The Muses Peice | Rusame | Countryhumans AU

Dusk Drafts

★ (Russia POV)

I sat at a table near the back of the art studio, my hand methodically moving over the paper as I traced a rough sketch of a model with my fountain pen, disinterested in working on something more substantial. My focus was intense, the room around me fading into a blur as I honed in on the intricate details of my sketch. The rhythmic sound of pencil against paper was almost soothing, a familiar melody that kept my mind anchored in the present.

But then, unbidden, my thoughts drifted back to the earlier conversation with America. I remembered the look of awkward embarrassment on his face when he admitted he'd been held back a year, and despite myself, an extremely small smile played on my lips. His persistence, his relentless enthusiasm, and his awkward attempts to bridge the gap between us surfaced, momentarily softening my usual stoic demeanor.

However, this fleeting moment of amusement was quickly washed away as I reminded myself of how annoying America was. The guy was always so loud, so insistent, and all he wanted was to partner up for some dumb English presentation. It was ridiculous to let myself be distracted by such trivial interactions, especially with someone I supposedly couldn't stand.

My expression hardened again, my brow furrowing as I pushed the intrusive thoughts away. What was wrong with me? Why was I even thinking about America at all? It made me feel socially awkward and desperate for contact with someone, anyone, which was pathetic. I should be focusing on my art, on the things that truly mattered to me, not wasting mental energy on pointless encounters.

With a sigh, I turned my attention back to my sketch, determined to push America out of my mind. I adjusted the angle of the arm in my drawing, making sure the proportions were accurate. As my pencil moved confidently over the paper, I forced myself to concentrate on the lines and shapes, trying to reclaim the sense of control and purpose that had momentarily slipped away.

★ (Nobody POV)

Russia's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he worked on his sketch, his thoughts incessantly circling back to America's persistence. Unconsciously gripping his fountain pen, he couldn't shake the pestering thoughts. What was wrong with him? Why was America on his mind? Russia didn't even like him. He's confusing, egotistical, ungrateful, and stupid. Why did he care so much about some fucking-

The teacher's sharp call of his name jolted him from his reverie, startling him back to awareness. Embarrassment flooded Russia as he realized almost the entire class was now staring at him due to the teacher's call, their curious gazes intensifying causing him discomfort.

Trying to hide the flush in his cheeks, he hastily mumbled an apology, his voice strained with uneasiness.

"No, no, don't apologize. You seemed deep in thought and I just wanted to check on you," the teacher remarked softly, setting her slim hand on Russia's shoulder.

"Oh, uhm... I'm fine, I guess. Just thinking," he mumbled, setting his fountain pen down, feeling embarrassed to continue working under his course teacher's scrutiny.

"Hm, thinking about what?"

"...This kid in my English class."

"Oh? Do you have a crush on them?"

"What?! Ew... no. Plus, he's a boy anyway."