Light of Mine (RusAme)

Chapter 48

Rus's P.O.V (cursing) (Also, enjoy some art for no reason.)

"Hey, thanks again for letting me stay here."

"No prrroblem."

America lifted up his luggage and swung it onto his bed.

He had called me a few days ago and asked me if he could stay with me for a couple of months. I questioned him on why, and he confided that it was for the same reason why he left the UN building all those months ago.

My brain needed a second to realise what he was referring to, but it eventually hit me. I wasn't really sure what to say, since I didn't really want anyone around.

But, while my brain was telling my mouth to say something else, anything else, I told him that he could come over.

I glanced at the riled up American to my left. I couldn't really say I regretted it, because he had been a nice distraction from other things in my life.

He gave my mind something else to fixate over, and I appreciated that.

"Hey, Russia." I pulled my head down from the clouds and raised an eyebrow. "I'm done with that." His voice held a bit of anxiousness in it, as if it were trapped within his vocal chords and wouldn't come out.

"Alrrright, uh, vhat do you vant to do?" I asked him quietly.

He scratched his chin for a minute before he answered, "What's the time?" ;

I pulled out my phone and turned it on, "It is arrround eleven, vhy?"

"Well, I was thinking that we could make lunch, like we did back in the good 'old days." He yipped. I could tell that he was excited by the prospect of cooking and eating, because his face had a huge grin on it. "So, can we?"

It was almost childish how fast I nodded. I pushed up and out of my seat, while I wandered through my halls with a starry-eyed America behind me. We eventually emerged into the kitchen, and we stood there in silence.

A thick and awkward silence.

I couldn't say that it was as back as the first night rooming with him, but after three months of absolutely no contact whatsoever, it was uncomfortable.

Both our shoulders were slightly tensed, our eyes looked anywhere except to the other, and crickets danced around the cupboards. It was not great.

"So, vhat do you prrrepose ve make?" I questioned America.

He drew a semi-sharp breath in, and blinked a couple of times, "Um, I don't have a preference. Besides, I'm intruding on you, so you should choose what we, um, make."

"Ah, okay." I paused for a second, before I glided over to my recipe book section and pulled out one. "How about ve make this." I walked over to America and showed him the recipe on the page.

"I can't really read it, but I like what it looks like." He chuckled, as he planted his finger on the image.

"Oh, sorrry. It is about beef stew. I hearrrd you speak Rrrussian a rrreally long time ago, so I assumed zhat you could speak it fluently." I looked down out of embarrassment.

"It's no biggie, after all, I have the greatest Russian speaker standing right in front of me." He flaunted, while my face contorted into a goofy smile. "So, you just tell me what to do, m'kay?"

"M'kay." I mimicked.

We went over to the kitchen and got ready by washing our hands. After that, I went around my cabinets and grabbed the ingredients that were mentioned. I told America to go and fetch the scale from the bottom cabinet, which he gladly did. Soon, all of the ingredients were on the counter top, and we could start.