[Fanfic, Multi-Chap] The Distance in Between, Chapter 1
Series: Hetalia Axis Powers
Title: The Distance in Between
Chapter: One - When Spain went to this Island (or Group of Islands)
Characters: OC!Philippines, Spain
Summary: A country in love.
Rating: G
Warning/s: Nothing yet. 8D Though later on, there'd probably be
Note/s: It's more like a ficlet series, really. But, like, with stories that totally connect with each other!
Countries have the capacity to love a thousand loves and to never tire of it, but there will always be one who will touch their hearts in a way no one else will ever be able to do.
There was a little broken country who knew of this.
She had many names, but she found that none of them tugged at her heart. This is not who I am, she would tell herself with a frown upon her brow and a sigh on her lips. There would be doubt nestling deep in her heart. Nonetheless, those were her names and those were what other countries called her. A name was not what made a person, and it was likewise with countries who were born without no one to name them.
Names were humanly conveniences.
Though deep in her heart, this little broken country fervently wished to find her name amidst the sea of words that constantly surrounded her.
So she waited. She waited and waited and waited. For what or whom, even she did not know. Time passed and many things remained as they were.
Then she heard news of ships docking in the middle of her fair lands. She put her hand on her bosom and closed her eyes. She inhaled. She opened her eyes again, only to find herself squinting at the sun and thinking that the sky seemed all the more bluer.
She ran.
Her bare feet felt the firm ground below her. Her hair was blown to and fro by the winds swirling around her. Her arms would brush every now and then her soft and light dress. Her eyes saw nothing but blurs of blue and white and yellow and red.
From her mouth spilled pants and gasps. From her heart came an indescribable feeling that she could not easily shake.
She was wanted somewhere, she knew. Someone . . .
The song of the birds was loud and sweet. The trees were murmuring words that only she could understand.
She skidded to a halt, but she could not stop the pull of fate so easily. She stumbled and tripped. She closed her eyes as a reflex. She put her arms in front of her. She waited for the ground which would never meet her.
She fell.
She opened her eyes and saw a most peculiar color. She saw green.
"You don't look like Indonesia," the man who was sprawled beneath her said slowly.
She shook her head. No, she was not Indonesia. She stood up and she helped him get up. He stroked his chin and looked at her with something akin to a question in his gaze. She slightly fidgeted under his scrutiny, but she continued to look back at him. Soon, he nodded and smiled at her. Her breath got caught in her throat and she looked at the man with awe in her eyes.
"I think you will do just as good," he told her.
She tilted her head, wondering about the words that he said. He merely grinned and tousled her windswept hair with his large, tanned hand. She felt the warmth from the tips of his fingers spread to her head and then to the rest of her body. She thought he was some sort of engkanto, or perhaps some great deity.
"I am España. Who are you?"
She continued to stare at him. Her mouth would not open, nor would her eyes stray from his visage. He, too, began to mimic her staring. He was the one who broke the silence between the two of them by asking, "Do you have a name?", with an understanding smile on his face. Spain, as she would soon learn, was not the brightest person out there and he was not as observant for someone his age, but he would always pull through somehow.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. "Would you . . ." she started. She paused. She bit her lower lip. "Have a name hanging around you? Maybe it's mine."
His laughter, she found out, was like a shallow little brook. The simple sort of brook that no one really noticed, but when they did, they liked hanging around this brook and they liked making memories around this brook. It was a friendly kind of water and she should know a lot about water.
And she liked shallow little brooks.
"But I can't find your name if you can't find it yourself," he said, suddenly sobered from his laughter.
"I don't know where to start finding it," she said and she found herself clutching to his odd shirt tighter.
"Come, let's stand up." His eyes twinkled and she remembered the way grass would look in the morning when dew still clung to its leaves. "I can't find your name, but I don't think there's anything stopping me from helping you find it."
She stood up and rightfully blushed after noticing that she had been rather impolite. She offered her hand, as if to make up for her apparent transgression, even more so since the two of them were strangers to each other. He looked at her hand then looked at her eyes, staring at something that was far beyond her comprehension, at something that probably only he could see. He raised his arm and grasped her hand firmly.
She felt as if they had known each other for so long.
He pulled himself up and it felt as if, even though she was already standing up, he pulled her up with him and showed her that she was already on the verge of growing up.
>>
Title: The Distance in Between
Chapter: One - When Spain went to this Island (or Group of Islands)
Characters: OC!Philippines, Spain
Summary: A country in love.
Rating: G
Warning/s: Nothing yet. 8D Though later on, there'd probably be
Note/s: It's more like a ficlet series, really. But, like, with stories that totally connect with each other!
Countries have the capacity to love a thousand loves and to never tire of it, but there will always be one who will touch their hearts in a way no one else will ever be able to do.
There was a little broken country who knew of this.
She had many names, but she found that none of them tugged at her heart. This is not who I am, she would tell herself with a frown upon her brow and a sigh on her lips. There would be doubt nestling deep in her heart. Nonetheless, those were her names and those were what other countries called her. A name was not what made a person, and it was likewise with countries who were born without no one to name them.
Names were humanly conveniences.
Though deep in her heart, this little broken country fervently wished to find her name amidst the sea of words that constantly surrounded her.
So she waited. She waited and waited and waited. For what or whom, even she did not know. Time passed and many things remained as they were.
Then she heard news of ships docking in the middle of her fair lands. She put her hand on her bosom and closed her eyes. She inhaled. She opened her eyes again, only to find herself squinting at the sun and thinking that the sky seemed all the more bluer.
She ran.
Her bare feet felt the firm ground below her. Her hair was blown to and fro by the winds swirling around her. Her arms would brush every now and then her soft and light dress. Her eyes saw nothing but blurs of blue and white and yellow and red.
From her mouth spilled pants and gasps. From her heart came an indescribable feeling that she could not easily shake.
She was wanted somewhere, she knew. Someone . . .
The song of the birds was loud and sweet. The trees were murmuring words that only she could understand.
She skidded to a halt, but she could not stop the pull of fate so easily. She stumbled and tripped. She closed her eyes as a reflex. She put her arms in front of her. She waited for the ground which would never meet her.
She fell.
She opened her eyes and saw a most peculiar color. She saw green.
"You don't look like Indonesia," the man who was sprawled beneath her said slowly.
She shook her head. No, she was not Indonesia. She stood up and she helped him get up. He stroked his chin and looked at her with something akin to a question in his gaze. She slightly fidgeted under his scrutiny, but she continued to look back at him. Soon, he nodded and smiled at her. Her breath got caught in her throat and she looked at the man with awe in her eyes.
"I think you will do just as good," he told her.
She tilted her head, wondering about the words that he said. He merely grinned and tousled her windswept hair with his large, tanned hand. She felt the warmth from the tips of his fingers spread to her head and then to the rest of her body. She thought he was some sort of engkanto, or perhaps some great deity.
"I am España. Who are you?"
She continued to stare at him. Her mouth would not open, nor would her eyes stray from his visage. He, too, began to mimic her staring. He was the one who broke the silence between the two of them by asking, "Do you have a name?", with an understanding smile on his face. Spain, as she would soon learn, was not the brightest person out there and he was not as observant for someone his age, but he would always pull through somehow.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. "Would you . . ." she started. She paused. She bit her lower lip. "Have a name hanging around you? Maybe it's mine."
His laughter, she found out, was like a shallow little brook. The simple sort of brook that no one really noticed, but when they did, they liked hanging around this brook and they liked making memories around this brook. It was a friendly kind of water and she should know a lot about water.
And she liked shallow little brooks.
"But I can't find your name if you can't find it yourself," he said, suddenly sobered from his laughter.
"I don't know where to start finding it," she said and she found herself clutching to his odd shirt tighter.
"Come, let's stand up." His eyes twinkled and she remembered the way grass would look in the morning when dew still clung to its leaves. "I can't find your name, but I don't think there's anything stopping me from helping you find it."
She stood up and rightfully blushed after noticing that she had been rather impolite. She offered her hand, as if to make up for her apparent transgression, even more so since the two of them were strangers to each other. He looked at her hand then looked at her eyes, staring at something that was far beyond her comprehension, at something that probably only he could see. He raised his arm and grasped her hand firmly.
She felt as if they had known each other for so long.
He pulled himself up and it felt as if, even though she was already standing up, he pulled her up with him and showed her that she was already on the verge of growing up.
>>