Hetachains (Rewritten Hetalia Reader Insert)

Chapter One *

Chapter One

Horror Movie Box

My life is turning into a horror movie. And not the good kind like A Quiet Place*. The cliche 'Why did you open the door!' horror movie that you have to stop watching halfway through because the ending is so damn obvious.

"And why exactly should I bring this into my house?" I ask, acting as a barrier between my sanctuary and the invader sitting in our mail-woman's arms.

Mrs. Adams shrugs and shifts her hold on the box for the fifth time, having a hard time keeping the box from tumbling to the ground with its unmarked contents. The aging woman brushed an unruly curl from her face to look me in the eyes as if eye contact would help me trust a package I have no memory ordering with no return address. The only sign of life on the box was 'To ____ ____' written in a dying, green marker.

"Look, ___, you know I have no idea what's inside your mail or how it got there, I just deliver what's in my car and assigned to my route," Mrs. Adams reasoned, "I don't trust this package any more than you do but I still have to deliver it. Throw it away for all I care, just please don't make me carry it anymore."

The muscles in the lady's arms strained with the box's weight, the amount of time she spent arguing with me on my porch taking its toll. Guilt tugged at my conscious, wanting to help her but not wanting to touch the box at the same time. My mind tugged back and forth between self-preservation and the woman who had delivered my mail ever since I moved into this apartment building.

My sympathy won out as I wrapped my arms around the box, almost dropping it as the weight shifted to my arms. Jesus, what kind of death package is this? Mrs. Adams rubbed her arms with a content smile.

"Thanks, ___, my arms aren't what they used to be. I'll see you next time you got bills to pay, or at your funeral. Whichever comes first," She laughed at her own joke, an action which I did not return, and headed back to her truck to continue the intense duties of a mail carrier. I weakly waved with a hand beneath the box as she turned the corner and disappeared into the mid-morning sun.

"Mail carrier with weak ass arms...stupid horror movie box, making me bring you in out of sympathy..." I muttered curses against the world and the box as I retreated into the apartment building, lugging the heavy box with me.

My feet dragged across the century-old carpet, rubber soles catching on the fabric and sending me tripping forward a few steps. Stupid box, making me trip over the stupid carpet with my stupid shoes. What a stupid day for this all to happen. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A breath got caught in my throat as my foot caught on the carpet once again, this time leaving me without a chance to regain my footing. The ground rapidly approached as I thrust the box from my hands.

I hit the carpet with a whump, my body bouncing up a millimeter then returning to the ground thanks to sweet gravity. I groaned but made no move to stand, wallowing in my failure at the easiest task of walking. Only big kids get to stand up and apparently I could no longer qualify as a big kid.

"Wow, ___, that was some fall. You changing your major to stunt double training?" A voice joked.

I cracked my eyes open, noticing a familiar pair of ice blue sneakers, the calling card of my next-apartment neighbor. Hugo's snow-white hair came into view as I looked up, my dignity too damaged to be embarrassed. My neighbors weren't horrible, but who wants to be seen lying on the carpet of your musty apartment building.

"A little help," I asked, pitifully holding out my hand. Hugo's grin didn't falter as he grasped my hand, his palm ice against mine, and pulled me to my feet with a single jerk of his arm. I may be an atheist, but thank God for unnaturally strong neighbors. Especially ones who don't laugh at you for tripping on flat ground. I wiped the dust, dirt, and underlying-carpet-disease from my clothes and thanked Hugo for his help.