#molhutt

I have an eye for the smallest of details. From major task such as eyeing an insect feasting on a high rising grain, the smallest scratch on a Rolls Royce and in this case- noticing the slightest of differences in a person. The way his sunglasses hid his slightly red eyes, the moist cheeks and the fact that Molossia seemed to be more focused on his shoes rather than me sitting next to him. It was slightly awkward, but I couldn’t blame him. It had been a mere month since we had started “secretly” dating. Amazed are you not? That’s right. We’re crazy about each other. So, I honestly don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling when it’s just to two of us resting in a park and watching time pass us by. We had both agreed that we would keep quiet about our relationship. As in not bring discomfort amongst our fellow micro nations and infuriate our bosses who…may not have been open to this idea. I admit, I was indifferent towards the topic once. Until, we accidently kissed. Think of it like being a whale that was harpooned. Too drastic of an example? Well, it was much like that. Too sudden to contemplate properly, but differently left marks for you to reflect on if you didn’t mess up right then and there.

I wanted to ask him what was wrong. But how did a man go about asking something like this? It’s not like he ever opened up to me before all of this. Should I have expected different? Sharing a private kiss in a garden was far more pleasant than being out in public like this. I could only shrug off my discomfort in favor of trying to remain level headed. “Is there something wrong?” I decided to ask. He was suddenly tense. Instead of snapping or yelling at me like he tended to do, he just shook his head no and went back to silence. I was a patient nation. Back at the river, I spent days upon months growing bread and tending to weeds and grain for years. This did not bother me in the least. At least, that was what I wanted to believe. But, my frustration was picking at my patience. Why won’t he tell me? I mean, if we’re dating I don’t see the problem. Perhaps I should try affection? But even couldn’t bring myself to move any closer than how we sat now. A fair mid-inch apart, my hands preoccupied with a basket and his preoccupied with his pockets as we sat on a flattened out blanket. That had to be uncomfortable. I put down my basket and opened it, taking out a well-made sandwich. Using the bread from Hutt River and his surprising culinary prowess- it was the most delicious thing I have had in a while. He noted that I started eating with him, raising his head some and looking in more direction. I pretended to not notice that he was looking at me, but hummed my approval. “James is there anything that you can’t do?” I said through the sandwich. Poor manners on my part, but maybe he’d respond. “Hah.” It was weak, but he was trying to perk up. “It is from Molossia. The most kickass nation in the world.” He said, most likely crossing his eyes with that brilliant smile of his. I take this time to re-evaluate how hilariously gay I am for this man, opening an eye to glance at him. I was right, except he was looking at me. Now we were making eye contact and he was smirking. Like a retreating turtle he started to reseed away and I was quick to offer him a bite of my sandwich. “Taste it.” I urge him. He looked disgusted yet intrigued by such an outlandish gesture from me. I probably wasn’t going to finish it if he did bite it. But, this is what couples did right? I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m not taking a bite out of your sandwich. We have a lot more!” He said with a dismissive wave. “ And yet you haven’t taken one bite?” This was my chance to ask him, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it. “Don’t tell me you only made one sandwich for me?” I raised an eyebrow, raising the sandwich to my lips and taking another bite. I was attempting to be sly here. I wonder if it was working. “HAH.” He reached into the basket and raised up another sandwich, lazily waving it in my frame of view. “This isn’t just your picnic, princess.” He said before biting into a sandwich. Finally! He was eating. Silence settled over us again, but I noticed that he scooted closer to me. Our shoulders were almost touching. I wasn’t sure if this was by mistake or intentional, but I leaned in some and bumped my shoulder against his for a second before going back to being upright. He smiled through his sandwich, but his sunglasses couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes.

We sat there and enjoyed each other’s company, until before we knew it, the park was clear of visitors and it was just us with an empty picnic basket. It started off on an odd note, but I’d say this was a successful date. I looked to Molossia and he was looking down again. I opened my mouth to speak, but it was his turn to start conversation. “Hey, Travis…?” It felt weird to have my real name used by anyone that wasn’t Australia or Wy. “Hm?” I started to clean up our mess, trying not to look too eager to hear what he had to say. “I don’t think I can keep this up anymore…” Well, hiding my interest in his words wasn’t working. I stopped everything I was doing and just eyed him. What was he getting at? “We’ve been together for just a month and I feel like, I feel like we’re making a huge fuckin’ mistake!” It was easy to get caught up in our little fun, but I think I understood what he was saying. “ I want to tell everyone about us. I want to feel like I could tell my boss about you and he wouldn’t fucking disown me. I want to be able to kiss you in public places like this. But, I just can’t do it! Even today I’m sitting here like a fucking dumbass who can’t even eat a sandwich!” He looked like he was going to cry again. There were no eyes on us, so I inched my hand out to gently take his. I’m no better than him in this situation, I wasn’t even trying to get physically closer. He turned his head to look at me, his free hand inching under his glasses to wipe his eyes the other holding my hand tightly. “…What are we gonna do?” Stopping this relationship was a logical solution. But, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I wouldn’t be able to be around him like this ever again? He was looking to me for answers, but I was certain I looked just as lost as he did. “…Keeping this secret was a terrible idea, huh?” I finally said in a quiet voice. When distressed I had a tendency to fiddle with things and cleaning Molossia’s slightly fogged glasses fit the bill. I removed them from his eyes and gently rubbed at them with the corner of my cloak. He was caught off guard, but didn’t bother getting upset with me as I held his sunglasses hostage.

“…I still want to be with you Molossia.” I said looking up at him some. “Me too…” he said quietly. It was hard to not get emotional. When he looked so upset it made me upset as well and watching me cry was no pretty sight. I assure you. “…B-But,” I stuttered. I can’t believe I stuttered. “Perhaps we can take baby steps into telling our family members rather than our bosses? I rather keep Oz and Wy out of my personal business but-“I lifted his glasses back onto his eyes once I was done fiddling with them. I was close enough to give him a kiss on the lips, which I admit was poor judgment in this context but I had been dying to do it all day. “Our bosses may not be okay with it, but would at least two or three people knowing help?” I think a part of Molossia melted at the kiss because he neglected to answer. My cheeks were burning red. “It’s just been a month after all. Give it some more time and you won’t feel too bad about it…?” I added on. Molossia put himself together again and nodded to me with an, “Ok. I guess that’s just how we should go about it.” Did he think we were going to be dating for a year and have not told anyone about our relationship? Ok, maybe that could happen if we didn’t have this conversation. But, I’m certain I’d go crazy if I had to wait for months at a time just to hold his hand or kiss him.  This is coming from the most civil micro nation around, ladies and gentleman. It’s a ridiculous expectation, even for yours truly.

If there was any way to describe Lord Lawrence Christopher Charles Cook, Steve would say ridiculous but, frankly, he’s sure anyone would get that from the Australian’s name alone.

He spends 2 hours in the morning in the bathroom, preening his appearance like he was going to meet royalty. A carefully brushed and lightly hair sprayed mane of hair that Molossia is sure he’s never seen greasy, a thin layer of foundation and concealer to cover the blemishes, not that he’s sure Hutt River had them, and plucking those poor beasts he called eyebrows into something more shaped and graceful.

Australian in birth but not accent, at first the put on, vaguely English at a push, accent had annoyed Steve Jones to no end but now it just became an indication of mood. Smooth and dulcet when flirtatious and happy, a slight Australian twang when stressed, a twang that got only broader and broader when irritation and annoyance turned into full blown anger and it is, by far, the single most hilarious and bizarre thing the American has ever heard.

Molossia has lost count of the amount of times they’ve been late for dates now or the other has arrived so late he may as well have not bothered, the micro nation having already counted it as being stood up. It’s his clothes, he can’t wear anything the day after the other, even if he’s just at home, Molossia convinced Hutt changed his clothes more often than his underwear.

He speaks in tongues about fabrics, about chiffon, damask, silks and cottons. Colours are the same, Steve never unable to give Lawrence a sceptical look every time he went on and on about how something wasn’t just purple, it was Velvet or Eggplant or Orchid or how it wasn’t simply green, it was Harlequin, Sea, Pear or Persian.

Simplified terms didn’t exist to the fellow micro nation, that was for sure, the American long since having lost count of the number of times they’ve bickered about this, Molossia usually giving in as he may be insufferable when a smug little shit but he’d rather have him smug and happy than upset.

Even if Steve was right and Lawrence was wrong.

Lawrence is a Primadonna, a giant sissy baby who panicked whenever it rained and he was outside and got upset whenever he got mud on himself, even if it was just his shoes. He wants compliments left right and centre, vocal appreciation of himself and everyone, be they human, micro nation or an actual nation, throwing them down on the floor him and then kissing the ground he walked upon.

His ego and vanity would be off putting and a nightmare if it wasn’t for his sweetest of moments. Complaining the other was disgustingly filthy every time he visits and yet still wearing any one of his jackets or shirts in the cold Nevada mornings despite the fact they probably hadn’t been washed in a while.

The way he begrudgingly accepts flowers, like he doesn’t appreciate the gesture, threatening to bin them only for Steve to find them in a vase less than an hour later, cut and arranged so the flowers stand at different levels and the colours blend together. A small appreciative kiss on the cheek given that Molossia always turned one on the lips with a quick turn of his head, earning him a bark of a thick Australian accent.

Part time allowances to go to the bathroom first and the ever so rare opportunity to go whilst Lawrence is in there, the Australian always side eyeing him as he did his business, which would lead to quips about the other wanting to see the American micro nation’s cock, an embarrassed Australian and whatever he was holding clattering into the sink.

When his fingers would messy with his thick black hair, complaining about how greasy it was getting and how nasty it was to touch but not stopping, teasing and stressing the hair in places to make his tangled nest of hair into something vaguely presentable even if Molossia did still look like he’d been dragged through a bush backwards. Hutt River just enjoyed playing with his hair.

But, most of all, he likes those moments when Lawrence wakes up early and bakes. It’ll only happen once or twice; mostly when Lawrence thinks Steve won’t be getting up any time soon,  filling the house with the smell of baking bread, a smell that clings to the other regardless of if he’s baked any or not.

He goes overboard, there’s no denying that, Steve usually making a remark about if Lawrence was trying to feed the five thousand with the amount he’d made. Though there’s one thing he can’t deny, Lawrence loved bread and Steve could only wonder if, one day, he could make the other feel half as happy as he looked when eating his home baked break and thought nobody was watching.

Michael slumped in one of Trost’s alleys, letting out yet another strangled cry. He could still see the image of his friend’s lifeless body, burnt into the back of his eyelids so that every time he blinked he was reminded that he’d failed the other boy. He was a terrible leader who couldn’t even look after his own squad. Now he’d have that gory memory forever, along with the images of everyone else that died in the battle for Trost, and in the future, if he made it that long.

There wasn’t much of Oscar left to find. His arm, shoulder and half his face and torso had been ripped away by what Michael guessed had been titans. You never knew though; no one had seen him die. Oscar had died, all alone, possibly crying out in agony and wondering why his friends had abandoned him.

He still couldn’t believe that had been the same smiling, laughing, living Oscar he’d known and… well, loved. How could such a dear friend be reduced to a stinking, bloodied corpse lying in the street unnoticed and almost forgotten?

Michael could scarcely believe he wasn’t coming back. He wanted Oscar to tell him everything would be alright, then they’d hug and pretend the whole battle had been just some horrible nightmare. But nothing was going to bring Oscar back to life.

“We were supposed to join the Military Police together…” he whispered, running his hands down his face, which was soaked with tears, then hugging his knees and just sitting there, rocking back and forth slowly. Occasionally, he’d let out a sob.

“Why would you leave me like this?” he cried to the bins and walls either side of him, “didn’t you know I needed you?”

He sighed, curling up into a ball.