Blue With White Stars | RusAme ✔️

Blue With White Stars-- Twenty

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Russia didn't get off his bed, he instead laid there while trying to comprehend what happened between him and America. It felt like a dream that finally came true or an illusion that became reality. He's never felt this kind of feeling, the feeling of love or happiness; it was all new to him.

Both his mind and heart were racing with excitement, but at the same time, it raced with concern. He didn't want America to feel like he's done something wrong or horrible; he only wanted him to feel enthusiastic like he always has been.

The Russians face was still scarlet red and burning like fire was on his cheeks. It felt like he was frozen for ever until America kissed him, melting his heart of any sorrow or pity.

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An awkward silence went through each room as the two nations sat together in the sitting room with Moscow cleaning up the libraries shelves. Just from America's behavior, England knew that something happened between him and Russia. Though, he didn't think it was anything good or romantic, England thought it was a fight or something that was negative.

The silence was pure and the sound that ever passed through it was Moscow cleaning up the shelves. England took a deep breath with both boredom and concern mixed together.

America didn't respond to his ally next to him, he only stayed in the silence. The Brit snaps his fingers next to the Americans ear and still doesn't receive an answer. He smirked to himself, guessing that the relationship between Russia and America was probably destroyed some how.

He never really thought that America and Russia deserved to have a relationship, considering the Cold Wars outcomes. It would all make sense if they didn't get along like two forever best friends or brothers. Most of all, England was proud to call the relationship a failure between the Cold War ex-belligerents.

"You seem under the weather in such a short time, are your thoughts bothering you?" England softly asked the American next to him. Even after the silence, it still felt strange that he was quiet all of sudden; not like that's a bad thing of course.

"Regular thoughts that usually bother my mind, I'm just trying to comprehend all of them." America simply answered, hiding all of the secrets and events away from the Brit as much as he could. "That's understandable, everyone has those types of thoughts once in a while." Britain responded as he slouched against the couches cushion.

"What kind of things do you think about, America?" Moscow stepped in while placing the last few books on the shelves. America only gave a shrug, not even he knew what he thought about the most everyday. "Well there has to be something you like to ponder or talk about, da?" She added, receiving an agreement from the Brit next to America.

A very short silence passed through the room as the American thought for a moment, debating on whether he thought about the world or his friends more. Honestly, it was difficult question, especially when he was about to lie about the fact that he thinks about other stuff when he actually thinks about his Russian ally everyday of his life.

"The world I suppose, there's really not that much I think about when I have free time." He finally answered to both the nation and capital. "That's a little new, you don't usually think about the world often, but that's ok either way." Moscow understood his thoughts more than England did, she already knew that the American lied intentionally to get out of the topic; it wasn't the first time he lied about something.

"The world? That's quite an interesting thing to ponder about, I never knew that about you America." The Brit complemented, lightly patting the Americans back like a proud father.

America weakly smiled at the nation and Moscow looked at the clock above the fireplace. "Your last day here should be spent well, I suggest you pack up tonight and get some well deserved rest, I'm expecting your plane to leave at 8:45 P.M." She told them as she let out a loud yawn from the how late it was becoming.

The two nations nodded their head and got up from the couch, leaving the library to go upstairs to their bedrooms. England did his own thing and America strolled down the some what long hallway to his own room, seeing a glance of Russia's room. He could only imagine how mad Russia was from kissing him, even though the Russian clearly showed his feelings back.

America entered the bedroom and closed his door halfway, going over to his bed to reach for his bag. He dragged it out and placed it on the bed, unlocking the combination on the lock and unzipping it.

The first few items were clothes and personal belongings he brought along when he came to Moscow. He opens his closet doors and grabs ahold of a small container with a random variety of stuff in it. The container was stuck and resisted as America pulled on it. He tightens his grip on the handle and roughly pulls it out, nearly falling backwards with it in his hands.

A shiny object falls out between where the container was and a box, hitting the ground with a loud clanging sound. America looked down at the ground and saw a familiar sharp knife; one that looked like the knife he used on Russia. He barely gasped at the sight of it.

The knife was shinier than most knives and it was sharper than a medium sized machete. America picked it up and looked at the sides, realizing the pain he could've caused Russia. It made him sick to see it, knowing it made the Russian nation run away from him in either fear or bitterness.

America sighed as he placed the knife in his bag, hoping he'd never have to use it on anyone else ever again. After finding that memory, he knew he'd be reminded of many things, whether it was negative or positive; there's always a memory in everything.

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