to ignore the insistent voice that cried about how you looked, trying its hardest to convince you that you were making a fool of yourself.