you guys: *long comments*
me, sobbing: tham k
oh man i sped-wrote this so yall would stop bashing russia. dont worry, he'll get his turn to be poked by the Angst Stick too.
its kind of funny tho; first you guys were mad at america, then you were mad at georgia, and now youre mad at russia. i wonder who's next!!
America could feel his entire body trembling as he walked away from his dorm, away from Russia. Adrenaline was still pumping through him, but he had no way to release the pent up energy he felt. He blinked rapidly as his mind struggled to catch up to his quick pace. Something wet slid down his cheek.
He was crying again.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
America quickly rubbed under his eyes, only succeeding in smearing the tears across his face as he walked faster, staring at the ground and praying so hard that there would be no one in the halls to witness his breakdown.
The more America tried to convince himself that nothing Russia said was true, the more Russia's words burrowed into his brain like worms eating through an apple. Russia was right. America was just a crybaby, he was weak. Even now, he could only run away to his brother and cry, unable to face Russia.
It wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. 'You're just faking for attention.' 'Depression? Is that what you kids call it these days? You're all just sensitive snowflakes.' 'You use that as an excuse for everything!'
He didn't like saying he had depression. It made him feel like he was asking for pity, and he hated that. And he hated when other people assumed he was seeking pity too. But he couldn't blame them for thinking that.
He finally reached Canada's dorm room, knocking quickly and urgently. His hands dropped to hover near his stomach, shaking as he played with his fingers and tried to pick off more of his already-bitten fingernails. His chest rose and fell unsteadily.
Oh God, please hurry up. Please please please--
Ukraine opened the door.
America immediately straightened his back and painted on a bright smile, hiding his hands behind his back. "Hey!" He took a few quick breaths, then offering Ukraine a slightly weaker smile. "Sorry for panting, I ran the whole way here." Hopefully that was a good enough excuse. "Is Canada here? I really, really need to see him."
Ukraine shook his head. "He left a little while ago, said he was walking to town to check it out. He'll probably be back in an hour or two."
"O-oh." America's wide smile lessened considerably as his eyes watered, tears threatening to fall. Not in front of someone, please!! "Sorry for bothering you then, I'll just--"
"If you just need somewhere to crash for a while, then I don't mind if you want to stay." Ukraine's expression didn't change once as he spoke, his voice also remaining at a constant level. "Canada might come back earlier, you can just wait for him here."
"Ah-- um, thanks." Wasn't that worse?? Having to stay in enclosed quarters with a person?? Ukraine would definitely hear him if he so much as sniffed. "...b-but I'll just call him instead. Thanks though!"
America turned and walked as fast as he could without running, feeling Ukraine's eyes burning into his back. He reached the stairwell and went down to the below floor, exiting the stairwell and turning the corner into the bathroom. It was thankfully empty, but America wouldn't have taken notice of anyone if they were in there. He headed for the furthest stall and locked himself in.
Shooting a quick text to Canada, he then condensed himself down to the smallest he could possibly be, crouching in the bathroom stall with his eyes shut and hands over his ears. Tears spilled from his eyes as his breathing grew more uneven and ragged.
He hated that he was crying. He hated that he was proving Russia right.
America remained practically unmoving for several minutes, sniffing occasionally. A little while later, his phone vibrated, and he snatched it out of his pocket and held it up mere inches from his face. Canada.
It was hard to read the text through blurry eyes, so America quickly lifted his glasses and wiped the stray tears away before unlocking his phone and going to the messages app.
American't:
hey are you there?
Sent 11:52 am
---Today at 12:15---
MapleMan:
yeah whats up
American't:
something happened with russia
where are you?
MapleMan:
merica
bro
listen
if he doesnt want to be friends, then maybe you shouldnt force it
focus your friend-making skills elsewhere
American't:
that's not what i need to hear rn
MapleMan:
i just dont think his friendship should come at your expense??
American't:
its not at my expense
i just keep making dumb mistakes
MapleMan:
🙄
fine, how about this:
try to make friends w him or whatever one more time
and if he says no, then just leave it alone!
you dont have to be friends with him bro
no ones making you
American't:
but i *want* to be his friend
you know, put the past behind us
im sure he's a nice guy
MapleMan:
im sure he is too, but that doesnt mean you need to be his best bud
its not like he doesnt already have friends
American't:
yeah, like one
MapleMan:
i think its a few more than that
anyways
point is, you dont need to be friends with him
American't:
ik
but i want to
MapleMan:
try one more time, and if he pushes you away again, then just stay away
that's what i'd recommend
Sent 12: 24
America turned his phone off, closing his eyes and sucking in a slow breath.
Ugh, he just realized how awful the bathroom smelled. Not exactly the best place for a breakdown.
Knees cracking in protest, America stood from his crouched position, rubbing his eyes one last time as he pocketed his phone. Maybe Canada was right. Maybe it wasn't really worth it. It didn't feel nice to be berated and basically belittled by the person he was spending the entirety of the semester (and probably year) with as a roommate.
But at the same time, it wouldn't be nice for them to hate each other and share a room. There was only so many times America could crash in other dorms before people would start getting suspicious.
He unlocked the stall door and slipped out of the bathroom -- he was really lucky no one had been in there -- before flicking his glasses down and wandering down the empty hall, heading outside.
As time went on and America calmed down more, he started to feel guilty. The argument was probably his fault somehow. He must've provoked Russia--
Fuck, I insulted him too. America grimaced as he thought back on what had happened. I shouldn't have gotten so defensive, I should've just shut up and let him speak.
And mentioning high school was basically poking a sleeping bear. He had just gotten so angry, he wasn't even thinking about what he was saying.
"How am I supposed to fix this?" America muttered aloud.
He received no answer. Maybe he couldn't fix it. Not by himself, at least. There was only so much he could do— Russia would have to meet him halfway.
America knew the chances of that happening were slim. Following Canada's advice seemed like the best option at this point.
~
Russia felt a little guilty. And he hated it.
He had left soon after America, feeling the need to just walk around outside, maybe burn off some anger. Hopefully he could cool off a little.
As of now, his plan was just to avoid America until, hopefully, the whole thing had blown over and they both forgot about it.
Yeah right, like Russia could just forget arguing about him so easily.
He walked a little faster, heading for the nearest building. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could leave all his thoughts behind. Maybe he could escape the memories of him that were slowly trickling back into the forefront of his mind.
He entered the building -- turns out it was the library -- and just sat down at one of the tables by the bookshelves with a small huff. Another country was sitting at the table, but they quickly left as soon as Russia sat down.
Russia gave a peeved sigh, putting his forearms parallel on the table and sliding them out until he was slumped forward in the chair with his head in his arms. The silence in the air tried to stuff its way into his body, but his entire being was already chock-full of anger: anger at himself, at the countries that snubbed him, at the past, at the argument that had just happened, but most specifically, America. It was all his fault! He was the one who wanted to be criticized, he was the one who started yelling, he was the one that dug his dirty fingers into that healing wound and ripped it right back open. Russia had been doing so well at forgetting, but now it was all coming back.
So he was trying to drown out his thoughts with just pure anger. And he was doing a pretty good job at it, too. The only problem was that deep inside the anger, there was a tiny whisper of fear. Russia didn't like that. He really didn't like that.
And he really really didn't like how it was marginally growing with each passing second, like a match lighting dry tinder.
As much as he hated when people told him to 'just forget the past,' he wished that he could— but he just couldn't for some reason. That probably had something to do with his deep-seeded fear.
It seemed like everyone had moved on, though. People like Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, Moldova... they had been in the same boat Russia was in, but they had moved on. They didn't seem to be traumatized. They were able to talk about him freely.
Hell, Belarus and Ukraine probably did too. It was just Russia who was knee-deep in quicksand, unable to move forward and leave everything completely behind.
Russia didn't want to think about the past, but he couldn't help it. That first indirect mention of him had chipped a small hole in the dam that was caging back memories that Russia really really didn't want to remember.
Freshman year of high school. People had always said high school was hell, but he never believed it until he was being metaphorically burned alive.
Russia could only vaguely remember what had happened before that, having a few blurry memories of middle school. But he had been friends with America at one point, before they drifted apart. Russia was fine with that. The fragile bond they still held of 'we're-not-quite-friends-but-we-know-each-other-too-well-to-just-be-acquaintances' was good enough for him, and he had assumed it would carry over into high school.
It did. For like two days.
Once Russia had become friends with... him, he was officially separated from the rest of his grade, along with a few select others. That seemed to snap the wavering friendship he had with America, and it severed most of his other ties too.
America had started treating him coldly after that, calling him 'commie' and 'russki' a few times; although, to be fair, Russia wasn't that nice back. Then it just kept escalating, and Russia couldn't do anything to stop it.
Although, in the heat of the moment, he hadn't wanted to stop it. He had just wanted to hurt America. And America had wanted to hurt him.
...And now he just hurt America again. Fuck.
Hopefully he wouldn't retaliate too much.
Russia didn't move, keeping his head down and closing his eyes. He didn't regret most of what he had said to America. It was all the harsh truth and his own honest thoughts. He was just speaking his mind.
But there were a few seconds, usually the moments right after he spoke, where he could clearly see America's reaction. Those seconds were the only things he regretted, the few moments where he wished he could retract what he had just said back into his mouth.
No, he needed to hear the truth. Russia blinked his eyes open and stared at the shadowed tabletop inches away from his face, furrowing his brows a little. It wouldn't have been fair to Meri to shield him. Enduring things yourself was the only way to get stronger.
Russia adjusted his position, lifting his head up and propping his chin on his knuckles. Well, that was what he had been told. And whether he liked it or not, that idea was ingrained into his very bones. He couldn't get rid of it if he tried.
He could never truly get rid of him, either.
Fuck. Russia lightly smacked his forehead with one hand. He shouldn't be thinking about him. He didn't want to think about him, or high school, and especially not--
"Hey, Rus?"
Dammit.
"Just fuck off, Mer-- America," Russia grumbled, hiding his head in his arms again so he didn't have to look at the other country. He bit his tongue hard as a self-inflicted punishment for nearly calling the other country by his nickname. He really needed to break himself of that habit. It made them sound like they were close. "Go away."
"No, we need to talk."
Russia lifted his head to look at America, who was seated across from him. He was sitting straight, with a light smile on his lips and his hands folded on the desk in front of him. Russia could tell the smile was fake. Probably a last-ditch attempt to make Russia feel more at ease. "We don't."
America's smile faded, and he pushed his eyebrows together. "Rus, we can't just not resolve what happened. We're both at fault here-- I lashed out, you lashed out. If we could just talk about--"
"Oh sure, talk, talk-- all you ever want to do is talk about damn feelings! And look at where it's gotten us!" Russia seethed, keeping his voice low. Not low enough, apparently, because Indonesia, who was reading a table over, narrowed her eyes at them before standing up and moving to a different part of the library. "I don't want to fucking talk with you."
America's voice suddenly quieted, his tone becoming gentle. "Come on, Rus." He leaned forward in his chair, pleading. "Look at us. We used to be such good friends-- why did it all have to change?" His hands rested on the edge of the plastic table, still. "Can't we just go back to how we were in the past? What happened?"
"You know damn well what happened." Russia hit the table with his hand, obviously startling the American. Like hell he was going to fall for that soft-voice puppy-eyed act. "And it's called the past because it's over, it's gone. We're never going to get back to the way we were back then, don't you get it? Can't you get your head out of the clouds for once?"
No. No no no, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Russia wasn't supposed to be attacking him like this, again. Why was he lashing out so much? Why was that the only thing he knew how to do??
"Rus, I don't want to fight again. I want to be friends. And despite everything, I think we already are sort of f--"
"We are not friends. Did you forget what happened in highschool?" Russia interrupted, unable to help himself. "We fucking hated each other. There's no way that dissipated over a year."
"It was easier for everyone to get along once the upperclassmen graduated," America conceded."But I think you're still holding onto what happened back then. How are we supposed to be friends if you keep holding grudges? Just... let the past go."
"I don't want to be your fucking friend!" Russia's voice rose a little too loud. "Have you ever thought about that? Have you ever considered how I feel, having to play this little 'friendship saves the day!' game with you??"
America tapped a finger to his lips to silently tell Russia to quiet down, but that only served to anger him further. It just felt like America was mocking him. What was this to him? Just some sort of game? Was it fun for him, fucking up Russia's life and reminding him of things that he so desperately wanted to forget?
"You messed up my life enough in high school, you don't have to continue that trend into college, too," Russia snapped.
"I wasn't the only one," America pointed out. "And it's not like you didn't hurt me either. To be completely honest, I think the one who messed your life up the most was S-"
"Shut up! Just fucking shut up!" Russia cut him off. "You don't know shit about him."
America looked at him with a passive expression, almost pitying. "Rus, a lot of what happened then wasn't your fault, you know. He was manipulating you."
"He wasn't manipulating me!" Russia hissed, pissed that America thought he could be so easily played. "Not everything you don't agree with is some... some scheme to take over the world. You don't know anything, so don't pretend like you do."
"Well then, please enlighten me. Unless you plan on keeping your mouth sealed for the rest of your life, you're gonna have to tell someone eventually."
Russia's nails dug into his palm, but he forced himself to stay calm. He turned his head to the side and looked at one of the several bookshelves. "Fuck off, Yankee. Go bother someone else."
"You know what? Fine." America abruptly stood up, drawing Russia's eyes as he spread his hands in a 'what more do you want' gesture. "You win, Russki. I'll leave you alone. That's what you want, right? Well, I'm sorry for bothering you and being such a pain in the ass."
The term made Russia want to duck his head, but he just bit the inside of his cheek really hard instead, saying nothing. America didn't bother sticking around after speaking, quickly leaving the library.
Good. Russia folded his arms on the table and tiredly dropped his head back down, shutting his eyes. Maybe I can finally have some fucking peace.
Now that America was gone, it was just Russia and his anger again. Except the anger seemed to be ebbing, and with the empty space it left, fear made its home for no goddamn good reason, like a fucking squatter.
There was a loud noise that sounded nearby, making Russia instantly jerk into an upright position. It took him a few seconds to register the distant sound of laughs that were a result of whatever it was that made the noise, and it took him even more time to relax his tense muscles.
Or maybe not.
mmmnnnn im not really a fan of this, it feels like their motives and feelings are becoming too loose, but i guess ill fix that later?? also this is unedited, i hope theres no mistakes ':]
i said him way too much, when will russias sensitive ass let me actually use his name >:[
02/14/20
happy valentines day!!