Two Worlds (Hetalia X Reader)

5. Figment of the Imagination

An annoying screeching sound rang in your ears. You groaned and reached out, feeling for your alarm clock. Maybe you could just smash it.

Wait.

You sit up in your bed. Your bed. "Damnit." You breathe. After Gilbert had gotten you something to draw with and you'd drawn the dark door, the two of you had gotten to talking.

He had told you his "little" brother is Ludwig and that they are both neat freaks (and please do not get tea stains on his bedspread).

You'd discovered Elizaveta and Roderich are married and share a room (that's why Elizaveta didn't offer you hers).

Also, the two men visiting were very close friends of Ludwig's and as soon as they left, you'd be put in the guest room. If you stayed that long, of course.

But you knew you can't stay. Morning will come and this dream would just be another entry in your dream journal. It would revert back to being nothing but a figment of your amazing imagination.

You sigh. If only it were real. Dreams like that one are what you live for. You could still taste the sweet taste of the tea you had been served in your mouth and the stinging sensation of a burnt tongue and a bruised tailbone. Those feelings should fade quickly. They always do.

However, as you slide out of bed, the dull throb at the base of your spine remained. You remember seeing a bruise there last night but... that had to have been your sleep deprived mind playing tricks on you, right?

You stepped in front of the mirror just like you had last night and checked your tailbone. Sure enough, there was a dark bruise snaking it's way up your back.

You stared at the reflection. You probably just fell out of bed... right? But the papery feeling of a burnt tongue lingers in your mouth as does the taste of the tea.

Pulling your pants back up to cover the bruise, you try to forget it and head to the kitchen too get something too eat. You need to forget. It does not do well too dwell on dreams.

As you slowly muched on a crisp apple, your thoughts wandered back to Elizaveta and Gilbert. Oh how you wished they were real. They were so gentle when they touched you. It was as if ypuyou were a porcelain dool. You could still recal the light pressure of Elizaveta's hands and Gilbert's fingers brushing against your elbow. Even the feeling of the kind man's (you'd later found out his name was Feliciano) warm hands on your face. You shook off the feeling of loneliness that was slowly creeping up on you.

Remembering you only drew the dark door in your dream, you decide to draw it in the real world. The two doors together would make a nice set. Now, where did you put your note...

Oh yeah.

Well maybe you wouldn't draw today. What else was there to do? You have a few good movies that you could watch for the millionth time. Or there is that book you've been meaning too read.

You also had tons of baking supplies to play around with; maybe make some fun coloured cupackes or something. Maybe go and make a new friend?

Usually at this time today you'd already be elbow deep in paint. But the way the curator had spoken to you as if you and your art were worthless peices of trash had really snuffed out your ambitions.

You head back to your bedroom to get dressed and make your bed. For clothes, you pulled on a (f/c) long sleeved shirt, a pair of black tights and a black skirt.

Next, you head to your bed and start straightening out the sheets. As you are untangling the top sheet from the comforter, you hear a clicking sound of something falling to the floor.

Your stomach lurched when you looked down. The pen Gilbert had given you to draw with rested at your feet. With trembling hands, you lean over and pick it up.

It was real. I was solid, real plastic.