“Tapas it is. I know this great place on Boylston Street. Great food, especially their paella.”
Russia just gazed at him and America folded his arms across his chest. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Russia murmured and bent down slightly to give him a small peck as the doors opened.
That had been almost four hours ago. And though dinner had been great and the wine and company even better, America had gone back to his own hotel room claiming a headache. It was easy to see the flash of disappointment in Russia’s eyes, and he had promised to meet him for breakfast the next morning. With a long goodnight kiss that left a tingling feeling all the way down to his toes, America had gone back to his room two floors above and fell into the bed, waiting for Russia to fall asleep and for the dreams to start.
Whether or not this would work was all questionable, but America secretly hoped that it would because every day Russia just looked that much more tired. The only thing that confused him was why was so tired outwardly now? Were the dreams getting worse and he just refused to say anything about it? America rolled over in the bed while kicking the sheets to the side and stared at the clock again.
Finally, when it was almost two, he could feel sleep tugging at him. It came out of nowhere like a black veil fluttering over his consciousness and America closed his eyes, wondering what would happen.
---
He was in a hall of doors, just like England had said. The corridor seemed to go on forever with several black, red and white doors dotted intermittently. America shivered and rubbed his arms. It was freezing here and only in a t-shirt and jeans, the cold was seeping deeply into his bones. He glanced down at the worn jeans and shirt. He had been in his nightclothes, but since it was so cold here it was better that he was wearing this in the dreams.
“You think the big guy could dream about warm things,” America grumbled and looked to a black door where the cold seemed to be seeping out of. He pressed his hand to the door and it opened easily, pulling him inside before he could step back.
America fell to his knees by the force of the door’s pull, listening to the crunch of snow under his knees and quickly freezing fingers. From under the curtain of his hair, he looked up at the snow filled valley he was in. It was silent and the bitter cold air burned his lungs.
The crunching of snow came from behind him and America turned around, looking in surprise at a small boy gathering a bundle of firewood under a tall pine a short distance away. He wore what looked like linen, and the child couldn’t have been warm in the cold winter save for a cape that was lined with fur. His cheeks and fingers reddened by the cold air and he rubbed at his nose before looking up. America blinked at seeing the wide violet eyes stare at him and then become fearful as he broke into a run, leaving the bundle of sticks behind.
“Russia?” America asked in confusion, knowing those violet eyes from anywhere, and glanced behind him as he heard a deep thundering of what sounded like a horse. Blue eyes widened from behind Texas as he stared at a large man, covered in rich red linen and fur was riding on a black horse straight at him. America dove to the side, nearly trampled, and looked up from the snow as he cut Russia off with the black horse and jumped down, shoving Russia into the snow before he could turn to another direction.
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Here and Now 11
(Anonymous) 2011-06-11 04:09 am (UTC)(link)“Tapas it is. I know this great place on Boylston Street. Great food, especially their paella.”
Russia just gazed at him and America folded his arms across his chest.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Russia murmured and bent down slightly to give him a small peck as the doors opened.
That had been almost four hours ago. And though dinner had been great and the wine and company even better, America had gone back to his own hotel room claiming a headache. It was easy to see the flash of disappointment in Russia’s eyes, and he had promised to meet him for breakfast the next morning. With a long goodnight kiss that left a tingling feeling all the way down to his toes, America had gone back to his room two floors above and fell into the bed, waiting for Russia to fall asleep and for the dreams to start.
Whether or not this would work was all questionable, but America secretly hoped that it would because every day Russia just looked that much more tired. The only thing that confused him was why was so tired outwardly now? Were the dreams getting worse and he just refused to say anything about it? America rolled over in the bed while kicking the sheets to the side and stared at the clock again.
Finally, when it was almost two, he could feel sleep tugging at him. It came out of nowhere like a black veil fluttering over his consciousness and America closed his eyes, wondering what would happen.
---
He was in a hall of doors, just like England had said. The corridor seemed to go on forever with several black, red and white doors dotted intermittently. America shivered and rubbed his arms. It was freezing here and only in a t-shirt and jeans, the cold was seeping deeply into his bones. He glanced down at the worn jeans and shirt. He had been in his nightclothes, but since it was so cold here it was better that he was wearing this in the dreams.
“You think the big guy could dream about warm things,” America grumbled and looked to a black door where the cold seemed to be seeping out of. He pressed his hand to the door and it opened easily, pulling him inside before he could step back.
America fell to his knees by the force of the door’s pull, listening to the crunch of snow under his knees and quickly freezing fingers. From under the curtain of his hair, he looked up at the snow filled valley he was in. It was silent and the bitter cold air burned his lungs.
The crunching of snow came from behind him and America turned around, looking in surprise at a small boy gathering a bundle of firewood under a tall pine a short distance away. He wore what looked like linen, and the child couldn’t have been warm in the cold winter save for a cape that was lined with fur. His cheeks and fingers reddened by the cold air and he rubbed at his nose before looking up. America blinked at seeing the wide violet eyes stare at him and then become fearful as he broke into a run, leaving the bundle of sticks behind.
“Russia?” America asked in confusion, knowing those violet eyes from anywhere, and glanced behind him as he heard a deep thundering of what sounded like a horse. Blue eyes widened from behind Texas as he stared at a large man, covered in rich red linen and fur was riding on a black horse straight at him. America dove to the side, nearly trampled, and looked up from the snow as he cut Russia off with the black horse and jumped down, shoving Russia into the snow before he could turn to another direction.