Sticky Notes And Trinkets (Rusame)

Rule Number Seven: Cheesy Compliments Count

Soon, Russia located Cuba and sat at a table with his close friend, letting out a relaxed sigh as he rested his shoulders.

"He probably thinks you're friends with him" Cuba hummed in a matter of fact manner, pausing to take a bite of food. "You know?"

"Who thinks I'm friends with who?" Russia asked with a slightly exasperated sigh.

"America, he probably thinks you're friends with or at least listened to Damon." Cuba responded.

"...Who the actual fuck is Damon?"

"The embodiment of emo boy that you beat up this morning"

"The one determined to make himself look like he's crying blood?" He clarified, knowing he only beat up the one guy this morning.

"Yes," Cuba said, sounding a little exasperated. "Who else would I be talking about?" He asked, the question clearly rhetorical in nature.

"He's certainly not the only emo here." Russia replied with a shrug.

Cuba rolled his eyes. "I wasn't saying he was. But that wasn't the point, he probably saw you earlier - he's a people watcher, more so with new people here"

"Does he do the stalker notes like you?" Russia asked with an eye roll. This conversation felt stupid and redundant. "Plus even if I do what you're implying I should, he won't believe me."

"He doesn't, nobody's as much of a stalker as me~!" Cuba responded proudly, he had an almost UwU like face. "And he'll believe you! He's good at reading people, he also tends to believe his intuition."

"I already fucked up, I don't think it's a good idea." Russia mumbled.

"Fine then, take your time."

Russia let out a little sigh, but they moved onto a different topic, spending the rest of lunch with idle chatter. That made the rest of lunch pass by in a blur.

As lunch came to an end, he got up and left for lunch, going into the locker room and getting changed.

For a second while he was taking off his shirt, he could kind of feel someone looking at him. He hummed to himself and shrugged, not really caring about it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped America might look at him and see him as attractive. He also quickly realized that it was almost definitely America, as he looked over to spot the other leaving the locker room. He found himself wishing that the other liked what he saw, even though it was probably just a little glimpse.

He quickly pulled the gym uniform on and headed out of the room and to the Gymnasium. He noticed America in the hall while he made his way into the gym.
After role was called, it was revealed that they were going to be playing fucking kickball. He wanted to die.

Gym then proceeded to stretch on for what felt like a god-damned week.

When it was finally over, he went into the locker room and changed as quickly as he could, eager to just get through the rest of the day and to band practice.

He paused by America's locker on his way to his last class of the day, smiling a little to himself as he gently . He'd decided to spice it up a little, the note reading: "You are an alluring, magnificent, and nearly perfect angel. Did you lose your wings and halo to walk among us?"

It felt a little cheesy, but he couldn't help himself. America deserved more compliments than he seemed to receive. It was a bit flirty, but he hoped it'd show America how wanted he was. He had seen enough of how people seemed to treat America to know that at the very least, the other had depression.

It's hard to stay positive and find reasons to continue when the only things you hear about yourself are insults, if thirty-three percent of a twenty-four hour day was spent listening to that.

Given that ten hours of that time is sleeping, it's closer to fifty-seven percent of the day. Needless to say, he couldn't help but want to give America a hug and maybe refuse to let him go for a little while. America deserved a lot more love and comfort than he seemed to get, at least during the school day.

He sighed as he walked into the last class of the day, looking to see if they had a substitute or if their teacher, Mr. Reindheart, was there.

He spotted Mr. Reindheart standing up at the front of the classroom, probably ready to lecture them.

Instead of beginning to lecture them, he started with:

"First things first, I'm sorry for my absence yesterday, I hope you all got your work done! I'm sorry I wasn't here to give the new little chemist a warm welcome. I hope you all were kind to him!" He started, bowing slightly when he apologized. 

After that, he called role and started the lecture. In the middle of the lecture, Mr. Reindheart handed out some worksheets for them to do to practice what he was lecturing over.

Before he started working on it, he looked over and noticed that America was looking down at his lap. It sparked a little curiosity, so he looked at America's lap to see what he was doing. He saw the other sewing something, what he wasn't quite sure, but it looked pretty neat.

He quickly looked away then started work on the worksheet, it was honestly a bit boring to him.

He wasn't but half way through his worksheet when he heard some really fast writing. It drew his attention away from the work, looking over to see that the source of the sound was America, doing the very worksheet he'd distracted Russia from. He also looked to be using his left hand to do it when he'd been drawing with his right the day before. It was odd to him, leaving him with some questions. Though he came to the conclusion that America was likely Ambidextrous.

Russia chucked to himself and quickly got back to doing the work. That was something he found a little interesting and maybe a bit cute.

He quickly got back to work on the worksheet, taking his time to get through the thing. It was boring, but better than listening to the damned lecture.

He almost groaned as he finished the worksheet. Now he just heard his teacher just droning on and on.

He looked over at America, and then slowly found himself zoning out and then, eventually, daydreaming.

He found himself daydreaming about America and himself, he couldn't help himself.