Sticky Notes And Trinkets (Rusame)

Rule Number Five: Tuesdays and Thursdays Rock

Russia grumbled to himself a little, rustling through his bag for a moment, trying to figure out what he could do to pass the time. He wanted to get out of this hellhole, get on the bus, go home, and then go to volunteer.

Seeing those kids smile would make this boring hell well worth it. Maybe he'd see that person again, he'd never known their name, but they had a nice voice.

They sounded sweet. Their voice was calming - honestly the little glimpses of them he'd caught had been a highlight of his Tuesdays and Thursdays for a year or so now.

The more he thought about that, the more he realized it was a bit creepy, if only a little. He didn't even know their name, and yet he reminded himself of their voice if he was having trouble sleeping.

Now that he thought about it... If he took away the stuttering and the slight tone of anxiety, the person sounded like America. From a distance he could never really see much of them, so he couldn't really be sure.

He mentally shook away that train of thought- now was not the time to be questioning whether or not he was creepy. It was a distraction from the boring class period this was promising to be, but certainly not the kind of distraction that he wanted. He sighed a little and continued to look around for something else to do, some sort of distraction. Maybe if he could spot America, he could look over and see what he was doing.

Eventually his eyes settled on America , and he saw the other holding a mechanical pencil - at first, he thought the other was doing the classwork... Though upon closer inspection he could see that America was drawing something- he couldn't see what though. But he couldn't bring himself to care about what or who America was drawing, as it didn't really matter. The other was a perfect distraction from the class for him.

After a while, he watched America pull a case with a strange gray blob out, and watched as the other rolled over water sketch was on the paper with it before dabbing at it with it. It was strange and he had not a clue what the other was doing, but he didn't mind. A distraction was a distraction. Though America was too pretty to just be a "distraction" in his opinion, he ought to be the main focus and star- but that was neither here nor there.

His eyes remained on America, watching as the other pulled something out of his bag, and continued to do something with it: it looked like he was painting. He never once found himself bored as he watched America do this, then start drawing, and repeat the earlier process. The other started a third time, but only the first step.

He suddenly heard America make a slightly content and comfortable sounding chattering noise- for a second he thought it had come from a bird outside due to how realistic it sounded, but after he saw America cover his mouth he knew it wasn't the case. It was odd, that meant America was an avian. Which was confusing, since the other didn't show signs often, nor was it something Cuba knew about.

And Cuba knew almost everything about anyone - that was his best friend, but he had to acknowledge that the other was an absolute fuckin stalker. Not a people watcher, like most thought, but a stalker. His friend didn't know about that - which meant America was hiding it well from everyone, even when he thought no one was looking.

That information now seemed so private to him, so he decided not to share it with Cuba.

Though, he was now curious about what kind of bird America was. The chattering noise seemed to be similar to some he'd heard from song birds before. That bit of information was ultimately infinitely unhelpful, as there were over four thousand types of song birds. If America was even a song bird, because it was also possible America was some other type of bird he knew nothing about. That also brought into question how the hell America's footsteps were absent- it was semi-common among cat nekos but not AVIANS. So what the actual fuck was up with that.

He sighed a little bit, he'd be keeping an eye on America to see if he could get any clues about what bird America was. And also to see if he could get a clue on what the fuck made America's footsteps absent.

He then watched as America went back to drawing, smiling to himself. The other looked so cute while he was concentrating.

The announcements started, and they were pretty mundane - like there was an upcoming game Friday, and bus changes. They lasted too long for his liking.

Eventually the bell rang, bringing the class and announcements to an end, though it also spooked the ever living shit out of America. The way America fumbled with his stuff was cute, but it didn't make him want to kill the bell any less for distressing the cutie.

He got up and packed everything up, watching as a few students straight up bolted out of the room. Russia walked out, choosing to be more calm than his classmates. He continued through the crowded halls, making his way to the bus line.

Upon checking he found that his bus, the three hundred sixty-nine, wasn't there yet. So he'd probably be waiting for a few minutes. He sighed and took out his phone, looking at it to see if he had any missed texts.

He found that he didn't have any, which was a little disappointing. He hoped Cuba would get his phone back soon so he could find out if the absence of America's steps was something his friend had noticed.

Soon enough he saw the three hundred sixty-nine pull up. He smirked to himself, the number was not lost on him, not like he was going to make a comment on it though.

After getting on the bus, his phone 'ding'ed with a text from Cuba - definitely a response to his question from earlier.

The response he'd received? "I hadn't noticed that, odd for an avian though".

His eye twitched slightly; he knew America probably wanted to keep that secret, so he hoped he was the only one Cuba had told about that.

"I'm pretty sure he wants to keep that a secret, keep that information to yourself Cuba" He responded to the text. To which he got an "I will, I will" which he wasn't sure of the tone of. That was a huge reason he hated texts- tone did not come through.

He sighed to himself, going through his playlist, trying to figure out what he wanted to listen to while he waited.

After a bit he picked a song, opting to listen to "Howl" by The Family Crest. He found himself humming to the jazzy tune of the song.

Eventually, the song came to an end, and the next one played, but by that time, the bus was moving. He allowed himself to get lost in the music before getting snapped out of it by a ruckus from the back of the bus.

He took off his headphones and looked to the back of the bus, promptly seeing some random kid getting the shit smacked out of them. He could also now hear the "ruckus" more clearly. It was students chanting "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT" towards the back.

Russia turned his phone to it and started recording - figuring Cuba would want the information.

Eventually the fight got broken up, he assumed their friends didn't want them in trouble. He stopped recording and sent it to Cuba before going back to listening to his music.

It wasn't long before he was at his front door, which he opened. He realized his father wasn't home yet, so went up to his room, put his bag on his bed and started the walk from his house to the orphanage - finding himself excited to see the happy little faces on those children - and maybe catch a glimpse of the person who read to the children.

After he got there, he noticed the person wasn't there- that was usual, they were never there before quarter to seven on the days he was there. He allowed himself to get lost in playing around with the kids, playing tag and other such games with them.

He noticed a couple of the kids departing from hanging out with him and looked around to see them going over to them. He got a closer look at them and realized that the person who read to the kids was America. Oh shit.

Well- he had fallen for America more than he had thought. It was worse that he hadn't even known that was America before today.