Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Along Moon Washed Streets

"Germany, your phone's ringing," Finland suddenly materialised out of nowhere, and handed me my cell. I silently thanked him and saw the caller identification. Russia.

"Hello?" I said tentatively, clutching the collar of my shirt. For some reason, I always did that when I talked to him over the phone. 

"Hi Germany," his voice sounded like static through the receiver. "Um, could you come down? I'm at the gates of your college. I need some help...on something."

"Of course," I replied automatically, even before my mind processed what I was getting into. The effort to please him was innumerable.

"Oh, thank you." He said cheerfully and hung up before I even got the chance to ask what he needed. Typical Russia. I threw on a raincoat and went out into the drizzle outside. Soon enough, I spotted Russia with a yellow umbrella. He was waiting for me, meanwhile staring at the announcement board near our building. Of course, all of the papers were wet. Like everything was. He saw me and waved in my direction. "Hello!" He smiled.

"Good evening," I opened the gate. "As good as it can get. So what did you need?"

He seemed nervous to continue. "Well...actually, I kind of wanted to...it's not really academic....so..." he went on babbling about something.

I had an inkling of where the conversation was going. "You want to go somewhere?"

After that phrase, Russia seemed to collect his confidence, because his words came out fast and straightforward. "I wanted to just ask you out. Just me and you." He finished, looking down and muttering, blushing heavily. I was touched by his offer.

"To where?"

"Just...to a place I found...on the edge of the city...."

"I'd be happy to," I responded to his surprise.

"Really?" His eyes became round like the full moon. I nodded and we set off. I felt the little drizzle turn back to mist, and Russia shut his umbrella, looping the handle around his wrist. He didn't look in my direction, and I guessed he was very flustered. I wasn't as embarrassed as I was surprised to hear him ask me to go somewhere--wherever it might be. We went through the city, weaving between the streets, crowds, bright taxicabs, food carts, stoplights, skyscrapers, hard looks, chipped shoulders, broken hearts, rivers of opportunity, and car exhaust. Steam rose from the underground as if there were pools of magma under our feet, and the constant rumbling of the metro made it seem like the city was alive, and that somewhere in the depths lived the Leviathan. Soon enough, the mist stopped and all what was left was the smell of wet asphalt, and pools of water here and there. People strode purposefully, plowing into everything like tanks. He led me through a part of the city that I never was in, where smokestacks, huge lorries and eighteen wheelers, grit and gravel, constant noise, sweat and worry, and the proletariat workers, dominated. He masterfully evaded the large tricks full of toxic coals and slipped past wired gates before they closed. Emerging to the other side, I could see another part of the metropolis, where houses looked like colourful birds nests, all bunched up so there was no room for alleyways. It looked like a richer part of town, where architecture was clearly valued. The moon peeked out from its blanket of clouds, and illuminated the clean roads. We finally reached the place. Lit up by sparse streetlights, the small winding road with trees on either side and encircled by the little houses was like out of a painting. "I wanted to show you this," Russia whispered after a long time of being silent. "I found it when I went out walking. I thought you would like it."

"It's very nice," it wasn't just nice--it was breathtakingly stunningly beautiful. He took me gently by the hand and steered me in the direction of the walkway. The megapolis buzzed around the little park, the traffic, the constant busyness. But on the walkway we were alone, us and the moon washed streets, so quiet and in perfect equilibrium that it could be written in proise. The only thing more poetic than what I saw would be an Autumn scene. Our feet distorted images in the tiny pools of the clouds tears as we walked though them. Russia seemed very proud that he scavenged around to find this perfect place, perfect time, and perfect weather, the scent of the going rains. The part of the city we were in was all sleeping, and only the moon was our witness. I felt no thought of worry drift in my head. Granted, I didn't feel like I was in the past or the future anymore. I found my present moment, one that millions seek in each of their lifetimes. The budding trees shielded us from spying onlookers, and the little hedgerows bowed down, weighed down by minutely small droplets. The road ended at a large circle of grass, empty, save for a weeping willow in the middle. He stopped there and faced me. The grass was wet and sparkling from the moon's muted and mellow glow. Everything was enveloped in it. Soft shadows swathed everything that the heavenly luminescence didn't. I felt myself holding my breath, waiting for what Russia was going to do or say. It seemed like he wanted to, but either was stalling on purpose, or didn't have the heart to do anything yet. Only then did I notice his leaning forward, slowly and carefully. He stopped right in front of my face, our eyes meeting. Amber and Lavender. His eyes were so captivating. I didn't think anything could ruin the moment.

"Are you cold?" He suddenly asked, his plain words shooting through me like an arrow. "Because I am."

"Um, not really," I wasn't even paying attention to the temperature on my skin. He looked down for a fleeting second. And when I figured that nothing would happen, he swiftly kissed my cheek. After a few moments, I stood on my toes and did the same, and then encircled his neck with my arms. Smiling slightly, he picked me up and walked, down the moon washed, rain soaked, enchanted street that might've been painted on a canvas.