He could remember the smell in the air. It was different, it was salty. The woods slowly disappeared as the soil became clear and rocky. And sandy.
He was standing there, a young man with a beautiful smile and he knew it was one like him. He was a country too. Then why was he smiling? Countries weren’t supposed to be happy all the time, countries were supposed to be ready for a fight. And still the brunet stood there looking at the water body.
The older boy noticed him and he was filled with both, fear and amazement, as when one watches a thunderstorm.
--Hola, tú debes ser el niño del que me habló Francia. Yo soy España, mucho gusto.
The only thing he could understand was how funny he sounded when he pronounced the S. Spain smiled tenderly and he could feel his cheeks and tummy filling with heat.
--Lo siento, seguro no entiendes una palabra de lo que digo…
--I’m England!
The laugh the young man made haunted him for centuries. The only memory made him a child again. It made him melt. It filled his throat with bitterness as some kind of knot was magically made with his vocal chords.
Than was a day he would not forget. This young country played with him as if there were no wars or threats. They had a lunch beside the sea with some biscuits the Spaniard had. He seemed amused with the amount of biscuits he could eat. He didn’t found a way to tell him he had not eaten in a whole day, but that was not important. England could make him laugh and that was the greatest feeling in the world.
As the sun set, he started to feel sleepy. He let him rest his head on his chest and a warm feeling he had never felt took over his body. He couldn’t be a country. He had to be a fairy or some kind of magical being. Some fingers started to toy with his hair and he didn’t want it to end.
But it did.
Abrazaste mis abrazos
vigilando aquel momento,
aunque fuera el primero,
lo guardara para mí.
He stood up with a sad face.
--Ya es tarde, me tengo que ir.
--No!
--Perdón Inglaterra-
--Nonono, stay here a bit more…
England took his hand between his own and pulled from him. Spain pointed to his back, to the sea.
--Tengo que ir a mi casa.
He then pointed to the sand.
--No. Here.
--“Jir.”
The answer was some kind of broken English but for a couple of seconds, England was filled with excitement. He had not only understood. He was keeling, taking both of his hands. His lips pressed against his forehead. He wanted to cry when he stood up again.
--“Jir,” otro día.
Spain did a thing with his finger, turning it around.
--You’ll be back some other day?
While he said “back,” he pointed to the sea and then to the sand. Spain smiled widely and made the same movements as the little child did.
--“Bak, Jir.”
He leaped and hugged him tightly.
El día de la despedida
de esta playa de mi vida
te hice una promesa:
volverte a ver así.
Más de cincuenta veranos
hace hoy que no nos vemos
ni tú, ni el mar ni el cielo
ni quien me trajo a ti.
He was back. He was back many times. He was back with marriage alliances. He was back with an Armada, and every time, he was there, waiting for him.
He was not that naïve child anymore. He knew hugs and kisses were not something to take lightly and that any ally could stab him in the back. But he liked to go back to that beach to think.
Just as him, the centuries had changed it a bit, but it was like something was left in the sand. Something that brought back the memories of that one day when they first met. Sometimes he even felt like he was waiting for the same young man that took him into his arms, but he knew that kid was now probably dead.
The sea was not filled with gun powder and blood anymore. It was clear, calm. The times changed everything and deep inside, he feared he had forgotten of that day. Of this place.
Some steps got closer and stopped right behind of him.
--¿Otra vez aquí, Inglaterra?
Si pudiera volver a nacer
te vería cada día amanecer
sonriendo como cada vez,
como aquella vez.
Te voy a escribir la canción más bonita del mundo,
voy a capturar nuestra historia en tan solo un segundo.
_Miradas que van y vienen ¿De odio, amor, pasión o lujuria? Solo ellos dos lo saben.
Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiii~~ Primer día del UKSPweek!! jjajaja me siento como en navidad (♥‿♥) estos dos chicos son mi OTP number one xD (mi obsesión secreta) y me encanta poder participar por primera vez en esta súper semana dedicada a ellos x3
