Book 1 - Puppets

XLIII - Piles

'Why does America have to be so distracting?'

Russia shakes his head to clear it and then nearly walks into a wall. He stumbles to a stop, and a few of the smaller rocks in his arms clatter to the ground. He turns to the pile and drops the arm fulls of stones onto the pile.

The mound grows at a sluggish pace.

"Soooo..." Massachusetts says from behind him. Russia jumps.

"I see you've been eyeing Dad."

Russia's face goes red.

"N-"

"No, don't deny it. All us 'kids' know. We can see you, you know. I think 'Nada is ignoring it and Finland doesn't care. But we know what's going on," Massachusetts says, gesturing to the other states and Philippines.

Russia looks away, and stares at the floor, wishing it would open and swallow him whole.

"Now give me one good reason I shouldn't tell you to f*** off," Massachusetts says with a smirk.

"..."

"Come on. Most people don't even get this chance."

"I-"

"Massachusetts, stop antagonizing Russia!" America scolds.

"Okay, sorry pops," Massachusetts replies before turning back to Russia, "hurt him, and we'll make you pay, got it?"

Russia nods quickly. Massachusetts smiles and walks away.

Russia's hands shake and he tries to calm his breathing as best as he can. Once he manages to calm himself down, his attention returns to America.

'He looks perfect.'

As dirty as he looked, as tired as his eyes were, he shines.

As soon as the thoughts register, Russia looks away.

'No. Not this. It's not allowed.'

He tries to focus on anything but the red filling his face.

'If I could- no I can't. But maybe- no.'

His heart clenches at the thoughts racing through his head. Russia wants to reach out, pull him in, and hold him tight. Instead, he mindlessly continues collecting stones, trying to ignore the dripping from the ceiling.

His eyes gravitate toward the light blue light, but he pulls them away.

'This is wrong,' he scolds himself, 'this is wrong. Stop. He shouldn't be so pretty. Maybe if he wasn't, trying to ignore him would be easier.'

Russia tries to rub the blush off his face but doesn't have any luck. His cheeks still feel warm.

"Russ. Can you come here for a second? I wanna talk to you," America says.

"Okay," Russia calls back, cursing himself over how his voice had cracked.

Russia first dumps the rocks he's collected into the pile. He takes a deep breath. He squares back his shoulders and takes on a more confident posture.

'It's only America. It's only America,' he tells himself.

Not surprisingly, this doesn't help. He walks over.

"What is it?" Russia asks, praying that his face looks normal.

"Well, you've been acting kinda weird. And hey, listen, if I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," America says bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes. Russia watches his face go pink.