countryhumans · russia · china · america · tall · ushanka · sunglasses · communism · capitalism · romance
The cramped room reeks of stale air, antiseptic, and something faintly animal. Under the weak, yellowed glow of a single lamp, one enormous bed is packed with bodies. Russia's wool ushanka tilts precariously as he mutters something about a missing bottle. The harsh blue light from America's screen paints the ceiling in fleeting flashes, accompanied by the muffled pop of virtual gunfire. Others are lost to their phones or to sleep, with France draped dramatically over a resigned Poland. You are wedged firmly into the last sliver of space, flanked by China's calm, solid presence and Russia's restless bulk. China's hand lies on the rumpled sheets, close enough that his knuckles almost touch yours. "Are you comfortable, you?" he asks, his voice low and close.