"Interesting." The man commented in a low voice. "Very interesting."
The brown accented room felt heavy on top of his shoulders. The wide windows behind the table had lights bursting in, almost threatening to blind Russia if he didn't look away. He wondered if even the light favored this man.
"What is?" He asked. He didn't pull his eyes away.
"That you came this early."
"So you were expecting me?"
Russia didn't have to look at his face-somehow his smirk had carried itself to his voice already. "Of course. Is it that surprising?"
"I didn't know The mighty United States fantasized about a mere heir's arrival."
14th February 1966, Washington DC
The man's smirk just grew on his face, as if Russia hadn't humiliated but praised him.
"Bold words for an aggressive brat..that came to my feet.."
Russia kept the eye contact. "I can go back."
"Would you though, darling?" The man asked in a low voice, amused.
"No." Russia answered. There was something breathtaking about the way he referred to him. "No, I would not."
"Good-"
"But I would want to thank you for inviting me in, Mister United States." Russia mocked. "I wouldn't have liked to be put in a prison cell."
America chuckled. It sounded so fake, but Russia guessed it probably was the intention. He smiled slightly and Russia could see the way his lips twitched with irritation. "That wouldn't be the first time you dodge an imprisonment risk from me, kiddo."
Russia just barely stopped the irritation showing on his face. America was not that old-yes he had been around since the 17th century if documents were correct but by country standards, he looked fairly young.
Since they were meant to live long years, their ages stopped increasing after a few decades. After a while they didn't age by their birth year but rather how they felt mentally aged the way they looked. This meant Soviet, who was almost two centuries younger than America by birth date, was older, and was seen wiser.
So yes, America could have been three hundredish by birth date standards but by country standards, he was thirty at maximum-not even thirty Russia would argue. A man like America, who loved the spotlight so very much, would also want to stay at an age where he could both be young and taken seriously. He was at most twenty eight. At least twenty five. This made him four to seven years older than Russia.
So him saying this now only meant he was trying to ridicule, humiliate and irritate the hell out of Russia.
He was succeeding.
There was a reason his father hated and didn't want Russia around America. There was only one room on the top and no lions liked the similar ones. Everything Soviet had America had also. Everything Soviet taught to Russia, chances are, were also the things America would teach someone else.
And although he had learned how to hide his emotions from his father there was a teeny tiny point Russia just noticed he was missing out: Soviet went easy on him because he was his son. He didn't observe nor look deep in his soul, he didn't corner nor look for an opening to dive in like a vulture would. Yes, he knew all of these things from Soviet's warnings-but like said, from his warnings. He had never experienced them with his father before.
Soviet going easy on one would always be an advantage for someone else, but for Russia, now, it wasn't.
Soviet only looked away because he was his son. America looked deeper because he was Soviet's son. This meant Russia was put on double the radar America would put a normal person on. This meant he had to be absolutely flawless.
So even if Russia was fairly certain a normal person would have never noticed his irritation, America wasn't a normal person. His smirk widened. He put his hands on the table and got up from his chair.
"Look, kid." There he was again. "I would love to chit chat, I really would, but tonight I really am not in a mood for small talk."
Russia just kept staring at him.
"So humor me this before I throw you in an actual cell and call it a night-" He smirked and lowered his head. "How did you get in?"
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YOU ARE READING
Aftermath Plans || Amerus / Rusame
Non-Fiction"So what now, our alliance is over?" Russia licked his lips, his eyes were staring at just one point of the wooden desk. He could feel the other man's looks directed to his back, even though he didnt have any irises. Russia knew from experience at...
