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🇷🇺x🇨🇵 Dancing on a bridge Russia x France

Hello!
How are you all doing lovely Internet strangers?

So I may have kinda, accidentally joined a cult...
I initially didn't plan to join a cult in my life, but oh well, it's been fun so far...

But then this idea came up and has not left me alone, so now it is a really short little story, which I seem to tend to more often recently?
Unsure whether that's bothering me or not, I'm still deciding...

But I think no one would be mad about getting something short over getting nothing, so here it is!

Also now that I finished this the "France was basically Russia's sugar daddy" idea  that also came up is nagging at me...
I will not take responsibility for anything that happens with that!

In the meantime I made good progress on the next chapter for my other book and got started on the third!

Here's the bridge:

So have fun reading and a nice day/night!

Words: 739

How does one describe the feeling of freedom?
How does one show an unfortunate soul to be wild and free?
For France, it was to take them dancing. Dancing on a bridge in the middle of the night, so proudly on display, yet hidden away by the surrounding, all swallowing darkness.

For Russia, it was a whole different thing. It was to show them love and passion, music and arts as they were with no filter. Let them fly and experience the world from above and once they've had enough come back down on their own.

Such different ways to show one and the same thing just happened to collide one day and never parted ways again. Now bound by a promise of eternal love and devotion, sealed by two rings on intertwined fingers. As they made their way to the bridge they once built as a symbol of friendship.

In the public's eye it was still just that, but for them it held so much more now.
It bridged the gap between them, helped them carry on through hardships as it showed a path above the chaos. It connected them even in the distance and showed their nations' beauty day by passing day. It can't be replaced or destroyed, it bore witness to their first ever confession of love and counted the years as it bloomed and lived on.

Now they reached it, beautiful as it always was. The walk to its middle, right above a steady arch of its stones, was done as if by memory.

And so their routine began. His hand found its place on her waist, her hand laid over his shoulder. The others carefully intertwined again. For the first time in what felt like forever, but had realistically only been a few minutes, their eyes met again, honey gold met mismatched ocean blue and scarlet red.

In that moment, time became an irrelevant illusion of mankind and couldn't touch them, only coil around them uselessly in an attempt to break their everlasting moment.
Their everlasting love.

He pulled her close to himself, feeling the warmth radiate from her. She laid her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against her ear.

Then they slowly started dancing, swaying from left to right and back. Slowly moving in growing circles over the old stones.

As France glanced up at Russia, she caught him observing her every move with a faint smile on his lips. It quickly grew and mirrored on her own face as she saw him.

He broke their eye contact as he glanced to the side when her hand started moving up the expanse between his neck an shoulder. Slowly it made its way up the side of his neck, giving a few slow strokes to appreciate the relaxed muscles around the area. Then it tangled into the thick white hair at the back of his head. It may not have been long, but still felt so much between her lithe fingers as they combed through it and loosened any knots they could find.

A little nudge from her was all the signals he needed to slow their dance to a stop, snake his arm around her waist completely and bend down to kiss her in a slow and gentle dance of lips.

And so they danced... to a tune only they could hear in their shared freedom, freedom to love...

Danced over the bridge of their nations' friendship.