Chained Together (Rusame)

Dying of Embarrassment

The sun dipped low in the sky, scattering warm colors across the clouds. It reminded Russia of when they had first arrived at his house. It felt so long ago— how had it only been a couple of days since then?

It was after they'd all eaten dinner, and Russia followed America as he retreated upstairs to his bedroom. Russia's gaze scanned the room as they stopped a few steps into it. The warm light of the evening shone through the window, putting the room in golden hues. America's bedroom was significantly nicer than his. Larger too. The shorter country had a lot of stuff, but it was surprisingly clean and organized. He had assumed that a person who was so disorderly whenever Russia saw him would also have a disorderly home. Though he couldn't say the same thing for some of his states— He'd had a glimpse of some of their rooms as they were traveling about the house.

America turned to him and wrinkled his nose. "Dude, you stink."

"No, you stink." All that running around the house they'd done earlier was probably a factor in this.

"Okay, so we both stink." America took a deep breath, "I hate to say this, but... I think it's time that we need to take a shower."

Russia froze, and then slowly brought his gaze back to America. "No..." he breathed. "Argh, I've been ignoring that on purpose!"

"I hate it too," America was leaning into his hip, "But it won't take that long, I promise!"

Russia didn't really have a choice, did he? "Fine. But don't try anything. Oh, and keep your eyes off me." He scowled and jabbed an accusatory finger into the striped country's chest. Which, he realized, was still bare.

"I'm not going to try anything." America raised his hands in front of him. "You really think I'm the type to be weird like that? Paranoid as hell..." he muttered the last part.

"I'm just making sure." Russia growled.

He nodded. "Also, we can just close our eyes the whole time."

"But how will I know if you're looking at me?!" The taller country started tapping his foot anxiously. Why was he so nervous? We're both guys, it's fine, He tried to reassure himself.

"Just trust me man. I'd even blindfold myself if you wanted me to."

Russia went silent, shifting his feet. He realized that he was being difficult, and decided to just drop it. "That won't be necessary. It's fine. I'll just have to trust you." He said it like it was his own idea.

America nodded, satisfied. "Wait!" He said abruptly, "Do I have any clothes that'll fit you? You didn't bring any."

"Oh." Russia realized that he didn't bring anything to America's house besides what he had on him. He blamed it on how he had just woken up when they left.

"I'm sure I can find something— maybe like, an oversized hoodie or something. He pulled out a hoodie from his closet and held it up to Russia's upper half, seeing if it would fit.

"You better find something. I'm not going shirtless." Russia would've crossed his arms if his hand wasn't connected to America's.

"Umm, I don't think my pants are fitting you. And you've probably worn those for too many days in a row." He pointed at Russia's pants and grimaced.

"Влиииин." Russia dragged a hand down his face.

"You know who's taller than me? Canada." America started calling the country before Russia could object or suggest a different idea.

"Canada, we have a predicament," he muttered into the phone, "Do you have any pants that would fit Russia?" He covered the microphone with his hand and turned to Russia. "How tall are you? 6' fucking 8? Gosh. Well Can's 6'5, this should work." He went back to talking into the phone. "Yeah, it can just be like sweatpants or something. He just needs to wear pants. I don't think I could handle it if he went without them." What is he going on about? What does he mean by that? "You can bring it up to my room. Thanks, Can Man." He hung up. "Canada will be here in about 30 minutes."