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39 ‎ ‎ ‎ The Lost Films

RUSSIA
The suitcase flung open with one last tug and Russia narrowly clutched all the flying items with his hands, wobbling around on one leg. In the center of all the cluttered items and souvenirs was the lockbox, and he heaved a sigh, relieved that he had still remembered to take it the next day.

He fumbled with the key for a minute and quietly opened the box. The contents were the same as he remembered — two letters, a note, and France's information page, the one someone had ripped out from the book in the university library.

This raised a few questions, like how did they get her hands on it and who left it in the lockbox under Congress and why was he hungry again and maybe it was because he was too busy worrying for North to put anything in his mouth, but he shoved them all to one side of his brain and took the two letters gently out into his hands. He wasn't quite sure why he was hiding them, but it felt safer, keeping it to himself, the details of a forgotten relationship.

Frowning, he traced his finger across the photo version of him and America. He couldn't help but think — back then — if this was not a forgery, was he happy?

He didn't speak about his love life to anyone. Or rather, the lack thereof. Yes, North, China and Germany were all conventionally attractive guys — as were the rest of the student body — but he would never feel any appeal towards them. They were home; found family before anything else. Maybe once or twice in his bland Global High years did he find himself thinking about some other oblivious Representative, but they wouldn't reciprocate, the feelings would vanish, and he would be left yet again, alone. He didn't love easily. So what had made him put it aside for America?

Maybe it made sense. Maybe it was bound to happen in at least one universe. Now that he thought about it, even amidst all of the evanescent people that had stole his heart and controlled his mind, there was only one person that had truly always existed in his thoughts, from the prospect of punching his sorry face to wondering if he had eaten enough recently.

He paused. Looked down into the photo in his hand.

It was the first time he had taken a look at it in some time. When he blinked, he knew this time that it would not change.

"Russia! Are you in there?"

He scrambled to get to the door after closing the box and stuffing the letters into a pocket of his suitcase. "Sorry, China," he said, sheepishly waving it off. "I buried it deep, and that key isn't too easy to find."

"It's fine." China peeked at the open suitcase. "Let's get back now?"

The two descended the stairs and by then, the remainder of the group had settled down into the plush couches of their rental, waiting eagerly. Poland had pulled out the Uno again.

"What took so long?" America chirped, swiping the plus four from the deck while everyone's attention was somewhere else.

"Nothing," Russia said. Everything.

"Finally," Germany sighed, taking a seat on the floor. "C'mon Russia, open it."

He took a sharp inhale of breath. "Alright."

When the lid flipped off, he braced himself for the shock he had to deploy. It was hard to fabricate human emotion, but, all the same— "...There's two things. Oh, look, it's France's missing page!"

Canada nearly tripped over Italy's head in his haste. "What?"

Sure enough, Russia had been right; France's page, ripped out from the book of Representation they had seen in the university, sat neatly folded in the box's interior. Her 'Relations' code was labeled as F83191, one before Canada's, just as they had predicted.