Love Doesn't Have Words [SLOW UPDATES]

-Chuffed-

Property of Russia

As I stood in the courtyard, watching Sevko leave like what she hadn't said wasn't as scary as it was, America found me. He had been waiting for me, and when I didn't show, he looked around the school. I apologized and he smiled and signed back that it was okay.

I couldn't think of Sevko right now. The plan was that I'd meet America's family (as terrifying as it sounds), since mine knew him already. We had a sneak-in-sneak-out system for when we would spend our nights together, so I had never actually met his parents. He said they were nice, which I hoped would be true, but who knows how parents of four act (my father is stressed enough raising three, but it's probably easier with two parents).

We walked to his house, hand-in-very-warm-hand. It was comfortable, the silence we settled in. Though, it wasn't the same kind of comfortable silence that I'd have with Ukraine or Belarus. Instead, it was more dazed. Instead of a peaceful slumber, it was a happy dream that I wish would never end. That may be sappy as hell, but hey, let me live. First loves are supposed to be sappy. And how can I not be when I'm with him?

During our walk, I reflected on when I told America about what has happened. He didn't push, but I felt like he needed to know. There was a sort of weight of guilt to him, and it made me sad just thinking that he may blame himself.

Of course, I didn't tell him everything. He said it was fine to not know all of my story, especially since I didn't know his. It made me smile that he was so adamant on me only saying what I was comfortable telling him.

When I told him that the whole fight sparked a little flame in me, one that reminded me of my past, he nodded silently. He said something like, "We all have times we'd rather forget, ones that leaves behind more scars than just physical. Every story has a conflict, after all." It was nice to know that he understood, at least a little.

Though, he said something else that I think I'll remember a lot longer. He took my hands in his and looked me right in the eyes. His usual sunglasses were gone, so I stared right into his slightly-reddened eyes back.

"I don't know what you went through," he started. There was a scratch to his voice, like he was trying to make an important speech. His accent was more on the Northern-USA side, though his usual tint of South still peaked through. I listened with all I could. "An' you don't have to tell me until you're ready, but know that I'm here. I might understand, and if I don't, I'll still try my damn best to comfort you. Cause, y'know..."

He trailed off, averting his eyes. In the dim light of his room, I couldn't see it before, but once he stopped talking, his cheeks were tinted a noticeable red. I smiled fondly at him, and gave his a little nod to try and encourage him to continue.

Instead of finishing verbally, he shook his left hand out of my right, and held it up. His fingers outstretched, but just his thumb, index, and pinky. I could tell it was a feat to keep his eyes on mine while I processed.

This was the first time either of us had really said (well, signed) the "L-word". I could feel my face heat up as well. It was such a cute way for his first time telling me, especially since he couldn't say it out loud yet.

I cupped his face and put my lips on his. I guess that was my own way of telling him I loved him back.

Before I knew it, I was pulled out of my reminiscing of that night by America declaring that we had arrived at his house. I inhaled sharply, remembering that moment again before exhaling my stress away. This would be fine. It's just his parents.