Countryhumans Oneshots :D

Germany x Poland

[A/N: Number two, also requested by me! I got my first request and that'll probably be the next fill in the coming week! :D]

~ Poland's POV ~

My eyes are glued to the window as heavy clouds, after spending several days idling over the skyline, break open: it's raining in Paris. Sheets of water advance through the city until they reach me, filling the air with the deafening sound of a pour. Paris has had this rainstorm forecasted for days, the pressure and expectancy growing each night until the air felt like water and everyone brought outdoor displays into the safety of their shoppes. Finally seeing the world washed in muted blues and greys releases some tension from my shoulders, and the peaceful scene relaxes me.

The City of Light is beautiful. I love the colours and the activities and the people. But sometimes ... sometimes there just needs to be a moment of quiet. Time for oneself. Storms are perfect for this: I feel isolated and surrounded all at once, swept up in the majesty of raw power. The water falling down in torrents curtains me away from the world, wraps me up and hugs me, presses down in comfort.

My fingers idly brush along my wrist as I focus on the mosaics in the heavens. I watch, gaze intent, as different versions of clouds slip across the sky. Some are a deep, brooding navy, rolling along slowly like French infantry tanks. Others are thinner, lighter and almost sheer like a lace etola. These ones layer upon each other, tier after tier, company after company, until there are no distinct areas of colour - everything bleeds into everything else, and there are no actual shapes - everything twists and morphs and contorts in the winds. It's breathtaking.

The room Germany reserved is perfect for this idle pastime: it has a window seat in the space left by a baseboard-to-ceiling bay window. No matter where I sprawl out, there's a perfect view of the city and the sky laid out before me. Not only that, but these cushions are unbelievably comfortable, and I should really ask the owners where they got them so I can find some for our couch -

Suddenly, an explosion rolls through me as a pale blue branch of lightning latches onto the tip of the Eiffel. An afterimage hovers just beyond my reach as my wings settle down and fold themselves neatly. The first strike always alarms me the most, and my wings often flare out unbidden. Fortunately, as a storm continues on, I'll show less and less alarm, more and more awe. Germany always says my wings give away more than my face (which is hardly a comparison because appearing unaffected is my speciality), and I've been working on it (because any weakness is a critical one), but the first strike always pries a reaction from me.

I lean closer to the cool glass now, eager for the next brilliant flash. Placing a palm on the smooth panes, I shift forwards and gaze up, up, up, into the heart of the clouds. Everyone finds it strange that I enjoy storms so much. Don't they make you sad? Or anxious? Don't they remind you of the wars, the bombings?

They do. My breath fogs on the chilly windows. They do, but I'm not rooted in the past. Yes, it's a part of me. And it is significant. But it doesn't get to dictate what I can enjoy, who I can enjoy. That's been my paradigm for life since the 18th century. Lightning is raw and powerful and majestic, but it isn't malevolent, isn't sentient. I can sit here, on this cushion, and enjoy the way the explosions roll through me, jostling my atoms and stirring my feathers. Storms remind me that there's always something bigger, more important out there than the worries of everyday life. The torrents and the lightning make me seem vulnerable and invincible all at once, while the thunder ... the thunder resonates through everything and connects me to the world. Not just my neighbours, not just my people. The world.

My wings suddenly twitch, reacting to the change in airflow behind me. I force myself to relax, mentally smoothing down my feathers - it's probably Germany. His soft footsteps are masked by the constant assault of raindrops, and even though I know he's behind me, I have to suppress the urge to jump when he speaks.