Ringtones
Title: Ringtones
Characters: Russia, America.
Pairings: the obvious, baby.
Warnings: Possible OOC on both parts-- Russia might be too sedate, and you might severely disagree with my America headcanon. Also, fluff.
Summary: The ringtones people pick tell you a lot about them... especially the ones customized in caller ID.
Well, this was undeniably nice. Usually, Russia would scoff at the notion that walking with this idiotic moron of a “hero” might be a pleasant experience-- but so far, it seemed like it was just that. It even seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, Russia! Stop starin into space, dude, I’m talkin’ to you!” A gloved hand waved in front of the Russian’s face-- altogether too energetically. He was tempted to bite it-- but instead smiled calmly at the (really quite charming, when you got down to it) blonde just a foot away.
“Ah, my apologies, Америка. I’m afraid I was quite taken with how pleasant this park is-- was it always here?” The golden-haired man nodded, grinning that stupid grin.
“Yep! Pretty awesome, huh?” He raised an amused eyebrow as the American hopped through a faded hopscotch pattern on the sidewalk. “I like it best on Sunday afternoons, when all the kids come to play!” Russia blinked. He’d never really considered America the type that would like children-- and yet, why wouldn’t he? He was little more than an overgrown child himself.
Or, at least…he appeared to be. Sometimes the Russian would catch America watching the other nations with a wistful, melancholy, and altogether too mature look in his eyes, despite the semi-permanent grin on his face. Whenever Russia saw that particular look…he had to wonder just how much of that showy personality was really just…for show.
He blinked, startled, as that hand waved in front of his face again. “Hey. You feelin’ alright, big guy? Ya keep spacin out on me.” Russia smiled and shrugged.
“It is rather warm today…” He walked on, America bouncing like a puppy at his heels with half-worried, half-excited inquiries.
“Yeah I guess--” America looked over at a couple nearby. The girl’s phone had just gone off with a…rather embarrassing ringtone. The man she was with was laughing, his own phone in his hand. America grinned sympathetically. “Kinda amazing how ringtones can tell ya about a person and how they feel about other people, huh?”
Russia blinked and stopped, staring at America. That was… an oddly deep thing to notice. America stopped bouncing once he realized Russia wasn’t moving. He turned around to face the taller Russian. “…It is, isn’t it?” was all Russia managed before starting to walk again. America shrugged and bounced along again.
That one statement forced Russia to think. Did he really know America at all? They’d gotten along quite well up until the 1900s, of course… but America had been much the same then as he was now. Or…maybe he wasn’t. It was possible… He wondered if America had always hidden behind that heroic mask he had on. For once, Russia was willing to bet he did.
As they walked, America continued to chatter about all sorts of little things, Russia giving pleasant, simple replies in return. He just couldn’t stop thinking about what…what America was really like.
America’s cell went off somewhere near the middle of their walk. It was an oddly plain, simple ring-- the America Russia knew would have put some fancy song to it. The blonde excused himself for a moment, then walked a little away to answer the call. Apparently, this ring meant business… Because just after he finished that call, his cell went off again with a ringtone about family. A rather cynical one, at that… It must be England, what with the way America went off on him, laughing and joking and mocking the Brit’s cooking.
An insidious little idea wormed its way into Russia’s mind. He had to wonder-- what ringtone did America have for him? Was it something about communism, maybe? He didn’t put it past him. He pulled out his own phone and waited for America to hang up with England before hitting America’s number.
America stiffened at the ring coming from his phone. Russia blinked in shock-- it was certainly not a song he would have associated with himself. A love song-- an unrequited love song, at that. The song begged its target to look at the singer, to see that they belong together.
Russia eventually stopped the call and stared at America. Just stood and stared, like he’d never seen the blonde before. “…Америка? Why?”
The shorter man didn’t turn to face him-- probably couldn’t, all things considered. A soft, dry, humorless laugh rung in his ears. “…Hell if I know. It just. Is.” The other’s shoulders sagged, making him look-- so much older, like he carried the weight of the world on his back.
…And maybe, really, that wasn’t even that far off base.
Russia edged closer, touched the other’s back. “It…doesn’t have to be.” America looked back at him sharply. He was slightly taken aback, and more than slightly turned on, by the sharpness and maturity in those bright blue orbs. “…You could be with me, da?”
“…I ain’t gonna be one with you like you keep asking people to, y’know.” America scowled at him. Russia had to wonder just what the other thought the phrase meant.
“It doesn’t mean…the same thing, da? I vant them to be one vith Russia-- their lands, da?” He trailed his hand up and played with some of those golden locks. “I…vant you to be one with me.” His violet eyes grew intense with their yearning. “Like a married couple is.”
He had the gratifying experience of seeing that beautiful face flush red with embarrassment and--shock? Shyness? Whatever, it was cute. America’s voice was quiet with his last protest, “But…you don’t even really know me.”
“You could teach me, da? Just me.” Russia smiled quietly at the enigmatic blonde. “I despise your mask, Америка… but the few times I see you-- just you, when you think no one is looking-- I love it.” America’s face heated again. “You are…very beautiful, da? When you are yourself.”
America looked away, seeming almost…ashamed? “I-I’m sorry… Can’t help it, I’m supposed to be the hero.” Russia shook his head and tugged the American to him.
“Da. But even a hero needs someone who knows his secret identity, da?” He smiled comfortingly, and that was that. America slumped against him, and might even have shed a tear or two. “Come. Let’s finish our walk, da?”
After all… it was the most natural thing in the world. To walk here, with this strange man at his side. The one he couldn’t wait to learn more about.
Characters: Russia, America.
Pairings: the obvious, baby.
Warnings: Possible OOC on both parts-- Russia might be too sedate, and you might severely disagree with my America headcanon. Also, fluff.
Summary: The ringtones people pick tell you a lot about them... especially the ones customized in caller ID.
Well, this was undeniably nice. Usually, Russia would scoff at the notion that walking with this idiotic moron of a “hero” might be a pleasant experience-- but so far, it seemed like it was just that. It even seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, Russia! Stop starin into space, dude, I’m talkin’ to you!” A gloved hand waved in front of the Russian’s face-- altogether too energetically. He was tempted to bite it-- but instead smiled calmly at the (really quite charming, when you got down to it) blonde just a foot away.
“Ah, my apologies, Америка. I’m afraid I was quite taken with how pleasant this park is-- was it always here?” The golden-haired man nodded, grinning that stupid grin.
“Yep! Pretty awesome, huh?” He raised an amused eyebrow as the American hopped through a faded hopscotch pattern on the sidewalk. “I like it best on Sunday afternoons, when all the kids come to play!” Russia blinked. He’d never really considered America the type that would like children-- and yet, why wouldn’t he? He was little more than an overgrown child himself.
Or, at least…he appeared to be. Sometimes the Russian would catch America watching the other nations with a wistful, melancholy, and altogether too mature look in his eyes, despite the semi-permanent grin on his face. Whenever Russia saw that particular look…he had to wonder just how much of that showy personality was really just…for show.
He blinked, startled, as that hand waved in front of his face again. “Hey. You feelin’ alright, big guy? Ya keep spacin out on me.” Russia smiled and shrugged.
“It is rather warm today…” He walked on, America bouncing like a puppy at his heels with half-worried, half-excited inquiries.
“Yeah I guess--” America looked over at a couple nearby. The girl’s phone had just gone off with a…rather embarrassing ringtone. The man she was with was laughing, his own phone in his hand. America grinned sympathetically. “Kinda amazing how ringtones can tell ya about a person and how they feel about other people, huh?”
Russia blinked and stopped, staring at America. That was… an oddly deep thing to notice. America stopped bouncing once he realized Russia wasn’t moving. He turned around to face the taller Russian. “…It is, isn’t it?” was all Russia managed before starting to walk again. America shrugged and bounced along again.
That one statement forced Russia to think. Did he really know America at all? They’d gotten along quite well up until the 1900s, of course… but America had been much the same then as he was now. Or…maybe he wasn’t. It was possible… He wondered if America had always hidden behind that heroic mask he had on. For once, Russia was willing to bet he did.
As they walked, America continued to chatter about all sorts of little things, Russia giving pleasant, simple replies in return. He just couldn’t stop thinking about what…what America was really like.
America’s cell went off somewhere near the middle of their walk. It was an oddly plain, simple ring-- the America Russia knew would have put some fancy song to it. The blonde excused himself for a moment, then walked a little away to answer the call. Apparently, this ring meant business… Because just after he finished that call, his cell went off again with a ringtone about family. A rather cynical one, at that… It must be England, what with the way America went off on him, laughing and joking and mocking the Brit’s cooking.
An insidious little idea wormed its way into Russia’s mind. He had to wonder-- what ringtone did America have for him? Was it something about communism, maybe? He didn’t put it past him. He pulled out his own phone and waited for America to hang up with England before hitting America’s number.
America stiffened at the ring coming from his phone. Russia blinked in shock-- it was certainly not a song he would have associated with himself. A love song-- an unrequited love song, at that. The song begged its target to look at the singer, to see that they belong together.
Russia eventually stopped the call and stared at America. Just stood and stared, like he’d never seen the blonde before. “…Америка? Why?”
The shorter man didn’t turn to face him-- probably couldn’t, all things considered. A soft, dry, humorless laugh rung in his ears. “…Hell if I know. It just. Is.” The other’s shoulders sagged, making him look-- so much older, like he carried the weight of the world on his back.
…And maybe, really, that wasn’t even that far off base.
Russia edged closer, touched the other’s back. “It…doesn’t have to be.” America looked back at him sharply. He was slightly taken aback, and more than slightly turned on, by the sharpness and maturity in those bright blue orbs. “…You could be with me, da?”
“…I ain’t gonna be one with you like you keep asking people to, y’know.” America scowled at him. Russia had to wonder just what the other thought the phrase meant.
“It doesn’t mean…the same thing, da? I vant them to be one vith Russia-- their lands, da?” He trailed his hand up and played with some of those golden locks. “I…vant you to be one with me.” His violet eyes grew intense with their yearning. “Like a married couple is.”
He had the gratifying experience of seeing that beautiful face flush red with embarrassment and--shock? Shyness? Whatever, it was cute. America’s voice was quiet with his last protest, “But…you don’t even really know me.”
“You could teach me, da? Just me.” Russia smiled quietly at the enigmatic blonde. “I despise your mask, Америка… but the few times I see you-- just you, when you think no one is looking-- I love it.” America’s face heated again. “You are…very beautiful, da? When you are yourself.”
America looked away, seeming almost…ashamed? “I-I’m sorry… Can’t help it, I’m supposed to be the hero.” Russia shook his head and tugged the American to him.
“Da. But even a hero needs someone who knows his secret identity, da?” He smiled comfortingly, and that was that. America slumped against him, and might even have shed a tear or two. “Come. Let’s finish our walk, da?”
After all… it was the most natural thing in the world. To walk here, with this strange man at his side. The one he couldn’t wait to learn more about.