CH Short Stories 😏

🇫🇷☁️ L'amour est comme une symphonie ☁️🇬🇧

          Britain glanced down at his watch. It was already quarter past five. The sun was starting to rise, and his usual morning tea had already started to wear off. It was a stressful day. A very stressful day. It was concert day. He and the others of the ensemble had been working for months at fixing and tweening every part of this performance. But there was still so much room for things to go wrong.

Britain didn't see himself as a perfectionist but it was important to him that things went as smoothly as they possibly could. He had dealt with enough stress in the past weeks to last for his entire life. Staring blankly at the sidewalk before him, Britain found his mind wandering back and forth between doubt and compliments. Spain on the other hand didn't seem to be worried about anything, but that was to be expected by him. Britain grumbled quietly.

"Are you sure everyone practiced this time? " Britain timidly glanced at his watch again, counting the seconds. Spain rolled his eyes in a quick reply.

"Yes, I made sure they practiced. I don't ever repeat my mistakes. " the Spaniard took an awkward step on the sidewalk. They both knew that was an absolute lie.

Spain awkwardly fiddled with his hands. The other country already knew what that meant.

"You didn't tell them to practice, did you... " Britians stress raised about ten folds. This was going to be complete and utter chaos. He was not ready for this at all. This would turn out to be the single-handedly most embarrassing thing he had ever gotten himself into. Spain awkwardly laughed, trying to push some of the pressure off his shoulders.

Britain let out a long breath and promptly shook his head. He was a musician, not a babysitter. He knew it well, but sometimes wished he could just take Spainś job as stage director. Knock some sense into the stage crew and ensemble. Then maybe they had a shot.

Spain stared at the ground, muttering something under his breath. Britain quickly did his signature facepalm. Silence thickened the air for several long minutes.

"Were doomed " he spoke up as well as giving Spain the side-eye. Spain looked almost frightened in a way, scrambling for an excuse from his catalog.

" I don't know.... Maybe they sound different? " the taller Spanish man gave a crooked smile.

Britain groaned.

"Hey! Trust me," Spain said lowly.

Britain just looks at him. "Trust?" he sounded almost offended. Spain shook his head and slumped.
"Your right we are doomed. The guest director is going to have my head for this " he made a motion in the air. Britain did not disagree with that. This composer, unlike him, was a huge perfectionist. One mistake and he would yell at them in German. Britain did not need the extra headache.

¨You screwed us over this time. ''His British accent was thick but polished. Spain shook his head, it looked like he was about to cry. Glancing up a quiet chuckle resigned from the Spaniard. Britain himself couldn't help but smile. He looked up at the tall, majestic, relic of his childhood. The Luna theater still stood strong.

Its bright lights flashed with excitement and the billboard read upon every event that was to come. The Luna theater was a large part of who Britain was.

As children both Spain and he would sneak into the very building for over ten years, watching the exciting acts and soaking in every beautiful melody. It was only when he turned sixteen when both of them knew the theater was where they wanted to be. So Britain got to work. He quickly learned to play the piano, as well as doubling for the violin. But by the time he turned eighteen, he had mastered the piano and turned out to be one of the best regional and country-known players.