He doesn't see me.
Should I say something?
You're a relatively small country, you know that. But no one ever saw you. It's nice, quiet sometimes. You're friends with Canada, but somehow you're not fulfilled. And here is Russia, sitting beside you on this cold park bench.
But he can't hear you. Much less see you. You can tell he can't see you, as his large stature led to him taking up most of the bench, and he is too close to you for a stranger. In fact, you were lucky he hadn't sat on you. Perhaps you're wrong. You grapple with the last shining shred of hope left inside you, swallow your fear and say softly, "It's cold out today." You watch the steam fly from your mouth. Well, it's out there now. You can no longer take it back.
The gap between your words and the present grows steadily, your hope slowly being pulverized inside you, when, "Da." escapes from his lips. The puff of vapor floating in the air that held the beautiful word slowly dissipates as you register the simple dialogue in your brain.
"C-can, can you hear me?" you ask him, stunned.
He turns to you, looking with his purple eyes deep into your (e/c) ones. "Da. Why do you ask?"
"M-most people can't. They c-can't see me either." you were stammering, both chilled to the bone, and amazed that the powerful Russia could actually see you. Was staring at you, really.
He says, "You can call me Ivan, little one." Russia extends a large hand for you to shake.
"_____." you say, taking your hand back to hold your arms close to your chest, never wanting this moment to end, but also near prayer for warmth.
Russia looks slightly surprised, and pleased, "The country?"
"Yeah, y-you're Russia, right?" you didn't have to ask, but it would be best to remain like you hadn't known him for years. In a gust of wind you shook, feeling the winter's chill.
"Da," he looks at you with concern, "are you cold?"
You blush at the unfamiliar display of kindness, rather than being completely ignored. Hopefully Ivan just thought it was the cold. "Freezing."
"Why are you out here then?"
You frown, "I'm waiting for a friend to pick me up." Now you remember Canada offered to drive you home, and you would have to leave Russia whether you liked it or not. You could just imagine the old hand-me-down beater pulling up to the parking lot, and you having to tear yourself away from your first conversation with someone visible all month.
"Why not wait inside somewhere?" he asks.
Realizing that would have been a much smarter option, you kick yourself mentally, "I don't know. I guess I didn't think of it."
"I'm glad you didn't." Russia says.
Turing to him in surprise you ask, "Why is that?"
"Because then I would have never met you." The smile plastered across his face is somehow charming, adorable, and menacing, all at once.
Time seems to stop, and you're lost in his deep purple eyes. His smile is tantalizing, and you find yourself like a deer before the headlights, mesmerized. Snapped out of your reverie back the frantic sound of a car horn, you manage to say, "I'm glad I met you too." You get up and stumble towards the old station wagon, looking back and seeing Ivan looking positively happy. Why is that? Still unable to get that smile out of your head, you look back once more, and are disappointed to see he has disappeared. You climb in the car, remaining astonished.
"What on Earth were you doing with Russia? You know who he is, don't you? What he's capable of?" Matthew asks you. When you don't answer, he looks to you quickly, a worried expression on his face. "Are you alright?"
"He could see me." you tell him quietly, your voice almost inaudible under the roar of the old car's engine. You feel the car jump slightly, and start to speed up. "Hey, hey, slow down, Matthew."
Through clenched teeth he asks, "Did he touch you?" You've never seen him so furious, "Did he hurt you?" You see the tachometer spike, and the speedometer climb.
"We just shook hands! Please, Matthew, slow down, you're scaring me." It was really the car that scared you. You didn't think it even went past sixty as you saw it crawling towards seventy five.
"Oh," he says, looking down at the speedometer, then taking his foot to the brake, "sorry."
Your breathing returns to normal along with the rumbling deep within the mechanics of the car, "It's alright. It's nice to know you care."
He flashes you a concerned look, quickly as he's still driving, "Hey, you should know I care." Matthew looks back. "A lot." It's still nice to know. You're the only ones that can see each other, and sometimes you wonder if that's the only reason he's your friend. There is more silence filling the car as your mind is consumed with thoughts of the Russian. "Hey," Matthew asks, "do you want to stay over tonight? Make sure there's no late onset emotional trauma?" he jokes.
You laugh nervously, "No, I'll be fine. I'm just surprised, is all. He was perfectly nice."
"Listen, seriously, _____. I don't think you should hang out with him. He's really dangerous. Look what happened to Lithuania!" he exclaimed.
Thinking about the countries under Russia's rule you say, "Yeah, you're right."
You hear him sigh in relief. "Just be careful about how you handle things."
You nod, and turn on the radio to avoid anymore conversation.