Ancient Fortress Burning

A grain of truth resides in many rumors, no matter how warped it may become. At least, such was the case among the immortal nations in their lives of intrigue, bickering, tactics, reverence, and everything in between. For example, many believed America needed to be the center of everyone's attention. Truth was laced through such a notion, however it did not touch upon the complex reasons why, the harbored quest for glory, validation, security. But America's desire to grab everyone's focus was very much present.

Which was why, as his gestures, voice, and speech worked to make himself as large as possible, America was perturbed to see Russia's blatant disinterest; it could even be called boredom. Decades ago, it was easy to grab the large country's attention, hold it, receive a smile. But this recent game of Russia's, this apparent disregard for America's grand proclamations, dug right under his skin, rubbed his nerves raw. If he couldn't make such a powerful adversary pay attention to him, what did that say about America? Weren't they supposed to be fixated on each other's moves?

Time flowed ever onward, bricks came crashing down, leadership changed, hands were shook. Tentative conversations started. There were gentle caresses that might have been accidents were it not for just how repeated they were. The touches became lingering, the distance they stood closed. Lips brushed against lips.

Bodies came crashing down. Tangled with each other, with rasping sheets.

But some shadow of that old distance remained. There was a tension in Russia's shoulders present only when with America, a special brand of discomfort reserved for him, and only him.

America liked being the source of such unease as little as he liked Russia's bouts of emotional distance.

And he said as much- with as much grace and tact as could be expected from the excitable man.

"Stop looking so constipated."

Russia's nose crinkled in obvious distaste, and the forkful of salad that was traveling to his mouth was replaced back onto his plate. "Pardon?"

"Why do you do that?"

"My bowels are perfectly healthy, if you wish to-"

"Why do you sometimes sound so far away? And like you're looking passed me? Something on your mind?" Apparently not America, that much seemed certain.

Russia frowned. "Many things. We have entire countries to manage."

"Not what I mean." Sadness tainted America's words, a newfound mournfulness that troubled him as much as he felt it. That caught Russia's attention; he opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips. Some inner struggle was visible in the violet of his eyes, the whiteness of his knuckles as his fists clenched.

"Do not make something out of nothing, please," Russia said at last.

America deflated, but no sooner did his shoulders sink than he bristled, filled with a tension of his own winding him tight. "It's clearly not nothing. Sometimes it feels like you're always getting ready to just leave. Whatever this is, it's coming between us."

Russia rose from his seat, the chair legs screaming against the dining room floor, and oddly no sound better matched the sick twist this evening was taking. "Stop. This." Each word was dragged out from behind clenched teeth. "I am trying-"

"Trying would mean talking. Hey- where are you going?" America was hot on his heels, already caught up to Russia even as the other grabbed his coat. "Russia! What's going on? Talk to me- Vanya!"

The slightest pause, before Russia resumed gathering his things with renewed vigor.

"Russia, please talk to me! Is it boss-related?"

"It's me-related." His voice was soft as his hand remained frozen on the doorknob. Utterly perplexed, America stepped forward, thinking he'd misheard. And he saw it. Russia's eyes were staring, unseeing, down at the handle. He looked frightened.

"What…what do you mean?" Though barely above a whisper America's voice sounded too loud to his own ears, the slightest vibration enough to shatter this moment. Shatter them.

Slowly, as if forcing himself to look into the very sun, Russia's gaze met his. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

No words passed America's mouth even as he opened it to speak. For a moment, the world stood still, immortalizing this single stich in the tapestry of their existence, wove it into something too vast to understand its beauty. Only when Russia's hand flew to his chest did the world release its collective breath and charge on. Brow furrowed, Russia took a few shallow breaths, likely willing his heart to stay in.

"Russ- Vanya," America said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. It surprised him how steady his hand felt as he raised it; it did not surprise him to see Russia determinedly stand his ground as tanned fingers caressed his cheek. "Then…let's be terrified together, beautiful."

Violet searchlights seemed to probe deep within him, suspicious, always suspicious, knowing how to make everything into something he could calculate, weigh the odds of. But that was a habit born of too many centuries of hardship, inconsistent with the soul of instinct and humanity Russia had been born with. It had been awhile since trust had been handed out to anyone but himself, but that was how it was meant to exist: embraced.

Russia nodded.

THE END