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."
"This better work," Russia grumbled. He tended to get snappier when he was stressed or anxious.
"It'll be okay, Rus." America reassured, his voice gentle. "It'll work out."
He wasn't aware of it, but it calmed him down a little.
"Okay, hear me out. This is how we'll get our shirts on: We'll get a state who knows how to sew to unstitch the side of a shirt. You'll put your free arm into the sleeve on the still sewn side, and then they restitch it onto your handcuffed side, and voila! You're wearing a shirt! And the same goes for me." He explained.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" Russia asked, looking at him strangely.
"Since you ripped my shirt off."
Russia exhaled from his nose and rolled his eyes. America walked back over to the door to go find a state who can help them.
America opened the door to see California standing right behind it. She jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes.
America's eyebrows drew downwards. "What're you doing here?"
"...I was curious about what you were doing," She admitted, not making eye contact with him, "But from what I heard, it sounds like you guys are going to need a state that can handsew?"
"...Yes." America was clearly not happy about being eavesdropped on, but let it slide. "Would you be willing?"
She nodded, smiling.
"Okay, we'll come get you tomorrow when we're ready for that." He gestured for her to leave.
"Okay, have fun with your shower!" She winked and quickly left the room.
America groaned, sitting on the edge of his bed. Russia did the same. He takes off his sunglasses and places them on his bedside table, blinking a few times. Russia was instantly drawn to his eyes, not being able to see them very often. He was simply enthralled by the unique colors. Countryhumans often had unusual eye colors, but he swore he'd never seen any like his.
America doesn't notice. "We ought to get going with that shower." He toes off his shoes, and then leans over to remove his socks. Russia tries to keep his hand as far away from his as possible. His own shoes are harder to remove, being combat boots instead of sneakers.
They sit up again, and Russia hesitates before slowly unraveling the bandages on his forearms. He only glanced at the array of faded scratches underneath before moving on and throwing away the bandages in the nearby trash can.
America looked up at him with a hint of concern. He had obviously just assumed that the bandages were just for the aesthetic. Which they were, sometimes.
"What're those from?" America asked, talking about the scratches.
"It was uhh, a stray." Russia lied.
"Like a cat?"
"Yeah." He rapped his fingers on his thigh with the silence that followed.
After a moment, America stood up and said, "You know, you could have said that they were battle scars, or from something cool, but you opted for the cat route. That says a lot about you." He clearly didn't believe that it was from a cat.
"Like what?!" What was he talking about?
"I dunno, I didn't think that hard." America took off his belt with his free hand and dropped it on the bed.
The realization that they were really doing this finally hit. "Idiot..." he said, looking away from America.
They fell silent again, not having anything more to say. He wasn't sure if he would prefer it if they kept talking or stayed silent.
Russia fumbled with his own belt in his awkwardness, it making an excess of clinking noises as he tried to remove it. He threw it down next to America's, and then allowed his chained hand to hover near America's as the shorter country unzipped his pants and quickly took them off.
Russia wasn't watching, of course. The wall was much more interesting than what was happening in front of him. Like, wow, just look at that off-white wall! Truly a work of art. And there's a bunch of posters and stuff on it too. Yup. He's a wall connoisseur, really. And this one's a good one.
Russia looked down at himself, realizing that he would probably have to rip off his shirt like he had America's. He growled under his breath and tore it off, only saddened a little bit at losing the shirt.
America cursed quietly from where he stood beside him. Russia looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, only daring to do so because he wasn't completely naked yet. "What was that?" He asked, and America met his eyes, seeming surprised.
"Oh! Um," he flustered. "I don't know, I guess I just wasn't expecting that?" He made it sound like a question.
Russia didn't miss how America's eyes flitted down to his upper body, and then back to his face. "Keep your curiosity in check," he warned. America hastily nodded and turned away, but not before Russia noticed the faint redness of his cheeks.
He didn't blame him for looking. I mean, he's been shirtless around me for days. He just better control those wandering eyes of his when they're not wearing anything.
Once they had removed all their clothes, they very politely did not look at each other. It didn't stop Russia from wanting to throw up, though. He was starting to think that this wasn't worth it, but there was no going back now. They were already standing there, naked, ready to enter the shower. He tried to convince himself that it's not that bad. He'll do what they've gotta do. Plus, he really did want to feel clean.
Russia heard America slide open the shower door. They entered his shower, which was pretty spacious. It was much nicer than his shower at home, that's for sure.
The water turned on, spraying from the shower head above. Russia closed his eyes, hearing the water hit the floor. America stepped into the water, and Russia's hand was brought into it as well. He yanked it back the second the water touched it. America stumbled towards him, catching and stabilizing himself by grabbing Russia's upper arm.
"That's fucking scalding!" Russia exclaimed, lightly shaking his hand, "Are you trying to burn my skin off?!"
America kept his hand on his arm. "I always have it like that."
"Well, turn it down a little! Your water doesn't have to be boiling."
America sighed, and then Russia heard a squeaking noise that he assumed was the shower handle. "Is that better?" He pulled Russia's hand back into the water.
It was still hotter than he normally had it, but bearable. He nodded, and then realized America wouldn't be able to see it, so he said "It's fine."
"Okay," America stepped around him, "Go in. I'm gonna, uh. Use the soap."
Russia carefully stepped into the water, allowing himself to get thoroughly soaked. He left his chained hand out of the water for the majority of the time so that America had better mobility.
"Okay, I'm done now. Switch me spots," America said. The shower was large, so it wasn't hard to get around each other. That didn't mean that Russia wasn't going to try to be as far as humanly possible from him, though.
"Where did you put the soap?" Russia was blindly feeling around.
"It's right here!"
"Whe—" His hand hit something, and then a clattering sounded on the tile.
"You did not."
Russia froze. "That was the soap, wasn't it?"
America groaned. "Stay there." Russia stood still, and a few seconds went by. He heard America's knees pop, indicating that he had been crouching and then stood up again.
America placed the bar of soap in Russia's open hand. "Don't drop that."
Russia huffed and started lathering the soap in his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought.
He eventually finished with that and switched sides with America again to rinse off. They then washed their hair, which continued to be difficult because of their connected hands. After they finished the shower, America slid open the door again and stepped out, trying to guide Russia out as well.
He stood there for a moment, while America dried himself off. A towel was shoved in his hands, and Russia did the same. He wrapped the towel securely around his waist when he was done.
"You can open your eyes now," America told him.
"You too," He responded.
Russia opened his eyes, taking a second to get used to seeing again. The first thing he saw was America, who thankfully also had a towel around his waist. Though it was tied low enough that he could see his hips and lower down his abdomen than he would like.
"Are you flexing your abs?" Russia furrowed his brows.
"What? No," He denied, his voice cracking.
Russia stared into his eyes flatly and said nothing. He's literally seen him without a shirt for the past two days, and his abs aren't usually this defined.
"I'm just tense!" America's voice was higher than usual. He placed his hands on his hips, flexing his arms too.
Was he trying to impress him? Russia already knew he had a good physique. He supposed that flexing his muscles did make said physique look better, but it still made him want to laugh at him.
Russia ran his hand through his hair while flexing his own body. He looked down at America and grinned. It felt like a competition, and he was winning.
America's expression momentarily faltered, and his face reddened again. Ha, take that, you capitalist.
"Uh— anyways, um. We better— We should get going now." America sputtered.
Russia snickered at his reaction. He wasn't expecting it to have this much of an effect on him, if he was being honest.
"Oh, all right." Russia was still grinning. He moved aside with America as he opened a drawer and pulled out a comb. He started combing through his wet hair, and Russia simply stood by and watched. America would occasionally make eye contact with him to through the mirror, but looked away as soon (if not sooner) as he did.
America gave him the comb, and Russia took it and started combing his hair out as well. The glances from America didn't cease. He actually thinks that his eyes might've lingered on him longer than before, but he wasn't really paying attention.
Russia put the comb back in the drawer and followed America out of the bathroom. He was hit with a wave of cool air, and he found it a welcome feeling compared to the heat and humidity of the bathroom.
He saw his ushanka on the bed and felt that deep longing for it to be on his head right now. The saddest part about showers was always that he couldn't wear his ushanka while his hair was drying. Or during the shower.
They were only in the room for a moment before the door opened. Russia definitely did not jump. Though he did nearly try to grab the nearest throwable object and lob it at the person in the room. He refrained when he saw it was Canada with his clothes, and just became extremely awkward instead.
Canada's eyes widened when he saw them. Both Russia and America froze as if they were caught doing something much worse than just standing in the room half-naked.
"Oh—" Canada blushed fiercely, his face nearly going Soviet shades of red, "I'll just... leave this here, I guess." He put the pants down on the dresser and swiftly fled the room.
Russia looked at America from the corner of his eye. He was still standing there, frozen, and somehow even redder than his brother had been. The tricolored country experimentally nudged him with no response. So he nudged him again, just a bit harder this time.
It shocked America out of his stupor. If by shocked you mean stumbling, sputtering, and— "Ow, what the heck?! Why'd you elbow me so hard?" Ugh, talking.
"I could go harder," Russia rumbled.
"Agh, whatever!" America rummaged through his dresser, pulling out clothes for himself. He got something for Russia too, and threw it in his face. Russia inspected what had been thrown at him. It was... a pair of underwear.
"...Thanks."
"Just put on your damn clothes." America grumbled, covering his eyes with his hand and turning away. His face was still burning a bright red. Russia hesitated for a second, but eventually dropped the towel and put on the clothes. He felt like jumping out the window when America's dangling hand grazed the front of his pants, but otherwise it went fine. The pants from Canada— which were just simple sweatpants— fit surprisingly well, though they were a little short on him. It was relieving being back in clothing again, even if it was just the pants for now.
America put on a pair of pajama pants. "I figured since it's evening, we'd just wait until tomorrow to have California put our shirts on. We can sleep without them, right?"
Russia wasn't the biggest fan of the idea, but he nodded. He normally slept without a shirt, but it was weird when America was there.
Russia glanced at the digital clock on America's nightstand. It was nearly 9 PM.
"I doubt you'll want to go to sleep now," he said. "So... what should we do?"
America stood for a moment, looking around the room. His eyes lit up, and he gasped softly like an idea had just come to him. He suddenly grabbed Russia's hand and started pulling him. "Woah!" He yelped, and America tugged him outside onto his balcony, smiling brightly.
He brought him right up to the railing, looking out over the city. America's house was elevated on a ridge at the base of a mountain. This made it so that they had a clear view of his property, the city, and the neighboring forests. Russia had glanced at the sky earlier, but it was really breathtaking when he took the time to actually look at it. The clouds were scattered about the sky, tall and fluffy. The setting sun poured colors all across the sky, the light hitting the clouds in the most perfect way. It was like a painting, where every detail was perfect— except it was in front of him, in real life.
"The view's great, isn't it?"
America's voice broke him out of his marveling, and he brought his gaze to the man.
"You could say that." He could feel his lips tugging into a smile, but he quickly wiped it off. It was while he was doing this that he realized something. "You're still holding my hand," he said. His voice was neutral— it showed how surprisingly indifferent he felt about it.
"Oh. Oh! Uhm— I'm sorry," America pulled his hand away as if it had been burned.
"It's all right." Russia felt strangely calm in this moment. He continued to look at his face, noticing the way the golden light hit his features, and seeing the rim light around his head. A small, hesitant smile formed on his lips, and there was a faint redness to his cheeks. His mind felt clear, devoid of the worries or business that it usually harbored.
He remembered the way his hand had felt in his. America's hand was smaller, being more nimble than his hands are. His hand was warm, compared to his hands, which were almost always cold.
"Russia? You there?"
He blinked, realizing that he had been staring. "...Yeah. Guess I'm just in the thinking mood right now." It wasn't really accurate, but it was the simplest thing to say at that moment.
"Well... whatcha thinking about?"
Russia didn't know how to answer that, so he shrugged, and looked back to the scenery below the balcony.
America stared at Russia in disbelief. He was being weirdly calm— Calm in a way that he'd never seen before. His once icy eyes now seemed like a watery blue. The locks of hair peeking out of his ushanka blew gently in the soft breeze. He just looked so relaxed, looking out to the horizon with a pleasant expression on his face.
He didn't know how long they stood there, watching the sunset in comfortable silence. It was dusk now, the last rays of sunlight receding from the sky.
A cool breeze swept over them, and the first stars were starting to appear. He wished that he could see the stars better from his home, but the light pollution made it so that only the brightest still shone. He's driven out to the middle of nowhere to see them, but he hasn't gone in a while. It saddened him a little, because he thought every star deserved to shine. Every star deserved to be seen.
He contemplated taking Russia and driving out to one of his favorite spots to go see the stars, but he concluded that it wouldn't be a good idea. They're not wearing shirts, and it can get pretty chilly at night. Plus, he figured he should stay for the states, if nothing else.
America sighed and pushed himself up from where he had been leaning on the railing. He groaned as his body protested, stiff from remaining in the same position for the whole time. He supposed they could have sat in the chairs instead of standing— He had two set out here, the extra one being for Canada, who occasionally came over and sat out here with him. There were other people too, usually a state, but they weren't out here as often as Can.
"I suppose we should go back inside now," He was reluctant to do so, but it was becoming necessary.
Russia inhaled deeply, like he was breathing life back into his body. A couple of his joints popped as he stood up straight and rolled his shoulders. "Yeah," he agreed gruffly.
Russia slid open the door, but America walked through first. The warmer air of his house greeted him. He stood in the darkness of his room, the only light sources being the moon and the dim red glow of his clock. America didn't want to turn on the light, enjoying the comfortable darkness of the room.
Russia apparently didn't share the same sentiment. He felt around the wall and then flicked on the light switch, causing bright light to fill the room.
"Agh!" America shrunk back and covered his eyes, Russia's connected hand causing him to stumble forward. The light stopped being blinding after a moment once his eyes adjusted.
"You... okay?" Russia was looking at him oddly.
"Yes," He bit out, a little irritated, "My eyes are just more sensitive than most's."
"Oh. Oh, that's why you wear the—"
"The sunglasses, yes. I have better night vision than most too, though."
"I see."
America stood next to his bed, thinking. "The bed is too tall for you to comfortably sleep on the floor," he realized.
"Since when do you care about my comfort?" Russia snarked.
"I'm just saying that... I have a queen size bed. There's enough space on here that you don't have to sleep on the floor," He reasoned.
Russia flinched and turned to look at him head-on. "You want me to sleep on the bed with you?!"
"Well, the only other option is both of us sleeping on the floor! Is it really that different?"
"...I suppose not," Russia admitted as America walked around the bed to the left side, "But you better not cuddle me."
"Wasn't planning on it, man." America held his hands up in front of him in defense. He climbed onto his bed and then scooted over a little to give Russia some room, but he couldn't go very far. Y'know, because of the whole handcuffed hands thing.
Russia sat on the bed and then swung his legs up onto it. They got oriented the way they wanted, with a fair amount of space between each other and their hands in the middle of the bed. America reached over and turned off the light, and they both laid down.
America could feel his face heating up already. He never really thought that on some fateful day, he'd be sleeping with Russia. Wait— oh gosh, that was an awful way to phrase it. He meant literally sleeping beside the other country on a bed! Not... anything else that phrase could mean.
America looked over at Russia. He was laying stiffly on his back with his hands near his side.
"Do you sleep on your back like a wooden board?" America questioned incredulously.
"...No," Russia mumbled.
"Don't be afraid to get comfortable. You need to sleep, man."
Russia exhaled sharply and rolled over onto his side, facing him. He instantly felt ten times more awkward. Russia's eyes were closed, but it was still weird with him facing him. And America couldn't roll over to face away from him because of his hand.
America took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He needed sleep too.
He eventually got drowsy enough that he calmed down, his thoughts slowing. He shifted his position and then contently drifted off to sleep.
I wrote almost all of this past 10 PM but hopefully it was still good lol. I did proofread it and make little edits before I posted this though.
Also have a random drawing I made :P
Russia lended America his ushanka and coat to America <33 just so that he doesn't freeze to death, totally not because he cares about him or anything.