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Nature, huh.
Well, he did like nature and not only for the profits it offered or the tulips it shaped. After all, everything came from it, even people and, by extent, nations.
He also liked poetry as any cultured man, but the rules of this new form of poetry were a bit puzzling to him, especially when it had to be done in what wasn't his mother tongue.
Kiku stared at him with his lips curled up in a subtle smile, probably amused. That only made him feel even more frustrated.
“Ran-san,” Kiku said. He was sitting in that kneeling position unique to his people while the Dutch imitated him, though of course he didn't have half the grace when doing so. “Thinking about it too much is not good. It has to be spontaneous.”
“I know that.”
But to ask him to just come up with a short haiku out of nowhere was too much! The paper before him was still as white as the clouds outside.
It was only them in that Japanese style room. The sliding door was open and it allowed the fresh breeze of spring in, bringing with it some leaves it carried. It was a lovely day that they were spending indoors, with only each other's company that despite being pleasant still held some tension, courtesy of both their prides and the competitive nature they shared.
This was their relationship most of the time. Kiku would ask something quite troubling with that collected poise of his and he would enjoy seeing the Dutch maneuver his way across the request. Even if his expressions barely changed, he was now an expert at reading the personification of Japan and thus, he knew most of the time he was just teasing him. However, whether it was out of pride or a genuine desire to please Kiku, he would still try to fulfill his wishes, but this was a request much more strange.
God —or whatever god that was listening— knew cultural exchange was something very important for a nation, and one done without the threat of war or conquest was without a doubt much more personal, so the possibility of it being an indirect way to exchange cultures was not completely out of the table. He knew the Japanese were all about subtleties and the thought this was just Kiku being shy or maybe even immature managed to make the blond smirk for a moment.
“What is it?” Kiku asked when he noticed, because of course he did.
“Nothing. I'm just thinking you can be quite childish.”
Of course, this offended Kiku greatly, whose hands that rested on his laps clenched into fists. His posture was upright and perfect, just as everything else about him.
“I am not.”
“If you say so.”
“I'm being serious!”
It was a back and forth that ended with both of them smiling, though Kiku tried to seem offended still. None of them ever yielded completely, even when the blond had already pledged his loyalty to the land of the rising sun. He could never, despite how deep his love ran— it wasn't in his nature as a nation.
And yet, this compromise he found was enough to fill his heart with ease. He could see a similar soul, hold it in his hands and treasure it.
A soul that was proud and unyielding.
Even if bowing his head was seen as pathetic by some, they both knew it wasn't as simple as that.
He could be by his side still, unlike all those who tried before him and those who would follow.
And at that moment, the breeze hit him like it did for all those poets from Japan. Inspiration struck and the ink followed, its movements on the paper being observed closely by Kiku, whose breath hitched and cheeks reddened once he read the carefully written characters in it.
“The sun is rising
With hair the color of night.
I bow down to him”
Even centuries later, that single piece of paper remained intact, hidden among so many other memories and treasures and containing words that were still beating blood into both of their hearts, even if they were more than a continent away.