Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED

Feb 26, 2011 13:32



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Rainy Night (3a/?) anonymous October 20 2009, 00:50:18 UTC
Cuba rambled on about the weather as he led Canada into the house by one frozen hand. Canada was still persistently quiet, though Cuba observed with some optimism that he didn’t seem to be crying anymore.

“Anyway,” he continued, forcing his tone to stay casual as he shut the door behind them and starting tugging off his sodden jacket and boots, “you probably picked the worst time of year to show up. Months of sunny days and you pick the perfect day to give you pneumonia.”

“Sorry,” Canada mumbled, struggling with his soaked sneakers.

“Hey, what did I say about that?” Cuba knelt and started pulling off the shoes and sneakers himself. “I’m not mad.” When Canada’s feet were bare, Cuba got back to his feet and grabbed one of the other country’s hands. “Come on,” he said in a voice of forced cheerfulness, tugging Canada into his sitting room.

He sat Canada down on the most comfortable couch he had, and then leaned over to gently brush wet hair away from his forehead.

“You stay here, amigo. I’ll go get you some dry clothes.”

Canada nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“De nada.” Cuba gave Canada’s shoulder one last comforting squeeze, then hurried upstairs to his bedroom. He spent a few minutes rifling through his dresser until he came up with a sweater and pair of jeans that he thought might be small enough to even slightly fit the other county.

He grabbed a towel from the bathroom as well, then went into kitchen and poured another cup of coffee for Canada, before walking back into the living room.

Canada was still sitting on the couch in the same position that Cuba had left him, looking around the room awkwardly, as if he hadn’t been here before as an invited guess many times. He was shivering, his arms curled over his chest, water dripping down his forehead and over his nose. The poor thing looked like a drowned cat, Cuba thought.

He looked up as Cuba entered and gave him a weak smile. “Hello,” he said, voice still weak, but more collected than before.

“Hola, querido” Cuba said, putting the mug of coffee down on the table. He sat down next to the other country and picked up the towel. “Close your eyes.”

“You don’t-” Canada began to protest, but Cuba managed to get the towel over his head and start scrubbing before he could finish ‘-need to.’

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