The World I Live In (Crazy Hetalia Fanfic)

Thirty-Two

It’s morning. About six o’clock. I make sure everything is packed up, since Hungary is going to be over at noon. I can’t move. I’m feeling really lazy.

          I wonder if there is a computer around here. Sneaking out of my room, I head to the kitchen, knowing someone will be up, cooking or something.

          Russia’s there, frying something in a pan. I stand there quietly, watching him cook. He shuffles the pan across the burner, making whatever is in the pan sizzle. Even through all that has happened, I feel like I need to act professionally around him, like he’s my boss or something. I can’t be very casual. It’s strange. I swallow my sudden and awkward fear, and move to stand next to him.

          “Need any help?” I ask quietly. He smiles, shaking his head.

          “No thank you. I am working out my stress.” He responds.

          “What? Why are you stressed?” I ask worriedly.

          “You with me, under my watch… I know you are safe. You will not get attacked, or hurt… I can protect you. But… if you go somewhere else…” He sighs. “I just do not think you could be very safe.”

          “I’ll be fine. Not only do I know how to fight back, but I am also going to be learning new moves from Hungary… That’ll be fun.” I laugh, and hug him around the waist. He pauses from pan sliding, but continues after a few moments.

          “Well… I hope you will stay safe. Do not trust England, if you happen to meet him.” I frown.

          “Why?”

          “Just… Do not. He is the type to capture you and… Well… He is very strict. He does not like me, for whatever reason. I do not like him much either. And do not eat his cooking. He is a terrible cook.” I smile and peck him on the cheek.

          “I could handle him in a heartbeat. Just depends on if he’s as tall as you or not.” I grin. He laughs.

          “Definitely not as tall as me. He honestly goes to my shoulders, like France. And then Canada and America both go to my chin. In all honesty, everyone is shorter than me, except for Sweden, who is the same height.”

          “Are any of them shorter than me?” I ask, genuinely curious.

          “Well, you go to my shoulders as well. The only person I can think of that is shorter than you is Japan, who goes to my elbows. You seem to be the same height as France, maybe a little taller.” I nod.

          “I figured as much…” Our conversation grew silent, and the silence is tense. I lean my head slightly on his tall frame, and sigh. “I’m going to miss you. I’ll try calling as much as I can, okay? Be nice to the Baltic’s. I did see what you did to Lithuania.” He frowns a little, and shuffles the pan, faster than earlier.

          “Don’t tell me you didn’t hurt him.” I state. He says nothing. “They do care about you.”

          He chuckles, but there’s no humor in his voice. “Do not poison your thoughts with false accusations. They just want out. They do not give a rat’s ass about me.”

          “That’s a lie, and you know it. They love you. I mean sure, you’re frightening. Intimidating. You did capture them. But they care. They left in the nineties, and came back for whatever reason. Didn’t you see how Lithuania acted when we got back? He had definitely looked the part of a worried parent, as did Latvia and Estonia!” I exclaim.