Medicine = Magic [RoChu Fanfiction]

Chapter Sixteen

Pulling himself away from the table he left the cup of tea, knowing he would eventually come back to it.

Tracing the path of his eyebrows, China rubbed his eyelids with the tips of his fingers, groaning to himself. He felt distantly tired, the exhaustion from the conversation with Russia finally catching up. Keeping up an act to seem happy for long periods of time was hard work.

But he paused. It hadn't really been an act the entire time, he truly had been enjoying himself for most of the conversation. An itchy feeling rose on his arms, raising the fine hairs that sat there.

He was used to keeping on a mask to hide his true thoughts, as he knew most of his allies and enemies did. It was a natural safety precaution after so many betrayals in their long lives. Now that he didn't need one anymore he felt strangely...

Unsafe.

It was as if there were people talking about him. That classic feeling of 'people walking on his grave' as humans said. A discomfort that settled in the back of his chest, between his upper ribs.

Even with such an ally as Russia, who always kept his own emotions an enigma (especially to China, who didn't really understand how regular, non-hidden emotions worked) there was still something distantly thrilling about keeping secrets. But now that the secrets were being worked to the surface he felt anything but thrilled.

He felt scared. Really and truly scared of what was to come.

He wouldn't feel anger if the others blamed him, it was what he expected from them after all. But he was still scared of that reaction. He had tried his best to prepare himself, to keep the fear of rejection at a minimum.

But it really hadn't worked very well. He still felt an urge to vomit up what little he had eaten that day, an urge to pull out his own hair strand by strand. He was trapped in this moment. But it was reality.

It was his reality and he couldn't do anything about it. That had to become apparent at some point...

...right?

Growling to himself and making a swift turn in his steps to begin pacing, China tried to fight down the feeble, stereotypically girl-ish reaction.

He was a full grown man (or at least he seemed to be, he actually wasn't sure what his physical age was) who had been walking the Earth for thousands of years. He wasn't fearful. He wasn't weak. He wasn't supposed to second guess himself, he had to be sure what his actions would cause, careful of every eye blink, of every off-hand phrase. This was necessary for his own comfortable survival.

But he hadn't really been doing that much recently had he? He had been outspoken and plainly the opposite of careful with words.

Where were your primal instincts when you needed them? (Or as the case may be the ability to fight them down.)

They weren't in a war anymore, he had no reason to be angry, no reason to fight for his own safety. He had to be calculated. Calm. Polite.

"But that's so hard," he groaned to himself. And it was. It was hard when so many things were on his mind.

Again distracting himself, the Asian nation tried to think about other things. And again his mind fell on his newly found half friend. Russia. The discomfort subsided, taking a backseat to curiosity and appreciation. Russia, though terrifying in many aspects, had been very kind to him recently.

His heart swelled with respect. It wasn't quite trust, not yet, but it was close. Even if he was only in it for personal gain (which, let's be real here, he most likely was) kindness was highly valued.