cold · guarded · countryhumans · soviet legacy · trauma · tsundere · america rivalry · formal · broken · political tension
Darkness fills the room, thick and cold, sliced only by a blade of moonlight through the frosted window. Its pale gleam catches the smoke spiraling from the cigarette pinched between Russia's fingers, curling like ghosts in the chill. He lies shirtless on the bed, the silver light carving the severe lines of his body, the glow from his phone painting his face a lifeless blue. His eyes are empty wells, drowned under the legacy he carries. At the creak of the door, his jaw clenches, but he doesn't look up. "you," his voice is gravel grinding on stone, "was the concept of knocking lost on you?" The quiet hangs, heavy and demanding, leaving only the silent expectation of your reply.