Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

An Apology and a Friend

A weekend day. A windy Saturday morning met me outside. Today I was standing alone, outside and tired. I started to run from the gate of the college and I decided to run around the perimeter of the whole university. Not an easy feat, but attainable. I quickly tied the long laces of my black tennis shoes, took off my grey sports jacket, and felt the wind cut into my thin white t-shirt. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I put on some music through my earphones. Not many people were out this early on a weekend, and when I did meet a passerby student or professor, they would ask me in humour if I was crazy, committed or both. I would smile and wave in reply, since I had no breath left in me to speak. I made a careful route to avoid the usually busy places to not meet many people. After meeting the lunatic America last night, I wanted to cross less paths with that kind of crowd, and our group agreed to wake early, dine early and to do everything promptly, rather than hanging back. One drawback to this plan was that he was in one of my classes, I've remembered. Whatever.

"HEY RUSSIA!" I heard someone holler in an annoying tone. I could hear the voice through t he earphones. Without even turning around, the little hairs on my back stood on end, and my lips formed a snarl. Him. Did he read minds now? "HELLO?!" Without responding, I sprinted towards a tall building with a lengthy shadow and ducked behind it. Soon enough, I saw the plump form run, or lightly jog toward my hiding spot. I realised I shouldn't be so scared, since I was more angry than afraid, but his behaviour last night was utterly ghastly, and use didn't want it to repeat. There, I used Mr. UK's word of the day. Ghastly.

"I know you're here somewhere!" America kept yelling. "Come on, I just want to ask a question. A tiny one! I promise!"

"Fine." I stalked out from behind him and he smiled at me with a stupid sincerity. "What do you want?" I pulled the earphone cord out of my ears and turned off the music.

"I just wanted to say..." he looked up at me with round eyes, to elicit some sympathy. The chances are as small as his BMI in the negative. "That I'm sorry. For making you uncomfortable yesterday. I was very dumb of me to do that." I have to admit, I was surprised by his apology. I wasn't very convinced in the truthfulness of his expression of regret, but he apologized. That's progress. He was apparently waiting for me to accept, and was clutching the hem of his navy blue shirt. I noticed he didn't have his sunglasses on his face, but tucked on his shirt collar. He tried to remain carefree but I saw that his jaw was clenched and he was trying to smile casually, but came out nervously. He stuck out his hand, waiting for me to accept his handshake.

"Er..okay." I took his hand and shook it briefly, feeling that his arm was floppy and he preferred me to lead.

"I'm just...I don't know, a bit over excited, and well...yeah....sorry." he rubbed his exposed arms, shielding them from the wind. I heard the distinct bongs of the clock in the distance. It was a habit of mine to freeze up and listen to how many strikes sounded before going on to the day. "I have a sort of feeling...like I have to get close to people, and it might've come across as weird...but I was just hoping you might be...my friend?"

"I had the feeling you wanted to be... never mind." I muttered and cursed under my breath.

"No!" America looked shocked at my response. His eyes widened and he held his arms out, shaking his hands. "I'm not like that. I'm gay, yes, but I don't force people to be with me. It's a choice. Don't think I'm that pushy."

"Well, I guess that's all right then." I said and received a smiled from him. I had to admit, once he told me that, I felt a bit better. After all, friendship was something I could do work on. And it wasn't me who'd approached him, it was his own choice.

"Thanks," America beamed with his flashy white teeth. "For accepting. And again, sorry."

"That's fine," I put my jacket on, since standing in the wind with sweat on my back was a recipe for pneumonia.