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“So-o,” America drawls as he stands in front of the mirror and fiddles with his tie, because they haven’t spoken for a few minutes now and he can’t stand the guilt that consumes his thoughts whenever he’s left alone with them, “d’you want to take a bet on how many times I’m gonna get punched in the face today?”
Trying to make light of a bad situation (and bad doesn’t even cut it really), that’s pretty him, right?
Even if he does need to work on how much flatter than usual his tone is.
Lithuania tuts loudly as he looks through the pile of papers in America’s briefcase, checking they’re in order. America’s boss and officials would not be impressed with him handling these, he imagines, but America himself is lax with this sort of thing; he’s already told Lithuania all the ‘confidential’ information inside anyway, as he tends to. Plus, they aren’t here right now, and neither is anyone else, or Lithuania would be more cautious; there’s still a while before the meeting starts yet, so he’s come into America’s room suspecting he could do with some support.
“Don’t say that. They’re not going to be like that.”
“I don’t know, I mean, if everyone’s people are struggling as much as I feel mine are then if I was them I’d probably punch me in the face too!”
“America,” Lithuania looks up from the papers and over at him, directly into his eyes through the mirror, “You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”
"But it’s all my fault.”
“It’s not all-“
“Ok but a lot of it is, I really should have seen this coming, and how could I let things get this bad? Why didn’t I stop and think?!”
Lithuania sighs and frowns, which immediately makes him feel guilty, or at least, even more than his general status of being is lately.
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing,” Lithuania says quietly, “I don’t think anyone could have seen the scale of this coming.”
Of course this doesn’t make him feel entirely better, but the underlying sympathy is there.
“You know, I think you’re the only one who likes me at the moment.”
“Likes you, hmm?”
“Yeah, you know. Understands me and all that.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the best time for playful teasing, Lithuania supposes, but he’s got to try something to keep America from sliding into total despair; he put on the most charming smile he can muster, not the easiest feat given how weary he himself also feels, but it will have to do. “Anything else?”
After a few second America’s eyes flicker with recognition at what he’s getting at, and despite it all, the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Gee, I don’t know…you tell me?”
“Well, you’ll have to come closer, I think.”
What he did to deserve this man America doesn’t know, but he's enveloped in a tight embrace, and he wraps his arms around Lithuania’s back and squeezes back in return, feeling some of his tension dissipate.
Lithuania senses this too and is glad. Not because he wants America to bury his head in his sand from what he’s soon to encounter - truth be told, he’s sure facing the others is going to be hellish. And he doesn’t want America to think he’s lied to him about it, but…he hates to see him so down. He still deserves some calm and comfort before the storm.
When they pull back from each other, Lithuania says, “It’s not going to be easy, facing them all, but I know you can do it. Just be honest like you are with me – you’re genuinely sorry, that’s clear, and you’ll get through it.”
America nods. “I just, hate that I let everyone down…”
“I know.”
“…you’re probably getting real tired of me saying this stuff, aren’t you?”
Lithuania doesn’t chuckle exactly, but lets out a small exhale of air with the hint of a dry smile. “It isn’t the first conversation we’ve had, no. But it’s good to get it out.”
God, Lithuania was too damn selfless for his own good; it really was time he learnt something from it. “You know, there’s still time before the meeting starts yet,” he tries, “don’t feel stuck in here with me – you can go catch up with your neighbours – or I mean, go have it out with Poland, ha…”
The moment he’s said it he cringes inside; that was hardly the best thing he could’ve said, and no wonder Lithuania’s jaw clenches.
“It’s fine, maybe later. And anyway,” he almost hesitates, but ultimately decides to share, “we crossed paths briefly last night.”
“Oh? Uh, right, of course. How was it? If you want to talk about it…”
“We were…civil enough,” he recalls the curt but neutral responses they’d shared, “it was only brief. Which is probably for the best, really.” If they’d said much more, they probably would have caused a scene. “Let’s talk about something else.”
He doesn't want a headache right now, nor does he want to accidentally mention how truly tired Poland looked, and that this is half the reason he’s sure the nations are going to give America a tough time.
“Ok – if you’re sure,” America concedes, not wanting to seem uncaring, but giving him his space.
It’s quiet for a moment, both having a lot on their minds, and it's Lithuania who finds something to change the subject about.
“America, what kind of tie do you call this,” he teases lightly, somewhat unnecessarily because the knot isn’t that off-centre, but it’s enough to give him grounds to re-do it, enough to make an opening for America to joke.
“Aww, you’re just fussing,” he pouts, but lets Lithuania carry on, even if the usual glimmer of mirth doesn’t shine in his eyes.
------
In the end, they didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.
It had felt like barely a minute following the deserved but still gut-wrenching scolding from the other nations that America had gone to take a breather, but just as Lithuania had come to find him Russia had appeared and swept him up - just like that, no boundaries, slung over his shoulder so carelessly. And if that wasn’t sick enough he’d had the nerve to smile – smile! – as he informed America he was no longer fit to take care of Lithuania.
But what could he say? As much as it would have killed him ordinarily to agree, he couldn’t fire back a retort when he was far too overwhelmed by the waves of dejection washing over him, drowning out any other feelings now that this really was it; his time with Lithuania was over. Of course he was meant to leave one day, but not like this. On his own terms, and stronger than ever, and not like this at all.
A lump grew rapidly in his throat, his racing pulse shooting sorrow throughout his senses at the prospect of being separated, at not having this endlessly kind soul to share his time with, to stay up with the stars talking about anything and everything with, to laugh and joke and have his silly ideas humoured, to learn all sorts of wisdom from, to be cared for and held, be kissed and to kiss back, to give the very damn best he could…essentially, being without the one he loved.
For the first time since all of this mess began tears burned white-hot behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall – he could not, would not, cry in front of neither Russia or Lithuania. Particularly because Lithuania himself wasn’t falling apart, despite God knows what was in store for him – in fact, as America tried to meet his eyes, partially hidden by his hair as they were from his ridiculous position, he couldn’t see a trace of fear in them at all. They were open wide, but not with terror so much as a look America recognised all too well from recent times; concern – for him.
He could hardly believe it. He knew how strong Lithuania was, knew what he was capable of handling, but still, to be thinking of America at this point…
He deserved so much better, and America had failed to give it to him.
But he would gather up every scrap of strength he had left to form a bright smile, to thank Lithuania for all that he’d done and invite him back. Desperately he hoped that Lithuania knew he truly meant it and so much more, that he could hear his love behind his words.
As soon as Russia turned around the corner he hurried in the opposite direction and out of the first door he could find, crouching down against the wall and breathing deep, deep, composing himself as best he could. That’s what Lithuania would get him to do, he’d tell him he had the strength to make it on. He could get back to his room without losing it in front of anyone.
And somehow, miraculously, he did manage to do it; he shut himself inside, and heaved a sigh of relief. The lump in his throat had lessened with this small sense of achievement, though the ache in his heart no less at all. But maybe the tears could wait for another time.
Be strong, he psyched himself, and defiantly set to gathering his belongings together. He had a situation to get back and fix, once and for good.
He wasn’t prepared though to open his case and find a letter with Dear America written in neat, familiar handwriting; the sight took the wind out of his sails, mind reeling with thoughts of when? and how?! and well of course, always so prepared…
This time when the tears came to his eyes, it was all he could do but to let them flow.