|《{$ } A Cold Nuclear War { $}》| SOVBRIT COUNTRYHUMANS

Chapter II

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Britain fluttered his eyes open. He sat up groggily and yawned while stretching his arms. He ran a hand through his hair and felt it was a bit notted. Britain looked around the room. The fire was lit again, and it looked quite recent. The British male looked at the clock on the wall. It was only five in the afternoon. . . He sighed. Sitting up, Britain couldn't help but think about his children. Are they worried about him? Have they noticed he's gone? Has America sent people to look for him?

Britain kept a questioningly long gaze at the fire. His green eyes reflected the gold flame. He heard rummaging behind him and turned his gaze to the kitchen. Britain saw the lights had been turned on. Soviet walked past the kitchen entrance, oblivious to the Brit staring and placed down two plates. Britain blinked and turned back to the fire again. He put his hands out and felt the heat from the fire begin to warm them up.

"Oh, Британия, (Britain) you are awake. I come to wake you up but see you up already. . ."

Britain got up from the couch and twisted himself to click his rib joints. "How long have I been asleep for, Soviet?" Britain asked as he turned around to face the slav.

"Almost four hours-"

Britain blinked absentmindedly and ran what Soviet just said through his mind. "Bloody hell. . . " He ran a hand through his knotted hair again. "Almost four hours?"

The Brit asked again to make sure he was hearing the Russian correctly. The taller just nodded.

Britain sighed.

"Uhm. How is the weather situation?" He asked while walking around the couch and following Soviet into the kitchen. Soviet sat down and looked at the Brit. "While sleeping, weather calmed little. Maybe day or two left."

"Alright. . ."

"Now. Eat. You must be hungry, Британия." (Britain)

"Uhm. . . Y-yeah. Maybe a little starved-"

"Enough talking. Eat."

Britain and Soviet began eating in silence like the night before. Soviet had cooked steaks for the two of them, and the only sound was of the wind and trees scratching against the Windows. Britain cleared his throat and stopped eating.

"I want to apologise for my actions this morning. . . I understand you had to do what you did for the safety of your children, your land, and yourself. I just didn't see the bigger picture until now, Soviet."

Soviet looked up into Britain's emerald eyes. They genuinely had sympathy and sorrow in them as he spoke. It made Soviet feel warmer inside. Someone understood what his motiv was and why. . . Britain wasn't upset with him, but instead, upset FOR him, sorry for him, even. Soviet opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. The slav looked away and put his knife and fork down.

"Thank you, Брит. . . (Brit) At least someone understand."

Britain smiled warmly. It made the corners of soviet's mouth curl up slightly. The two resumed eating and started a table conversation for the first time, talking about their lives and preferences. Even after the two were done eating, they continued to talk like old friends again. Laughing, talking, joking around, and listening like old times. . .

"But then, Russia run at him, and two tumbled downstairs. Kazakhstan's wings were bent, and couldn't use for month."

"What did you do to scold Russia?"

"Simple. I make him share room with Ukraine for duration of Kazakhstan's injury."

"But, don't they hate- oh, sorry. . . Dislike each other?" Britain didn't like using the word 'hate'. It held a strong meaning, and it brought back memories he wished to forget. . .