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World meetings were always troublesome. It had been the state of affairs since the beginning of this weird concept. Every time it was argument upon argument until recess begun. And once recess has ended, there would be even more arguments to be had. The chaos allowed for one of his favourite activities though and one of two reasons he still came to the meetings.
Today was one of those world meetings and today was also one of those days where Portugal would turn around to regard the table a few rows behind him. The very table at which England sat, brewing his tea to calm down from the meeting.
How long had it been since he had met the other man? Since he had met England? Almost 700 years, right? Portugal didn’t know anymore but he knew that they had the longest alliance out of all existing nations.
In those 700 years, much had changed. The young boy Portugal had met at the signing had become a formidable man who had conquered the seven seas and settled for nothing less than the world. He had risen against injustice and sacrificed everything just so the world could prevail. And maybe, just maybe Portugal had realised he liked the other nation a little more than he should.
Suddenly a shadow fell over him. He looked up and his eyes went wide as he came eye to eye with Russia. “Rússia!” He jumped.
He had never interacted much with the other nation– they were just never interested in the same things– yet the frosty nation gave him a smile. “Let us get lunch, da?”
Portugal could only nod in his shock, suddenly being pulled up by the stronger nation and dragged off somewhere. He could only grab his bag on the way out. “W-where are we going, Rússia?”
“Somewhere else, Portugaliya.” Russia just smiled as he guided him up the stairs towards the booths. “How are you?”
“I-I’m fine.” If Portugal had been confused before, then he was even more confused about this sudden interaction. He swallowed heavily. Was Russia going to kill him? “What about you?”
“I’m very fine.” Russia smiled as he walked out onto the booth, giving them an easy look at the UN floor. It allowed them an even better look at England. Delicately the giant untangled a box from a piece of cloth, he popped open the box. “Pelmeni?”
“No thank you. I just had some food earlier.” Portugal smiled softly.
“It was not a question.” One of the dumplings was placed into his hands whereas Russia started another.
Portugal sighed as sat down on one of the seats, taking a delicate bite from his dumpling. England had by now started his minute of reading while he waited for the leaves to seep. He just knew there was a well-crafted pocket watch laying on the table next to him.
England always did everything to a T. Everything needed to be perfect, especially his tea, otherwise, it was not considered up to his standards. He had those incredibly high standards that no being ever seemed capable of reaching.
“What do you think of Angliya, Portugaliya?” Russia took a delicate bite. His eyes shifted to look at him curiously.
Portugal flinched before smiling. “What should I think about Inglaterra? He is my best friend.” And truth be told, he was his best friend. They had the longest alliance.
“Your best friend, da?” Russia took another bite, this time harder than before. “I would consider Angliya a friend too.”
“You do?” Portugal raised a brow. “Damn, Rússia.”
“Well, it’s true.” His smile was gentle as he reminisced. Russia seemed suspiciously lovely. “I met Angliya in the 16th century while he was still under Elizabeth, da? The first that is.” He chuckled. “He was already glorious back then!”
“I met Inglaterra in 1386. In time for the signing of the Treaty of Westminster,” Portugal shared his story before searching around his bag to find his lunch. “What did you meet him for? I imagine travelling from St Petersburg to London would have been a struggle in the 16th century.” All travel had been a struggle.
“My tsar was seeking a marriage to Angliya’s queen.” Russia chuckled. “None of us could have known that his queen had been wed already.”
Portugal could never imagine a marriage between Queen Elizabeth and Ivan the Terrible. Though he knew what Russia meant. It had long stopped being a secret that England had married his queen– as the only nation ever. “I see.” He cracked open the box and held it up. “Rissóis de Camarão?”
“Da.” Russia picked up one of the fried snacks with a smile. “Spasibo, Portugaliya.”
“Nah it’s nothing.” Portugal grabbed one for himself. “Hope you like them. It’s shrimp in them and not really red meat like your Pelmeni.”
“Sometimes eating more than red meat is better.” The other nation bit off the Rissóis. “I like them.”
“Right? They are so good.” Portugal grinned as he started eating too. “What’d you pull me up here for, Rússia?”
Russia took his delicate time eating, not bothering to answer the question. He only did as he had finally swallowed all of it. “You like Arthur.”
Giant question marks appeared before his eyes. “O sim I like Arthur. He is my best friend.” He frowned. “He allows you to call him Arthur?”
“Many people do call him by his human name. He knows too many people not to be called by such a lovely name. But no, Portugaliya.” He was still smiling and when Portugal followed his eyes, he could see that he was watching England. “You like him more than you would love a friend.”
Portugal’s cheeks dusted red, tinting his sun-kissed skin. “What? No! Of course, I don’t love Arthur! He is just my best friend, what are you talking about?” He laughed, trying to keep his nervousness down. This could become blackmail material. “I just believe that he is… better than some other nations.”
Russia giggled– he giggled! “Your secret is safe with me, Portugaliya.” He snickered behind a hand, stuffing his mouth with another Pelmeni to hide it.
For a few stunted seconds, he just looked at the Russian before his eyes wandered back to England. He had just finished waiting and was now pouring himself a cup of tea. It was probably Ceylon– he tended to get into that mood upon a bad world meeting. He swallowed hard once more while England brought the cup to his lips. “How do you know I love him?”
“Because I recognise that look on your face… I see it in the mirror every day.”
He had never whipped his head back as fast as he did just now. Russia was wearing an expression that seemed almost longing. It was in no way similar to the playful innocence he used to wear, nor was it similar to the silent rage on his face whenever America spoke. He was wearing an expression that said the exact same thing he felt for England.
“You love Arthur.”
Those words were so simple and yet they held meaning for the both of them. Russia just smiled. “You can always admire a man who grew an empire out of a tiny island but you learn to love a man who never wavers, even as he plays chess with some of the strongest superpowers while being just an island nation.” He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I truly started liking Arthur in the last decade when he chose to be a hierophant despite his diminishing powers.”
“So you like him because he rebelled?” Portugal raised a brow.
“I like him because he is stubborn and because he knows his worth.” Russia smiled. “And he visited me frequently to try and bug me! That was funny too.”
Portugal decided that this was not worth thinking about. “I see.” He had never expected Russia out of all people to find a liking in England. He would have expected that from Spain or France but Russia didn’t even have that many interactions with the other nation.
“What about you, Portugaliya?” Russia asked. “When did you figure out you loved Arthur?”
If they had talked about anyone else, Portugal would have bullshitted some random date and some reason. Yet for some reason, he could not say the same about England. “18th century. Arthur helped me defeat my cousin in 1762.” He exhaled. “Though I suspect I’ve liked him since the Portuguese Restoration War in the 17th century.”
“You like him too for his stubbornness, da?” Russia asked.
“Rather for his mind.” Portugal laughed. “Arthur is incredibly smart if he wants to be. He fought on my side in both wars. Strategic mastermind.”
“That’s Arthur for you.” Russia closed his eyes, resting his head on his shoulder.
A minute passed in which Portugal continued watching England go through his usual motions. At the end of the minute, he turned to address Russia and ask him whether he was alright when the giant suddenly spoke again–
“As the children would say, we have really fumbled the bag with Arthur.”
Portugal snorted. “What makes you say that?”
As if summoned, the door to the general assembly hall opened once more and America strolled in. It was obvious that his entire mood had lightened up upon seeing England by the way he was bouncing up the steps. Loud voices could be heard, one yelling and another greeting.
“He has always had this soft spot for Amerika.” Russia chuckled, even as his eyes poorly concealed the hurt in his eyes. “We shouldn’t have been so surprised when they announced their wedding to us.”
His eyes were focused on the couple on the floor, bickering as England poured another cup for America. “We shouldn’t have been.”
Yet he remembered how hurt he had been at the world meeting seven years ago as America and England announced their intentions to marry after having been engaged for almost a whole century. He remembered clearly how his heart had sunken and he remembered how dearly he had wanted to just hold England in his arms the same way the American had wrapped an arm around his waist. It had been horrible.
He still carried hurt whenever he thought about his own love and admiration for the island nation. “We had so much time before America. He only knew England for 400 years.”
“We should have really acted during the years we started liking Arthur,” Russia mused. “Even though I guess I would have been too late anyway. I could have spoken to him earlier during the 19th century.”
“And I really should have spoken to him in the 17th century.” Portugal sighed. “But we learn from our mistakes. I will never let a chance pass like that again.”
“If you learn to move on from Arthur.” Russia chuckled. “His constant stubborn mindset is so funny to me, I don’t know how I will move on from this.”
In all his career as an embodiment, he never thought he would be able to relate with Russia that much. They were so different in everything that Portugal would have never expected it, yet his words held so much truth, even for him. “I guess we will forever be second place to América.” He sighed as he got up once he realised recess was about to end. “Let’s return to the floor, Ivan.”
Russia quirked up an eyebrow in surprise. Human names were reserved for friends among nations. Then he smiled. “Yes. Let us return to the floor, João.” He wrapped his box back into the cloth. “I don’t think I could stand watching Amerika and Arthur kiss for much longer.”
Portugal turned to look down once more, catching America in the act of pressing kisses against England’s face, likely in an attempt to tempt him into giving him the biscuits. He turned away and walked towards the exit. “Trust me, Ivan, me neither.”
Russia smiled and followed.