HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I LOVE RUSAME. And soulmate AUs. So.

Here you go.

In the world, there were three different types of soulmate bonds. One relied on a name that would on the dominant wrist at birth. Another relied on sight- specifically, when one met and came into contact with their soulmate, their eyes would revert from achromatopsia to full-colour vision. The last and possibly most tedious bond was one that rarely happened, if only because of the mortality rate; due to the bond, the senses of the affected were dulled down to near-useless levels, certain ones affected more than others. Touch, sight, smell, and even taste could be affected, in pairs or alone or all at once. It was both difficult and remarkably easy for those in such a bond to find each other, but it often caused... problems.

For America, it namely caused a pathological fear of touch, constant numb in his arms and legs, and near-blindness. But hey, he was America, he could manage it! He was the hero! Ha. Haha.

Holy hell was he tired.

Sinking onto the bench in Central Park, he sighed as he watched the humans wander around. Here and there, he could see families, couples. It was obvious which ones were bonded, just from the expressions on their faces- and sometimes, the bands on their wrists. Kids nowadays tended to cover up their arms once they'd found their match. He supposed it was a way to show you weren't advertising anymore, but damn if he saw the point.

America idly wondered if it was possible for soulmates to die and leave another behind. There were tons of stories of sole mates going insane, becoming suicidal, just plain dying by accident, as if fate didn't want them in the picture anymore. Maybe that was what happened to him?

"Sir?" America jumped, focusing on the woman who had suddenly appeared in front of him. She had a concerned shade to her eyes, had he been spacing out again? "Are you alright?" Definitely.

"Haha, yeah, just thinking about some things, no need to worry about me!" He finally replied, waving a hand at her. She gave him an odd look, as if she didn't quite believe him, and took a seat next to him.

"You just had this air about you. Like you were miserable." She murmured, taking a sandwich out the bag she had been carrying. It was small, had probably only held the sandwich by the looks of it. "Is it because of the couples?"

The question was like a punch to the gut. "I-"

"Because I can understand that, even if you don't want to say." She continued, giving him a side eye. When he blinked in confusion, she held up the arm not holding her sandwich. "Died in action. They mailed me when they confirmed the name on his arm."

"Oh." He said quietly, feeling somehow chastened. "I'm sorry. I don't have quite the same situation, it's just..." He winced, glancing to the people milling about again. "It's been a long while. I almost don't expect to come across anyone."

The woman smiled gently, her painted lips stretching in a not-unkind way. "Well, you have a name don't you? Greyscale?"

"Sensory obstruction." He corrected sheepishly. She looked surprised, but not pitying like some of the people he had told.

"Ah, one of my friends had that- went into her work ignoring it until she met hers doing a job. But even if you're a rarity, you'll find someone someday. It doesn't even have to be your soulmate, it can just be someone who's better, because they're there." A quiet fell over them as he considered her words, the birds and people making enough noise. As one of the clocks struck noon, he smiled and stood with a wobble.

"Thanks for the advice, miss...?"

"My friends call me Pepper." She answered with another smile, reaching out to shake his hand. "It was nice to meet you."

"Alfred."

"It was nice to meet you, Alfred. I hope you find your one." He smiled at her again as he hurried off, confident in his plan. She watched him go before finishing her sandwich and throwing her trash away, silently leaving to go back to her work.

C'mon, you said you were going to do this, go prove to yourself that you can follow through for once!

That's what he told himself as he was finally going to talk to England about this, because he was tired of running into the doorframe when he forgot his glasses in the bathroom and the near-numbness always hovering in his extremities. It made for some difficulty acting like he was completely normal, but also made some bad-ass acting abilities.

Pepper had a point when she said he didn't need his soulmate, but he needed to confirm for himself that he might actually have one.

He nervously knocked on England's door, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for a response. Looking around, he had to marvel at how the house always felt nostalgic when he visited. It was a small cottage, with a garden stretching most of the lawn not covered by a gazebo or path. Bricks made up the wall, and the inside was as quaint as the out. It reminded him of his childhood in the colonies, a bit. Except with less starvation and snow. Ahh.

There was a sudden outburst of swearing and in a few moments the thin nation was standing in front of him, scowling with narrowed eyes. America was briefly amused to see he was brandishing a whisk like a knife and wearing a pink apron.

"What- oh." He paused, relaxing. "I thought you were the frog, for a moment. What do you want, Alfred? You don't usually come by unless there was a world meeting, and that's not for a few days, isn't it?."

"I-" America faltered, breaking off with a nervous laugh. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued in a rush. "I wanted to ask you about soulmates." England visibly paused, eyes darting over America's face. The American could say he was well creeped-out by the searching look in his eyes, and wondered if he was an idiot for coming here. But then England sighed, his scowl dropping to something more... sympathetic? The hell?

"I'm surprised you didn't ask this sooner." The older nation muttered, retreating back into the cottage. America stood there in confusion until the man yelled back, "Are you coming?"

Rushing in, he realised England was in the kitchen, going back to whatever monstrosity he had been making. As he sat at the table, the Englishman kept silent, the somber expression still on his face. The room stayed silent until he put his creations in the oven, setting the timer. When he was done, England turned back to his former colony, leaning against the counter with a sigh.

"Alfred, you know that... before we were nations, we were human, yes?"

"What?"

"We were humans. Ones that almost died, but were changed instead to be representations of our countries. You've heard of how France has whip-marks on his back, yes? I know the idiot flaunts them to everybody. And I know from memory that you have three marks going down yours that aren't from your history. Those are from what terminated your previous... life." Alfred shivered, unconsciously reaching behind himself to prod at the marks he'd had as long as he could remember. Jagged, long marks going down his back, looking as if they'd been traced on. They were distorted now, stretching as he grew, but they had never faded like a normal injury. He had to wonder what made them- a bear? An angry colonist...?

"But that's not the exact point here. What does that have to do with soulmates?" He asked, forcibly resting his hand on the tabletop. England winced and tried to speak, stopping himself and shaking his head.

"We as nations don't have them anymore, Alfred. We gain them as humans. They die long before we even consider that as something to look for. I've only known two pairs who managed to find theirs outside humans- Tino and Berwald- And that's only because they were born around the same time period. The other, well, I can't even figure out which of the three of them are actually soulmates at this point, but I know Elizaveta, Gilbert, and Roderich have something." The older nation, older by centuries now that I actually think about it, hesitated, before reaching and pulling up his left shirt sleeve. Turning over his wrist, America could see round, cracked letters peppering his wrist in what must have been a name.

"Artie.." He murmured.

"We don't have soulmates, Alfred. And that's just something we learn to accept."

If the lines on Arthur's face were deeper than usual, America didn't say anything.

But that doesn't fucking explain anything! What the hell does this mean if they're dead? What if they're still alive? America despaired as he sunk into the bath later that night, glaring at the tiles in front of him. Does that mean they're a country too? How the hell am I supposed to know who it is when I can't even shake someone's hand without wanting to sanitize it?

He growled and sunk deeper before coughing because wow, water in the nose was not fun. With a sigh he leaned back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The conversation with Arthur hadn't done anything more than make him guilty for asking and maybe confirm that his soulmate was a country? But he couldn't remember how long he'd felt like this, at least since the 90's, so for all he knew it was actually a human who wasn't old as dirt. Or maybe it was someone old as shit, and they'd only have maybe three years together before they died. Hurghghhgh.

And all of this was just lovingly topped by the fact there was a meeting in two days, where China would bother him about his debt again, and Iraq and Iran would try to beat the shit out of him again, and Kiku would silently pat his back as he cried into his coke. Again. What could he do when he was there- slap every nation on the back and hope there was a match?

"Fuck that." He muttered, standing up on wobbly legs. Groping around, he easily found his glasses and slipped them on, grabbing the towels next. Maybe he could wind down and relax before this hot mess began. Barack could stand some paperwork for a day or two.

America regretted waking up this morning. He regretted putting on his suit and gloves and walking out of his house to this practical pit of hell.

Kiku sat next to him, calmly watching the scene of carnage while also getting pictures for blackmail. He'd have to convince him to pass some of those over, if only to get some of the pushier countries off his back.

And also maybe to antagonise France, he thought as he watched the Iberian nation get uppercutted by Vietnam. It was sort of scary when the former Indochine joined the fight, not that England seemed to mind the extra hands.

"Ten bucks they do this the rest of the meeting." Mattie sighed next to him, head flat on the table.

"Twenty that West screams at them and then breaks out some of his beer." He replied back absently, finishing off his drink. Standing with a stretch and painful-sounding spine pop, he turned to go back to the vending machine. "You two want anything? I'm gonna see if they have any iced tea." Two negatives in response. He turned to make his round but then a solid wall of goddamn flesh ran into him and knocked him back into the table. Which his head hit and made a lovely thunking sound.

As his ears slowly stopped ringing, he came to the feeling on his face and, for once, didn't feel the need to recoil and knock out whoever was touching him. Blearily squinting, he realised his sight was blurry and reached to pat around for his glasses. Until he realised they were on his face.

"The fuck?" He croaked, trying to sit up. The hand on his face shifted to push up from his back, helping him immensely. The pain in his head was unsurprising, and probably needed to be checked since he could have a concussion, but the cold seeping into his fingers was certainly... something. The glasses shifted again to pull his glasses gently off his face, and his vision sharpened and cleared until he could see the concerned faces of Mattie and Kiku. It was then he realised the room was dead-silent.

"Aa, this is surprising. I didn't think the room was this chilly." A familiar voice said next to him. He looked over.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Nyet." Russia looked about as shocked as he did, flexing his hand like it held the power of the gods.

Many of the nations were understandably confused. Many didn't care. Most left, since Germany had called lunch break with the broken soul of a high school teacher, which left only those who were curious in the room, surrounding the two. Arthur and France were close with worried expressions, and Kiku and Mattie hadn't moved from their spots beyond sitting back down. Russia had taken a seat across from America, keeping between the other two European nations. America thanked God for small mercies.

"Amerique, what exactly happened? You have not quite explained... Ivan?" France asked, eyes darting between them. America shook his head and buried his head further into his arms.

"It is not that bad, Alfred-kun; after all, you wouldn't leave me alone during the Rus-"

"Kiku, I will rug burn you if you finish that sentence." America interrupted loudly, raising his head from his arms. "I-we're-"

"Soulmates." Russia finished calmly, swirling the mug that had appeared out of nowhere. America assumed it was full of whiskey or coffee. Or a combination. Maybe vodka? Mattie made a strangled noise further down the row, and Arthur gave him a look that said Are you on something?

"You aren't serious, right? You two? Has the past half-century disappeared? Not to mention the fact you two don't even have names, and I know Alfred's able to see colours, with how much he insults my food."

"Always a vile, deadly brown-green shade." America muttered under his breath. England kicked him under the table with a glare.

"That's not the point, you wanker. The point is that neither of you even show signs of having a bond. Not to mention the whole centuries apart thing you've going on." America winced, averting his eyes to the table, and sincerely hoped Arthur wasn't some sort of bitter about this, because he didn't even know if he wanted this and he sort of needed support. It's not his fault his soul went off and chose the old Soviet, right?

"There is a reason being stranded in the tundra did not bother me as much as it should." Russia replied calmly, taking a sip from his mug. America noted he didn't answer the second part. "And I have not been able to taste correctly in decades. Makes for decent rations, when you cannot taste. Has only really developed since... Dissolution, I think?"

There was a moment of quiet before America groaned and admitted, "I haven't really been able to feel anything for the past few decades. It's like being wrapped up in a blanket. And without Texas, everything's just blended together as a giant surrealist picture." More silence. People were filing back in, talking to each other in pairs or groups. They didn't take real notice.

"I guess... congrats?" Matthew mumbled, before coughing and speaking louder. "It's great that you two found your match. Now, why don't you two go out and talk this over, since nothing worthwhile is going to happen during this meeting anyways?"

"Wait, what-" America protested, jumping when his brother began to bodily push them out of the conference room, aided by Kiku, the traitor. Who knew the island nation was so strong? It was damn near seconds by the time they were shoved out and the door slammed behind them. It was also at that point that America noticed that all the other nations had filtered back in during their impromptu discussion.

He stared at the door for a bit until there was a sigh next to him and a tap on his shoulder. He looked over and up to see Russia- although it was probably Ivan now, huh- with a slight frown.

"I am not the same country I was three decades ago," He stated plainly when he had caught the American's attention, "And I doubt you are either. How about we... take this slow, and try to prove that first?"

"I..." America looked at him, really looked, peering at his face to see if there was any cruelty, or anger, or anything to run from. He mostly just saw exhaustion and curiosity. "...There's an out of the way coffee place I know." He finally replied, averting his eyes. "It's usually quiet in there, and the workers keep mum."

Russia smiled.

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