Three APH Short Stories from Memes

"N-now, Natalia," Rebecca stammered, tears beginning to run down her face as she held in sobs of fear, "you wouldn't kill... one of your own people, would you?"

"One of my own people?" Natalia let out a quiet, cold laugh. "You're a stinking American, no better than Alfred."

"But my ancestors were from your country..." Rebecca explained desperately. "My grandmother's mother and her two sisters came over to the US when they were all just kids, alone..."

"Mm," Natalia grunted, narrowing her eyes and calculating this, trying to find the weak point of Rebecca's story. "Jewish, no doubt?"

"Y-yeah. They were escaping the pogroms."

"Running from my brother's forces." The blond girl laughed coldly again, sending a chill through Rebecca's bones and dropping a rock in her stomach. "Then they were cowards. Your bloodline cannot help your case now."

Rebecca just glanced the glint of Natalia's silver knife and was sure, for a very brief moment, that this would be the end of her.

The next thing she saw was but a fast-moving blur; very, very black on top and very, very white on the bottom. She heard the knife clatter to the floor, and the unidentified rescue object was revealed to be made up of black hair and a white military uniform with gold buttons.

Rebecca nearly choked. "Kiku!"

The Japanese man had Rebecca's tormentor held at bay. She suspected Natalia wouldn't have looked so stunned into silence if Kiku hadn't just appeared with virtually no sign of his entrance. He truly was a ninja.

"Honda!" The European country screeched in her shrill voice, evocative of death itself. Her expression fermented to rage. "Where did you come from? Let me kill the little rat! She was eyeing my brother, and you know what that gets her!"

"Sumimasen, Arlovskaya-san," Kiku replied nervously, crouching as quickly as possibly to retrieve the weapon, "but nobody's going to be killing anybody here..."

The blond girl bared her teeth; she appeared to be considering killing him, too, but then her face fell into dejected hatred as she remembered the promises she'd made in the past to not brutally murder any of the other countries. "You are both scum," she spat before turning to exit briskly.

"Kiku, oh, thank you!" Rebecca flung herself into the Asian nation's arms, momentarily ignoring his aversion to close contact. He didn't protest, given the situation the girl had just narrowly escaped. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you, you just saved my freaking life..."

"Dōitashimashite, Rebecca," Kiku replied with a small smile. "I've had to deal with Arlovskaya-san in the past. I am rather used to her... erratic behavior."

"I'm completely in debt to you, man," Rebecca announced, pulling back to grab his free hand (the one not holding Natalia's well-sharpened knife) and smile at him. "Next time you need something, I've got your back. Okay?"

Kiku smiled as well. "That is very kind of you, but it is unnecessary."

Rebecca laughed. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

"Get. Your arm. Off. My shoulders."

Francis retracted his right arm with a dejected expression. "Killjoy," he complained, momentarily sticking his tongue out at Arthur, who simply rolled his eyes, shifting further away from the Frenchman. "You're never any fun to watch movies with."

"You're the one who just tries to turn every movie into a f***-fest!" England spat, hugging a throw pillow.

The other grinned mischievously. "That's going a little far, mon cher. Not every movie. And I wouldn't do that to poor Yao." He gestured at the Chinese man seated in a separate armchair, then looked at him in confusion. Yao was staring at the screen, utterly enthralled, but not quite appearing scared by the images on the screen... more like horrified. Concerned, even. Queasy?

"Ehh, Yao..." Francis called, and Arthur looked at him, too. "Are you alright?"

Yao's response was immediate. "Look at the screen." Arthur and Francis did just so. They were watching The Grudge - the original Japanese version, with subtitles. The ghost - or whatever she technically was - was advancing out of the corner like some kind of terrible living ink stain to attack the victim. "Look at the screen! You see that?" Yao shook his head, mouth slightly agape. "My little brother is deranged!"

Francis smirked, laughing a bit. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Oh, come on!" Yao yelled, turning to face Francis and flinging an arm out to gesture towards the flat screen television. "This is demented, aru! And this isn't the first thing that's clued me in!"

"What do you mean?" Francis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um..." Arthur offered, wincing. "Was it the, uh... the tentacle thing?"

"Ohh," Yao groaned, burying his face in his oversized burgundy sleeves, "please don't bring that up. I spent hours trying to hypnotize those images out of my head..."

"Yao," Francis began consolingly, "your brother is... ehhh, different." He tried to smile reassuringly. "I mean, he doesn't deal with his emotions like most of us. He's the... introverted artist type." This phrase was accompanied by a flourishing hand gesture. "Personally, I like Japanese horror films. The Ring is one of my favorites."

"That one's..." Yao trailed off, watching the movie once again, "not as bad as this."

"Meh." Arthur shrugged. "I've seen scarier. I don't think you have to be too worried."

Yao cast his eyes downards, pulling his legs up into the chair and shifting around uncomfortably. "Maybe not, aru..."

Arthur continued to look at Yao, thinking. "You miss him... don't you?" he said gently after a pause.

The Chinese man shrugged, staring at his ankles. "I wish he'd just talk to me..." He laughed rather fakely and gestured to the screen again. "Because clearly, things are wrong."

"You could visit him," Francis suggested. "Just show up sometime for a rendez-vous."

Yao shook his head. "He wouldn't like that, aru. Aside from it being me, he also just hates having unexpected guests." He huffed. "Wants everything to be absolutely perfect ahead of time if anybody's coming over..."

Francis sighed. "Alors, if anyone understands, it's Arthur." He looked over at the Englishman expectantly.

His cheeks went pink in response, and he glared. "Shut up. I couldn't even care less what Alfred's up to. And it's not like it's not all over the news, anyway."

"Yeah. D'accord," Francis responded sarcastically. "We all know you have a heart of stone."

"Are we going to watch the bloody movie, or what?"

"Fine. I'm shutting up." Francis turned his attention back to The Grudge.

Yao stood at the edge of the vast golden field that waved and bristled in the sweet, cool breeze.

He stood in front of the field and he cried.

He cried subtly - with tears and occasional punctuating sniffles and agonized-looking head shakes and sighs. He'd stare out at the nearly unending glory of the sunflowers that shone like a yellow wildfire - but only for short periods of time before he'd have to wipe away another wave of vision-blurring tears. The wind would blow strands of his ebony hair - dark chocolate in such all-encompassing sunlight - flat across his face, where it would become wet on his drenched cheeks. Yao barely even noticed.

"Why do you have to be so beautiful?" He finally managed out loud, voice pitching in and out of a whisper weakly. Though he wasn't sure whether he was talking to the sunflowers, or to Ivan.

The Eastern nation had only stumbled across this meadow, but it has been such a gut-wrenching, awe inspiringly beautiful sight that he could have sworn his heart had broken the moment it came into his vision. Or maybe the moment he realized what, exactly, the flowers all were.

Every single last one of them. Sunflowers, in random array, growing wild in the Chinese countryside, tucked away between hills that were tinted blue by permanent mist. They weren't being cultivated for seeds or forced into rows for nothing but their beauty. Here, they were just... free. They were here because they could be.

And then, so suddenly that it would have been startling to an observer, Yao became iron.

He felt an inexplicable urge to straighten his back. His fists clenched at his sides, and the head-shakes transitioned into nods. Nods yes. Yes.

This field would be here forever.

Yao would make sure of that. This meadow of wildflowers that, until today, Yao hadn't even been aware of the existence of - it was going to stay. Permanent as the mist on the hills. Permanent as he. He would protect it by any means necessary.

He would guard it from development and progress and machines and human filth. Nothing would dirty this silent, innocent world as long as he was alive.

It was too much like Ivan. It was too cool and soft and bright and free. Too gentle but strong. Too unorganized and untouched.

But Ivan had been touched. Ivan was no longer cool... he was cold. Ivan was no longer soft and bright and free... he was metallic and dull and caged. Only in miraculous moments did he show a semblance of what he used to be. What he should have stayed.

They could do what they liked to Yao - but why did they have to get to Ivan? His sweet, protective Ivan - his tall, strong sunflower.

It would see what it had done! And it would see that it could be foiled.

And maybe someday his Ivan would come back to him. And then it would be theirs to share, in the midst of summer, without another soul in sight. They could pretend they were the only ones. The only life on Earth.

And then they could pretend that perfection was actually possible.