Yandere Hetalia Scenarios

{Canada/Reader} Scrapbooks, Hair, Photos

{Yeah, I admit, this ones a bit weird.}

23rd March 2018
15:26 - 15:55
Scrapbooks of Love

His footsteps were light, barely noticeable as he made his way through the house, the scuff of his shoes against hardwood floor was too quiet to hear.

Coming home from another tedious day at his academy, pushing open his bedroom door, knowingly having left it slightly ajar in the morning in his frantic rush to leave.

Mathew laid his bag on his floor, pressed up against the wall slipping off his shoes and tucking them away next to it.

His jacket was pulled off, as well as his jumper, discarded on the back of his desk chair and there they would stay until the next morning.

Running his hands through his hair, he stretched his back, rising up on his toes and then sinking back down.

A hand searched through a pocket in his jeans, and his heart pounded when he felt the familiar thing still there.

Perfect.

He sat down on by his desk, pulling open a drawer and fishing one of many large books out of it.

Placing the book down on the table, he flipped open a few pages until he reached the latest, a corner of the paper blank.

The contents of his pocket was placed in the blank spot, and a piece of newly ripped sellotape then applied onto it, keeping it in place.

A pen wrote next to said taped item, pretty joined writing in dark black ink,

'My loves hair - X/X/X'

He smiled to himself, running his fingers across the individual strands, an excited shiver coursing through him.

His heart jumped in his chest, already getting thrills about seeing you again soon. He couldn't wait.

Mathew gently closed the book, staring at the cover, a picture of you and him together. His very favourite photo. The photo he printed a thousand times and put nearly everywhere he could.

His lips gently pressed against the photo, kissing the image of you, imaging you were kissing him back.

His chair creaked as he sat up from it, gently stretching himself once more before walking towards his bed.

And as he pulled away the covers and tucked himself underneath, resting his head on his pillow and sighing deeply, he would dream of you that night.

You were the first thing he saw when he woke up, and the last thing he thought about when he went to sleep.

His eyes slowly fluttered open, him giving the ceiling above one last look before he drifted away, a sweet smile on his lips.

Instead of a typical white, it was colourful.

It was a picture of you.