Title: Beautiful Nights, Part One
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Belarus/Lithuania with some allusion of America/Belarus and Russia/Belarus as well as some mentions of Poland and Ukraine.
Rating: PG to PG13 depending on your own thoughts
Warnings: Angsty? Belarus portrayed more human-like
Summary: Belarus centric/POV. Long winter walks at night have a strange effect on people.
Hey guys. So this is my first FanFic and hopefully I did alright. I apologize for the name and any stupid anything that follows. As well as it being kinda' long... I couldnt' stop when I started. The name and the fic were inspired by the Russian songs "Beautiful Day" and "London". More to come later- Thanks and I hope you enjoy!
I once dreamed of a beautiful sky. The grays and blues of my pastel dreams, I wonder if I truly ever believed in those petty fantasies or if I was merely attaching myself to the past. The glorious fields of gold and green that my dearest longed for were not what I considered the most wonderful. The soft, delicate colors of his winter were what I loved. They showed just what he really was. Not only the cold heart underneath, I would come realize years later, but the frosted beauty you had that I apparently shared. Could something be so gorgeous and perfect belong to someone so heartless? Perhaps only the cruel will ever obtain what they desire yet with the consequences that my dear faced. Loneliness.
You never had such. Bright, green, and warm. Even in your winters, with the heavy snows that poured your house in, you were still glowing. Continuously cheerful with those smiling green eyes to match the idiotic grin on your face and your stupid summer lands. Stuttering your words and pressing your fingers together nervously, your actions sickened me. Your very appearance sickened me. A look so much different than the one I loved. Brown hair, too long for a man’s, emerald eyes that never showed the same strength they once had, a thin and lanky figure lacking in the knight of the past, and not to mention the smile. The pathetic, useless smile you gave to every little thing.
And now, I ask myself if I ever meant the words I said or thought. Were we truly too desperate to care what the other thought? We must have. When you would come to me, you always would say the same words. Always. They never changed from day to day, week to week, on and on. Your eyes always downward, flickering to my face every now and then to my never changing expression to which I came to the conclusion you thought you would find some hint of emotion or sympathy for you. If I had it, I never showed it.
“I love you, I live for you.” Yes, I knew. “Will you love me?” I could never.
Never. Always. Such callous words they are and yet so fitting. Those memories of our past buried deep within me, I never dared uncover the heavy dust above them. How could I? Each time I had tried, for each wonderful or happy memory that came forth, another darker one followed. I was your prisoner wasn’t I? Your “perfect princess” and the object of your love. The obsessions annoyed me, frightened me and I hated you. I hated mostly everything associated with you. For someone so strong and powerful, you really did have a weak heart.
Then why did I give in?
Snow covered roads and barely lit street lamps with the freezing temperatures to match. That was our first night together in many years. When we walked down the streets of your previous master’s native land, I knew from that moment you were different. No, not from the object of my own desires but from yourself: both recent and distant past. You were tired, with sunken features and bags under your eyes. When you gave me a smile when I turned to you, unlit cigarette in hand that I would never smoke, I knew it was forced. I asked you what was on your mind, interested for once in what was plundering that mind of yours.
“You,” you replied. I asked you what else for that could not have been all. “I’m just tired.”
It was then that you took the cigarette, lit it, and inhaled until your eyes closed with specks of water under smoke. Pulling the scarf closer to my neck I told you that I never pegged you as a smoking type. You told me it was your first in a long time, though your exhale was practiced. I shrugged it off at the time, knowing that a country would not grow sick from such a human habit. But perhaps, they would help you in some fashion.
Stopping in a half-empty restaurant, you ordered us two coffees and sat at a table far away from anyone. The unfamiliar language must not have completely left you from those years ago. You spoke it seemingly well. Not that I am one to talk, forgetting my own from time to time….
“I’m very glad you agreed to go on a walk with me, Miss Belarus.” I stared at your trembling fingers, from either cold or nerves I had to wonder. You continued, “It reminds me a bit of the old days.” To avoid speaking anything more, you began to douse the coffee as quickly as you could.
I flinched a bit at the statement. “We are much older now, Lithuania.” You stopped the idiotic drinking to give me another fake smile. “I do not quite know what to think of the…old days. After all, they were glory for you and Poland. Although, as successful as we all were...” Forest eyes left my stoic ones. “I still remember the feelings of imprisonment.”
“A-ah,” you choked, smiling sadly to yourself. Yes, you’ve changed quite a lot.
“Where did your confidence wander off to, Grand Duchy?”
I pretended not to notice your fingers tighten around the mug. I prided myself on not showing emotion after all. Your mouth opened to speak of what I knew would be empty words. Empty like your expression. Excuses would come pouring out of you; at least that is what I expected.
“I….” A long deep breath. “I never lost my confidence.” Another false smile. “I just realized my place.”
I remember staring at that broken and empty man. What had all of that war done to you? What had all of this…Communism done, exactly? It was then I could see your age. The age of a country instead of the seemingly everlasting youth we shared. You were not Toris. No, I saw the lifetime of Lithuania in those features. The large winter coat did nothing to help other than make those drooping shoulders appear even smaller. How did I appear to you? Was I your same “beautiful Natalia”? Or was it then you in turn saw the age of Belarus?
I never asked. And we had long left that small place for the streets once more. There being hardly a soul to see in the bitter cold of night. I remember standing closer to you than I ever had before. Perhaps it was simply the cold and you were warmer than I. In both heart and body heat it would appear. You walked me all the way back to that small hotel I was staying for the time being.
“Why are you not staying with your brother?”
I never replied. There was nothing I could explain to you.
It would be a few weeks later we would take another walk through the empty streets again. Stopping in a park this time, we sat and talked for hours. We spoke of many things, although they were mostly our daily notions. Whether they were about our poor financial situations, the “new” independence, or the turmoil of our lands, you still held on to a small positive thought process. I remember you flinching at my reference to receiving help from the same person you had many years ago. He is very different from you as well.
I guessed you were upset about this for one reason. You wanted to be the man, the person, to be there to assist me in any way possible. You were much too poor, too much in pain for anything of that. Though, the most interesting part of conversation was when you told me how you always wished for something like this.
“I once believed I loved you,” you said and I stared at you with a dead look. At the time I suppose I believed I had taken your affection for granted. Only then did you say, “Now I know, I can’t bear to love anything else.”
I turned away, without changing my expression in the slightest. I watched the falling snow and you mumbled something about whether or not I was cold. Blinking snow specks from my eyes I told you:
“I thought I loved you once. It turned into hate.”
The silence that followed was one for the dead. You did not speak for the rest of the time we spent sitting there. I once again pretended to not notice your quick glances or heartbroken stares. I could feel the devastation radiating from you even as we walked back, and I gripped one shaking arm for warmth. Inside I knew that it was more for my soul rather my freezing body. You swallowed back tears on more than one occasion. I could hear your soft sobs through the wind. And yet, you wouldn’t dare cry in front of me. You knew better. Even crestfallen, you still showed a small spark of joy when I told you I wouldn’t mind going for another walk in a few weeks.
"Dreadful here, isn't it?" I had said one time, not even looking at you with your sorrow filled eyes and stiff figure, as I gestured at the streets we walked. “I’m quite glad I left.”
It was either the very thought of me saying anything remotely cruel about Moscow that shocked you, or it was my tone of voice. For once, it was not as chilled as our surrounding weather. I prayed you only noticed the former. That day, we walked arms linked as if we were a couple. As if we both shared any mutual feelings of love, or even care for that matter.
“You of all people….” Why could you never insult me like you should have? “To think you would say something…like that.” My silence must have given you the wrong idea. “N-not that your opinion is ever wrong!”
“Ivan is in a drunken stupor and can barely stand up. What’s so good about this place anyway…?” I lied about the latter statement and, in your own way, you knew. I could see the realization in those drooping, hardly open eyes.
“How can you say such words? You…love him, don’t you?” You stopped and turned to me. How dare you use my own words against me? That had only added to my deadly feelings about you. Telling me the facts I had already thought I knew. Thought. I was beginning to doubt.
I had loved a powerful, courageous man you could come from nothing to achieve great things. I suppose I could only ever love men like that. He, you, and the other. You were all so much more alike than I’m sure you three wished. Maybe it was only your appearances that were truly the dividing line. For, you all would be reduced to nothing but blabbering, struggling, insane men lost in your own drunken stupors. Whether than had been literal for my longest love, sorrow for you, or a vague and blinding idea of being the world’s sanctuary, you were all insane, incredibly amazing men. And I was the idiotic, useless, and not to mention completely blind woman that fell in love with each one of you.
At first glance, you were all so different…. How did I see the core of each of you the same? Platinum blonde and violet eyes, he was the most beautiful. Tall, and wide-shouldered, looking simply perfect in the snows he hated on the inside, yes he really was a spectacle. He was the one that could win the hearts of many for his appearance. He was even enough to make a girl want to forget her own language in favor of his. Donning a small smile, it was all he ever needed. His past was the worst as well, sharing many of it with myself. More bloodshed as been at his hand or upon him than any other I knew. And it took me so many years to simply notice his madness. It was to be expected, and I was a fool to follow him and cling to every word, to become a part of his nation. I was losing myself to him, everything. Absolutely everything was being lost to him. I was blinded by an everlasting love that nobody would ever consider right.
Then there was the other. The one I was relying on now. How I hated myself more than he for once. He was on the other side of the spectrum. Golden hair and bright blue eyes, always grinning a smile that could light his New York City, this man was so much younger than anyone else I was familiar with. In both body and mind. The sun was his best friend. Even in his winters that depending on where you were could be as terrible as the great north, he still found something to celebrate or be happy about. I envied his past, his wealth, and his optimistic attitude. All of which, I would never be able to have no matter what I did. His madness was so much different. Oh, he was certainly insane. Just in a different perspective. I tried so hard with that one to not give in, to stay strong and not let my heart interfere once more. We all know what happens when that occurs, after all. He’s the world’s hero just doing his job, and I’m the blundering girl who just can’t keep her emotions in check at the right time.
You, however, are somewhere in the middle. A gray area that I can’t pinpoint, a color I can’t distinguish. You are not violet nor blue, silver or gold, neither are you red or white. Greens or browns should be the obvious guess that comes to mind, but for me, they do not. You have been both strong and collected and weak and broken. From being cold-hearted and seemingly lost from the world to a grinning and outgoing person or even having a past of both hard-work and bloodshed to a one of glory and triumph, you really have seen it all. You’ve suffered the backlash of the Reds and the World Wars as well as your own personal battles of Grunwald. In present day, you again linger between what I had once thought of the world of black and white. Playing basketball is your life and bringing wine, flowers, or sweets to someone else is simply a natural thing to do. And yet, even if we all have our problems, they seem to weigh you down more often than others I have seen. Did you know, my darling, my enemy, that you and I share the world’s highest of suicides? Simply wondering, is it not?
“Are you alright, Miss Belarus?” you asked, breaking my thoughts. “M-my! Are you crying?”
I had not noticed the tears, the break in my usual composure, or the reason for why they had flowed in rivers down my face that evening. Removing a glove from my hand frozen hand, I touched my face, in awe of them. My eyes continued to water and pour regardless of what you said. You touched my shoulders with thick gloves, tried to comfort me with words I couldn’t hear over my own fascination. I had not cried in so long. I believed I had forgotten for the better. Even with a heart smashed to pieces, I would walk tall and proud.
I could only take in what was going on around me when you hugged me full on, allowing me to cry into your shoulder. It only brought more tears and more painful memories. When was the last time I had been hugged? By my sweet, wonderful sister so many years ago. When was the last time a man had hugged me? My brother, when I was still a child, before I had been taken away. I refused to hold you in return but I felt your own sorrows begin to break and seep from you as well. We stood like this, drowning in our own pity for ourselves and the other. What a disgraceful sight it really was.
Thanks for reading! Part two is here:community.livejournal.com/hetalia/902272