haha calm down guys!! im not planning on killing anyone with my knife (just a little maiming)
Russia tapped the keyboard of his laptop lightly as he thought about what to write next, pressing down on the keys with hardly any force to draw out that typing sound without actually writing anything. He was currently figuring out how to best BS the rest of this literature paper, but it was proving harder than anticipated.
Across the small cafe table, America sat slouched in his metal chair with his feet on the tabletop. He smacked his gum around in his mouth before blowing a bubble and popping it behind closed lips with his teeth. Other than that he wasn't much of a bother, just keeping to himself on his phone.
The American had been surprisingly... bearable the past few days. He hadn't done anything to piss Russia off, and Russia hadn't been mean to him or anything. It was sort of nice.
The protagonist's ignorance of the obvious symbols present in his home represents the amount of apathy he has gained from working with apathetic people. By deciding to not quit his job, he is leading himself deeper into loneliness, shown by the lack of fire in his fireplace. However, the author mentions that a few embers remain, which could foreshadow possible hope for the future.
Russia stopped typing, biting the inside of his cheek. Was that good enough? He was so close to reaching the required word count, but it was honestly difficult to write a thousand word essay on the first few chapters of a book he had read while drunk.
"Fuck," America muttered. Russia glanced up to see America scowling at his phone.
Oh well, it wasn't his business. Leaning back in his seat, Russia once again drummed his fingers on the keyboard. Symbolism... symbolism... what else did the main character have in his house that Russia could make symbolic? Didn't the author mention there was a glass of water or something?
Yes, perfect.
Russia started typing again, drawing an imaginary connection from the glass of water to the protagonist's hardships.
A few minutes of silence passed before either one of them made a noise. "Hey, Russia...?"
Russia finished writing the sentence he was on before glancing at America. Then he looked back at his computer. "What."
"Now that we're sort-of friends, I think we should talk."
Grunting, Russia didn't bother debating the 'sort-of friends' comment. America was free to think whatever he wanted, even if he was wrong 90% of the time. "About what?"
Probably homework. Or maybe he was going to try to convince Russia to sit with him at lunch.
That would be a definite no.
America tipped his head back and chewed on his lip like he was trying to think of a way to best word his thoughts. "I know you won't want to, but you still need to sort out that thing with Georgia and everyone."
Just the mention of the other country made Russia's mood instantly sour, and he directed a sharp glare to America. Was this why America had been so complacent recently? Because he wanted to trick Russia into letting his guard down so he could fucking lecture him again?
America paid no heed to the burning stare aimed his way. "I can talk to them for you, I'm totally down to be the middleman if you need me to. This would be a great opportunity for you guys to make amends! There's no point in being hostile with nations because of things that happened in the past, believe me."
Russia rolled his eyes, but America kept going.
"I'm sure you and Georgia could be friends if you really tried! She's nice once you get to know her - same with Poland and Estonia and all those other countries you've had a 'bad past' with. But that's the thing! It's the past, so just forgive and forget."
"You can't honestly expect for me to make up and play fucking dolls with her," Russia growled. "This isn't kindergarten, it's not like I can play pattycake with everyone and be friends."
America shook his head, his voice annoyingly patronizing. "You're not getting it. Friendship takes time, but apologizing and making up is the first step to peace. If you just let bad feelings fester between you two, it'll only get worse."
You think I don't fucking know that? It was really starting to get on Russia's nerves how pushy he was being. And it was really bothering Russia that America was trying to be fucking nice about it, wearing a placid smile as he basically told Russia how he should live his life.
Russia shut his computer and stood, getting ready to just leave. It wasn't worth staying and having to listen to this bullshit. "Fuck off."
"Rus, listen, I want to help you." America spread his hands palms up as Russia turned away. "I want to help you fix this stuff with Georgia and everyone, and then when you're ready, I want to help you with your trauma."
Russia almost thought he heard him wrong. He couldn't have said that. "My what?" he hissed, spinning to face America.
America didn't seem to realize how infuriated Russia was. "You know, your trauma. From high school. I want to help you get over that." He said it casually, like it was an everyday thing.
"I'm not fucking traumatized," Russia growled, fists clenched as he glared down at the other country. America was still seated with one foot on the table. "Don't be so fucking... presumptuous, you fat capitalist bitch."
"I'm not being presumptuous," America defended, sounded very offended. "I just want to help you." His face morphed into another understanding smile that made Russia's blood boil. "It's not good to bottle everything up."
Russia took one stomp towards America in an attempt to intimidate him, to make him shut the hell up. "Shut up before I fucking make you."
America flinched, and his smile slipped from his face. He looked ready to bolt.
The grin America had been wearing was now crawling onto Russia's lips in the form of a smug smirk. "Not so bold as you were in high school, huh?"
It was a mere second before America was on his feet too, his fearful stance turning defensive. "Anyone would react like that if someone was threatening them! Just because you stomp your feet and shout doesn't mean you've scared me!"
"Really? Because you looked kind of scared."
Any trace of the almost-amiable relationship they had been slowly forming was completely gone. The one bright side Russia could see was that at least America wasn't blubbering like a little crybaby. Yet.
"Don't be a fucking ass!" America accused. "I offer help with good intentions, and you just blow up for no reason!! What is your problem??"
"My problem?? My problem is that you think you can do whatever the fuck you want!" Russia advanced one step, pointing a finger at America and holding his laptop with the other. "Why don't you focus on fixing your own damn waterworks before trying to fix anyone else! Some of us don't need fixing!"
America moved his head in a way that it was obvious he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Oh, yeah, sure Mr. I-Drink-Vodka-Constantly-to-Cope-with-my-Feelings. I'm sure you're completely fine. You're the kind of person to refuse help even when you're prepping to jump off a bridge."
Russia scoffed, and turned to walk away. America shouted something behind him, but Russia didn't listen, just walking faster. What a fucking idiot.
~
What a fucking idiot.
America just felt mad, sitting back down as Russia stormed away. He was trying to help! Why didn't Russia just shut up and accept the outstretched hand America was offering?
Twisting in the uncomfortable metal chair, America glared at where Russia had been sitting. How was he supposed to be his friend if every time America tried to help, Russia just got aggressive? And now his fragile relationship with Russia was broken. Again.
America sighed, his anger melting into a vague feeling of upsetness. Maybe Canada was right. There were a lot of other countries he could hang out with besides Russia, so he didn't really need to be hellbent on making friends with the hostile Slav.
But it's not like it's an unreasonable request. All I want is to just be his friend. America rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses with another soft sigh. This was all his own fucking fault, he knew that. It always was.
When he opened his eyes, America just let his gaze slide over the patches of green lawn between the campus buildings, picking out and identifying far away countries. Maybe he should focus more on himself, like what Russia had said. Well, Russia had said it in a more mean way. But he wasn't wrong. America needed to take care of himself first.
So he should probably go to the pharmacy soon. Maybe tomorrow? He still had plenty of medication to last him a week, but it would be nice knowing that he had next month's supply before running out of this month.
America slouched back in his chair and lifted his sunglasses, scowling a bit at the sudden adjustment his eyes had to make. His feet were back on the table as he unlocked his phone and started playing a mobile game, in the exact same position he had been before Russia left.
He was still planning on making friends with Russia. But he really needed to get ahold of himself -- just because Russia was shouting at him didn't mean America needed to shout back. That was just adding fuel to the fire.
But whatever. America would see him later anyways, so maybe they could try talking things out without shouting then.
i dont like how this scene turned out, but im really not in the mood to rewrite it
02/06/20