Title: Florilegium
Pairing(s): Prussia/Austria
Disclaimer: Hetalia and all affiliated characters do not, and will never, belong to me.

Drabble. That is also weird and flowery. I need to prove that I haven't abandoned my beautiful Hetalia readers!
I write drabbles so often that this is now going to be a series of them. And it has a name that means "flower gathering," too, to suit my flowery writing.

-x-

The position really isn't that comfortable, Austria thinks. In fact, it's kind of awkward in that this-piece-of-furniture-is-way-too-small-for-us-both kind of way. The Prussian man he is lying on takes up most of the plush armchair, lying across it horizontally instead of sitting upright, which irks Austria, but he doesn't say so, because Prussia is sleeping, and he will not hear. Even if he did, Austria highly doubts that he would try to move. That's just how Prussia is, he reflects – an unmovable force, something that ordinarily would not be taken for a formidable threat because of the way he carries himself, exuding false confidence and bravado, and when he stops to think he realizes that though he believes it false, perhaps Prussia does not. Austria remembers the battlefields, after all; the carnage and the constant struggle for Silesia, all stemming from him, from his own arrogance. He had disregarded Prussia, dismissed him as a threat, and as a result he had created something dangerous, and that danger had come after him, bringing everything down around his very head.

But now, after three centuries, even more, he was just tired. Perhaps they all were.

"You think too hard," Prussia says suddenly. "It's disturbing my sleep. Stop that."

"My apologies," Austria says flatly, pushing himself off of Prussia's chest. "I suppose you wouldn't be used to such a thing as coherent thought."

"That's mean, Specs. And here I was being such a nice mattress for you."

Austria huffs out a breath, reaching up to flick the other man's nose, taking satisfaction in the abrupt sneeze that follows the action. "You are uncomfortable."

"You're welcome to leave; the awesome me needs no company."

Austria glances up at him, but the way Prussia's arm suddenly tightens from where it had been lain across his back, his waist, takes the choice from him.

"No," Austria says simply, as he knows Prussia wants him to, though the other man would never admit it. It's that damnable pride, so heavily reflected in Germany himself. "No, I think I'll stay right here."

Prussia yawns. "Can't get enough of my awesome self?"

Austria doesn't answer. Perhaps he doesn't need to.