Reincarnation (Hetalia England x OC) SEE DEAR FRANCIS,

Waking Up

She slowly woke up, although she didn't once open her eyes, wishing only to fall back to sleep in the warmth of a bed for the first time in days...

Wait a minute. 

Her eyes snapped open, only for her to immediately shut them again, the contacts irritating her eyes. Slowly, she opened them again, plucking the coloured contacts out as quickly and carefully as possible. After they were in her hand, she slowly looked around the room with bloodshot, army green eyes, a stark contrast with her hair compared to the ice blue the contacts made them, although everything was blurry. All she could make out through squinted eyes was a haze of sky blue, white, and the brighter flicks of sunlight as they passed over her eyes, making her fall back against the bed, arms over her eyes and hissing. Slowly and carefully, she sat up again, turning to grope around for a nightstand to put her contacts on. Luckily, there was one, allowing her to put them down without losing them. 

As she turned back around to face the front, she heard a door creak ever so slightly, and skipping footsteps followed. She watched as the blur of bright pink and electric blue buzzed over to her, something silver in the person's hands. 

"Good morning, poppet! Feeling any better?" he said merrily, rocking on his heels, not that she could see. He walked around to the other side of the bed, sitting himself down and holding out the tray to her. He received an odd look above his head from her army green, bloodshot eyes before she reached out with thin, pale hands, trying to find the silver plate. She grasped at air a few times before pouting, causing him to realise she needed glasses and to prop the tray over her lap. "You alright, poppet? I found you outside in front of my shop all wet! I couldn't just leave you there, so I carried you and your bags in!" he said, making her red and green eyes go wide, also allowing him to see just how red they were. 

"U-Um, thanks, sir," she started, using her best British accent, which came naturally. "Do you think you could get me the smallest suitcase? It has something very important in there..." she finished, trailing off.

"Of course, poppet! I'll be right back! You can eat the food I brought you!" he said before hopping up and leaving the room, leaving Adrian to look down at the aforementioned, propped up with stands on either side of her lap. From what very little she could make out, it was a plate of some kind of muffins and a mug. Slowly, with thin, pale hands, she reached for one of the petite muffins, fumbling before grabbing it and lifting it to her mouth. She took a small bite as she saw a blur, and the man entered the room again, lugging what she assumed was her smallest suitcase behind himself. He lifted it onto the bed carefully, making sure not to disrupt the food in her lap, as she finished the small muffin. After she did so, she reached beside her to where the man had originally been sitting and where the suitcase now lay. She closed her eyes, her hand finding its way to the front zipper, unzipping it and reaching inside as though by instinct. She felt around inside before pulling out a bottle of contact solution, a damp envelope with various numbers scribbled out, now at 357, and a small box of contacts. 

She pulled them close to her before speaking. "Thank you, kind sir. I'm afraid I can't stay too long, though," she said, pulling out a small, white, plastic container and opening it, pulling out a contact with an icy blue film. She opened her right eye wide, carefully placing it on and blinking a few times before repeating the process with the other.

"I assure you, poppet, that you're safe from the police in my apartment and bakery. I'm still wondering how a runaway like you got to the UK, though," he said reassuringly, earning a gasp from the girl as she turned her now ice blue eyes to look at him. She finally saw him clearly; he had strawberry blonde hair, a bright, although not neon, pink vest, an electric blue bowtie, same colour eyes, a cream button up, and brown trousers. He had the happiest, most childish smile she had ever seen, minus the one she saw when Valentina drew the man from her dreams.

"H-How did you kn-know I w-was a r-runaway, and from a-another country n-no less?!" she squeaked out, almost spilling the mug of what she now could see was hot chocolate as she jumped in surprise. She caught it, although she still shook ever so slightly, awaiting his answer. 

"It was easy to guess, seeing you looking so tired and well dressed, along with the fact you had pretty nice suitcases. No streetrat would be wearing such fancy clothes, nor would they be so fragile-looking and pale, poppet, and your accent sounds a bit forced," he answered, and she realised he was right. She could never have passed off as a normal citizen with her tangled hair and fake accent, but nor could she pass off as a streetrat with her fancy clothes and pale complexion. "Now, eat, poppet. You're so light already," he urged walking up beside her and putting his hands on his hips while giving her a motherly glare. She giggled at the way he acted, not remembering anyone acting like that towards her, as her mother died when she was young. "What're you laughing at?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"N-No one has act-ted so..." she paused her giggling, suddenly deep in thought. "Actually, I don't know. You kind of remind me of my father, except a lot more excepting and kind," she said, now confused. 

He awwed, glomping her and rubbing his cheek against hers. "You're so cute, poppet! That's it! I might just have to adopt you as my wittle girl if you keep that up!" he said, earning an awkward shift from her, as she was unused to such genuine kindness from other people. He pulled away, only to gasp. "Oh, and I haven't told you my name! How very rude of me! I'm Oliver Kirkland, poppet! What's your name?"

"Adri-" she started, only to pause. "Virginia. I haven't decided on a last name yet," she said, knowing he already knew of her being a runaway.

"Ah, so you wanted a fresh start?" he thought for a second before pointing at her. "From here on out, you are now my wittle fourteen year old daughter!" 

"Fifteen," she corrected, sipping the now lukewarm chocolate with a small smile carressing her pale face, turning to a smirk as she saw some freckles sprinkled across the cheek he had rubbed against hers.

"Oh. Fifteen," he corrected. He noticed her look and tilted his head. "What are you looking at?" Suddenly, the colour drained from his face as he scurried over to a vanity sat against the window with white curtains. "Oh dear! The foundation came off!" he cried drammatically before running out of the room, presumably to get his foundation, leaving the girl to finish her food and to make sure the money she pulled from the envelope wasn't ruined.

Well, that will definitely be going in the letter, she thought, smiling more brightly. 

She placed the money down on the tray, raising both hands to feel her face. What is this?...

I didn't think it was possible for me to actually smile...

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Sorry for the wait! I also wanted to mention that 2p England is not a personification nor a 2p in this story and that, this Friday/Saturday, I will pull a late nighter and write as much as possible. After all, I want to write a Christmas special, but, if she hasn't met Arthur yet, then it would just be confusing.