You were sitting on the edge of a frozen lake, boots dangling just above the ice, when you felt his presence before you saw him. The air shifted—colder, quieter—and then soft footsteps in the snow.

Russia stood behind you, hands tucked into his long coat pockets. His scarf fluttered slightly in the wind, and his violet eyes were unreadable—but not unkind.

"...You shouldn’t sit so close to the edge," he said softly. "The ice isn't thick enough today.." He smiled. He was one of the kindest and sweetest people you knew.

You glanced back at him, he was grabbing mittens out of his pockets for you.

He didn’t say anything right away. He appreciated comfortable silence. He was content.. As always. Soft.

Instead, he stepped forward—slowly—and sat down beside you with careful space between your bodies… not too far. Just enough to make sure you knew he wanted to be close. He was always kind with everyone sure, but being kind with you was just different.

"...I worry," he murmured after a silence. Then quickly added: "Because you're very close to me! Sometimes I don't think it's just that. I avoid pushing the thought.." he added softly, once again a smile of glee as he scooted closer. Once again sweetening and sugar coating his words.

A beat passed.

Snow began to fall again—gentle flakes catching in your hair.

He turned his head slightly toward you—the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to give a much wider smile. He wanted you to know he feels at peace with you. As mentioned, he's closer to you than he ever will be with anyone.

He looked down at your hand, he put his hand on it, then finally taking it.

"Snow only falls where snow can collect. Unfortunately, Ive already collected you. We should go inside."

He said retrieving his hand. He never was shy with you, he never had a reason to be. He was always soft, careful, gentle.