bits of my mind

fight (rusame)

Russia walked into the locker room to grab his things for his last class before realising two other people were in the locker room with him, not paying him any attention.

He was about to leave when he recognised one of their faces. America's boyfriend. Kissing and laughing with a girl.

Furiously, he shoved his stuff back into his locker and slammed the metal door shut before approaching the pair. The girl looked up at him, with a half smile. "Hi, can we help you?"

The boyfriend looked up with a cocky grin. "Hey. Russia."

"Get my name out of your filthy, cheating mouth," Russia growled, clenching his teeth. The girl, getting the memo, scrambled away, cowering as Russia drew his fist back and knocked the other off the bench.

The other male recovered from the shock quickly, getting up on his two feet. "What's your problem, huh?"

"You know exactly what you're doing," Russia replied as he landed another blow, this time in the stomach area.

"You're right, I do. America's a fucking loser," he laughed. "Don't you dare call him that," Russia snapped, grunting as a fist made contact with his nose. It started bleeding and hurting, but Russia wiped away the blood with his sleeve, quickly learning that his opponent was strong but unbalanced.

Russia, on the other hand, was well built but lean and combat trained, dancing out of reach as his opponent made another swipe at him.

The Russian knocked the other male off his feet and straddled him on the ground, sending punches after punches at his face as his combatant fought back, landing more hits as they fought in close quarters.

Then, suddenly Russia stopped. Breathing heavily, he pulled him up by the shirt collar to face him.

"You were lucky you even got to be with the sweetest and funniest guy I've ever met," Russia said bitterly, before shoving the other back onto the floor, making his head bang on the tiles with a groan.

Russia got up and walked out, blood streaming down his nose, his body aching with every step he took, but a sense of justice tingling in his nerves.

America opened the dorm door to be greeted by the sight of Russia, covered in drying blood. He was confused and glanced at his phone as the screen lit up with a new message.

"Russia got into a fight w/ ur bf," it read. The American's mood soured and his face darkened as he closed the door. "Why did you do that?" He confronted, turning the screen towards his roommate.

Russia stopped in his tracks, quiet.

"I hate you," America spat, seething. "What the hell were you thinking, beating him up?"

Russia kept silent, his nose bleeding and a bruise blooming on his left cheek. "Well? Don't you have anything to say? Don't you hate me too?"

"I can't say that," Russia murmured, stressed, as he tugged on his ivory white hair at the back of his head. "It's not the truth."

"Then why did you attack him? What was going on in your mind?" America shouted, making Russia back into a wall. America may be smaller and shorter compared to the Russian but he was intimidating when angry.

"..."

"Well, SPIT IT OUT! I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY!" America practically roared, with a feral snarl. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Shit! Okay, I'll tell you— he was kissing some girl, I don't know who, I was too mad to think straight. I just wanted to beat the fuck out of him for doing something that could hurt you," Russia replied, with his hands up.

"Oh. Oh, no. I'm—" America looked up at Russia, guilt written all over his face. "I'm so sorry... I should have asked before getting mad. But why do you care about me? You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you didn't get into a fight with him."

"You're my friend. I felt obliged to," Russia answered. "His face looked very punchable too... the way he looks at you is unbearable. That stupid smirk..." Russia stopped. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Forget it, he deserves everything you just said," America mumbled. Then, awkwardly, "Can you take off your jacket and shirt so I can treat whatever bruises you have?"

"Uh, yeah, okay," Russia stuttered, sitting down at the dining table as he took off his jacket and shirt as America requested, and draped them on the chair's back.

America passed him an ice pack and a cloth. "Here, use this. It'll reduce swelling and staunch the bleeding."

Then Russia felt gentle hands rubbing ointment onto his bruises. "It's cold," Russia squeaked unexpectedly. "You're fine with Siberian winters but this is cold for you?" America questioned, chuckling.

"Well, yeah," Russia muttered, his face heating up as he thought, "But don't stop. Your touch is so unexpected but so soothing."

"Will you get suspended?" America asked. "Or even worse, expelled?"

"Don't worry about me," Russia sighed. "It doesn't matter."