Childhood Dream| Ruscan

Part 5

TW: SELF HARM

Once Canada got home he took the now crumpled up napkin out of his pocket, looking it over. He questioned if Russia even actually wanted him to call him or if he had just wanted him to go away. Was this number even real?

He'd check the authenticity of the number the Russian had provided him with later, for now he desperately wanted- no, needed a shower.

He dragged himself to his bedroom, grabbing clean clothes, which had been folded up and put neatly in his dresses, to put on after his shower. He walked to his bathroom, turning on the light. He placed the folded clothes on the sink, stripping down and turning on the shower. While he was at it he happened to catch a glance of himself in the mirror, and he frowned.

He got into the shower, enjoying the feel of the cold water on his skin. He loved cold showers.

He couldn't stop thinking of Russia though.

He still felt guilty, for some odd reason he couldn't explain even to himself, as much as he wished to know. He was a very sympathetic and sentimental person, so it wasn't unlike him to feel emotional over small things, but he just couldn't explain why he still felt so sad despite having already connected with the Russian twice. Sure, both times were awkward but he still got their number and he'd still call them eventually nonetheless, he had no reason to feel wrong.

He dried off with a towel, ringing out his hair and putting on his clean clothes.

As he walked to put the clothes he had been wearing before into his laundry basket he spotted the napkin and paused. He stared at it for a moment before picking it up and bringing it to his room with him, sitting it on his nightstand. It was getting late, so he'd call Russia tomorrow.

He turned off the light, curled up in his bed, and nearly instantly fell asleep.

•••

His day went as usual, he got ready for work, went to work, goofed off with Finland at work, resisted the urge to yell at customers at work, drove home from work, and sat on his couch alone in his small house. Technically it wasn't a house, technically it was an apartment, but the people living near him were always so quiet he tended to forget, and his apartment was on the first floor.

He turned on the tv, looking for something he could watch. He eventually found something that sparked his interest, so he went to go make dinner to eat while he watched.

His dinner wasn't special, just leftover pizza from a few nights ago that he needed to finish. He walked back to the living room, sat down, and watched.

After an hour or two the show got boring, so he went to his room to get clothes for a shower, but instead he happened to spot the napkin he had sat on his nightstand the night before.

He sighed, picking it up and dialing the number, feeling his heart beginning to race with every number.

He called the number.

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is disconnected or is no longer in service."

Canada felt his heart drop, fall out of his ass, and roll away on the floor. The number was fake? No, no this couldn't be happening, did Russia really not want to talk to him?

He felt tears beginning to form in his eyes, crying as he tried to call again, and again. No answer.

How could Russia do this to him, sure they hadn't talked in years but they were still childhood friends. Canada fell to his side on the bed, crying.

—————————————————————————

Russia was screaming at the person on the other side of the phone, demanding to know why and how his number could possibly no longer be in service. "I have an important call you asshole, you can't fucking-" he was cut off "I will not continue to speak to you for my safety, good bye." And with that he hung up. "Fuck- fuck!" Russia screamed, the colors in his eyes swirling like fire, he felt the need to break anything he could, to hurt anyone he could, to hurt himself.

So he did.

He grabbed a knife, holding it to his arm, shaking, the blade into his arm and hissing in pain, tears welling in his eyes.

"You make me have to hurt myself- you all-" he began to trail off, cutting more and deeper, before falling to the floor and curling in a ball, sobbing.

Canada was going to think he gave him a fake number, Canada was going to hate him, Russia finally had a chance to make a friend and of course the universe had to do this.

Russia was far less fortunate than Canada was, Russia lived in a pathetic trailer with almost nothing inside still functioning correctly. His washer was broken, his floors sunken in and his ceilings as well, he had no clean clothes and getting to wash his clothes at the laundromat was a luxury to him. Living was a luxury to him.

He hadn't eaten in days because he had no food, he hadn't cleaned in days because he had no motivation, the only thing he really did was work out and walk around town, occasionally he'd ask for money from others, which is how he could afford to go to the café, and how he could afford his vodka.

Russia felt himself becoming more attached to Canada now that he was on the line he couldn't let Canada think the number was fake.

He couldn't.