Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Beyond the norm: Being Accepted

"Эх, Россия," my father let me go after a while. "I won't be going anywhere for a while, so no need to mope around and act like I'm dying."

"Yes, papa." I sniffled. I had wanted to say more, but I bit back my words.

"I want to do some things today. So does Kazakhstan," he started, wiping the last remnants of breakfast off the table. "It's not too late to start those things." With that, he crossed over to the sink next to the panoramic window that spilled light into the white and green kitchen, and he started to wash and dry the dishes. "I want you to go shower, get your cell phone and wear something decent, then come down."

"Yes papa," It was no use to argue. Father turned on the radio that stood on the counter near the sink, and turned the volume up, filling the room with a light and happy tune. I obediently went up the stairs, only to stall on the top. The long hallway had doors on the south side of the house and the north side was open to a sort of mezzanine to overhang the large living room. A small rail made sure that you couldn't accidentally fall down to the first floor, and the long and thin white carpet in the middle of the hall made going across quiet, though there were one or two floorboards that creaked overtime you stepped in a certain place. Growing up here meant I knew how to sneak up and down the hall without being heard, since I knew how the floorboards would react when a force was applied to them. The first door was a guest room, and the plain birch door had a tableau hanging from the centre, reading "гость". Us children weren't let inside, but when our older brothers and sisters came around to visit, there was always a room at hand. The second was Kazakhstan's room. A miniature flag of his was strung in the middle of the door, the only thing that made his door seem different from the guest's. But inside, it was very much so. Unlike the tidy and neat guest room, Kazakhstan preferred a 'natural' approach, which meant he had a shelf full of all kinds of grasses and bushes next to his window, and the room was painted a serene white with light brown streams near the bottom where the floor met the wall. His bed wasn't big, and was naturally a hand-me-down from Belarus, which came from Ukraine, which came from me, which came from our father. Nothing we have is new, or if it is, it was made by our father or salvaged from somewhere for free.

"Kazakhstan!" I heard Ukraine's shrill shout from his room. "What are you doing? Come back, that's mine!" The door flew open and Ukraine was very angry, panting heavily, holding a giggling Kazakhstan by his foot. Kazakhstan, apparently, shoved something into his mouth, looking rather pleased with himself. "Russia! Tell him!"

"Tell him what?" I asked serenely.

"He ATE my summer assignment!" Ukraine shouted indignantly. "What am is supposed to do now? REDO IT?"

"Yeah, stop yelling," Belarus suddenly opened her door, one decorated with her flag. "I'm trying to decide what to wear, and you're distracting me."

"HE JUST ATE MY ASSIGNMENT!" Ukraine screamed in anger. "PAPA!"

"Успокоися Украина," father's deep voice sounded from below. "Get ready, and then we'll sort it out."

"Mmpf." Ukraine let Kazakhstan go, who gracefully fell on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Belarus laughed, and shut her door in our faces, giggling. Belarus wasn't the type of girl who would dawdle in front of a mirror to check her appearance, and she never turned down a chance to be rough with us. But she sometimes did act like she was superior and claimed she was our father's favourite, as well as always helping and doing chores first and snuggling up to father, really did make her so, but it meant that the rest of us had to lower our status in family hierarchy. I supposedly have second to most power, since I am the eldest son, but times have changed, and even though we weren't with the times, father was more lenient to liking Belarus over us. Not that he didn't love us or he hated us, it was just a matter of bragging rights among us four. Belarus had a larger bedroom with a big bed that used to be our mother's, but Belarus had implemented her own personality on the room so much that it barely was anything like before. She stuck a poster of an owl and a motivational message next to her dresser which was next to her door. Her bed was adjacent to that and a highly intricate painting of our great-grandmother, Baba Rus, holding a flaming torch into the darkness, illuminating her surroundings. Belarus liked it so much she had it framed and stuck a pink paper cut out of a heart on one of the edges, where she wrote 'Моя бабушка, самая самая'. Except for a long mirror, a table with a green lamp, her spring green coloured room was no different from Kazakhstan, save for having a walk on balcony instead of a French one. Ukraine didn't like having me in his room, which was a light blue colour with a bright yellow bed. He seemed to like his colours, and plastered a large poster of a western pop musician over a painting of our father with him on a hill, waving his flag in the wind. Ukraine also had a cat named мурка, a smoky grey cat with black paws and tail and a white flash on its chest. Мурка slept in Ukraine's room, therefore, his room smelled like cats, wildflowers and the breeze and he kept its bed next to his own and a litter box stood in the corner.