“Your eyes are really nice.” He speaks this bluntly, and it almost has Czechia choking on her drink in surprise. She is used to his bluntness of course, just as he is used to hers, but that doesn’t mean unawareness can’t creep up to envelope both of them sometimes.
“You say this so suddenly,” She replies in turn, raising a brow as she attempts to recollect the fallen strands of her composure. “People don’t often give niceties for the sake of it, you know.” It’s teasing, an underlying jest to spoken gravitas that Slovakia can’t help but laugh at in response. After all, they both know there is an element of truth to it.
“Hm, perhaps.” He drums his fingers on the tabletop. Jest returning jest. “If a few compliments would be enough to have you pay for both our drinks, I could just keep doing it.”
Czechia rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
“But,” and he raises a finger before she could go any further. “it doesn’t change the fact that your eyes are really nice.”
“And how so?”
He wants to talk about how the depths of her blues remind him of water, at times—how deep they go, like bodies of water that reveal nothing beneath their waves. He sees the Vltava in her eyes, how it runs and rushes in constant tempo throughout time, unrelenting despite this shifts and pulls of the world around them.
But he does not talk about this, of course. Instead he teasingly offer in turn, “Ah—I could say more, but you haven’t said enough nice things about me in return.”
“Janko!” She cries out in frustration, and Slovakia laughs.