For Each Ecstatic Instant (4/10)
anonymous
January 9 2010, 18:42:38 UTC
After a brief, thankfully dreamless, rest, Lithuania felt strong enough to go down to the kitchen with America for lunch. It was simple cold sandwiches and they ate at chairs at the counter. America poured him a glass of lemonade to go with his food. It was tooth-achingly sweet, but Lithuania wasn’t about to complain.
America still seemed slightly more awkward than usual, but he covered it well with his usual display of bullish cheerfulness. Now, he was going on about sports, a comfortingly substance free topic for both of them. Lithuania let him ramble, just enjoying the sound of the other country’s voice, here and undeniably real.
Lithuania finished the last crumb of his ham-and-cheese sandwich before America. As soon as America was done, Lithuania politely reached over and stacked his plate on top of his own, then stood up to walk to the sink.
“Hey.” America stopped him with a hand on his arm. He reached out and took the plates from Lithuania. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I was just-”
“You don’t work for me anymore,” America said. His hand slid down Lithuania’s shoulder to hold his thin chest. “This isn’t like…”
…Russia’s house, Lithuania provided internally.
“I mean, you’re only a guest,” America continued. “You’re my guest. I’m glad to have you here.”
America was looking at him earnestly, open blue eyes slightly magnified by his glasses, his cheeks warm and faintly red, his knee pressing against Lithuania’s hip.
Lithuania could feel his breath coming faster. His heart seemed to be beating arrhythmically quickly. He was close enough to smell the sugar on America’s breath.
He let out a slightly nervous laugh and stepped away from America, leaving the other country’s hand to drop back to his side.
What had that been? Was he really going to start feeling this way towards America, the nation who rescued him, who was nursing him back to health? How pathetic had nearly fifty years of Soviet rule made him?
America just smiled genially, apparently oblivious to the . “So.” He dropped the plates onto the counter. “I’ve got nothing more to do today. You feel up for a walk?”
Walking. In the garden. I remember that. I remember sitting together sipping coffee and talking wistfully about the past. I remember thinking about that garden, in the middle of one of Russia’s industrial hells. Dreaming about that garden.
He smiled. “Absolutely. Are you sure you don’t want me to clear away the dishes?”
America rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of God, Toris.” He laughed and held Lithuania around the waist.
Lithuania laughed and tried to ignore how America’s arm felt, wrapped around him. Strong and solid and protective. He wanted to curl up inside that grasp and hide, like a helpless child. It took him a moment to recognize the feeling as a heady rush of trust. It had been so long since he had wanted to let his guard down around another country.
But, he also knew, with painful clarity, how dangerous it could be to rely on a pair of strong arms, when Russia still clung to his memory.
America still seemed slightly more awkward than usual, but he covered it well with his usual display of bullish cheerfulness. Now, he was going on about sports, a comfortingly substance free topic for both of them. Lithuania let him ramble, just enjoying the sound of the other country’s voice, here and undeniably real.
Lithuania finished the last crumb of his ham-and-cheese sandwich before America. As soon as America was done, Lithuania politely reached over and stacked his plate on top of his own, then stood up to walk to the sink.
“Hey.” America stopped him with a hand on his arm. He reached out and took the plates from Lithuania. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I was just-”
“You don’t work for me anymore,” America said. His hand slid down Lithuania’s shoulder to hold his thin chest. “This isn’t like…”
…Russia’s house, Lithuania provided internally.
“I mean, you’re only a guest,” America continued. “You’re my guest. I’m glad to have you here.”
America was looking at him earnestly, open blue eyes slightly magnified by his glasses, his cheeks warm and faintly red, his knee pressing against Lithuania’s hip.
Lithuania could feel his breath coming faster. His heart seemed to be beating arrhythmically quickly. He was close enough to smell the sugar on America’s breath.
He let out a slightly nervous laugh and stepped away from America, leaving the other country’s hand to drop back to his side.
What had that been? Was he really going to start feeling this way towards America, the nation who rescued him, who was nursing him back to health? How pathetic had nearly fifty years of Soviet rule made him?
America just smiled genially, apparently oblivious to the . “So.” He dropped the plates onto the counter. “I’ve got nothing more to do today. You feel up for a walk?”
Walking. In the garden. I remember that. I remember sitting together sipping coffee and talking wistfully about the past. I remember thinking about that garden, in the middle of one of Russia’s industrial hells. Dreaming about that garden.
He smiled. “Absolutely. Are you sure you don’t want me to clear away the dishes?”
America rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of God, Toris.” He laughed and held Lithuania around the waist.
Lithuania laughed and tried to ignore how America’s arm felt, wrapped around him. Strong and solid and protective. He wanted to curl up inside that grasp and hide, like a helpless child. It took him a moment to recognize the feeling as a heady rush of trust. It had been so long since he had wanted to let his guard down around another country.
But, he also knew, with painful clarity, how dangerous it could be to rely on a pair of strong arms, when Russia still clung to his memory.
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