Mirrors (2P!Axis x Reader x 2P!FACE)

Conflict 1: Another

You woke up panting that morning. Again.

Sweat soaked your skin and strands of hair. You felt warm despite having kicked your blanket off the bed while you were asleep. It had been a year since the kidnapping incident. A year since you killed your kidnapper.

Unfortunately, despite what others said about it being in in self-defense, you were so shaken with the incident that you couldn't stay still too long. Your nightmares weren't as vivid and frequent as they were a few days after the shooting. They seldom showed up, and you were more or less back to your normal life. However, you hadn't really come to terms with yourself. You were always on the run, finding solace in distraction, unwilling to confront your inner demons.

The bed creaked beneath you as you forced yourself up. The apartment Gilbert managed to find for you before he and the other countries (Aside Arthur, of course) left England was quite old but it was decent.

Your wall clock was ticking, mockingly telling you it was barely five o'clock. Sighing, you stood up and began stretching. It was a routine of yours, formed after the incident.

Whenever you were already awake and you had some time to spare you'd get up instead of returning to sleep. You'd strap on her running shoes and jog several laps around the neighborhood until it was either time for school or your knees gave in. And if it was a weekend and you had no classes you'd study, read, cook, clean, and occasionally, you would go to the shooting range when you had money for ammo.

As long as it didn't involve hurting animals, you were more open to more activities—even outdoors-y ones that an introverted bibliomaniac like you wouldn't normally participate in.

You tied your hair up for your daily run.

"Huh?" You looked down at your welcome rug to see a vase of sunflowers. You knelt down to pick it up, noticing a soft-yellow note.

"Happy birthday, sunflower" It said, signed with the name of a certain Russian. You smiled as you brought the flowers inside. It had been a while since you last saw Ivan or any other country aside from Arthur whom you spent time reading and having tea with. For the rest of the day, you kept receiving text messages and e-mails from family and friends, wishing you a happy birthday.

After an uneventful school day (aside from the "happy birthday's"), you decided to stop by the Rosewater Inn to visit Oatmeal. On your way to the hotel, while waiting for the light to flash green, someone clad in black—black leather jacket, black pants, black boots, black helmet—on a black motorcycle stopped his-slash-her bike on the sidewalk just across where you stood. It would've been nothing if not for the fact that the biker kept staring at you.

The light eventually turned green and you sprinted to the hotel.

"Excuse me" You went to the front desk, "I'm here to see Oatmeal"

"Oh, Miss Lastname" The elderly gentleman whom you've made friends with after months of going to the hotel and checking on Oatmeal was the one to greet you, "Here to see Oatmeal?"

"Yes, that's right" "He's waiting for you in ballroom A"

The manager had a mysterious smile but you didn't notice, "Okay, thanks"

"You're welcome"

"Oatmeal?" You called as you made your way to the ballroom. You peered inside "Oatmeal?"

"SURPRISE!" Confetti exploded and fell down like dyed snowflakes. You clutched your chest as you tried to recover from shock and a potential heart attack.

The tables and walls were decorated with your favorite flowers. Four magnificent sparkling champagne towers highlighted the centerpiece of the room: a ten-tiered, six-foot-tall white cake with intricate patterns carved into the icing and soft-looking flowers sat on each tier. The cake was like a Christmas tree with all the colorfully wrapped presents of different shapes and sizes that lay by the foot of the table it sat on. Almost all of the countries were there.