After months of writers block and plenty of, positive, life changing events, here is a sad shot.
A few months had passed since Russia confessed to him and, in turn, America revealed his illness. At first, America had tried to convince Russia to leave, to save himself from the pain and worry that would undoubtedly come from staying, but the Russian stubbornly persisted. Not even a month after America had finally accepted Russia's presence, they began calling each other by their human names.
Currently Alfred lay on the couch in his living room drifting in and out of consciousness as the weight of the summer sun bore down on him. He could hear the faint clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen behind him. The savoury smell of borscht drifted into the living room, gently curling around him, calling him from his daze. If he were able to keep it down he was sure that it would taste amazing.
His eyes fluttered open as the clanging stopped. He gazed blearily at his surroundings before reaching towards the end-table for his glasses. He felt his glasses handed to him as the Russian set a bowl on the table. Slipping his them on, he moved to sit up, the russian quickly moving to spot him.
"I'm not imobile y'know?" he pouted, leaning slightly into the other's arms. Ivan hummed slightly, looking down at Alfred with that soft, irritatingly sweet smile. Alfred sat up long enough for the other to sit down before burying his head into the other's shoulder, allowing the crisp scent, he had come to know as Ivan's,comfort him. Alfred whined as Ivan reached into the end-table for a syringe. Once he got it out he helped move Alfred onto his back; once again earning a weightless sound of protest from the American. He rolled up the front of the American's shirt injecting the contents just below the ribs.
Ivan gently ran his thumb across the exposed abdomen, feeling the small bumps that had yet to heal. "I hope that you won't need these for much longer," he muttered, frowning at the puncture wounds as if they were the cause of all his life's problems.
It was probably the closest he could come to facing this one, Alfred mused, bringing his hand up to grasp the other's roaming one.
"As soon as the drip comes in I won't." Alfred responded, bringing the hand to his lips as he sat up against Ivan's chest, his shirt sliding back down as he did so.
"That's not what I meant," Ivan sighed, once again holding the other close to him. Alfred sighed, tucking his head in the crook of Ivan's neck.
"I know," he whispered against the skin, "But let's not worry about that right now." Ivan hummed in response and reached for the bowl of soup. Alfred giggled at the way the vibrations felt against his cheek placing a chaste kiss to the closest part of Ivan's neck. Yes, let's not worry about that, he thought. Moments like these are much more enjoyable that way.
---
Hours later Alfred found himself curled against Ivan, staring out into the dark room as the numbers 3:20 glared back at him. He concentrated his breathing, trying to match his own shaky breaths to the rhythmic ones beneath him.
Sometime earlier an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Rather than having mellowed out over time, as he had hoped it would, it began to twist and morph itself into something far more concerning. It wasn't pain, but rather an unsettling lack of feeling that seemed to spread across his body the more he focused on it. Part of him screamed that something was horribly wrong. He glanced reluctantly at the man beneath him before moving to sit up. He reached out to nudge the other awake, gasping as his muscles spasmed. He crumpled to the mattress as fire tore through his abdomen, wheezing for breath. He blindly dug his nails into the sheets below him, scrambling for purchase as he felt warm liquid pour down his chin.
A moment later he felt himself swept from the bed, bright light blinding him as he was placed on the bathroom floor. As his legs met the cold tile he unceremoniously threw himself over the toilet, heaving the vile liquid into it. He felt arms wrap around him, one combing his hair back as the other held him up right, as his body convulsed through the effort.
Minutes later he collapsed into the other's arms, body still shaking in exhaustion. He stared blankly at the red stained bowl in front of him, barely hearing his boyfriend talking on the phone, let alone registering that that was what he was doing. His eyes sagged under an invisible weight and, reluctantly, he allowed the repetitive movement of his boyfriend's thumb against his waist to carry him away.
---
Alfred gazed through the window groggily. His hands gripping the thin cotton blankets as he watched cars speed down the road in front of the hospital. Every few minutes an ambulance would scream from the building, overpowering the sounds of the heart monitor and ventilator beside him.
He glanced from the view when the door swished open behind him. He turned his head to greet Ivan with a small, exhausted grin. The Russian smiled back, settling in the chair next to the bed. The older man hesitantly reached out to grasp Alfred's bruised one, eyes never quite meeting his boyfriend's.
"What's wrong?" Ivan's eyes seemed to widen, before he looked further away from the man in front of him.
"I... don't like seeing you like this," he muttered.
"That's not it." The blue eyed blond persisted, sitting up slightly, trying to chase the other's gaze.
"Alfred-"
"No. Tell me", he said, "You wouldn't hide it from me if it wasn't important."
Ivan sighed, his eyes finally meeting the other's. "I told my boss about your condition," Alfred opened his mouth, his eyes blazing with indignation, "Please," Ivan insisted, "Let me finish."
"I know... that your boss is already working on finding a cure, but it isn't enough," he grimaced with foggy, violet eyes, " I thought that, maybe if both of our countries worked on this, then you'd have a chance."
"Ivan," Alfred sighed, rubbing his thumb across the man's hand, "We agreed..."
"I can't just watch you die Fredchka," he sobbed, cupping Alfred's cheek, " Please. Don't make me watch you die." Ivan leaned over the bed pressing their heads together, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Please."
Alfred nodded, feeling his own eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you and it seems that's exactly what I did."
"It's fine," Ivan said, "as long as we're together. It's going to be fine."
