Drabbles And Things

Safe and Sound

Desc: Sovame once again, but hurt/comfort. In reality, I needed practice writing kisses and decided to write angst because why not? The song was my inspiration.

"America?" Soviet's voice was rough with sleep. America vaguely noticed him roll over through a haze of panicked thoughts, barely felt him wrap an arm around his waist. "Are you okay?"

No. No he wasn't. The voices had woken him up, in the late hours of the night. He'd been awake for the past half hour, trying to silence them to no avail. He didn't want to wake his lover up, so he'd moved to the edge of the bed and hoped Soviet wouldn't hear his faint sobs.

"Oh, isn't that lovely? Your boyfriend is here to swoop in and save the day. How pathetic does that make you?" Conservative's voice was like shattered glass, sharp and cold. America shook his head, curling in on himself. I'm not pathetic. I'm not weak!

But aren't you?

"Ромашка, you're crying," Soviet murmured.

America sniffled and pawed at his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm okay. G-go back to sleep." Even after all this time, he hated worrying Soviet. What kind of boyfriend did that make him if his lover did nothing but worry? Not a good one...He wanted to be a good boyfriend. So he pushed Soviet away whenever he had an attack. It was better to deal alone than make others worry.

"Please, America. Look at me." Soviet tilted America's chin up, effectively forcing him to look up. Soviet's gaze was soft as honey. It only added to America's guilt, and closed his eyes against another flood of tears.

Soviet brushed America's tears away with a thumb, and America hated how comforting it was. He hated that he needed the comfort in the first place. Stupid, weak idiot. "I'm right here, Ромашка. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I don't like making you worry," America murmured. "I-You shouldn't have to worry about me."

Soviet sighed, and they were close enough that America felt his breath on his lips. "I'm your lover, America. It's my job to worry. Please don't push me away, I want to help you."

"I'm sorry," America said, his voice wobbly with tears. I'm sorry I'm such a burden.

Soviet's reply was a kiss. First a soft brush of the lips, almost a question. When America was responsive, he kissed harder, and America could hear the unspoken words he was conveying. I'm right here, always. America's heart melted, his hands going from Soviet's shoulders to his chest. Soviet pulled him closer, guiding America's mouth open gently. The voices and the anxiety seemed to drift further and further with every heartbeat, every moment they spent kissing.

Soviet was the first to pull away, with a soft sigh. America's heart pounded in his chest, but it was pleasant, not at all the anxiety he'd just been experiencing.

Soviet brushed a lock of hair out of America's face, smiling gently. "Don't apologize. I love you, America. I'll always keep you safe and sound, okay?"

"Okay." America nodded. Soviet seemed to sense that he was still uneasy, stroking America's hair soothingly. America wasn't sure what had brought the attack on. Maybe his pills had worn off, maybe the sound of the storm outside had woken him up. He buried his face in Soviet's chest, whispering, "I'm sorry I'm like this."

"Sh," Soviet said, voice soothingly low. "Всё хорошо. I'm right here for you. Just close your eyes and sleep."

America didn't sleep, but he didn't push Soviet away. Instead, he stayed right where he was, listening to Soviet's heartbeat and the rain. He was safe, everything was okay. No need to panic.

He was safe and sound, in Soviet's arms.