Be Well, My Darling (Fruk)

12

March 5, 1915

As the war continues to escalate, I am finally faced with the worst confrontation I have ever suffered through. "I can't believe you! What were you thinking? You could have been hurt! I would have come to you sooner, but naturally, I have been dealing with many of HIS troops. You can't be putting yourself in these situations; what if he shot you? What if he captured you? What would have happened if they took out all of your troops?" Francis lectured. I was right; he would be the one lecturing me.

"I haven't seen you for almost a year, and now I finally get to tell you off!" He spoke. I felt there were more important things to worry about. "Francis, it didn't hurt anyone, in fact, it boosted morale!" I pointed out.

"Yeah? For the Germans..."

My face fell at what he said, and I continued to watch him pace around, stressed out. To think that I had gotten flustered over his smile. A smile he hardly has on nowadays. What was it with me? Why couldn't I be serious right now, like he was?

"I'm sorry, I thought...well, the letter you sent. It was..." I paused, and he looked over at me, shocked. His cheeks flushed, and he was silent, waiting for me to speak. "It was what?" He asked softly.

His letter was the most beautiful thing I had read in a long time. I loved every line he wrote, every letter he scribbled. I loved the smudges left behind by his hand moving across the paper. I loved how it made me feel, and I loved that he thought of me so highly to send it in the first place.

"It...influenced me...to think of someone else for once..."

"Oh..."

He looked away, a bit disappointed. "Someone else, being Mr. Germany...of course..." he laughed. Well...he wasn't necessarily wrong. "Sure..." I spoke. He breathed out deeply, pushing some of his hair out of his face. His hair looked unusually messy, especially for a day like this. We were here because Mr. Russia called an important meeting.

We had heard of the casualties on the Russian front, but things have been taking a turn. It was as I predicted; this war was different. Not in a good way, but in a horrifying way.

I began to approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What is it? Haven't you broken my heart enough?" He asked. He looked as if he were pretending to cry. "You are so dramatic, take a seat," I demanded. I laughed at how he looked and urged him to take a seat in front of me.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it!" I demanded. Francis rolled his eyes at me, plopped himself down on the chair, and I stood behind him. His hair was unbelievably messy, and I began to get flashbacks to when we were younger. There were always those rare occasions when I let him cut my hair during the time of the Hundred Years' war. Regrettably, I went through a phase where I was a bit jealous of his looks and hid it well from him. During our times of peace, he would volunteer to do my hair.

Now here I was...

"You are so unkept," I spoke. I could hear him breathe out in defeat, and I slowly reached my hands toward his hair. "Don't look at me; this isn't how I usually am; it's embarrassing," he spoke. He tried to cover his hair with his hands, and I slowly placed mine on his.

The feeling of his skin was warm and soft as usual. I could not understand how someone could be so perfect. Why couldn't I be this way? Francis had jumped at my touch but soon calmed down once I began to move his hands. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"I'm going to fix your hair. I may not be the best, but I can manage fixing your ponytail, at least," I laughed. Francis was still a strong superpower, and I truly believe he could win this war, even without my help, but I wouldn't abandon him to see if I was correct.

Just as I wasn't going to leave him looking so messy.

"You will fix my hair?"

"Wasn't that obvious? I figured that if you kept it a certain way, your hair wouldn't get in your face constantly," I spoke. I began to run my hands through his hair, pulling out the hair tie that held his hair together. He had wavy hair, and it usually looked so beautiful and flowy. I was not sure how he was able to do that, but he managed. However, now, his hair was tangled together, and a bit frizzy. "It's embarrassing," he spoke. I shook my head as I tried to fix his hair the best I could.

"No, it isn't...we've all been there...but now I'm willing to help this time," I whispered. I couldn't tell if I had grown soft or if I genuinely cared for him. And I mean genuinely...deeply, undoubtedly. I couldn't tell if this was one of the many out-of-character deeds I would be doing.

"There...perfect!" I cheered.

I had placed his hair into a high, tight bun, with a few strands that stuck out, to help make him look cute, just as he would want. There was a war going on, but I knew he still wanted to be viewed a certain way. "A high bun? Is this how you'd like for me to put my hair?" He asked. I laughed at what he said and walked in front of him.

"I don't care how your hair looks; I assumed you'd appreciate it out of your face for once, and well...this is what...friends...do..." I spoke. I whispered the last part of my sentence, and felt extremely dense. My body was feeling hot, and I knew that if I looked him in the eye, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Friends?...well, I suppose we all have to start somewhere," he laughed. I looked at him, confused, lifting an eyebrow. "Hmmm? What is that supposed to mean?" I asked. I placed a hand on the top of the chair he sat on, to support my weight.

"Ah, well, I figured that we would be more of a—"

"THANK GOODNESS! I WAS TOLD THE TWO OF YOU WERE HERE ALREADY, AND I RUSHED OVER!" The door slammed open, interrupting Francis. Standing at the threshold of the door was none other than Mr.Russia. A frantic...burnt...looking Russia.

There was a part of my brain that wanted to know what happened to his face, but the other part wanted Francis to finish what he was going to say. I figured my moral compass was telling me to be worried about Mr.Russia.