I wrote a little drabble based on “Looking For Ice Cream” by Courtney Peppernell <3 her piece really suited a lietbel moment to me.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: Lithuania/Belarus
Rating: T
Word Count: 470
"You have to pick something, love."
Toris looked down at Natalya and hummed in agreement.
He was cold.
"There are too many choices."
She wrapped her arm around his waist and rubbed his trembling sides.
"Let's buy one of each then."
Natalya rolled her eyes to her own comment and continued to scan the white lit glass doors for something he'd like. She missed the way he smiled - soft, one of his first smiles that day - until he turned his head and uncrossed his freezing arms to pull her close.
So close she could feel his cold nose buried in her hair-
"Toris we're in Lidl."
"Yeah," he paused for a moment, then - "yeah. Ice cream." - pulled away.
"Ice cream."
"I'm not so hungry, maybe we'll go home."
Natalya rolled her eyes again.
She knew he hadn't eaten at all that day.
She knew he was a baby for sweets - for chocolate.
"We've already gotten this far, I'm not taking you home until you choose."
And they really had gotten this far, even if he was only wearing sweats and a faded turtleneck. Even if his hair was an unbrushed mess of what used to be a bun and now was unidentifiable (it still looked soft, curling around the thinning, weary shape of his face...). Even if his swollen eyes and grey, tired expression had been resistant to her idea.
He had gotten off the sofa and put on his shoes and maybe he refused to wear his coat but he still left the house with one hand in hers to get ice cream.
And maybe he smelled like stale cigarettes and sleep but he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, squinting at the glass.
"I want something you'll like too."
"Toris, it's your ice cream."
"Mmm."
He chose something chocolate of course.
Triple chocolate moose tracks, something absurd that she hadn't bothered to read before he picked it up with his sleeves over his hands because they were already cold enough.
He was silent in the car, watching the streetlights streak by the window, but his face had eased.
He was silent when they settled down on the sofa again, his back against her stomach, her arms around his shoulders, his hands on his ice cream, but his muscles were less tense.
And his soft, sweet smile didn't fade. It felt warm in the television's harsh glow, when he would turn after every other bite of his own and give her a spoonful.
He ate half of it by himself.
When the container was empty they laid back and she brushed her hands through his mess of abandoned hair and kissed his temple and felt his breathing, his shoulder blades, his spine.
They stayed like that long after her left leg fell asleep and he did too.
