Plurk paste

The stars are bright.

It's the first thing Russia notices; how Orion's belt near blazes in the sky, Venus and Jupiter glittering like diamonds against the inky black sky. The night is chilly, and certainly others would be frozen by now, but Russia stands tall, unmoved by the wind and snow that whips around him.

He's a statue in the night sky, indistinguishable and frozen.

A frown crosses his face, tiredness ebbing in the back of his mind. But even though he's tired, sleep is not forthcoming. It's *never* something that happens. So he comes up here night after night, breathes in the night air and wastes hours away thinking of nothing that's important, and dancing around things that hold much too much weight.

It's how he gets through day to day life, fighting off the lack of sleep and the loss. Days are consumed with useless class after useless class, edging him in closer to a break of mentality. The nights are just long sleepless hours where things he'd wish forgotten haunts him. The faces of those back home, and of those who'd left him behind here; Russia had always dealt with ghosts of the past, but never had he felt loss that tore at him and ached so much. The loneliness is familiar, something he can categorize and file away, everyone left him eventually but'd assumed, let himself think that it wouldn't happen here, that people would be by his side for a far longer time period.

So it takes him by surprise to hear the ping of the commuter, to lift it and find a gentle nudge from Latvia, a call to come back and stop brooding. For a moment he's startled, unsure how to take this, and then he's striding back to the commons with purpose, eyes turbulent with emotion. He'd ignored the two second years as he'd dealt with loss- of his stature and of the people he'd loved- and now he slunk home with the worry he'd be ignored.

For a once-nation, Russia can't help but fidget in the doorway, unsure as whether to take the last few steps to join Latvia and Alois in the giant monstrosity of a bed they'd created or just turn and flee back to the sky and stars. But despite his guilt at abandoning them, Russia can't help but hope he'll be accepted again. He fidgets, and makes his choice, slinking forward to find his place. He startles when warm arms slip around him, another set of hands brushing his bangs out of his face.

He meets another pair of purple eyes, feels Alois snuggle close around his midsection, hands resting above new scar tissue and it feels so *wrong* but oh so perfect. The once-nations exchange bashful smiles as Latvia shifts closer, arm tucking around Alois' small waist.

And somehow, Russia feels like he's finally home.