Blue Lips 29
anonymous
February 6 2011, 04:00:16 UTC
“Put me down!”
“Nyet.”
America huffed, glaring up at the man holding him and then away to the ground as his face burned. America always hated help, and so having to be carried to the house was no better. And it was worse that not only would he have to be carried right now, but he was stuck in a wheel chair. A frikkin’ wheel chair! Things couldn’t get worse, America thought to himself and so he looked at the short snow dusted path they were walking along and to a set of old wooden doors.
It had been left unlocked and Russia glided the door open and shut it quickly behind him to keep the heat inside the divided home. America puffed his cheeks lightly, frowning even though he was interested in the pale yellow wallpaper, which looked ripped away in some spots, and the chipped marble flooring. Before they could get up to the second floor though, a little red door to their left creaked open and Russia turned towards it.
Alfred looked at the little old woman holding onto the doorway, shaking a bit as though she didn’t quite have the strength. The elderly, white haired woman smiled and tittered lightly, saying something in wobbly Russian that America didn’t recognize. Above him Ivan responded in his deeper yet soft voice, making America look up in surprise. He watched the way his jaw worked, changing with each syllable uttered, rounding with vowels and tightening with the harsher constantans. Blue eyes flitted away and back to the elderly woman talking to Ivan. She must have gone back into the house for a moment, for she came back out with a stack of Tupperware full of different foods. She put it on the ground outside her door while saying something in her quivering voice before waving and shuffling back into her rooms.
Russia turned back to walking up the stairs and America glanced at him quizzically. “What was that about?”
“Ah, my neighbor I told you about. She noticed I have not been home recently and somehow found out you were coming here, so she made us some food.” Russia glanced down, violet eyes meeting blue.
“Oh, that was nice of her.”
Russia nodded and paused, eyes flickering up to a black door in front of them. He gently jostled Alfred to unlock the door and America glanced away to hide the light wince of pain from the change of position. Russia opened the door and Alfred looked into the apartment, but grew dizzy as Russia turned quickly towards a couch in the small living room. He deposited Alfred down onto the blanket covered furniture and looked like he was about to tuck America in like a baby about to be swaddled. America drew the line there however and shook his head in protest.
“It’s okay, I can pull my legs up fine. I just can’t walk yet, remember? I’m not an invalid. “ He bent his leg slightly to grab at the blanket and arrange himself on the couch, biting his lip as he did so. When he looked back up, Russia had a look of dubiousness as though he didn’t buy the fact that America was totally fine.
Which he was. For the most part. Sort of.
“I will be back in a minute.” Russia torn and for one moment America was nervous to what was going on in the taller man’s head, but simply shrugged and relaxed against the couch arm. Besides, he felt tired from the car trip and fearing every merging car was about to crash or every blared horn was a sign of impending doom. That and he had a headache. America rubbed his left temple with his mending hand gently and watched Russia turn away to go back down stairs.
“Put me down!”
“Nyet.”
America huffed, glaring up at the man holding him and then away to the ground as his face burned. America always hated help, and so having to be carried to the house was no better. And it was worse that not only would he have to be carried right now, but he was stuck in a wheel chair. A frikkin’ wheel chair! Things couldn’t get worse, America thought to himself and so he looked at the short snow dusted path they were walking along and to a set of old wooden doors.
It had been left unlocked and Russia glided the door open and shut it quickly behind him to keep the heat inside the divided home. America puffed his cheeks lightly, frowning even though he was interested in the pale yellow wallpaper, which looked ripped away in some spots, and the chipped marble flooring. Before they could get up to the second floor though, a little red door to their left creaked open and Russia turned towards it.
Alfred looked at the little old woman holding onto the doorway, shaking a bit as though she didn’t quite have the strength. The elderly, white haired woman smiled and tittered lightly, saying something in wobbly Russian that America didn’t recognize. Above him Ivan responded in his deeper yet soft voice, making America look up in surprise. He watched the way his jaw worked, changing with each syllable uttered, rounding with vowels and tightening with the harsher constantans. Blue eyes flitted away and back to the elderly woman talking to Ivan. She must have gone back into the house for a moment, for she came back out with a stack of Tupperware full of different foods. She put it on the ground outside her door while saying something in her quivering voice before waving and shuffling back into her rooms.
Russia turned back to walking up the stairs and America glanced at him quizzically. “What was that about?”
“Ah, my neighbor I told you about. She noticed I have not been home recently and somehow found out you were coming here, so she made us some food.” Russia glanced down, violet eyes meeting blue.
“Oh, that was nice of her.”
Russia nodded and paused, eyes flickering up to a black door in front of them. He gently jostled Alfred to unlock the door and America glanced away to hide the light wince of pain from the change of position. Russia opened the door and Alfred looked into the apartment, but grew dizzy as Russia turned quickly towards a couch in the small living room. He deposited Alfred down onto the blanket covered furniture and looked like he was about to tuck America in like a baby about to be swaddled. America drew the line there however and shook his head in protest.
“It’s okay, I can pull my legs up fine. I just can’t walk yet, remember? I’m not an invalid. “ He bent his leg slightly to grab at the blanket and arrange himself on the couch, biting his lip as he did so. When he looked back up, Russia had a look of dubiousness as though he didn’t buy the fact that America was totally fine.
Which he was. For the most part. Sort of.
“I will be back in a minute.” Russia torn and for one moment America was nervous to what was going on in the taller man’s head, but simply shrugged and relaxed against the couch arm. Besides, he felt tired from the car trip and fearing every merging car was about to crash or every blared horn was a sign of impending doom. That and he had a headache. America rubbed his left temple with his mending hand gently and watched Russia turn away to go back down stairs.
Reply
Leave a comment