still in americas pov
America threw up once more into the toilet as Russia watched. After the first one, Russia had shrieked, shoved America out of the bed and onto the floor (missing the vomit, thank goodness,) and then had rushed America to the bathroom.
"Ugh... America leaned over the toilet and groaned. "I've got a massive headache."
"I'm not surprised, considering how much you drank last night."
"Well I don't remember anything," the smaller country mumbled, rubbing his temple.
Russia set out some pills for headaches, offering them to America who shook his head.
He suddenly looked up at Russia, curious. "Oh yeah, why was I in your bed?"
"You don't remember?" Russia rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course you wouldn't, you were wasted," he muttered before clearing his throat. "You were..." he paused. "Drunk crying and stuff. Didn't want to sleep alone."
"Oh, well that's embarrassing!" America chuckled. He didn't like the pitying look Russia was giving him. "And, uh, sorry for throwing up on your side of the room."
Russia shrugged. "It's fine, you only got it on the floor."
Now would be the moment when Russia would taunt him for not being able to hold his alcohol, or make a sarcastic remark about drunk crying, or laugh about something stupid America did while drunk. But all Russia did was lean against the door frame with his arms crossed like a tall skinny dad that was disappointed with America's life decisions. It was unnerving, and America didn't like it.
"You can go to class, you know," America finally said. "Since you apparently aren't affected by hangovers. You don't have to wait for me, I'm probably just going to stay in today."
"Oh, okay," Russia pushed himself off of the doorframe and took a moment to grab some papers and his backpack as America watched from the bathroom. They made another second of awkward eye contact before Russia left, closing the front door to leave America alone with his thoughts and the stench of alcohol.
04/02/19