Winter's Sleep (A RusGer Fanfiction)

Chapter III: Flowers

The addition of warm orange colour in his shop, which did not come from any of the displayed flowers, slowly became a familiar sight in Germany's eyes.

At first, his presence felt like a sore thumb. Russia stood out in a way that was so out of place, abrupt, and just did not fit well amidst the colourful flowers. Perhaps it was because the shop gave away the peaceful and gentle feeling, while Russia was anything but. Or maybe it was just a stubborn part of his that refused to accept his existence in the same room to protect his feelings from swelling.

But six days had passed and Germany grew accustomed to his presence, accustomed to the way he sat quietly on the stool with his back facing the front door, accustomed to his voice that echoed in the quiet shop. His profile graced Germany every time he stood behind the cash register and he could feel his lingering gaze on him whenever he worked on his workstation.

(He also grew accustomed to the feeling of spoiling himself by taking a glance at him whenever he looked away.)

As of now, Germany could not deny that the addition of another person in his shop became a pleasant thing. He also could not deny how lonely it was whenever he worked there alone; his eyes were constantly searching for a black-haired male of his age before its aim changed to a certain ginger-haired man.

And later, Germany learned that Russia was a persistent man.

Despite his refusal of talking to him on the first few days of his visit, he kept coming like he had no better things or works to do. It was an understatement, though. He knew he was, at least, a responsible man who had his work done before or after his visit to his shop.

It was not hard to guess it. Germany started to see some pattern of his random visit. From what he gathered, if he came in the morning, then he would leave before the afternoon, and if he came in the afternoon or even evening, he must have his work done already by the time he came. However, he never stayed the whole day in the shop for reasons unknown.

Not that he wanted to know about it too.

(He wanted to, but nothing good would come out if he troubled himself with Russia's business.)

And that was not all.

If Russia came in the morning, he would deliberately invite himself to join his morning coffee routine after laying out slices of bread or pastries he bought on the way. Germany would be thankful for the treat if not for the fact that it was followed by him staring hole at him as he drank his coffee quietly. The man would say nothing and just grinned at him when asked.

Then, if he came in the afternoon or evening, he would come bringing food for dinner together. And somehow, somehow, he always came with his favourite food. A pure coincidence it must be, but a part of Germany still fluttered from it.

At first, it annoyed him and Germany felt somewhat indebted to the way he brought food for him. His refusal, however, fell on deaf ears because Russia would drag him to the table in the center of his shop, untie his apron, and force him to sit and eat.

Someway or another, Russia had become something like a caretaker for him, which he refused to acknowledge because he was an adult and he could take care of himself.

That, until one day he slipped out the fact that he only ate once a day and that was at lunch. For breakfast, he would have his coffee, maybe some milk biscuits as well if Germany did not forget to buy it. And as for dinner... well mostly, he skipped it because he was not feeling it or he would have an apple at most. It had become some sort of a routine for him since two months ago, so Germany never thought that it was lacking.