Shit. He had never really thought of it as 'an invasion of privacy', even though deep down there was that muted whisper that warned how angry Russia would be if he found out. But every thought was 'help Russia' and 'stop the nightmares' no matter the cost.
He had just never factored in that maybe that cost might include his relationship.
America wearily sat in the kitchen and waited for Russia to come back. It was cold and dark out. The yellow light of the kitchen illuminated vaguely the trees in the backyard. He sat on the blue stool near the counter, rolling his glass on the tile and burrowing his head in his hands as fear and self-revulsion clogged his throat. He stared at his reflection in the blackened windowpane and quickly glanced back to the door to see if Russia would be back. Two hours of the cycle passed and America tried to call him, to make sure everything was all right and that he was okay. When he didn't pick up on the third try, America started to pace back and forth in the kitchen. He stopped and sat down on the stool when another hour passed.
It was finally 3 hours and 47 minutes later when Russia came back. America held his head in his hands staring at his shadow over the white tile as heavy footfalls rang in his ears.
"I changed my flight. My plane leaves tomorrow at 11. I called a cab to the airport."
"I'll drive you." America lifted his head, feeling his hurt heart throb and push the shards of glass through his veins. His whole body ached with the thought of Russia leaving so suddenly.
"Nyet." Russia said, and walked to the living room.
America watched his back, and looked back to the counter. He could tell talk was not welcomed and any try to persuade him to stay would only be met with vicious anger. The fury was still there, bubbling under his skin. "Then take the bed at least." When America was met with silence, he tried again. "Russia…"
"Enough America. Goodnight." The goodnight was gritted out and hesitant, and the house relapsed into silence once more.
The younger man stared into the darkened room, listening to Russia move around and to his breathing. He finally slipped off the stool, said goodnight to deaf ears and wandered upstairs.
He didn't bother to change out of his clothes as he lay on the bed, gouging his fingers into his face and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. He had to think of something to say tomorrow morning to pacify him. Explain everything entirely. America had to fix it, because the idea of them remaining broken like this, with the fissure of anger between them, made him ill. His head spun, making him nauseous and his hands trembled lightly. America curled up on his side, shoving his glasses on the nightstand and squashed the pillow in his hands until he drifted off to sleep.
I agree with the other anon...Cliffanger of doom will kill us all :D But as usually, you did a wonderful job, A!A. I so wanted for America to spill out the truth, but of course Russia would get mad at him, anybody would >.< So now I feel sad for the both of them especially if, as it seems, they'll part ways while still not talking to each other. I hope Russia will eventually forgive America, after all he had only good intentions. Oh and of course there still is the little detail of Russia's subconcious tring to kill Ameria. At least now Russia want's to conscoiusly kill him ^^'
Oh well, nevermind anon's silly dark humour, A!A, keep up the good work!
It's probably sick of me to like this since the poor guys are so broken ;^; I like the style even more than usual this time, the tension is so palpable :)
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Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 07:31 am (UTC)(link)Shit. He had never really thought of it as 'an invasion of privacy', even though deep down there was that muted whisper that warned how angry Russia would be if he found out. But every thought was 'help Russia' and 'stop the nightmares' no matter the cost.
He had just never factored in that maybe that cost might include his relationship.
America wearily sat in the kitchen and waited for Russia to come back. It was cold and dark out. The yellow light of the kitchen illuminated vaguely the trees in the backyard. He sat on the blue stool near the counter, rolling his glass on the tile and burrowing his head in his hands as fear and self-revulsion clogged his throat. He stared at his reflection in the blackened windowpane and quickly glanced back to the door to see if Russia would be back. Two hours of the cycle passed and America tried to call him, to make sure everything was all right and that he was okay. When he didn't pick up on the third try, America started to pace back and forth in the kitchen. He stopped and sat down on the stool when another hour passed.
It was finally 3 hours and 47 minutes later when Russia came back.
America held his head in his hands staring at his shadow over the white tile as heavy footfalls rang in his ears.
"I changed my flight. My plane leaves tomorrow at 11. I called a cab to the airport."
"I'll drive you." America lifted his head, feeling his hurt heart throb and push the shards of glass through his veins. His whole body ached with the thought of Russia leaving so suddenly.
"Nyet." Russia said, and walked to the living room.
America watched his back, and looked back to the counter. He could tell talk was not welcomed and any try to persuade him to stay would only be met with vicious anger. The fury was still there, bubbling under his skin. "Then take the bed at least." When America was met with silence, he tried again. "Russia…"
"Enough America. Goodnight." The goodnight was gritted out and hesitant, and the house relapsed into silence once more.
The younger man stared into the darkened room, listening to Russia move around and to his breathing. He finally slipped off the stool, said goodnight to deaf ears and wandered upstairs.
He didn't bother to change out of his clothes as he lay on the bed, gouging his fingers into his face and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. He had to think of something to say tomorrow morning to pacify him. Explain everything entirely. America had to fix it, because the idea of them remaining broken like this, with the fissure of anger between them, made him ill. His head spun, making him nauseous and his hands trembled lightly. America curled up on his side, shoving his glasses on the nightstand and squashed the pillow in his hands until he drifted off to sleep.
Re: Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 12:25 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 02:23 pm (UTC)(link)But as usually, you did a wonderful job, A!A.
I so wanted for America to spill out the truth, but of course Russia would get mad at him, anybody would >.< So now I feel sad for the both of them especially if, as it seems, they'll part ways while still not talking to each other. I hope Russia will eventually forgive America, after all he had only good intentions. Oh and of course there still is the little detail of Russia's subconcious tring to kill Ameria. At least now Russia want's to conscoiusly kill him ^^'
Oh well, nevermind anon's silly dark humour, A!A, keep up the good work!
Re: Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-03 01:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-03 06:52 am (UTC)(link)Re: Here and Now 64
(Anonymous) 2012-03-05 04:17 pm (UTC)(link)revelations
...I like this.
It's probably sick of me to like this since the poor guys are so broken ;^;
I like the style even more than usual this time, the tension is so palpable :)
Can't wait to see how you get them out of this!