Sticky Notes And Trinkets (Rusame)

Rule Number Eight: Bastards are Bastards

Russia stretched a bit as he got out of bed, not feeling too tired. And he yawned - okay so he was a bit more tired than he thought. He chuckled a little bit as he pulled himself out of bed more - it wasn't like it really mattered if he was or wasn't tired. He could catch up a bit on rest in class, since he was confident in his knowledge of the material even though he didn't give two shits about which class was which, they were all equally boring to him.

He grabbed the bracelet again from his bedside table and put it on. It was nice, maybe if he paid close enough attention, he could figure out the person who gave it to him. Though it didn't really matter who did, he'd like to thank them but he didn't have to. It was a nice gesture that brightened his day, and week, tenfold. He couldn't help but wonder who it was dispite the inconsequentiality of the information.

He left his room then quickly grabbed something to eat, not feeling like waking up his sister, Ukraine - even if he did she'd go back to bed until their dad got home and forced her to wake up. She wouldn't be late - since it was quite early. He preferred to walk to school (though sometimes it was nice to take a slow morning like he had yesterday) it helped him get exercise in and relax from some of the dreams he was admittedly prone to... Not that anyone could really judge him, hormones were high and most people were physically attractive to him. Though now there was someone who had nearly his full attention- they(or well, he) fit what he looked for in a male partner as far as he could tell given what he knew about the shorty.

Before he even really processed that the walk was over, he was walking into the school.

He quickly walked over to his locker and picked up the book for his first class - he couldn't care less if it was Chemistry or World History. Only thing he cared to notice about the class was that the teacher seemed to be one of the biggest douchebags known to man. He didn't even bother to try to remember old Mc Bastard's name, even with the nameplate on the door. Fitz Weatherly- Funny, if his memory served him the teacher's name called him bastard. That or Sally was serving him fantasy naming bullshit again. He'd take the name calling the bastard what he was, it was funnier to him to think that even his parents saw him that way.

Or they thought Fitz was a nice name, which he heavily disagreed with them on. But either way, he found the idea that his name called him a bastard was funny.

He walked into the classroom and took a seat, opting to just distract himself from the world until class started. There wasn't really anything to do outside of wait. He really didn't have any friends there yet, and Cuba didn't show up early.

Eventually, a few minutes before the bell rang, he saw America come in then settle in a spot near him- his assigned seat his mind supplied.

He stuck to himself as he watched their classmates slowly trickle in about a minute before the bell rang, a couple coming after that - being late. Not that he really cared.

Eventually roll call started then ended. The bastard yet again started a debate about semantics with America over "Here" versus "Present". America was already anxious when speaking. God he hated the bastard for making the other so anxious and then refusing to accept the response.

He sighed to himself and let himself zone out. Only snapping out of it when the bell rang, telling him it was time to get to his next class.

He paused by America's locker after he left the classroom, sticking a sticky note to it. He then quickly went to his own locker. He preferred it if he weren't caught with the sticky notes just yet.

He opened his locker and inside found a scarf- it was soft and a gray-blue color. He couldn't tell if it was crochet or knit, but he didn't care.

He took it out and put it on before putting his book for the previous class in it, pulling out the book for his next class, biology if he remembered correctly.

He actually liked her, she seemed to be a sweet elderly lady. Hell, she made America less anxious and didn't focus on him too heavily.

Her voice also reminded him of his grandmother's. He felt a little nostalgic when he actually tuned in.

Russia shook his head and waited for class to start, lightly tapping out a beat on the desk before he got an idea. He hummed and smiled to himself, continuing to lightly tap the desk.

Soon class started, and Mrs. Dackermon started going around to mark people as present.

After she'd gotten to everyone, she started to teach, her style was half lecture and half games to ensure knowledge, from what he'd picked up. He glanced over at America, and saw him looking down, clearly upset about something.

Russia pulled out a little piece of paper and wrote: "What happened? :(" before crumpling up the note and subtly tossing it to America.

It wasn't what he originally planned on writing, but he hoped that this would help more than what he originally planned.

He watched as America reluctantly unraveled the note before reading it, then presumably began to write a response.

He then opted to also do what he originally planned while he waited, taking out a piece of paper and writing: "You're such a pretty boy". After that, he carefully balled up the note and threw it to America. He also watched America look at it then slowly unravel it, read it, flush, then lastly gently tuck the note away.

Maybe that would help too, probably not nearly as much as knowing that someone worried for him.

It probably helped in its own way, maybe it gave America a little more confidence in himself - and from what he had seen(and some of what he'd heard from Cuba) lord could America use it.