forgotten warmth - rusliet (russia / lithuania)

uwuwuwuwu

i think this came out fine-ish but i can't seem to figure out how to write as well as i did a couple years ago...

this was also originally gonna be fluff but my fingers had other ideas uwu

—

Russia hid.

He knew he was good at it, too. Ukraine and Belarus could never find him in his special spot, sometimes searching for hours on end in worry until he crawled out when his heart started to hurt, eyes watery. It always ended the same way; Belarus would race to smother him in a hug. Ukraine would ruffle his hair with a fond, pitying smile. He hated it.

The winter was cruel, tearing him down at every chance and forcing his hand in situations he only wished to avoid. He hated the cold and all the cold memories that come with it.

His hiding spot was warm. He always adored warmth. He found comfort in the bright colours of fire, the orange and red and yellow sparks dancing across his face during the few opportunities he had to watch such a spectacle.
He loved blankets and pillows and fire and more blankets and the sun and the stars and—

—and he loved his hiding spot.

Using his bare hands to push away the snow on the ground, he smiled in childish glee when he uncovered the familiar rocks. Immediately, he pulled up on a larger slab with a visible huff and knocked it askew just enough for him to slip between the opening and fall through, giggling once he hit the ground. The warm ground.

His eyes widened in hope as he looked up. That could only mean one thing—

The second his eyes caught brilliant green, he already jumped up with his arms spread wide, an excited grin overtaking his pink face.

"Litva!"

Before the older, tamer boy could express his welcome, he was pulled into a tight embrace around his stomach and two messy kisses were planted firmly on his cheeks.

Russia loved Lithuania, too. He was nice, pretty, strong—but most of all, he was warm.

Lithuanian didn't so much as gasp or flinch at his entrance, gracefully accepting the affection given so suddenly. It truly had been so long.

"Rusija," he spoke gently, leaning against the uncomfortable rock wall behind him as he held the boy with the beautiful violet eyes.

—

"Russia." The voice was harsh—harsher than he had previously ever dared to. The fire in his eyes came back, it seemed, and Russia was delighted.

"Lithuania," he spoke with a grin.

—

"I don't want you to leave..."

"I..."

—

"Goodbye, Russia. I hope you get better soon."

He only watched as his friend retreated, out the door and through the snow in nothing but his house clothes. Russia never frowned—not anymore.

He smiled and waved, a final farewell, to his Lithuania.

He never looked back.

—

Desperately, he clung to his arm, sobbing and begging for him to stay. He never did. Lithuania had to leave. After all, this wasn't his land. He had friends he had left behind to visit him. That never stopped the heartbreak when he finally left. He had made sure to wave as he crawled back through the makeshift entrance, a gentle, reassuring gesture—he promised to come back.

The wind and snow snuffed out the fire.

Russia didn't leave the hiding spot. He loved his hiding spot, after all. He loved the fire, the warmth, the light... and the memories.

"Litva," a whisper. A wish.

In the dark, solitary space, he suppressed his shivers and curled in on himself, leaning his weight against the rocky wall—the cold rocky wall—and cried until he fell asleep.

—

He fell to his knees and, using his bare hands to push away the snow on the ground, smiled in relief when he uncovered the familiar rocks. Quietly, he pushed the eroded slab off to the side entirely and, after a deep, calming breath, allowed himself to fall through (Although falling was a generous term—He'd grown nearly triple his size since the last time he'd been here).

The ground was cold. Despite everything, he still hoped for the old warmth the hiding spot would bring.

It was small, cramped, and uncomfortable. Centuries of winter took its toll on the place. He would be lying if it was anything better than he expected. He ran his hand across the walls, years and years of memories coming back to him almost instantaneously—memories of fires and blizzards and green eyes filled with the warmth he so longed for.

"Litva," a whisper. A wish.

In the dark, solitary space, he sat down in his old spot and leaned back against the rocky wall—the cold rocky wall—and cried himself to sleep.

..