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Belgium always loved world meetings.
They very often took place at her home—which she was eager to show off. She was a social butterfly, constantly talking to people and trying to meet new ones. It’s one of the main reasons she learned so many languages in the first place. And luckily, her appreciation was often shared. People enjoyed talking to her and being in her company and not to mention the endless praise she received over her home and art.
Yet— there was an itch that hasn’t quite been scratched. One person she couldn’t quite lay a finger on. Always around her, yet not a word exchanged that wasn’t professional. After every meeting, she immediately left, leaving Belgium shocked in her presence. She shouldn’t care so much about a woman who sneaks knives into meetings. But something about her was so different, so interesting. Why would a woman like her even want to talk to a girl like her? Yet, it still left a queasy feeling in her stomach.
To put it lightly, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Rejection. Even as sickening the word sounded— there must be a worse one to encapsulate how she was feeling. Her eyes scanned the endless pages of Belarusian for a word that better describes the endless rage she felt.
адкінуты. занядбаны. бязлюдны. пакіну-
Belarus settled down next to Belgium; not even looking back at her besides a quick unreadable glance at what she was reading. Belgium let out a sharp huff and sat up straight, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Belarus didn’t react, though Belgium swore she saw a small flinch when she heard the sound. Her eyes looked directly forward. Was she avoiding her?
The silence was suffocating. Belgium fidgeted endlessly. She looked to the white haired girl to her left. Her hair was neat and flawless, a perfect pale blonde. Her skin was soft, as though it was snowed over. Her eyes were a brilliant purple— similar to her brother’s—filled with a sort of unreadable emotion. Like undiscovered history. God, did she have to look like such an angel? Belgium could take it anymore. She leaned back in her seat with her eyes facing the ceiling. Her face contorted in annoyance.
“You know, this is the fiftieth time they’ve sat us in alphabetical order.” She blurted clumsily. A bit less snappy than she was hoping to come off.
“Yes.” Belarus replied simply, tucking a few pin straight strands of hair behind her ear with delicate fingers. Belgium forced herself to look away from the pale girls hand.
“We’re always together. Bel and the ‘scary one’,” the light brunette remarked, a small chuckle making her way into her voice.
The smallest twitch of Belarus’ lips. The smallest victory for Belgium. She savored it.
“Yes.” Belarus murmured.
“Yet, you never talk first. Not even once!”
Belarus didn’t look back, but her eyes briefly wandered towards Belgium before she quickly turned away. A few loose strands of hair curtaining her expression much to Belgium’s dissatisfaction (which, she told herself was out of dislike for the woman and nothing else.)
“Yes.” Belarus eventually replied. A small quaver in her voice. It left a soft ache in Belgium’s heart. She decided to drop the topic.
“You sneaked a knife past the metal detector again.” Belgium noted. Belarus didn’t look amused— though, when does she ever?
“Yes.”
“Caught every time,” Belgium purred in a sing-song voice. Leaning forward onto the long table in-front of them. She narrowed her eyes in amusement. “I do admire the dedication, though.” She murmured to herself, Belarus gave her an unreadable glance, but the tips of her ears were charmingly pink. She cleared her throat in response, and Belgium couldn’t help but laugh at her shyness.
They took a brief break from talking as the latecomers began to flood in, Belgium eagerly greeting them before they sat down seats away from her. Despite being surrounded by a sea of people, she still felt as though this meeting was just between her and Belarus. She looked down at Belarus. Was it possible she felt the same? Did she also yearn to be closer? Did she also hyper analyze Belgium— thinking of some way to talk to her or approach her? Did she want to run her fingers through Belgium’s own short hair? Did she want her too?
No. What was Belgium thinking? She simply wanted to be friends with her. Nothing more. And Belarus clearly didn’t want anything to do with her at-
“You changed your bow.” Belarus said pointedly, her voice masked in a thick fog of mystery. Belgium snapped her head towards the other girl, at a loss for words. She opened her mouth and let out a small strangled sound. Belarus looked directly at her with saint-like patience. What a woman.
“U-uh I guess I did. Uh oh right! I did actually. Uhm, it’s from Bruges.” Belgium rattled, fiddling with the hem of the ribbon. Slightly rough against her fingertips. She imagined how they felt in comparison to Belarus’ soft and delicate hands. Not that it mattered to her. “The lace was handmade.”
Belarus nodded, her eyes half lidded and just visible from her thick snow colored eyelashes, like lilies of the valley. She let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “Sounds nice. Never been to Bruges.”
Belgiums enthusiasm quickly returned, her eyes widened with shock. She subconsciously reached out and grabbed Belarus’ hands in hers, turning her in her seat till she was facing her. Belarus stared down at the new contact, biting her lip. Belgium didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve been here almost 50 times, and you haven’t even gone to Bruges? Let me guess, you haven’t even left Brussels?” Belgium teased, Belarus turned her gaze down and gave a small shrug.
“After this meeting, you’re free right? You have to come to Bruges. I’ll take you!” Belgium exclaimed. Usually the commotion that she was making would be immediately silenced, but a fight between Germany and Britain over a mistranslation broke out, allowing everyone around them to be blissfully unaware. Belarus looked up, a light pink dusting her cheeks like a cloud in a sunset.
“…I’m afraid it’s not possible. It’s much safer to stay home with my brother. And I’m afraid it’s a little unprofessional to…” Belarus cleared her throat and placed her hands in her lap. Belgium tilted her head confused, the rest of the conference arguing about invisible idiots. Her hands felt oddly empty without the cold skin in between them.
“To what?” Belgium inquired, Belarus played with a few strands of her hair. Her gaze fixed on the ground.
“To..go out with a coworker. Per se…” Belarus murmurs, placing her gaze back up to Belgium. This time, there was visible embarrassment on her face , her brow furrowed as if saying the idea caused her physical pain.
Belgium immediately felt a heat creeping into her cheeks, she let out a stiff laugh before steadying herself, trying to collect her thoughts. A date. With Belarus. Was she even interested in girls? Belgium had known about her bisexuality for a long time, as long as there’s been a word for it. Though, despite that, she’s never found the right person. No one quite tickled her fancy as more than a friend. Something beyond platonic.
But when she thought about Belarus—the other Bel— she yearned to be closer. She wouldn’t feel satisfied simply being friends with her. But they certainly weren’t enemies. Oh no, her life would be far more unbearable if they were enemies. She couldn’t imagine living a life without that thick Slavic accent.
And thus, Belgium came to a shocking realization. She was certainly in love with Belarus. No, she was infatuated with that woman. But, here she sits, turned down like a teenage girl. And she didn’t know how to feel. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she didn’t look back at Belarus.
When the meeting was finally dismissed, Belgium rushed out to the exit , doors opening to a gray overcast afternoon. The churning clouds only reminded her of Belarus further. There was a damp feeling in the air as her eyes bordered tears.
She walked out to the city center, not even bothering to greet store owners she knew as she passed by. What was her problem? A small rejection shouldn’t be affecting her so much. Shes gone through so much worse, but why does it feel like this time she might never recover?
Belgium paused at a fountain. It was relatively healthy due to the threat of rain that lingered in the air. The chatter was distant and long forgotten , and Belgium was left in silence. Behind her, a quiet presence.
“It’s a gorgeous place.” A voice murmured. Belgiums ears heated up in shock as she heard the thick Slavic accent. Sure enough, her gaze fell upon Belarus. Standing neatly and admiring the cities architecture.
“..ah.. you really think?” Belgium replied, her gaze suddenly unable to move from the blonde, a stream of light gracing her face. She looked like a Greek sculpture, a French art piece. Belgium almost reached out a hand to check if she was a real, living human and not an angel on earth.
“Yes. I do.” She replied, her voice as soft as the pattering water before them. “I’d appreciate it if you showed me around.”
Belgium paused, turning to Belarus with wide eyes. Yep, this definitely wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Or at least she wasn’t implying what Belgium thought she was. Hoped she was, to phrase it better. Belarus looked towards Belgium, a rare smile on her face. It was sweet and warm, like a field of flowers or the first rays of spring sunshine.
“Belarus.. you’re serious..?” Belgium asked breathlessly, clutching at her necklace. Her pearl beads slipped coolly under her fingertips, leaving her alone in this situation. Belarus nodded, taking a small step forward, her blonde hair followed behind her. And suddenly, Belgium is entranced. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and suddenly her pearls became suffocatingly tight.
“Alright.. tomorrow. It’ll be a sunny day.. and I-I’ll give you a full tour or Belgium. Anything you want to see.” She promised her eyes filled with warm hazel fire. Belarus looked down at her, but her usual icy gaze was soft around the corners. Like a cool, sparkling oasis in a desert.
Belarus nodded, tucking away a few strands of her hair before leaning in, their faces only millimeters apart. Their conflicting energy stormed between them.
“Alright then. It’s a date.” Belarus announced before turning on her heel and marching away. Leaving a trail of light in her wake.
It’s a date. All she said. 3 simple words, yet they healed Belgium better than any medicine. They melted on her tongue like nectar, feeding an aching hunger she never realized she had. Belgium let out a pleased sigh and skipped away.
And as she trotted home, she couldn’t help but look at the sky, the clouds parted to reveal a bright afternoon sun.
But she didn’t care. In her heart she knew she was ready to bear the winter.