[Hetalia] In A Garden Filled With Tulips (Netherlands x Spain)

One-Shot

We once met in a garden filled with tulips. 7 years ago, in Luxembourg.

He was holding a bouquet of them as he stood right in the middle, feeling the spring wind passing through his face and his hair while his blue-and-white-striped scarf follow the direction of the breeze.

I stood far from him, where I couldn't see but only these features, yet, I was still mesmerized by that man in the middle of the flower field. There was something in him that made me feel different, something that which I have never felt to someone else.

And now we meet in the street alleys.

He was holding a bottle of beer as he walked drunk and trashed towards my direction, in which his scarf drooped as low as his neck bent down.

I was standing far from him, but not anymore. He was so near I could smell the stench of strong alcohol. Though he was not near enough where I can touch him when he fell off the ground, which then broke the bottle into shards of glass.

I walked towards him, and all I heard were groans and murmurs which I cannot decipher.

"Are you okay?" I asked though I knew the answer.

"Y-yeah..." softly he said, grunting just a little bit, but I know he's not okay.

I lifted him up and carried him onto my back. He's heavy and smelly and it's quite hard to walk forward.

"It's okay, I can--" he gagged, "I can walk. Just assist me by my--" he gagged again, "by my hand."

I did what he said: I tightly held to his hand, helping him balance his posture. It took a few minutes until he became stable. His hands was covered in gloves, but it was covered in red stains over the knuckles. I found myself staring upon his blooded knuckles.

"I got into a fight...." he told me, groaning.

"I didn't ask anything, though," I spoke back.

"Then don't look at me too much."

So, I walked with my mouth shut, and with his arm wrapped onto my shoulders.

I started walking, but I didn't know where to go. "Where do you live?" I asked him.

"It's far," he answered.

Where is he from? "Then, what about the house that's right next to the garden of tulips?"

"It's... not mine."

Ah. So it's not his. Why was he there? Why is he here now?

He was the same man I saw, sitting down the porch of the house, right next to that mesmerizing garden of tulips. Yet, he's different.

He had a great posture, like he's been trained as a soldier of the king; he looked straightforward, neat and keen; he seemed as if he's perfect in that red, abundant field. His spirit, then, was blooming, but his spirit now is like a wilted flower, neglected and unappreciated.

"Will it be fine if you stay at my house for a while?" I asked him sincerely. I can't leave him alone like this.

He didn't say anything, but he nodded gently. He coughed a few times, and then we continued on walking.

In less than 20 minutes, we have arrived to my home. It's not as extravagant as that blooming field, but it definitely has a few tulips inspired by him.

"Seeing tulips in someone else's homes.... I feel like I've returned to mine... T-tulips
are.... great, aren't they?" he said softly, his voice felt a bit husky.