Here and Now 1
anonymous
June 8 2011, 19:26:06 UTC
Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now? -John Lennon
America had never really given much thought to why Russia was always up before him until Lithuania had pointed it out to him. He had assumed it was simply the other nation’s quirk: early to bed and early to rise and all that. But now as he slowly woke up and studied the other nation’s pensive look, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.
Weak grey light seeped into the room, cold with the breaking morning. Birds chattered in the distance, their calls muted by the closed window. America didn’t move, watching Russia carefully. The other nation had yet to notice that America was awake, still looking out the window to where the sky began to slowly slide from the dark hues of midnight to the pale yellow of breaking day. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were glazed by the weak grey light, making him look more grave in his silent and private thoughts.
America finally shifted to glance at the glowing alarm clock and blinked tiredly at the soft green 4:30 lighting up his side of the bed. Outside of the New England home, a soft gust of wind made the trees shiver and wave to the still dark sky. A hand swept over his shoulder and Alfred glanced to his left as a calloused thumb began to slowly encircle his bare shoulder gently and soothingly.
“You should go back to sleep,” Russia murmured gently, as if not to disturb the peace of the morning.
“ ‘M not tired,” America sighed into Russia’s arm, curling against him sleepily. Russia hummed in reply and moved to running his hand down America’s arm reassuringly, trying to lull him back to sleep. His eyes finally flickered away from the window to glance down at America who was resting his head against his clothed chest. America placed a small kiss against the worn blue nightshirt he was wearing, too tired to reach up and kiss Russia on the lips. “But you should go back to sleep.”
“I am not tired either.” Russia turned to run his finger through America’s golden hair and then looked back out the window. America watched him carefully, biting at his cheek as he noticed how dark and flat his eyes were, how troubled he looked.
“Why’re you up anyway? It’s too early,” America groaned and shuffled further against Russia’s side and under the sheets. He draped his arm over Russia’s stomach.
“Time zones,” the older nation replied, looking to the darker side of the room and paused in stroking America’s arm. After a minute, America glanced up at him and nudged his arm to which Russia turned back and gave a small smile.
“You’ve already been here for a week. How can you still be messed up on time zones?”
Russia glanced down to him blankly and leaned down to kiss his lips. America smiled sleepily and returned the gesture, enjoying the warmth of the other’s body over him. “Are you still not tired?” Russia murmured into his ear, kissing his jaw gently.
“Nope. Not at all.” America grinned and kissed Russia’s forearm.
“Good,” Russia hummed against America’s neck and placed one hand on the other’s waist.
-John Lennon
America had never really given much thought to why Russia was always up before him until Lithuania had pointed it out to him. He had assumed it was simply the other nation’s quirk: early to bed and early to rise and all that. But now as he slowly woke up and studied the other nation’s pensive look, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.
Weak grey light seeped into the room, cold with the breaking morning. Birds chattered in the distance, their calls muted by the closed window. America didn’t move, watching Russia carefully. The other nation had yet to notice that America was awake, still looking out the window to where the sky began to slowly slide from the dark hues of midnight to the pale yellow of breaking day. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were glazed by the weak grey light, making him look more grave in his silent and private thoughts.
America finally shifted to glance at the glowing alarm clock and blinked tiredly at the soft green 4:30 lighting up his side of the bed. Outside of the New England home, a soft gust of wind made the trees shiver and wave to the still dark sky. A hand swept over his shoulder and Alfred glanced to his left as a calloused thumb began to slowly encircle his bare shoulder gently and soothingly.
“You should go back to sleep,” Russia murmured gently, as if not to disturb the peace of the morning.
“ ‘M not tired,” America sighed into Russia’s arm, curling against him sleepily. Russia hummed in reply and moved to running his hand down America’s arm reassuringly, trying to lull him back to sleep. His eyes finally flickered away from the window to glance down at America who was resting his head against his clothed chest. America placed a small kiss against the worn blue nightshirt he was wearing, too tired to reach up and kiss Russia on the lips. “But you should go back to sleep.”
“I am not tired either.” Russia turned to run his finger through America’s golden hair and then looked back out the window. America watched him carefully, biting at his cheek as he noticed how dark and flat his eyes were, how troubled he looked.
“Why’re you up anyway? It’s too early,” America groaned and shuffled further against Russia’s side and under the sheets. He draped his arm over Russia’s stomach.
“Time zones,” the older nation replied, looking to the darker side of the room and paused in stroking America’s arm. After a minute, America glanced up at him and nudged his arm to which Russia turned back and gave a small smile.
“You’ve already been here for a week. How can you still be messed up on time zones?”
Russia glanced down to him blankly and leaned down to kiss his lips. America smiled sleepily and returned the gesture, enjoying the warmth of the other’s body over him. “Are you still not tired?” Russia murmured into his ear, kissing his jaw gently.
“Nope. Not at all.” America grinned and kissed Russia’s forearm.
“Good,” Russia hummed against America’s neck and placed one hand on the other’s waist.
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