#devintriniad

As was par for the course, when children were cooped together for long periods of time, negative interactions were more than likely to happen. Some of the older wards liked to bully the newcomers and the young. Some of the younger children liked to manipulate their peers. And most would turn a blind eye when a playground fight escalated into horrific displays of violence. The poor aides at Wammy’s were so overworked and fed up with the children’s antics, that they were often rendered inefficient.

You have had your fair share of bullying and getting bullied, but that didn’t mean that you would intentionally act out in ill will. Often, your acting out was usually because you were forced to do so; there was only so much patience one had before it would begin to wear thin.

But this was Near.

And Near wasn’t a target for ill will. Usually.

Mello would say otherwise, but many of your peers and yourself would say that out of everyone, Near was not a target to be manipulated, exploited, or targeted. He was far too high up the chain: an apex predator in an environment filled with other worthy opponents.

And, as much as possible, you tried not to interact with the number one candidate for succession as much as possible.

Was it out of fear?

Perhaps, but it was more out of the knowledge that you could never measure up to him. As the top candidate with only one member vying for his spot, socializing with him was akin to trying to talk to a star: far out of reach and impossible.

Plus, it was also out of a sense of self-preservation. Mello was mercurial on the best of days. If he found out that you weren’t avoiding Near or was actively getting involved into their rivalry… Well, you feared for the worst.

However, here was the thing: Near came to you.

You weren’t sure when it started, but all of a sudden, he began attaching himself to you at every given opportunity. It didn’t matter if you were seated at one of the tables in the library, sneaking into the kitchens, or hiding away in one of the classrooms, Near always found a way to get a hold of you.

At first, you didn’t know what to think. What was he doing, following you around? The first few times he had begun tagging around you, the thought of Mello chasing and harassing the both of you came to mind. Near, you could handle, but that spitfire of a boy? Not at all! You tried to shake him off, but that enabled him to continue hanging out with you more and more often.

Miraculously, Mello didn’t care too much about his rival hanging out with you. In fact, other than a few snide comments on how Near was socializing for once with the “normal kids”, he had taken to stalking the halls and staking his claim over the best table in the library. You had thought that Mello would take you aside and probably threaten you, but you supposed that you weren’t important enough to warrant his attention.

Really, the main problem in this situation was none other than Near.

You didn’t mind his presence, per se, but you could not deny that it was unsettling. His eyes were a deep brown that bordered on black when contrasted with his pale, gaunt features. He looked frail, breakable in comparison to most, including you. His body was bony, all angles and lacking the softness that came with youth.

If you were to touch him, you thought, the both of you would end up getting hurt.

Children, for the most part, were social creatures. As such, you had your own circle of friends you trusted and a few other children you considered amiable acquaintances. With the addition of Near into your life, you quickly found that no one wanted to be with you.

It wasn’t personal. Again, it was that self-preservation instinct. Even if Mello didn’t care about you, he would definitely start getting vicious if he discovered that his arch nemesis was becoming more popular than him.

(Not like the top two students were popular, only notorious in name).

And because of that, you found yourself isolated.

Except for Near, that is.

You had thought that maybe Near was trying to avoid Mello. Over the past few years, the blond had been steadily ramping up his antagonism from petty insults to outright physical violence. Although Roger had tried to curb his tendencies by assigning him to counseling, Mello barely mellowed out. However, you found that your theory wasn’t sound.

Near simply didn’t care.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that Near sought you out for company.

Which led you to this very situation.

Rain continued to pour heavily outside as you regarded him. Although he was slight of frame and was not accustomed to standing straight, he seemed to tower over you. His pitch black eyes, thus rendered even darker by the dim lighting, haunted you as you leaned fully back against the window.

In the beginning, you had tried to talk to him, but when you had been rewarded with silence, you had decided to stop talking to him.

Now, though, you were curious.

You paused for a moment, hoping that you wouldn’t sound rude. Before you could open your mouth to speak, however, you found yourself interrupted by the one person you’d never think would speak to you. Because that was the thing: Near, despite his clingy nature, had never spoken to you.

Not really.

Not a hello, how do you do, or a goodbye.

He was just… there.

“You don’t want to go outside.”

That wasn’t a question. You of all people knew how observant the higher ranked children could be. Near was simply stating a fact: there was no changing that you wanted to stay inside, even if you were practically stalked by someone you knew shouldn’t have come so close to you.

You answered, a tremor in your voice that you tried to steady. “Well… it’s raining.”

His dark black eyes darted from your face and towards the window. Like a ghost, he glided up and then past you, his thin, fragile fingers tracing the glass.

“The world outside is so cold. Why would anyone want to go outside?”

You struggled to keep up with the conversation. It wasn’t like he was unobservant or fishing for information. It seemed as if he was speaking because he wanted to… It was strange, but it was as if he was seeking companionship.

But why?

If not the second best successor, then someone else in the top ranks.

You weren’t particularly gifted or smart.

You were simply yourself.

You answered, “Does it really matter? Different people want different things.”

“And you want to stay inside.”

Not knowing where he was taking this conversation, you nodded. “It’s… nicer inside.”

His eyes narrowed, appearing like slits on such a pale face. Had he expected that you speak poetically? Or that you would elaborate on your answer?

Just as suddenly as he rewarded you with such an irritated expression, he relaxed and walked to your side, his presence ringing alarm bells in your head.

Something was not quite right… The rain was still pelting outside, the air was still cool and damp from the outside elements, but Near seemed to suck all of those atmospheric factors away. What you were most aware of was how his pupils were blown open wide, dilated. There was a rich ring of brown ensconcing a pool of darkness, but it was made all the more unnerving when instead of moving away or moving closer for what you could assume to be in a pantomime of a hug—of personal connection—he hovered close to your body a few centimeters away.

Too close for comfort, too far away to do anything about it.

For once, Near, the affable sheep of the flock as Mello would put it, almost seemed like a predator just waiting to strike.

The rain fell down harder.

What could he possibly want, the boy genius who would later inherit the power of a man who could conquer the world if he wanted to?

You felt a chill rise and fall over your spine like a retreating wave before the crashing of a hurricane.

“And you…” You swallowed your uneasiness. “You want to stay inside.”

Over the course of a few horrible seconds, Near’s face utterly twisted. It was as if he had never known how to smile, only to emulate what it would look like as if he had only read about it from an encyclopedia. First his eyes, so dark and consuming, began to widen even further in the planes of his too pale face. Then his mouth began to curve, his lips thinning—like a pastry chef slicing through the icing of a cake.

But what disturbed you the most was that Near was coming closer and closer. Whatever distance was there was steadily decreasing until there was only a breath of air between the both of you.

You weren’t trapped, but Near’s manic gaze held you fast.

“Yes.” He stated. Simple as a fact. That fragile smile that threatened to tear the flesh from his cheeks and hang from his teeth widened further. “It’s nicer inside.”

You should have left when you had the chance.

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

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At first, he thought that time was simply a construct that he could never quite grasp. Time was always finicky for Nations. Days could pass, but feel like seconds. Decades were tiny flecks of sand in an unending flow in an hourglass. Centuries were felt a little more closely, but in a way that most humans would think upon in nostalgia for simpler times, of their childhood. 

Then, when the time periods began to drastically change and the old ways were slowly forgotten, China knew that you were different. Were you a wayward province that sprung up from the ground? Were you a newfound supernatural presence?

But no, you were just a human with a lifespan that could rival that of smaller countries and regions. 

It was astounding.

For a while, China thought about ignoring the issue. You weren’t a threat. Sure, you had years of living to guide you, but you didn’t have the innate experiences of millions flowing through his veins. If he focused hard enough, you were one of the many thoughts lurking at his consciousness, one of the hearts that pumped his blood. Your presence was strongly intertwined in China’s. Most humans lived for less than a century; you were as constant as China’s shadow during a waning afternoon. 

But then…

Then, China thought about keeping you close. It was rare for humans to live long, fulfilling lives. Rarer still, however, to come across a human who had many more years of life to experience but was not utilizing it to the best of their potential. Humans were untapped sources of potential; he wanted you to meet yours. 

But here was the thing: China knew who and what you were. 

You were still blissfully unaware.

Living among humans lent itself to a host of problems. There was, of course, the inevitable realization that China couldn’t live in a village for any longer than a few years because he did not change, not like the way humans could. As time went on, China began to realize that people were making connections with the strange wanderer with centuries in his eyes, but youthfulness in both face and movement. It was harder to remain anonymous, to be nothing more than just a passing Chinese citizen who was at times both an old man yet a contemporary all at the same time. 

And the more people realized that China wasn’t just a normal person, they began to tell stories. Stories then went on to evolve into the lifeblood of myths and legends. Some were true (as much as China hated to admit it), but others were either plain lies or ridiculous twists on the truth. 

No one could have guessed that Nations could have existed. 

Which made it all the more harder for China to locate you.

Well… That was actually a lie. Considering you were heavily ingrained into China’s being, he always had a passing sense of where you were. It was the same sense that he had when encountering strange Nations, but not as strong. 

Like a cat targeting a mouse, China made his way to you.

What he hadn’t expected was that you were just as in tune with him. (That was actually wishful thinking in retrospect, but China did not want to admit that you always escaped him). 

Back then, you had your suspicions. You weren’t exactly sure when you were born or who your family was, but you were positive that the man who was always lurking at the edge of your periphery, who you had heard about from village elders to scholars from the palace, that this man was someone like you.

And not at the same time. 

You were immortal.

The man was something different.

And that alarmed you. 

For a time, the both of you ignored each other, but as time went on, when the strange accidental meetings didn’t look as accidental as before, you began to run at the sight of him. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt safe with this strange man, as if he were a long lost relative who came to see you again. He felt like home.

But you were still suspicious and you kept evading his attempts to talk to you.

Eventually, however, you began to realize that this man didn’t have nefarious intentions. Many times, over the years, he had actually bailed you out of situations where you had inadvertently gotten into trouble. Immortality came with a price and sometimes that price was when you accidentally visited a village one too many times and people recognized that you didn’t age. Other times, you would say or do things that would harken back to a simpler era and while you could lie your way around those things, sometimes people caught on. 

Either way, you put yourself in impossible scenarios at times and for better or for worse, the strange man who was probably immortal just like you, but in a different way, was there to help you.

He wasn’t always there to play savior, but he was definitely always within reach. For every person who bore down upon you with a sword, he was there with violence to match. If someone cornered you with questions that you had no idea how to answer, he redirected the conversation. 

For reasons unknown to you, he protected you.

Over time, you had become less wary concerning the man’s presence and slowly… It was almost comforting. Again, it felt like he was home. 

When was the last time you had stayed in a place that could be considered home?

So, out of curiosity, you decided to test your boundaries. Instead of running away the instant you sensed his presence, you stayed behind. Teased him for being slow. Got into a debate on whether or not the clothes that he was wearing were in fashion for this century. (Neither of you were going to admit that the clothes that the both of you were wearing weren't exactly up to date). And then, when he was about to grab a hold of you or convince you to come back with him so that he could discuss things in private, you would run.

You would move into a new village, set up shop as a wanderer and hope that you could earn your keep with what skills you had, eventually get into trouble or stay too long, and then the strange man would show up. Banter would last from a few precious moments to hours that stretched into the night. Eventually, you decided to ask him, blunt as a rock and wielded as such—

“Why do you always follow me around, old man?”

He looked down at you, irritation softened by fondness. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore and leave your elders?”

Without even thinking about it, you smiled. “And how do you know that you’re older than me?”

You heard the strange man mutter something to himself. You couldn’t quite catch it, but you knew that he was questioning his life choices. To be honest, you were doing the same.

Instead of answering your question, he regarded you silently, a plea in his eyes and fatigue weighing down his shoulders. He was tired of all of this. It was about time that both of you made a change. 

“Can we stop playing this game?”

You smiled wide and stepped closer to him, but still at a respectable distance. Bowing low, you said your name.

And then—

“Hello, you frustrating child. I’m China.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking, but you didn’t care. Right now, you feel safe. Protected. 

And perhaps, this was the family that you were searching for all along. 

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Germany 

The thing about Germany is that he’s young. Young by Nation standards and not as skilled or as experienced when it comes to dealing with the world. When he finds out that the reader exists, he… He kind of freaks out.

Immortal beings, he knows they exist and he is definitely one of the many phenomena that counts as immortal, but he has never been borne witness to an immortal human before! 

Germany definitely calls Prussia for advice on how to deal with teenagers. 

He also consults parenting guides, child psychologists, counselors, and even turns to other Nations who either reared younger Nations or are particularly close to humans. He takes meticulous notes and systematically tries out the advice—to varying degrees of success. 

What he finds out after he starts taking care of the reader is that the advice given to him isn’t a one size fits all situation. The reader isn’t a Nation who can govern themselves with minimal assistance. The reader isn’t a human who can die any day. The reader is special. 

The reader’s needs will be subsequently different. 

Once Germany realizes that not all advice will be good advice, he’ll turn to the reader. This time, he preps himself by actually listening and asking questions to find out the reader’s personality and their baseline needs and wants. 

After he finds out what makes the reader happy, what makes the reader tick, that’s when he’ll become the world’s greatest guardian. 

Yes, Germany will be a socially awkward mess at the start, but everything he does for the reader is because he cares so much, it almost hurts. Over time, he will gain more confidence and will show the reader that he is capable of taking care of them. 

Germany is a wonderful teacher, patient and enduring. He is keen on technology and the mechanical world, but he also has a keen grasp on other subjects. If the reader has any trouble learning about basic concepts on disciplines that Germany isn’t familiar with, he will personally stay up late at night going through research documents and looking up video lectures so that he can help out the reader with whatever questions they might have. 

On lazy days, Germany will bake as many sweet treats as possible because the measuring process relaxes him. He won’t force the reader to help him, but he can’t deny that the sound of someone whisking the batter or banging pots together by accident makes him warm on the inside. What makes the baking process even more wonderful is watching the reader stuff themselves silly with whatever he’s made. (Don’t worry, Germany has already noted their likes, dislikes, and allergies).

If the reader doesn’t like sweets, that’s completely fine! Germany still makes great, hearty meals! Whenever he does go on a baking spree, he’ll take the reader to visit his neighbors so that they can taste his baked treats. Not only is it a great bonding experience between Nation and immortal human, but it definitely fills Germany with great joy to know that he is doing the parenting thing all right whenever Hungary, Prussia, or Austria tell him how wonderful and helpful the reader is. 

Germany is strict with rules, but he is lenient if the reader pleads their case with sufficient evidence to amend the rules. (As time goes on, Germany may bend more often than not).

Although he is very introverted, if the reader is not, he will definitely brave crowds and scheduled outings if it makes the reader happy. If the reader is more introverted, he makes sure that the both of them have lives that are equally spent inside and outside enjoying other people’s company. 

Germany doesn’t say “I love you” often, but the reader can see it when he gently corrects them as they measure flour into a batter. Or when Germany teaches them how to change a lightbulb. Or when Germany lightly scolds them for being reckless. Germany reveals his love by caring actions. 

Italia Romano

When Romano finds out that there is an immortal human and there’s no one to take care of them, of course he’ll take them in! What, did you think that he let any child—immortal or not—starve and freeze to death?

Food. The language that Romano is most familiar with is food. He doesn’t care about the reader’s situation, their name, or why they're immortal. Romano will take one glance at their face and immediately start boiling water and rolling the dough for fresh pasta. YES. HE WILL MAKE FRESH PASTA FOR THE READER. 

Sure, he’s suspicious of outsiders, but this is a child. Un bambino! He can interrogate them later after they’ve been fed. So what if you’re immortal and loved for a long time, you’re still a child mentally and by the grace of God, Romano will make sure that the reader is comfortable in his home.

Romano isn’t always the best parent, but he definitely tries. It may have been almost two thousand years or so since Grandpa Rome has come by to raise him, but Romano knows the basics. And well, Spain did teach him a thing or two regarding discipline. 

Once the pasta frenzy has worn off, Romano will make sure that the reader knows how to manage and clean a household, how to garden, cook, and what the best marketplaces are for great produce. He’ll be damned if the reader gets scammed and doesn’t learn basic life lessons while under his care. 

That said, he can be quite gruff and not as patient as most, but he’ll do his best to rein in his temper. His temper is reserved for those idiots at world summits and for terrible people. For the reader, he’ll either leave the room or train himself to know the signs that he’s getting angry so that he can calm himself down before then. (This is a skill that he can learn and hone if he realizes that the reader is scared of angry yelling or is uncomfortable in general with loud sounds).

(He’ll never admit it, but this is a skill that helps in international meetings).

When Romano isn’t busy with paperwork, he’ll make the reader help him with household chores. Never before has his household looked so clean! He can be a bit of a taskmaster, but now that he has to set an example for the reader, he finds that he isn’t as lazy and willing to commit to weeding his entire garden or dusting every inch of his house. 

Romano is also a bit of a fashionista. Milan may be in Veneziano’s territory, but Romano has Rome so that obviously makes him better. He’ll make sure that the reader is decked out in clothing that will make any person green with envy. The style and the colors will match whatever the reader likes and Romano will spare no expense so that the reader can show off. 

On most days, Romano does not like staying inside of the house all the time. He’s the outdoorsy type who needs continual stimulation from his surroundings. He’ll take the reader out on walks in the late afternoons and early evenings, when the air is cool and the day is winding down. Sometimes, he’ll talk about the plants and the houses they’ll pass, the history of the inhabitants from centuries past. Other times, he’ll remain quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Walking calms him down whenever he’s most stressed and he hopes that the reader will use this as a coping mechanism should life become just as stressful. 

Romano says “I love you” like it’s a fact that can’t be contested by skeptics and scientists alike. He says it likes he’s berating his little brother or scolding Spain for being stupid. Of course he loves the reader! Are they deaf, blind, and stupid? He made the reader pasta for God’s sake! (Now shut your mouth and let Romano mother you, you oblivious ingrate).

Italia Veneziano

Veneziano loves children! They could be small, they could be big, talkative or quiet, boisterous or reserved—he finds children so enchanting! They are God’s gifts to the world and Veneziano finds himself entranced by them. 

When he finds the reader, immortal teenager and all, Veneziano immediately tries to take them under his wing. He may have missed out on the reader’s formative childhood, but he will do his best to provide for a better future for them!

However, Veneziano is Veneziano. He can be a flighty person at times, which results in scatterbrained decisions and short term gratification. Unlike Romano, Veneziano may not always behave like an older guardian should. 

That isn’t to say Veneziano won’t be a good parent. Parenting, like any other discipline, requires patience and consistent practice. He was a child once, wasn’t he? Veneziano prefers both the words of his former guardians and personal experience rather than turning to guidebooks or advice from professionals. Veneziano will definitely contact Austria and Romano for help. After that, he’ll pay very close attention to his reader. 

While he may be scatterbrained and may make impulsive decisions, he can be very observant at times. As an artist, he knows what brushes to use, the strokes certain hairs can make. What hues and dyes are complimentary and contrasting. He uses his eye for details to know if the reader is doing well. 

He’s an emotional person—often prone to tears or wide grins. The instant he knows that the reader is feeling down, Veneziano will immediately come running with warm hugs and pecks on the cheeks. Depending on what the reader needs at the moment, Veneziano can lend an ear, offer a glass of water to calm them down, or simply sit in silence as the reader tries to process their emotions. Veneziano knows what it’s like to be put down and smothered rather than express how he truly feels—he’d rather prostrate himself in front of the pope and give up his faith than let his reader feel the same way under his care. 

Similarly, if the reader is feeling joyful, Veneziano shares in their happiness. Happiness is bright yellows and oranges to him, warm colors that light up the earth and sets an inviting candle aglow within. 

Veneziano, whenever he feels introspective and nostalgic for the past, often paints. It’s a medium that has enraptured him since the days of his infancy. While Romano favors work that hardens his fingers and limbers his muscles (gardening and sculpting are one of many), Veneziano prefers arts that are finely tuned and detailed. He likes to doodle, to draw. Sometimes, he might brush his fingers playfully on guitars or bang on the keys of a piano. If the reader wishes, and he hopes that they do, he’ll impart his knowledge of the arts. He’s a patient teacher, and while his instructions may leave a lot to be desired, that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying his hardest. Eventually, he learns how to teach and the reader eventually learns the art of their choice. 

Like Romano, Veneziano likes dressing in nice clothing. He’ll let the reader run around in the shops of his finest cities with his credit card. He’ll let the reader express themself. You want that fabric in that specific color and pattern? Well, he isn’t wearing it and he can definitely give the reader tips should they want it, but for the most part, he’s hands off with the aesthetics. He trusts the reader to come into their own, and if they don’t, at least Veneziano knows that they aren’t in want of new clothing. 

Veneziano’s heart is in the ocean. He loves swimming and on odd days, fishing. Being close to the water makes him somewhat childish at times, but for the most part, he feels somber. He’ll teach the reader to swim and maybe he’ll give them private tours of his beloved birthplace in a gondola. (Yes, he’ll even wear the attire associated with gondoliers if they really want it).

When Veneziano says “I love you”, it’s always said in private. He’s more extroverted than his brother and infinitely more scatterbrained, but this? This declaration of love for a teenager under his care? It’s meant to be a decision handled with care and deliberation. As a child, Veneziano had lost so many: his famed predecessors, a little empire who fought too many battles young, and countless humans he had befriended. Love had been fleeting in the past, does he dare hope to hold onto it now? Veneziano says it in the moments where he is at his most stressed, when pressure needs release and he needs to let the reader know that he cares, that he always cares. “I love you” he says when he feels like he’s about to lose everything.

Japan

Japan doesn’t know what to do. As a Nation who had once been the king of isolation and closed borders, he isn’t always keen on opening up to others. He’s gotten better over the years, but even he needed some time to be by himself so he can enjoy the solitude. When he meets the immortal, teen reader, he’s beside himself in panic. 

The reader had to have spent some time by themselves, right? Would it presumptuous of him to take them in when they don’t really know each other? Did the reader already have an established place to stay? What about family? Would he be overstepping to offer them a place to stay?

Unlike Romano and Prussia, Japan doesn’t immediately welcome the reader. He’s polite and kind as always, but the change in dynamic from strangers to a family unit is slow and gradual. Like a river burrowing through the base of a mountain. 

At first, Japan will visit the reader and hope that they are doing well. He’ll make sure that their education is taken care of, that all of their needs are met. He might be an acquaintance checking on a citizen of his country, but he cares. 

Honestly, it’s up to the reader to give Japan the go ahead to take them in. At that point, all of Japan’s anxieties about parenting seem to decrease by tenfold. (He still has anxiety, always will if he’ll answer you truthfully, but now he knows that the reader actually wants to spend time with him!) 

Japan may be an old man like China and France, but he is definitely up to date with the times. He’s not as obnoxiously adamant on getting cute things for the reader like China or making sure that they have finery that will make their peers jealous like France, but Japan can provide for the reader in his own understated way. He’ll take them out to the best districts in some of his favorite cities for clothing, video games, certain knick knacks that he thinks the reader might enjoy, and whatever entertainment they want. 

While he may not speak much or physically emote, he is still very keen on showing some of his favorite things to the reader. When he’s busy with work or if he can’t muster the energy to speak, he’ll text them his favorite anime, recommend new pop bands, and even provide the names of catchy light novels. 

Because Japan is very quiet, he might end up startling the reader at the most inopportune of times. To accommodate the reader (and to decrease the chances of suffering a heart attack because startling the reader also startles him as well), he’ll often knock on hard surfaces twice to alert them. It’s a simple system that has evolved to include simple words and phrases that sometimes replaces a lot of their conversation. 

It’s mostly quiet in their shared house, which Japan greatly appreciates. However, if the reader is more vocal or generally louder than what Japannis used to, he doesn’t particularly mind. There’s something oddly human about listening to a person hum or sing to themself while washing the dishes or dance a silly little jig while sweeping the floor. It’s not Japan’s usual way of expressing himself, but he won’t stop the reader from doing what they can to be happy. 

Sometimes, when the night is unbearably warm and they can’t sleep, Japan will invite them to sit outside with him. They can sit and watch the moon sail across the sky in silence. Other times, Japan might tell them stories about conversing with China or other Nations while sitting under the very same moon. It’s during these quiet moments that Japan’s inhibitions leave him and he starts talking like a river breaking through a dam. It’s not until the reader starts to show signs of sleeping that he’ll start to sing and bring them back inside. (The reader never remembers Japan singing and that’s fine by him).

It’s under the same moon and with the waning scrap of unconsciousness that the reader hears “I love you” come from Japan’s mouth. It’s a secret that is carried by the wind and is observed by the moon and stars. Perhaps, one day when Japan is confident that he feels worthy of being a parent for the reader that he will say it to their face without hesitation or the cover of night to mask his emotions. It’ll take a while, but so did the beginning of their relationship. It will happen and like all inevitabilities, Japan has already prepared for it.

Prussia 

Well. Prussia raised Germany. Of course he knows what he’s doing! Sure, Germany may have ended up taking many of his lessons to heart and that ended up in the culmination of the Second World War, but the reader is an immortal human teenager! They can’t be hard. 

And because Prussia is awesome like that, it isn’t. 

There’s a learning curve, of course, but Prussia is a seasoned warrior and guardian. Routines and discipline come easily to him; the dreams and wants for a progeny that will continue his legacy live on in Germany. For the reader, his dreams aren’t as big, but they don’t need to be. He put too much pressure on Germany when he was younger, now Prussia is adamant that he won’t put that same pressure on the reader. That doesn’t stop Prussia from instilling discipline and order into the reader.

Prussia is a disciplinarian, but he means well. He likes order in his own chaotic way and once he knows that the reader can meet his expectations, he doesn’t want anything lower than their best. It’s for their own good; he wants to see them grow into their potential. 

This means that Prussia will make sure that the reader has access to the best education. Sharp minds are the key to success. 

Discipline is also another aspect of order that he prides above all else. One day, he’ll show the reader his collection of journals, of how he religiously spends at least half an hour noting down his thoughts and experiences every day. He’ll give the reader a notebook and expect them to fill out a page each day. If the reader proves that they are disciplined, they can graduate to a journaling app, but Prussia would be secretly delighted if the reader stuck to the old pen and paper method. (They could totally have matching notebooks!)

Prussia isn’t always a drill sergeant, it’s just that he’s so used to Germany easily falling into line when he was a small Nation. If this caused conflict with the reader, it might take both parties to stand back and look into the situation with fresh eyes. The reader can’t deny that Prussia is right—discipline and order are necessary—but Prussia has to also admit that the reader is not Germany and that compromise is necessary. Once they both realize this, then their relationship becomes more lighthearted and Prussia becomes less of a disciplinarian and more of a strict, but doting father. 

(It’s hard to accept that the reader isn’t some sort of redemption arc for what happened to Germany. They’re different people, but Prussia will always carry that guilt with him. He hopes to never explain this to the reader, but he suspects that they already know).

Prussia isn’t all that up to date with modernity. Germany is more in line with trends, so he’ll just ask his dear sweet brother on how to deal with modern day teenagers. If Germany takes too long compiling PowerPoints on how to deal with humans, Prussia just straight up asks the reader what they want. Sometimes, handling the situation as bluntly as possible is the best way to go about things. 

Not many Nations know this about him, but Prussia loves baking. Who do you think taught Germany? There’s a science in the measuring of ingredients, a magic in how different times and temperatures affect the pastry. Prussia likes to bake traditional breads and cakes, but he doesn’t shy away from foreign foods. He’s a stickler for rules in the kitchen, so he won’t ask the reader for help, but he is Getty surprised and impressed if the reader can handle his austere attitude. Together, they can put the world’s best pastry chefs out of business.

Prussia loves Germany and he loves the reader. It should be apparent, right? He does say it… sometimes. But probably not enough. When was the last time he had told West that he… But this isn’t about him! Prussia doesn’t like admitting vulnerability on the best of days, but he will say “I love you” in his own way. In handwriting that had been taught to him by monks when he was still the Teutonic Order, Prussia writes his “I love you” in the covers of the journals that he bequeaths to the reader. Even if the reader doesn’t use journals anymore, he’ll slip heavy parchment into their pillows, pockets of their clothes, or in the gaps between their bedroom door and the floor. His “I love you” is quietly confident, his writing in a hand that cares deeply, but quietly. Prussia never uses his special parchment and pen for anyone else but for Germany and the reader.

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So, it was not unusual, Killer T Cell and all of his brashness tucked and itching to burst out of his well built frame was just about to explode in indignation at the sight that he was subjected to. On a great day for the body, ripe for training and beating down subordinates, the lymphocyte caught sight of a duo that no one would have seen coming.

It was U-1146 and his favorite red blood cell.

Just seeing them interact—happy smiles, skips in their step, and that stupid fond look that 1146 always had in his eyes whenever he was looking at her—made his cytoplasm boil. There was an emotion for this, whatever he was feeling, but he didn’t care enough to name it.

(He would never admit this, but it was jealousy).

When he was just about done reaming a weakling for incompetence, he looked up again to find that the strange pair was still talking animatedly. Actually, as the blond cell fixated on them, he found that it was mainly the erythrocyte contributing to the conversation.

Her hands would move and gestured excitedly, her face held a full range of expressions that fitted the tone of the story that she was telling, and her peals of laughter could be heard from where Killer T was standing.

Annoying.

However, it was the neutrophil’s reactions towards his companion that really caught his attention. Although he wasn’t saying anything, he still encouraged the red blood cell’s behavior. He would grin or cock his head to the side, lean in gently to show that he was listening. What was worse was that the neutrophil looked like he was actually enjoying the drivel the erythrocyte was feeding him.

Disgusting.

And so it would continue until both neutrophil and erythrocyte left the general vicinity of the local lymph node.

“Morons, the both of them,” Killer T couldn’t help mutter to himself.

(And no, he wasn’t at all bemused or jealous by the fact that the two blood cells were still clearly engrossed in each other’s presences).

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Over the past few cycles, 1146 realized that there was something bothering the red blood cell. Whenever he approached her, cup of tea in hand or a particularly useful tidbit of trivia that he thought that was interesting, AE-3803 reacted in a way that wasn’t usual. Instead of partaking in his tea or listening to his passionate ramblings about a cluster of ganglia that he found in one of the organs found in the thoracic regions, she had stayed silent, did not engage, and tried to leave before 1146 caught on to her low mood.

He had managed to ask her why she was angry and while she did not exactly say, 3803 did give him the impression that he made her angry. 

Confused, but mostly guilty, 1146 tried to seek her out again, but found himself stonewalled again and again, sometimes with the help of her friends. Eventually, 1146 realized that he would have to make it up by hoping that maybe she would accompany him to an arm wrestling competition. Would it work, he didn’t know, but it was worth at least trying. 

—

Anger was not an unfamiliar emotion to AE-3803. She didn’t like to feel angry, she rarely was, but there were times when even she managed to reach the end of her patience. Unfortunately for her, the source of her ire was none other than one particular neutrophil. 

Over the past few cycles, 1146 had been hovering around her. At first, 3803 had been overjoyed that his scheduled patrolling coincided with her routes, but over time, that same joy gradually curdled into something akin to irritation. Normally, she liked having him around. Their conversations were always insightful and often something that she would collect and tuck into the back of her mind for future recollection and fond reminiscing. 

In short, 1146 loved having 1146 around. It wasn’t because he was a veritable bodyguard should something terrible happen. Rather, it was because of the quality of his character and his desire to keep the body, and by extension, her, safe. 

But it was that same quality of character that haunted 3803.

At first, she had let minor grievances slide. 

Said grievances were as follows: hovering just a little bit closer than normal, which impeded on 3803’s deliveries; practically frightening all of her clients just when she was about to get her deliveries done; and when she convinced him to go on ahead of her because she wanted space, he actually followed her in the shadows! When she confronted him about his actions, 1146 hadn’t denied it.

No.

Instead of apologizing and going back to the way things were before, he had the gall, the audacity, to say that it was due to her fragile nature that he had to go about protecting her like this. Protecting her? 3803 had managed to live a normal lifestyle without his interference. Besides, there were other newer red blood cells who could use his protection—not just her! If she were a lesser erythrocyte, she might have been flattered, but honestly, it was not just because it felt like he was insulting her.

Not.

It was infantilizing.

She wasn’t a greenhorn recruit straight from the bone marrow.

She wasn’t someone who was always getting into trouble every other cycle.

No. 

No!

NO!

How dare he think that he was doing things for her safety. Yes, his actions might have been rooted in kindhearted intention, but overall, his execution was far from exemplary. 

After convincing him to leave her alone (and yes, she might have bribed her friends and coworkers to lay it on thick that she wished to be left alone), 3803 got to work. In order for 1146 to realize that she was fine and didn’t always need him to help her, she had to send a message. She had to teach him a lesson that while she wasn’t an immune cell, she was still fully capable of keeping herself safe from pathogens. 

And to do that, she was going to have to go all out or it would be all in vain.

Enter U-4989.

—

U-4989 was far from a pacifist. Like most of his coworkers in the neutrophil division, violence was a language that he had been weaned and trained upon. In all matters that concerned life and death, pathogens and infections, violence was often the number one answer. However, outside of that specific realm that dominated most of his working life, 4989 was actually a cell who was rather easygoing and versatile. 

(His versatility was probably one of the many reasons why he was always getting written up for his on the fly inventions). 

And it was also his versatility that allowed one special red blood cell to approach him. 

During one of his patrols, 4989 got himself stuck—again—in one of the transmigrating vents and had been trying to grab the attention of some of the civilians. Unfortunately, the biased perception that most cells had towards neutrophils were still in full swing. There was nothing that 4989 could do. If he could somehow radio his fellow neutrophils for help or—

“Little Miss Red!” He waved his arms frantically as if his life depended on it. Considering the fact that he was leaving most of his selected sector unprotected, he might as well be. As the red blood cell took in how his body was wedged in a space that was far too narrow and too tight for him or any other cell to fit, she immediately placed her package onto the ground and ran over to help him. 

Usually, 4989 wouldn’t have considered himself to be the most observant neutrophil in the squad. He left most of the reconnaissance to his coworkers, but even knew that the red blood cell looked jumpier than usual. The way her eyes shifted from making sure that he was okay to taking in her surroundings like she was waiting for an ambush… 

She was apprehensive. 

“Looking for something?” He took in the way that her eyes widened before she crossed her arms over her chest. Anger didn’t suit her. 

“U-1146 isn’t here with you, is he?” Instantly wary, 4989 latched onto the way she addressed his squad leader. On most days, she called him Mr. Neutrophil, a cute little quirk of theirs that persisted despite knowing their alphanumeric designations, they always decided to be formal with each other. It was adorable. 

“No, why?”

For a moment, she pursed her lips, came upon a decision after a moment of contemplation, and then decided to tell him everything. 

Now, 4989 knew 1146 like the way he knew the fact that there was a groove in the shape of his fingers on the handle of his favorite knife. Or the way he knew that his antigen detector atop his hat was slightly crooked and definitely something that he should look into before management got on his ass about it. 

So, he knew that 1146 could definitely get a little more obsessed over things that probably didn’t need obsessing over. 

He also knew that 1146 usually meant well in regards to those he cared for. 

However, even 4989 knew that even the most well intentioned of actions could very well lead to consequences that were far from the happy ending that 1146 probably imagined for himself and his dear red blood cell friend. 

“I’m not sure if this would help, but…” He thought about Little Miss Red, the conviction that roared in those golden amber eyes of hers. She wanted to teach him a lesson to ensure that even though she may not be well versed in protecting herself, she was far from useless. Infantilization and condescension, she had said. Not out of malice, she had said, but it was definitely something that had to be addressed. 

And well, he loved and respected 1146, but even he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to help out a civilian in need. 

—

U-2001 sucked in a breath through his nose, held it, and then exhaled.

The arm wrestling competition was ridiculous.

While he could noy deny that it was necessary for both the morale and the upkeep of the required skill sets for neutrophils, there were definitely better ways to go about it. For instance, the neutrophil division could have asked for the aid of the lymphocytes to give them an obstacle course to run. Or maybe they could have asked some of the older neutrophils to host a seminar. 

Or something.

This was—

“Are you excited for the arm wrestling competition?” U-2626 flexed his muscles, his smirk taking up the bottom half of his face.

—ridiculous. 

Utterly ridiculous.

They weren’t myelocytes anymore. 

2001 sucked in a breath through his nose. “As a judge, yes. As a participant…”

Well, there were fates far worse than making sure that friendly competition didn’t devolve into senseless roughhousing. 

At least a dozen neutrophils surrounded them, all of them in various stages of maturity. There were a few new recruits, some of them barely fresh out of the bone marrow. In fact, if 2001 wasn’t mistaken, there were a few band cells among the older neutrophils. While not uncommon, it wasn’t reassuring. More band cells meant that there was a shortage of neutrophils, which in turn meant that the immune system was going to continue pushing out more of the young ones just to make sure that the immune system was operating at peak capacity. 

Such a sad, but necessary cycle.

Almost as sad as this arm wrestling competition. 

As 2001 had his coworkers sign a sheet to prepare for the brackets, he caught sight of a few red blood cells joining among the ranks of white uniformed immune cells. At first, he was confused. Not a lot of civilian cells wanted anything to do with the immune system, especially the neutrophils, but it became clear why there was a quartet of erythrocytes looking lost among the crowd. 

Little Miss Red, or AE-3803 as she was designated, was at the front of her little party. 

Once she spotted him with a clipboard and a gaggle of band cells clamoring to sign up, she practically pushed her way through the crowd. Not politely asked them to move aside. Or ducked underneath an arm or two to move ahead. 

Pushed.

Shoved.

How unlike Little Miss Red.

Intrigued, 2001 hurriedly dismissed the band cells after verifying their identification numbers and rushed towards her. 

“Miss Red Blood Cell, what a surprise!” Unbidden, he allowed a small smile to lighten his features. It wasn’t every day that he managed to spend some time with the erythrocyte. Charming and adorable to behold, she was a far cry from the company that he usually entertained when he couldn’t slip away to a private marginating pool. “Are you here to watch U-1146—”

At the sound of his squad leader’s name, 3803’s eyes flashed and 2001 fell silent. 

That… was not normal. 

“I’m here to sign up.” 

If it were any other cell, 2001 would have initially balked at such a request. It wasn’t like he particularly cared who joined or who opposed who, but even knew what a one-sided match a red blood cell could be against a white blood cell. 

Their strength training… was near impeccable. 

In fact, the one cell who was more surprised that he willingly gave her the clipboard and an accompanying pen was 2626. If 2001 concentrated hard enough, he could make out how 2626’s eyes were basically bulging out of his sockets. 

But, then, 3803 decided to deliver one more surprise. 

“I want to go against U-1146.”

Not a band cell.

Not a neutrophil she had never met before. 

Not even a neutrophil she was on friendly terms with.

U-1146.

“Are you—” 2626 tried to reason with her and 2626 failed. 

One of the brackets ended up with 3803 facing 1146 as one of the first matches of the competition. 

As 3803 strolled back into the fold of red blood cells, 2001 turned to 2626, an inquiry on his lips. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“No, why?”

“Because it’s going to be a bloodbath out there.”

__

U-2048 was feeling confident. He had been paired up with a former classmate from the bone marrow. Despite their similar builds and training regimens, 2048 knew that he was going to be the victor in their bout together. Victory was going to be within his grasp, he could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue, feel it through the cloth of his gloves. 

And then, just as he was about to seat himself at one of the tables that were set up specifically for this event, 2048 heard a series of whoops and hollers, far louder than of the other matches that he had personally witnessed. If he could take a guess, he would have assumed that it was probably a rowdy band cell going up against a seasoned neutrophil. While the match up wouldn’t be too one-sided, the maturity levels between the both of them would have to be taken into account. As he managed to pull himself to the front of the crowd encircling a table, he finally found his squad leader facing—

His jaw dropped open and he felt uneasy watching 3803 seat herself across an unusually reticent and bashful 1146. 

Based on the way 3803 had a presence that oozed danger and confidence and 1146 looking cowed, this was not going to end well. 

2048 felt a hand at his shoulder and found 4989 had stuffed himself with a few pastries, one of which he amicably gave 2048 for his own consumption. Across from 2048 and 4989, 2001 and 2626 stood shoulder to shoulder. 2001, for all of his placidity and 2626’s lack of personal features underneath his non-regulation haircut, 2048 immediately knew that they were curious but fearful all the same.

And then the arm wrestling competition began.

For a tense second, it seemed like 1146 had the upper hand, but he looked rather pained. Centimeter by centimeter, 1146’s arm was gradually overpowering 3803’s arm. As the distance between 3803’s arms and the table decreased, 1146’s mouth moved. 2048 couldn’t hear him, but he could tell that he was trying to reason with her, but—

3803 wasn’t having it. 

Just as 3803’s wrist was only a milimeter away from grazing the smooth plain of the table, 3803 said something. Shock colored 1146’s features, but it wasn’t enough distraction for him to falter.

No.

3803 appeared to lose, but then—

With one single motion, 3803’s arm overpowered 1146. 

It took less than a second, but the deed was done. 

3803 won. 

As the neutrophils, band cells, and erythrocytes cheered, 3803 said one more thing to 1146. 

Something that made 1146 lower his head before nodding. It was out of character for him to look so submissive, but no one in the crowd noticed that he nodded his head in shame. 

Or that 3803 walked away, head held high, but eyes so empty and blank.

Or that 1146 tried to reach out for her.

3803 had won, but it seemed that 1146 and 3803 had lost at the same time. 

—

NT-4201 glanced up at her mentor, noted the way she held herself, and bit back a sigh. 

At any other time, she would have said something caustic at the expense of 1146, but she kept silent. Instead, she wound an arm around 3803’s shoulders and led her outside the arm wrestling competition. 

“I think I hurt him,” 3803 mumbled.

4201 canted her head to the side, contemplative before speaking like always. “Maybe,” 4201 conceded, “but he hurt you first. You’re even.”

3803 smiled, but it felt bitter all the same. 

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