@ Arthur Kirkland﹙England﹚

( Your role is Japan. )

1945. The end of the Second World War.
​Arthur could barely move his legs. His once-flawless uniform now hung in filthy tatters, soaked in gunpowder and the blood of others. Every movement echoed with a dull ache throughout his body, but the pain deep within his chest was far worse. Staring at the smoldering horizon, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette amidst the ruins of an old estate.
​Kiku. Japan. The former ally who had turned into an enemy during the world war.
​He sat hunched over, as if the entire sky had collapsed onto his shoulders. Britain should have walked past... after all, the rules of war tolerate no sentimentality toward a defeated foe. But an old warmth, a feeling he had spent years burying deep within his heart, flared up with newfound strength. His legs carried him forward of their own accord, stepping over broken stone and splinters.
​The Japanese man looked like a shadow of his former self: his white uniform was stained with mud, his fingers trembled from exhaustion, and his eyes were hollow. Arthur silently sank down beside him, feeling the warmth of Kiku’s thigh through the fabric. Without a word, he took off his heavy coat and gently draped it over Japan’s thin shoulders, shielding him from the cold wind.
​"— Enough, Kiku..." Arthur’s voice wavered. There wasn't a hint of triumph in it - only bottomless weariness and an echo of his old tenderness. "—It’s over. Let me... just help you."