A Hitman's Miss

Chapter Eight

or, Things Get Worryingly Domestic

The air was hot and heavy around him, and his skin was sticky with sweat. Russia groaned as he stirred from his slumber slightly. There was a nagging noise his hung-over mind could only barely attribute to speech: it was more like a cat mowing in his ear for food.

"Нет... Папа, еще пять минут..." (No, Papa, five more minutes...) he mumbled, instead wrapping his arms around his pillow. He nuzzled into the soft thing. The pillow was now punching his arm. What?

"You fuckin' fat cunt, get off me!"

The pillow screamed, its fingers made their way into Russia's drooling mouth and were now trying to tug his face off. Russia finally started reacting according to his fighting instincts. He quickly rolled over and straddled the pillow, forcing his hands down hard where the face would be-- if a pillow had a face.

His logic was barely catching up to his limbs. He wasn't sure what it was, but either the sharp nails digging into his arms, the pillow biting his hand, or the pillow looking strangely like Meri made him realize that the pillow was not a pillow, and was, in fact, Meri.

The last few days popped into Russia's memory, and he calmed down slightly. He pulled his hands away from Meri's face, finally letting him breathe.

Meri's chest was heaving. "Did we--? No, you--? With a commie? Did you? Why were we on top o' each other, look, I'm NOT qu--"

"Shut up," Russia grumbled, the loudness pounding in his skull. He already had a pounding headache from his hangover, and he didn't even have a clue as to what Meri was talking about. Meri's jaw slammed shut and he stared up at Russia with wide eyes, his face burning red. Russia didn't even know why Meri was so scared! He hadn't even yelled or anything.

He shrugged it off and slid off the couch and the man. Interlocking his fingers above his head, he stretched as he stood, swaying from side to side. "I need water," he declared.

Meri physically shook himself out of his trance and then slapped the top of his head. "Yes, water! Breakfast, that's what we need to talk about, of course!" He promptly hopped off the couch and strode into the kitchen, still blabbering. "Food, yes, not what the hell just happened, breakfast!"

Fortunately, Meri's ranting turned into mumbling, and Russia could eventually be around him without any pain to his sensitive ears. He trailed after Meri, dragging his feet across the carpet. Russia watched Meri carefully as he fetched a dusty glass from his cabinet and slammed it under his sink. Meri spun back around and shoved the full glass of water towards Russia. "Here's your fuckin' water--"

"You drink first," Russia grumbled as he wrapped his hand over Meri's and shoved the cup right back. He took note of a deep gash he could feel on the back of Meri's hand before he pulled back.

"W-w... Aren't we past that? Fine! Fine!" Meri said. He took a large chug of the water, and Russia watched as the little bump in his throat moved down.

Once again, the cup was nearly punched into Russia's chest, but he took it this time, lifted it to his lips, and drank, satisfied with the conclusion that it wasn't poisoned.

Meri crossed his arms and watched him out of the corner of his eye, still too scared to look directly at him. Meri's foot tapped against the ground, like a hare ready to bound away. Russia should have been proud that he had scared such a man as Meri. Even though Meri didn't seem scared of Russia? Russia just felt off, like he had done something wrong in making Meri feel wrong. It made his gut feel off-centred. Or maybe he was just thirsty.