Work Text:
Kiku knows that Poland can be beautiful — will be, once given time to rebuild. Right now, however, it’s a rather… poor sight, with desperation and hunger lurking in every corner. More buildings are broken in one way or another than not, people scurrying about trying to secure and fix them. Even the fields and forests beyond the city are in an incredibly sorry state, parts of them grazed to the ground and only just starting to regrow.
Still, Poland stands before him with a tight but proud smile that pulls on his hollowed cheeks and grainy skin. His hair's thin and matte, bluntly cut above his ears, resembling straw more than the flowing gold Kiku has heard it described as in the past. He’s bundled in a thick, worn coat that dwarfs him entirely, making him seem even smaller than he is in reality, yet he still shivers ever so slightly. His eyes are darting around, clearly trying to focus on Kiku's face — they keep coming back to it, after all — but also searching for– something. Danger, most likely, especially considering how light he is on his feet, shifting every few seconds, his arms tense and twitching as they constantly readjust the crutches supporting him. Regardless, he's still standing straight, face bold and bright, no matter how haggard.
Kiku allows a tiny smile to quirk his lips and drops into a bow, a spark of amusement lighting in his chest at Poland's sound of surprise.
"It is an honour to finally meet you, Poland," he says, English words clunky on his tongue, and straightens back up. Poland's eyes are wide, his mouth in a small "o" and a red flush spreading across his cheeks as he stares. Internally, Kiku rolls his eyes — Westerners . However, the thought is heavily drenched with the fondness he’s developed for the other Nation over the last two decades, before the European even came back to life.
“Thank you,” he finally croaks, voice raspy and scratchy and unused, and Kiku wonders how a Nation recovers from being wiped off the map. Poland clears his throat, ducking his face a bit, likely to hide his face. “For helping my people when I could not.”
Kiku nods with a hum, clasping his hands in front of himself. They’re sweaty and itchy and all-around uncomfortable but his composed facade must stay on. He might have personal reasons to be here but this visit is, first and foremost, political, and he has to make a good impression — that is, not seem like a complete nervous wreck when meeting a war-torn Nation, regardless of the trace of admiration and kinship he feels for the other.
“It’s a pleasure working with people with such similar ideals, even all the way in Europe,” he says lightly, a quiet cheer in the back of his mind at the lack of hesitation in his voice. “Your people’s spirit and love for you is to be admired by everyone, Poland.”
Poland exhales slowly, red still colouring his cheeks but his face more smoothed out, with only a light, polite smile on his lips as he dips his head in acknowledgment.
“Thank you. You are quite admirable yourself, Japan.” The words are soft and warm, even in their hoarseness and professionalism, and Kiku feels the tension ease some from his shoulders, feels the knot in his stomach unfurl a bit.
“I have a proposition,” he says before he stalls on it too long and Poland raises a brow curiously. He gives a small cough into his fist before standing straight, letting his smile fall from his lips in favour of seriousness. Poland instantly drops his own expression, pulling his mouth into a taut line. “How would you feel about continuing our cooperation against Russia?”
Poland is beautiful after getting the chance to rebuild. Perhaps it needs even more to grow to its full potential, as people still hunger on the streets with little to their names, but the streets are even, without any major holes, and the buildings are painted as pristine as they can be, window panes full and sturdy and safe . The trees are as green as they come, and though fields may be lacking, they aren’t decimated anymore.
The Wawel Castle is certainly a sight, in all of its European strangeness.
“ Ohayo , Kiku!” Kiku blinks back into reality and turns towards a rapidly approaching Feliks, clearly having broken away from the group of men walking away.
“ Dzień dobry , Feliks,” he says once the other is only a few feet away, smiling softly. Feliks’s face is still hollower than he’d like, but better than that first time they met, and he has long since abandoned his crutches and walking stick in favour of his own strength. His suit is clean, cut and sewn for his frame, with silvery eagle cufflinks glinting at his wrists.
“Why are you here? We didn’t plan any visit I forgot about, right?” Feliks furrows his brows in thought, biting the inside of his cheek, and Kiku snorts into his hand. Feliks pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping out a rhythm with his foot like a petulant child, and Kiku only chuckles again, shaking his head.
“No, no, nothing of the sort. My apologies for not informing you. I simply wanted to pay my respects in person, now that I found the time,” he explains, glancing at the castle. Feliks immediately sobers up, shoulders drooping with an invisible weight and face twisting with grief.
“Oh.”
And Kiku– gets it. He's seen Feliks interact with Józef, clinging onto his arm and rambling into his ear like an excitable child, but also discussing books and maps and strategies in low voices. Nations hold all of their people dear, but there is no denying that they have favourites, ones they cradle especially close to their hearts, and this is such a case, no doubt about it. The fact that the man was already old is little comfort, he's sure.
"It will be alright," he says, softly, carefully. "He is at peace now, and you will pull through. You have before and you will now."
Feliks nods once, twice, a blank, faraway look in his eyes as he pulls and bends and twists his fingers this way and that, accompanied by little pops of his joints. After a few seconds of hesitation, Kiku gently grabs his wrists and pulls them apart, and Feliks's eyes focus-but-not on his face.
"He will be remembered for centuries, I assure you, and your people will carry on his legacy, as they've done for others before," Kiku says firmly, but no less softly. Feliks stares, both Nations frozen for moments that feel like hours, but eventually, he smiles — shaky and crooked and not entirely there, but a smile nonetheless.
"I trust you." Kiku knows. Oh, he knows, after all the time he spent learning how to decrypt secret codes under Feliks’s guidance. The reminder is nice, though, spilling warmth in his chest and prickling his tongue with affection he does not say but Feliks knows about regardless. He smiles, a bit brighter than he usually allows himself, and clasps Feliks’s hands in his own.
"Show me around?"
Twenty-two years
Twenty-two years.
Objectively, it’s not that long — certainly not for a Nation, especially one as old as him. A generation of humans, yes, but what are two decades to two millennia? He’s not like the young ones, like America or Australia or other such countries, not impatient like them.
If he had known, however, that it would take this long for a chance to see Feliks again, he would’ve prolonged his last visit as much as he could, because this time, the years crawled like a fly through honey. At the very least, the past decade has been a very good distraction from everything.
Feliks stands in the open door of his apartment, leaning on the frame tiredly, staring with wet, empty eyes and a shaky smile. His skin is the same unhealthy shade he’s always seen it, draped loosely on his body to show off every bone in his scarred forearms. He’s grown out his hair, letting it spill past his chin, still looking more like straw than gold. The sleeves of his white shirt are neatly rolled up to his elbows and his pants are cuffed right above the clean, leather shoes he wears.
“Hey,” Feliks breathes, barely above a whisper and cracking in that feeling-too-many-feelings-right-now kind of way. “Good to see you again, Kiku. Thanks for helping me out even when… yeah. Thanks.”
It’s always a pleasure to work with you , he wants to say, just as he always does.
“You’re alright,” he blurts instead, his brain too slow to catch up with his mouth, and he instantly feels heat rush to his face. Feliks snorts and Kiku wants to bury his face in his hands — he doesn’t, he’s still standing in the stairway where anyone can see him, but. He wants to. He settles on averting his gaze from the other’s face.
“I wouldn’t really say I’m alright , Kiku. You’re better off than me. Fuck, Germany’s better off than me. Some sick joke, that’s what this is.” The words are said evenly, but the venom laced through every letter is unmistakable, the white-knuckled grip he has on the doorframe blatant.
"But you are here, in the end. As long as you are here, you will recover, is that not true?” Kiku tries, not quite soft and gentle because that’s not what Feliks needs or wants here, but hopefully comforting nonetheless.
His hold on the doorframe loosens with a heavy sigh and he runs his hands through his hair, slumping further into himself, eyes turning glassy and lips pressing together into a tight line.
"I'm so tired ."
And Kiku doesn't usually like physical contact, but right here, right now, he opens his arms ( he's so stiff , so awkward – ), allows Feliks to lean forward and tip into his hold, snakes his arms around him ( he's so thin–), wrings his hands into the back of his shirt, breathes in the smell of poppies and horses, and clings , the warmth in his arms so incredibly fragile but so desperately demanding to be crushed in his hold, and his mind blanks, empty save for the choking feeling that turns his thoughts to mush ( he's alive he's alivehe'salivehe'salive– ).
Feliks's bed isn't the most comfortable, but the weight on Kiku's chest as he falls asleep is reassuring in its solidity.
“You are a disgrace to the very earth you walk on,” Kiku says in a toneless, dead-serious voice as he stares at the plate Feliks is holding. Feliks cackles, his entire body shaking with mirth but somehow not dropping the ceramic in his hands. A shame, truly. The whole thing should be burned and tossed into the wind — actually, no, that would mean the air would be forever polluted with the ashes. Sent into space, then, or thrown into a volcano.
“It’s not that serious, słońce ,” Feliks wheezes, face flushed with glee. Kiku gives him a Look and waves his hand at the monstrosities neatly arranged on Feliks’s plate.
“ That is the foulest thing I’ve ever seen, Feliks,” he hisses. The blond continues gasping for air through his laughter, tears squeezing themselves out of his eyes as he finally sets the plate down on the coffee table — Kiku eyes it as if it’s about to pounce at him.
“It’s just– it’s just Polish sushi, Kiku!” Feliks manages, wiping at his face with his hands. Kiku pulls his lips into a disgusted frown, sneering at the poor excuse for edible food — pickles rolled in cream cheese and slices of meat. He shudders at just the thought of calling it sushi.
“Imagine if I had made your gołąbki sweet, or perhaps replaced your pierogi dough with rice,” he spits, shuffling as far away from the table as he could while remaining seated on Feliks’s couch.
The reaction is instantaneous — Feliks falls silent, eyes narrowing and lips pressing into a line as he eyes Kiku suspiciously.
“You wouldn't dare,” he says lowly, a warning. Kiku huffs (no, he does not pout, he never pouts ) and raises his chin in a challenge.
Feliks lunges.
Kiku yelps ( it’s not a squak, certainly not ) and braces himself on the couch’s armrest. Feliks climbs over the other side of the couch and crawls over Kiku to hang above him, effectively trapping him— Feliks is not much taller than him, and not much stronger either, but he has his trapping technique down to an art, pinning Kiku’s wrists above his head and digging his knees into Kiku’s thighs in a way that doesn’t allow him to struggle much. Kiku glares into the blond’s face, into the scowl twisting it.
They last about ten seconds before they burst into laughter — Feliks’s is loud, shaking his entire body and forcing him to drop his head into his chest, while Kiku’s is more controlled, reverberating in his chest but not much anywhere else — and Feliks loosens his steel grip on Kiku’s hands, dropping his body to lay on him, sharp chin digging into his chest as he trembles with his amusement. His hair, chin-length these days, spills over Kiku’s black shirt like liquid gold, shining in the sunlight that catches on it. His face is still sharp in some places, but less so in malnourishment and more so in that simply being the shape of his face, even when his cheeks are rounded with health. Green eyes find his own and they’re bright and sparkling and it’s– nice , to see Feliks when he’s not completely beaten down by everything around him, when he gets to laugh and annoy without anything hanging right over his neck.
“If I have to see those monstrosities ever again, I will force you to pay me back for all those times I helped you when I had no obligation to.”
Feliks slams his chin into his sternum.