Warning: Angst and mentions of illness! I don't think it's something too graphic or bad, but either way I recommend discretion!
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The pale sky shone dimly, clouds covering every inch of blue, spreading like an illness and turning colours into pale and cheap imitations of life, greyish tones crawling over far away buildings and trees, making the morning boring and sad. The immense mass of clouds moved slowly under the pressure of the cold breeze, almost lazily, if one was to give human characteristics to the white colossus.
Russia blinked slowly, resting his head on one hand and not even trying to pretend he was paying attention to class. The literature teacher looked at him occasionally, probably trying to decide if he should talk to him, or if that would be a bad idea, after all he was the best in his subject and, even if he usually kept to himself, this behaviour was far from normal for him.
Seeing the worry of the teacher's face almost made him feel guilty, but the feeling was easily overpowered by the helpless numbness that had started to seep into his bones since last week.
So he continued ignoring everything around him, gaze lost in the landscape outside of the window, peeking through the windows on the other side of the hallway. What was the point of doing homework and projects if you're going to die anyway? The thought made the stone in his stomach heavier. He should have stayed home today.
Looking down, he tried to glare at the thread tied to his right pinky finger.
Most people had a red thread of fate tied into the pinky of their dominant hand, as a promise of someone that Destiny had made just for them, as a prophecy of happy days to come and a life filled with love. Some people did not have it and, being so, they were free to choose a partner on their own or decide to not have one at all.
In a way, he was envying of them.
It's not that he didn't want a chosen one, far from it, he was a helpless romantic, one of those idiots that had dreamt about wedding bells, hills and children since he had opened his eyes one morning to find his red thread visible for the first time. He had followed the red line with his eyes, excitedly going over the ups and downs of the thin line, wondering who would be on the other side.
He had loved his soulmate even before finding out who he was.
The difference between him and others was simple, he could actually see the whole of the threads that hung from everyone's pinkies. While almost anyone would only be able to see a meter or so of their own thread, he was part of a small part of the population that had access to everyone's fate in the form of a world filled with twisting translucent threads.
There were theories about individuals like him, he remembered from their biology class. Thousands of years ago there had been individuals without threads with the same ability, passed down from generations, whose role in their respective communities seemed to be uniting people and helping fate. In those long lost times, they had helped to end wars, unite kingdoms and allow people to generally be happy. They had used to only have children with people without threads, but at some point that practice had been lost, and as they mixed with people with threads, it had resulted in people like him.
It was really a joke from Destiny.
Now he was forced to see Death right in the eyes, unavoidable and constantly approaching.
The day he had found out his destined one was America, was the same day the white country had passed sneering by his side, pushing his shoulder as they walked in different directions. He had watched the thread in disbelief, following it over and over again as the other disappeared in the crowd.
He had been in denial for weeks, but after starting to watch the other closer, he decided it wasn't that bad.
Slowly, he had fallen in love by watching the other, trying to understand the way he functioned, catching the similarities they shared like being the older brother of a family or their favourite color being blue, and also their differences, like the other's interest in sports and in math.
There had been a few times when they had have to work together, and it hadn't been that bad. They complemented eachother and at small moments, when they were distracted with a problem to solve, they fit like puzzle pieces.
In those brief moments that he could count on his hands, he had understood why Fate had tied them together.
But then the other would come back to reality, and his smiles would turn into expressions filled with hatred, disgust and disdain.
It hurt.
Russia had convinced himself that maybe it wasn't their time. Maybe they would walk different paths and, when reunited once again, after changing and maturing, they would be perfect for eachother. Under that pathetic excuse, he had allowed himself to fall deeper, to hold onto those small moments like an addict to poisonous drugs, signing his own demise quicker.
He watched down on the thread that connected him to the one he loved, the one who hated him.
The colour of his thread had been changing ever since America had started to interact more and more with him, either to smile at him or to mutter insults towards him. It had begun with a pale shade of pink, the red slowly washing out until it faded to a yellowish shade of it. Then, pink had dissolved into a pale and sick orange that had turned brown, the color of dried blood. Finally, the thread had started turning black, right from the middle and towards his hand.
He knew what would happen when the corruption touched his skin.
With each step of the slowly decay of his thread, he had gotten more and more sick. Starting with the headaches, going through the dizziness and the vomiting, and lastly the fever. His body had suffered for weeks, and he had only tried to get closer to the other, hoping it would change his feelings if they knew eachother better.
That had only made things go faster.
He had gone through all the steps of grief. From denial (he can love me, we just met at the wrong time and the wrong place), to anger (it's so unfair, his side of the thread is perfect and nourished with love, why can't he love me the same!), to bargaining (maybe I am the problem, if only I was better at communicating maybe he would actually see me), to depression (I should just stay in bed, what's the point of getting up at all?) And to acceptance.
He had come to the realization that there was nothing he could do to change the other's feelings. He didn't knew where all of them had come from, but he knew his situation was irremediable. Maybe that had been his Destiny all along, to die a tragic death by an unrequited love.
He felt his eyes widen when he lowered his gaze once again. The dark stain of death had been at least twenty centimetres away from his hand this morning, but in his brief monologue, it had climbed up to five.
He raised his hand shakily.
"Yes Russia?" The teacher asked, seemingly with relief at him talking once again.
"I need to go to the bathroom" he said and bolted out of the classroom as soon as he was given permission to get out.
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America yawned, trying to hide behind Canada so the teacher wouldn't notice. Rubbing his eyes he tried to focus on the whiteboard, filled with words and arrows pointing in every direction. The teacher had been probably trying to make things more exciting and easy by explaining things on the board with all those exclamation marks and circles, but the truth is that the subject was plainly boring.
'Sorry sir' he apologized in his head.
Looking down on his empty notebook, he took a look of the red thread tied to his pinky, swirling it around to distract himself from the class. It always made him smile when he saw it, shining softly against his skin in a sparkling red, its glow gentle and, mind you, a very good night light for when he couldn't sleep.
Sometimes he wondered who was the person on the other side. Had they met already? Where they nice? Maybe they liked the same things that him!
He daydreamed about scenarios and possibilities.
The teacher turned around for the hundredth time and he tensed, immediately trying to hide his sleepiness and pretending he was taking notes. He stopped when he followed the direction of the worried gaze of the teacher towards Russia.
He rolled his eyes.
Why would the teacher worry about that guy? He had no idea. Everyone knew better than to get close to the tall antisocial, and even if he did look a little bit sick lately, he would get over it in no time.
It was probably in his genetics or something.
He started erasing the swirling lines he had made on his notebook as soon as the teacher turned around to keep writing on the board, saying something about that boring book he had been explaining for three weeks.
Something about a classic book? He shrugged, it wasn't as if it mattered.
Once the pages were clean, he turned his head to look at the russian.
Ever since he had transferred, the rumours about who he was had started to spread and, at first, he had thought they were only that, rumors. People were talking about the guy being part of a family that was involved in not very good stuff, something about his dad being in a gang or something.
When the tall man with an eye patch had come to the school for the first time by a teacher's request, he had understood exactly why. He was scary, to say the least and while Russia seemed sometimes like a mere introvert, the fact that his family was definitely up to no good made it difficult to believe.
Damn, even his own dad had told him to not get involved with them!
"They look like bad business" the blue country had murmured to him one day as the others entered a beaten down car.
But everything had turned personal when his baby brother Can had started dating the weird guy's younger brother.
As much as Canada talked about the smaller country with sparkling eyes and burning blushes, he could not believe a single word that his lovestruck brother said. Ukraine seemed sweet, sure, but he knew better than to believe the cover of a book or however the saying went. The guy was probably manipulating his softhearted brother into a bad path.
They had fought about it dozens of times and he had almost told their father, but Can had begged him not to do so.
"Dad's going to kill me if he finds out!" Canada has whispered taking his hands with pleading eyes.
"The one who's gonna kill you is their father if he finds out you're dating his son. Or maybe not and they want you to join whatever they're involved with! I don't know what's worse!" He had replied in an exasperated voice.
Canada swore that the tall country with an eye patch was nothing but a novelist, if only a bit eccentric, but it was clear that he had been brainwashed already.
America sighed, focusing on his notebook again and suppressing a yawn, his eyes watering as he exhaled deeply.
He opened his eyes and blinked his peripheral vision catching something unusual. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure it wasn't sleep making him see things.
His thread was slowly disappearing, turning translucent so slowly it was almost impossible to see.
After a few minutes watching closely at the small line, he was finally sure of what was going on. His heart ran faster as a feeling of dread started to crawl up his spine. The only reason for a thread to dissipate was for the fated bond to be broken, either by death or by rejection. But that was simply impossible, he had not rejected his soulmate, far from it, he was eager to meet them, and clearly he wasn't the rejected one, since his side of the thread wasn't dying with corruption.
Was his soulmate dying?
He panicked, his throat turning dry and his mind racing with shapeless thoughts. He was pulled out of his inner turmoil by the sound of a chair being roughly pushed against the ground. He jumped on his spot and then turned around, only to find Russia raising his hand.
He rolled his eyes. Of course.
The guy asked for permission to go to the bathroom, and didn't seem to hear the small giggles in response to his weird attitude, running to the door as if his life depended on it instead.
America turned back to his fading thread but froze when it disappeared abruptly. At the same time, a heavy thud echoed in the hallway, followed by a small whimper.
The teacher turned to look at them, mumbling something about them staying on their desks as he walked quickly to the door. Of course, that wasn't something you could expect from a bunch of teenagers, so as soon as the adult fled the room, everyone got into their feet and ran to the door, opening slightly and trying to see what was going on.
Canada turned around to look at him, a concerned gaze that focused quickly on him when he saw his pale expression.
"Are you ok?" The taller country asked with worry and he shook his head as reply. "Are you feeling ill? Do you need to-" the younger started but was interrupted.
"I think my soulmate's d-" he tried to tell, but was interrupted too by a wave of gasps coming from the hallway. The sound of multiple teachers trying to order the teens to get back into the classrooms mixing with screams and hurried conversations. He didn't pay attention, focused on the now inexistent thread, it's empty place dull without the usual gentle light. He felt his heart clenching painfully and his eyes filling with tears.
"Oh my Gosh" murmured Canada, his eyes on the window to the hallway. "What were you about to say Ame?" His shaky voice whispered.
He allowed his tears to fall free, a mix of anger and sadness filling him as his brother stayed frozen, looking through the window. "My soulmate's dying! What are you looking at?" He screamed, but his brother didn't react, instead, he just pointed at whatever was happening in the hallway.
"I think- You should -" the Canadian tried to talk.
America got up, turning around before freezing too for a few seconds before finally speaking. "No. It's not possible. It's a coincidence. It's not-" he rambled as he watched in horror at his most hated classmate choked on air in the middle of the hallway. The literature teacher was trying to hold his head to allow him to breath, but it seemed nothing helped as the russian started clawing at his neck, his eyes open wide and unfocused. The American took a step towards the door, then another one, until he was pushing everyone aside, still in disbelief as he tried to get close to the guy that was obviously not his soulmate.
"What are you doing America, get back to the classroom!" The teacher screamed when he saw him approach, the other teachers too busy either preparing a stretcher or trying to contact the emergency line which seemed to be inconveniently busy.
"You can't" He started and Russia's teary eyes turned to look at him, filling with panic. "There's no way you're my soulmate!" He finally screamed and the other seemed to wilt under his gaze. Trying to prove this wasn't happening, the American kneeled before the other and took his right hand away from his throat, were a bunch of angry lines were starting to swollen. He felt his heart dropping as he saw the already gangrenous skin on the pinky were the soul thread was supposed to be, the infection moving slowly upwards, already focusing on getting to the heart. To his utter dismay, he felt his own pinky sting with the remains of a rejected bond when their skin touched.
"I-I am s-sorry" came the choked whisper of the other, and only then did he notice his slowed down movements.
He raised his gaze just in time to see his hated enemy slump against the teacher's chest, his eyes glazed over and half closed. The sounds around him grew confusing, but he still held the hand of his classmate between his own.
"Wait! No. No! Stay awake. I'll give you a chance! Stay awake!" He called before the paramedics came rushing through the doors. He watched frozen as they took his pulse and started doing CPR, a few minutes later they put a tourniquet on his hand and quickly put him in the stretcher before rushing to the ambulance.
"Snap out of it!" The strong voice of his teacher said, pulling him out of his state of shock. "You want to fix this? Then get yourself together and come!" The man said while helping him to get up. He ran to the ambulance and said something to one of the paramedics before quickly entering.
America could only try to watch as his other half laid there, completely unmoving.
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A/N:
Ah, I finally bring another story! I'm sorry for taking so long, the truth is that I've been pretty unmotivated and sick. It feels as if everyday I feel more and more tired and today I've been nauseous and with quite a bad migraine, I had to leave classes today. Do not worry, though, I think it's just the stress, I'll be fine I think.
Oh! Btw, I'm planning on making a second part on this one, so don't get sad, this is not the ending!
Anyways, take care, eat well, drink water.
(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃ Bye!~