#p0ck3tf0x

For my favourite person on her birthday. Happy birthday, Maplevogel!  You said you wanted a domestic piece so I hope this counts.  A little bit of sharing and caring and patience.  

Inspired by the song ‘Depth Over Distance’ by Ben Howard.

Depth Over Distance

The hinges on the door squeaked in warning as Canada pushed it open.  The house was stale and dim but he could hear the ‘click, click, click’ of an oscillating fan in the distance.

“Gilbert…?”

He slipped out of his shoes and dropped his suitcase on the worn hardwood.

“Gilbert?  I’m home.  Where are you?”

He squinted into the kitchen as he passed and sighed at the pile of cardboard boxes and garbage. The stove was blackened, the coffee pot was filled with noodles, and the sink was stacked with unwashed dishes.  

He knew what that meant.

Canada squared his shoulders and marched up the staircase with his heart in his throat. Kumajirou was sitting outside their bedroom door with his nose scrunched up in displeasure.  Canada tapped him on the head twice before pushing the door open.

The hinges seemed to screech even louder than before in the silence.

“Gilbert?  Are you in here?”

“No,” the bundle of blankets on their bed replied.  

“Are you sure?” Canada asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.  Prussia had drawn the curtains but he could see piles of clothes and more unwashed dishes scattered around the room.

“No,” the blankets repeated.

Canada bit his lip and tried not to laugh.

“No, you’re not here?  Or no, you’re not sure?”

Prussia peeked out from under the covers and blinked at him.

“…  Both?”

Canada chuckled, he could not help himself, and reached out to smooth his tousled hair.

“Bad day, then?”

“Bad week,” Prussia pouted, but he leaned into his hand.  “I missed you.”

Canada hummed in understanding.  He had missed Prussia too.  But he knew that it was more than that.

“Are you going to get up?”

“…  I don’t want to get up today.”

Canada clucked his tongue and nudged Prussia until he scooched over.

“Then move,” Canada said.  “I want in.”

Prussia raised the corner of the blankets and Canada slithered underneath.  He wrapped his arms around Prussia and pressed wet kisses to his shoulder and collarbone.  

Prussia clutched the back of his suit jacket.

His hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry you had a bad week,” Canada mumbled against his skin.  “You should have told me.  I would have come home sooner.”

“I know.  That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m youridiot.”

Canada smiled even though he felt like crying.

He left Prussia alone the next day, and the day after, but he opened the curtains on the third day and laughed when Prussia hissed at him.  

He set a mound of pancakes on his lap and pushed the maple syrup into his hands.  

“It’s time to get up.”

“I don’t want to get up.”

“I know.  But you’re going to do it anyway.”

“Why?  What is the point?  Nothing is going to change.”

“Well, I’m going to change the sheets.”

“You’re an ass. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Mm,” Canada agreed, and kissed him on the forehead.  “Yeah. But you love me and I asked you nicely so you’re going to do it anyway.”

“You’re trying to guilt me.”

“Absolutely.”

Prussia watched the maple syrup soak into his pancakes.

“I’ll still be depressed, y’know.  I can’t just turn it off.  It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know.  But you’ll be depressed in the kitchen.  Or the den.”  Canada cut into the pancakes with the fork in his hand and raised a piece to his lips.  Prussia snatched it from him with a snort.  He laughed. “A change of scenery might be good for you.”

“You’re mean,” Prussia muttered as he chewed.

“If I was mean, I wouldn’t have brought you pancakes.”

“Where do you think nations go when we die?”

Canada looked up from his novel.  Prussia was sitting cross legged in front of the fireplace.  He was hovering over the flames, a little too close to be comfortable, and the fire cast interesting shadows across his face.

“What do you mean?” Canada asked even though he knew what he meant.  

“When we die. What do you think happens?”

He hummed.  

“I always thought we just sort’a…  Stopped.”

Prussia smiled when he turned to look at him but it was strained.

“That’s not reassuring at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Canada said, and he was.  

“No, it’s okay,” Prussia pressed his hands closer to the fire as if he wanted to feel something, anything, even if it hurt him.  Especially if it hurt him.  “You’re honest.  I like that about you.”

Canada marked his page before slipping out of his armchair.  He crawled across the hardwood and settled next to Prussia in front of the fireplace. He did not touch him, but he could have, and that was enough.

He stared into the flames too.

“…  Are you scared?”

“That I might disappear like Germania?”  Prussia forced his hands even closer.  “No. Yes.  I don’t know.  I don’t know why I haven’t yet.  I just keep… Waking up.  Everyday.  And I don’t know why I’m here.”

Canada chewed on his bottom lip.

“…  I’m glad you are.  Here.  With me.”

Prussia glanced at him.

“…  Me too.”

He almost sounded surprised when he said it.

Canada looked up when Prussia knocked on the doorframe and Gilbird ‘cheep, cheep, cheeped’ from his perch on the faucet.

“Yes?”

He was submerged under a mountain of bubbles in the bathtub but he was still self conscious, somehow, when Prussia opened the door.  His face was mottled and red and he wondered if Prussia had heard him blubbering. He wiped at his eyes.

“I don’t want to disappear.  You know that, right?  I don’t want to leave you.”

Canada huffed but it came out as a hiccup instead.

“I know.  I do, I do, I know.”

“I love you. You’re my home.  This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“What if… What if you don’t get a choice? What if…”  Canada hiccupped, again, and scrubbed furiously at his eyes. This was not about him.  What he wanted.  Or needed.  He was not the one who…  Who…  “What if you…”

“Then I’ll hold on tighter,” Prussia crouched down and grabbed his hand before he hurt himself.  “And I’ll never let go.”

Canada snorted.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Of course it is.”

“It is not.”

“It is.”

He could feel a smile tugging on his lips and he hated Prussia for it.  He loved him for it.  He hated him.  

He loved him.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’myour idiot,” Prussia agreed.  “Now move.  I want in.”

“You’re still dressed!”

“Psh,” Prussia waved him off.  He pulled himself up and stepped into the bathtub.  His socked feet landed on either side of his legs as he sunk to his knees.  His wet clothes scratched against his bare chest as he wrapped himself around Canada under a blanket of bubbles.  “When has that ever stopped me?’

Canada started laughing, then crying, and then he could not stop.

Prussia threw the curtains open and jumped up and down on the mattress.  Canada moaned and tried to smack him.  Prussia pushed a bottle of maple syrup into his hand instead.

He opened his eyes and blinked at the pile of pancakes in front of him.  

Prussia kissed him on the forehead and grinned.

“It’s my turn to take care of you.”

Marshmallow-Manju gave me the prompt ‘magic, snails, and bruised knuckles’ and this is what I came up with.

Making Friends

Matthew flicked the snail back into the cauldron and straightened his pointed hat with his other hand.  He squinted at the grimoire floating in front of his face.  

“Snips, and snails, and puppy dog tails…”  He muttered, turning the page with a flick of his wrist.  “That can’t be right…”

His mentor had told him to go out and make some friends his own age.

He had taken her advice to heart.

“Oh well.”

He stirred the bubbling pink mixture counterclockwise and lowered the heat until it popped and simmered and darkened.  It was almost red now.  He stood on his tiptoes and peered into the cauldron.  

He had never had a friend before.  His parents had brought him to the old witch when he was four years old and the magic started leaking out between his fingertips and toes.  He lived with her in a thatched hut in the forest and the children in the nearest village laughed whenever the two of them passed through with bundles of dried flowers and clinking, clacking bottles.

So he would just have to make a friend from scratch.

The cauldron started to tremble and shake and Matthew stepped back, raising his arms when it flashed a brilliant white, and tripping over the hem of his cloak.  He toppled backwards into shelves of mint and ragweed.  The jars crashed around him.

“Are you okay?”

Matthew gasped and pushed his hat back into place.  

There was a naked boy standing in the cauldron.  He was paler than he should have been, maybe, and his eyes were the same colour as the bubbling mixture but he was grinning at Matthew.  His elbows were scratched and rubbed raw and his knuckles were bruised.

He looked just like all the little boys in the village who fought and climbed trees and rolled around in the grass.

“Yes!” Matthew scrambled up and helped pull the boy out of the cauldron. “I’m sorry!  Are youokay?”

“I think so.”

Matthew draped his cloak over his shoulders.

“Do you have a name?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  I feel like I have a name.”

“You can pick!  My name is Matthew.  I didn’t get to pick.”

The boy closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and cackling.

“Gilbert!”  He said.  “I feel like a ‘Gilbert’!”

“That’s a wonderful name.”

Gilbert put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest in pride.

“Of course it is.”

“Do you…”  Matthew bounced and fidgeted with nervous excitement.  He really liked Gilbert.  He wanted Gilbert to like him too.  “Do you want to be my friend?  I’ve never had a friend before.  You would be the first.”

Gilbert puffed up even more.

“Then I’m going to be your bestest best friend ever.”