Dirty reality made by gloved hands

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Soviet woke up abruptly. He bolted straight up from his bed. He was drenched in sweat and he felt his heart beating a little faster. Pictures of his dream flooded back to his mind. No, they were memories. ...sorrowful memories.

The Russian pursed his lips and looked at the space next to him. That side of the bed was empty. Cold.

With shaky hands he reached out and patted the mattress. Maybe... maybe it was all just a bad dream, maybe Reich hadn't left. But the sheets were icy cold as if nobody have ever slept in them. He could feel tears sting his eyes but he didn't let them fall, no, he had already cried enough because of that man.

He clenched his fists and frustratedly hit his own thighs hoping for the pain to sober him up. He is so done with everything. Why did he dream about him?! Why is his heart still ache because of him?! How did things turn out like this? WHY did things turn out like this? He rubbed his face with his palms in order to hush his thoughts.

✵✵✵

Soviet was sitting in his car, on his way to meet Reich. He didn't saw the German for about a month now and the other day he received an emergency letter from him asking for immediate help. After the division of Poland Reich attacked the west. With light speed he took over the Benelux states as well as France and he also extended his territory towards the Scandinavians, however he now seemed to drop anchor when it came to the infamous Englishman.

The Oldman was tough and he made the Third Reich stumble back a step which is quite impressive even Soviet could admit that. Reich does seem weaker than how much power he actually holds. He is not someone to be underestimated. However the Russian knows. Even for his strong personality and unstoppable ambition, the German is sometimes...off.

Like he doesn't even knows about himself at those moments. He just stares, in front of himself like he actually is seeing something, but nothing is there. He would just suddenly shot up from his seat hit his ankles together as if a higher commanding officer would have entered the room. Or when he would keep tossing around in their bed while sleeping and mumble to himself.

It was...concerning.

But when Soviet gently asked Reich about he didn't seem to understand what the Russian was talking about. He rather found it ridiculous and that the Russian was just messing with him.

There was one time though when Reich woke up breathing heavy and crying. Soviet tried to calm him but Reich did not accept the help, saying that it was stupid of the Russian to be concerned about him. Eventually Soviet could convince the German to try to fall back to sleep with the two snuggled up close together. By the morning Soviet couldn't find Reich anywhere, only a letter which said 'I'll be back in a few days.' Well, it was not relieving.

Soviet as well barely could sleep in those days. Then the days turned into a week. And after two weeks of not hearing anything from the German Soviet decided to go to his capital, Berlin.

He practically kicked in his office door just to find the German in a terrible state, clearly not sober. He was just sitting at his desk his head supported by his hands looking down at the wooden surface. He didn't even seem to notice the Russians not so quiet and polite entry. Soviet tried, he really did, to keep his temper, but it angered him so much that Reich was destroying himself right in front of his eyes and would not say a word to him, making him watch the light die out in his eyes.

The situation quickly turned quite hysterical.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Why won't you let me help?"

"Because you can't help! Now, the most helpful thing you could do is to carry your big Russian ass out here and leave me alone already!"

"I won't watch you do this to yourself with my hands in my lap!" The German halted.

"Why..?" He asked in a shaky voice. "Why are you still beside me?" He choked out. Tears perked in his eyes.

"Why? WHY? Because I love you, you idiot." Reich didn't say anything afterwards, just cried silently to himself. Soviet just sighed and went and wrapped his arms around the German, which he quickly reciprocated.

"I-I do-on't understand!" He sniffled. "How could you..? Still? I left without saying a word."

"Shhh, hush now it's okay." Soviet tried to calm him and led him to the sofa Reich had in his office, and sat both of them down, pulling Reich into his lap.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-y"

"I know, I know It's alright." They kept whispering to each other.

"Please forgive me, I'll change, I swear I will, I didn't mean to-"

"Reich it's alright, I understand."

"But he doesn't..."said the German barely audible. It left soviet confused, but he decided against asking about it not to upset the German more. He probably didn't know what he was talking about anyway. He seemed very tired and delusion was often a side effect of sleep deprivation. He kept on rubbing the German's back and he could feel how tense his muscles were eased up. Slowly Reich came down from his high mind and basically passed out from exhaustion.

Soviet sighed again deeply is he lay Reich down on the sofa. He speculated hi face. He finally slept peacefully... dark circles ran under his eyes like he hasn't been sleeping, and to be honest it wouldn't even surprise the Russian if he weren't. There were many empty coffee cups around the office.

As he thinks back that was probably the calmest state he had seen the German in a literal months...