Sad & Happy [RusAme]

Chapter 13

The sky had darkened as the sun set, but the stars still twinkled. Russia closed the romance novel he was reading, letting it drop to the table with a sigh. He knew that his father has once borrowed the same book and read it in a month. But Russia never liked sentimental, melodramatic, stories. He liked more realistic, bittersweet ones. How was his father even able to relate to something so cheesy?

He stared at the words of the book for a moment. The couple had just professed their love for one another and were about to kiss. But he felt no emotion whatsoever from reading it. He remembered America's voice as he announced that he was not interested in Japan. After all, America was gay. America's voice almost cracked as Russia answered with a stoic "So?"

But that was not what left Russia so conflicted. The American has confided to him that he felt unloved. Russia could only laugh. Why would America feel unloved? There was nothing but support for him. Everyone wanted to be close to him, wanted to be his friend. America himself was one of the most popular figures in the world. The nations all loved him, they all adored him.

Opposite to America, Russia was always considered too distant, too stand-offish. Even his sisters felt like they had to be extra careful around him. They were afraid that they would do something that would offend him. But Russia did not know why. What did he do that made them afraid of him? He was considered intimidating by others, but America then decided he wanted to be Russia's friend, to get closer. But what could Russia possibly have in common with someone so charismatic, so confident?

He slapped the book close with an annoyed grunt. "What is this garbage?" He asked aloud. The book had no message, it just portrayed how much one couple longed for each other. There was no reason to go through all that angst just because you loved someone. Russia himself had never felt such strong emotions for someone. He could not imagine how anyone could. But then his mind went back to America. "You know I never really cut myself, but sometimes I will just hit my head against the wall..." America's voice was bitter, but there was also a small smile on his face. Russia knew how that felt. Russia's hand lingered on his fading cuts for a moment.

Protectiveness, yes. That he felt for America. But nothing like the longing for someone you love, the kind that this book depicted. Russia took his book and put it away. He should go to bed. Tomorrow he would go see America again, after all America blackmailed Russia into being his friend and friends met up to hang out and stuff.

It was Sunday. The sun was out, the summer festival would be soon and nature was blooming. As Russia knocked on America's door, he heard laughter from inside. America must be entertaining his siblings, he thought. He knocked again, more forcefully and waited for a moment. There were more giggles inside and some loud talking. A moment later, the door opened. "You're here?" America asked.

America was still wearing his usual NATO t-shirt and cargo shorts. "Dad isn't home, but let's go outside anyway," America said. Russia had not been invited inside. Instead, America quickly winked his brother Canada goodbye and stepped outside, with Russia trailing behind. He had seen America's house before, but had not been inside. The house was very different to Russia's own. It seemed more colorful and open, while Russia's house was all cold and dark, almost bleak. But there was a similar atmosphere in the way the house was decorated.

"You look good today, Russia," America said. A slight smile crept on his face, but quickly disappeared. "Thanks." Russia followed America to the park. The flowers were in full bloom, their colors vibrant. America stopped for a moment to admire a dahlia, which he reached out to touch. Russia stood beside him, but did not comment on the flower. "It's so beautiful," America sighed.

Russia rolled his eyes, but then had an idea. "My sister used to make flower crowns." "Yeah?" America's eyes lit up and a small smile appeared. "I don't know how to make one though..." America continued. "I'll teach you, come here," Russia said. America eagerly walked over and knelt down. Russia picked flower after flower from the nearby bush. He also plucked a few leaves, which he decided were also very important. When he was done, he placed the crown on America's head.

"It's done," he announced, his eyes scanning America's face. The flower crown looked nice on him. A little crooked, but that only added to its charm. America's smile grew wider, but his eyes were still hidden behind his sunglasses. "Thank you," he said quietly, touching the crown, which almost fell off. Russia grabbed it and carefully placed it back on America's head. "It suits you." "Thanks," America repeated, now looking away. "Russia, I think I..." His voice trailed off.

He seemed so vulnerable and for once it was not an act. Russia's breath caught in his throat as he realized what this could mean. America looked so helpless and open, his shoulders slumped, his voice soft and quiet. This was the real America, a side he had never seen before. "You think what?" He asked, his voice low. But there was no answer. Instead, America took a deep breath. "Let's go play soccer!" He suddenly said with a cheerful smile on his face.

Russia stared at him. "Go ahead, I will be there in a minute," he said, without looking at America. His hands were shaking and he was so confused. America walked off, with a strange bounce in his step. Russia turned his gaze to the dahlia. Its pink petals were very pretty. But then it suddenly occurred to him what he had done. He had acted without thinking. He had created something beautiful for America, something he himself would not even wear. What did it mean?

It had been so sudden. He had not known what to do when he realized what this might mean for America. What could this mean for him? His stomach was turning. His mind went back to America. The flowers suited him so well. Russia knew what it meant when you made a flower crown for someone. You wanted to give them your attention, you wanted them to know how much you cared. And you wanted to receive that attention and attention from them in return. It was a symbol of closeness, of love. But Russia felt sick. America was not supposed to like him in that way. Russia was not supposed to like America in that way.

"Russia, are you coming?" America shouted. "... Yeah," Russia replied. Breaking his stream of thoughts, he followed America. America was bouncing along. The flower crown really looked nice on him, as he said.