It's me again! I've been writing a lot more consistently lately, and I think I'm really starting to get the hang of things. I'm also exploding from tiredness on the inside. It's like a napalm strike right behind my corneas. I think this is what it feels like to be a writer in college! Only reviews and comments can save my corneas from the violent attack... (Desperate much?) It's cool though. Hope you enjoy the story!
America returned to his hotel room a little out of breath. His head was spinning when he thought about the moment he had almost shared with Russia. He hadn't wanted to pull away… His heart was still beating quickly as he sat down on the edge of his bed. His fingers knotted themselves in his hair and he leaned forward. God, what have I gotten myself in to this time? His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on his door and his heart fluttered with excitement. Russia had left, but he couldn't think of anyone else who would be visiting… He threw the door opened excitedly as was met with a very surprised brunette.
"America?"
"Oh, hey. What are you doing back here? You still need a place to stay?"
"No. I found a room at a hotel just down the street. I came here because I wanted to say thanks for your hospitality the other night." America looked down when the smaller man lifted his hands for emphasis, a twelve pack of beer in each.
"Oh, Hell yeah, I could totally go for some of that right now! Come on in." Lithuania stepped into the doorway and America relieved him of the large, heavy boxes with a smile. He walked further into the room as America stopped to place the beer on the coffee table until he turned back with a sheepish smile.
"It was nice seeing you the other night… R-Regardless of the circumstances."
"It was nice seeing you too."
"Think we could drink together tonight? I'll be pretty busy with the Eastern European conference for the next couple of days and after that I leave. I was hoping that maybe we could drink together like we used to."
"That'd be great, man. It's been forever since we got plastered together." America ripped open one of the boxes and handed Lithuania a beer as they both sat down on the couch. The cans opened in sync releasing a dual hiss which made the men smile. Both turned the cans up toward their mouths and drank deeply with a contented sigh.
"So how have you been Mr. America?"
"We're friends Toris, call me Alfred! My nation's been pretty busy with politics and whatnot." He said with a frustrated sigh.
"Haha, you too?" Toris gave him a pitying look. "Good luck with that, by the way. I hear your country's been pretty heated politically of late."
"Always. Good ol' Americans are like that." He said with an undisguised proud grin. "They like to keep things interesting."
"That's for sure…" Toris said, leaning down to drink another sip.
"Are you insulting me, Toris?" Toris spat a little in response.
"What? No, n-no!"
"I'm just messing with you!" American laughed, patting the man on the shoulder. "Relax a little! You always worry way too much." America looked at the other man seriously, his eyes betraying the deeper sentiments he felt.
"Yeah… you're probably right," Lithuania replied, averting his gaze. He was lost in thought for quite a while as the men drank.
The men drank together for hours. At first, the conversation was slow and awkward, but as the night progressed they became comrades riding the drunken dragon. The walls spun and the floor wobbled as they finished off some of the final cans. They giggled freely until the sun started to touch the horizon and the brunette drifted off. America watched the brunette sleep for a while. He lay back in the couch as his head lulled over the top. He had the last half of a can of beer in his hands, pouring down the front of his shirt as his hands fell limp. America laughed at the sight before taking the beer and lifting the other man up, setting him on the bed. He pulled off the man's shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, preparing him for bed and giving his shirt a chance to dry out. He slipped the shirt off of the other man's shoulders before he looked down and saw the man beneath him. Sobriety violently returns to him as he takes in the marred shoulders and arms which were hidden beneath. His body is littered with scars of wars, scars from obvious abuse –burning and whipping- and what America believed where the scars of self-abuse. They ran in short scars across him arms, numbering at least twenty on each arm with more on the left. The scars were white and pink, clearly raised against his skin and America felt himself begin to cry.
He took a deep breath. This is why we're here. He looked away clenching his eyes shut and allowing the water in his eyes to pool around his eyelashes. He took a moment to watch the wallpaper for a moment, giving him a second to calm himself with a heavy sigh and settled the man under the covers. He brushed the hair out of his friend's face and looked at him sadly once more before allowing himself to be overcome with determination.
He understood the scars of war and the scars of the abused. Those were scars which lapped at the heart and mind like fire, but the scars caused by oneself demonstrated a rot inside of each which would be much more difficult to heal. The burns of suffering could heal with time after the person was removed from the volatile situation, but people could never be removed from themselves. The internal causes would take decades to change. This was beyond just America's ability. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the face of his dear friend. Who could help him? He wondered to himself as his fingers traced a visible scar. Lithuania stirred for a moment with a deep exhale.
"Feliks…" he sighed. Poland.