Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Kitchen Fun and Past Problems

Germany's POV

It was around 3 when everyone left. As much as I enjoyed the company, I was relieved for everyone to leave. It's not that I don't like them all or didn't enjoy their presence, they are my friends, but I never liked that many people being at my house. They usually asked questions, ones I didn't like to answer. South Korea did seem a bit on the curious side and had wanted to wander around the house. I didn't want him to.

My memories began to get a little fuzzy later into the night, after my drinking contest with Russia.

It was weird having him in my house.

Especially with what happened with our fathers.

I waved bye to Poland as he headed home. He waved back to me with his bright smile and turned around to see where he was going. Standing there in the doorway for a few seconds, I watched his figure walk down the street. My happy smile left my face, and I was back to my empty house.

And back to cleaning.

I picked up some of the empty bottles and set them on the counter. America and South Korea offered to help me clean up, but I told them I could do it. It gave me something else to focus on while I'm here. I find that if I don't settle down, I have less a chance to think about the memories of this house.

My music played, echoing and resonating within the walls. I mumbled along with the words, stepping and moving to the beat. It was calming, the music dancing in the air, and manifesting within me as a relaxed posture. The symphony of voices and instruments was something I had noted other countries take advantage of, for fun or for distractions. I couldn't call myself any different, slightly dancing in my living room while I cleaned up last night's mess.

The garbage had been taken out, the living room reset in its state prior to the party, the dishes washed and dried, the carpet vacuumed and the floor's swept, and the upstairs bedrooms picked up before I sat down on the couch in the living room.

For a few sweet bliss moments, that's all there was. Order restored, solidified with my music of choice and comfort in the new positive memories I have to counteract the bad ones.

Until I heard it.

At first, I thought it was my music, a weird sound to add-in. I focused more on it, but when it didn't fallow the beat as everything else had, I opened my eyes confused. The sounds had stopped and I couldn't be certain what they were.

A little on edge now, I leaned back into the cushion and tried once more to reach that level of soundness that I rarely get here.

Everything was still, and it should have been easy to relax, but I found that I couldn't. My mind was now busy with identifying every sound I heard. The music, every individual instrument played and every vocal pitch change with the words, the passing cars outside, the muffled voices of two countries outside walking past my house, footsteps from upstairs-

My eyes shot back open and I jumped to my feet when I heard them again. Footsteps, that was definitely the sound I had heard. They were quiet, shushed by the louder music, but defiantly there. Right above me, in the upstairs. Every sound was tuned out as I watched the ceiling, trailing behind where the footsteps were.

Right above me was my father's study. South must be up there somehow. He had wanted to see inside it.

I followed behind the steps and they lead me out into the hallway, by the stairs. Assuming it was South, I held my arms crossed and foot-tapping at the base of the staircase. I'm not usually one to be strict or mean, I try not to be at least, but in my defense I was irritated, to say the least. It was very rude and inconsiderate for South to sneak back in when I was busy and snoop around. Especially in my father's study. No one has been in there since my father.