Generally speaking, America wasn't a fan of driving, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he'd come all this way. All that was left to do now was park. He bit his tongue as he drew his sleek little car into the driveway, squinting into the beam the weak headlights threw.
"Balls," he muttered as he clipped the curb, jostling the sunglasses off of his head, but made it in and wrenched the key out, cutting off Stevie Wonder on the radio mid-croon. "HA. Did it. Made it. Let's go."
The walkway was long and crooked, and he nearly tripped over his own feet twice in the cold and dark, but finally, breathing hard, America found himself staring up at a large and imposing door. Yep. This was the right place. Scrubbing chilled hands up and down his bare forearms, he raised one fist and pounded it against the door.
A light flicked on somewhere inside. Pause. Then— hesitant footfalls. Ame stood on tiptoe to make a grotesque face at the peephole in the door, shivering as he waited— but all that followed was a long, tense silence.
"HEY," he called, mouth to the peephole, pounding again. "Let me in. I know you're there, you chucklehead." Was that a sharp inhale on the other side? "I WON'T GO AWAY," he yelled. "I'LL STAND HERE ALL NIGHT BEING LOUD. WATCH ME DO IT. OOOHHH SAYYY CAAAN YOU SEEEE—"
The door jerked open so abruptly he fell forward with a yelp like a kicked puppy. With two fingers, Russia pushed him back to his feet, hair mussed, face like a thundercloud.
"Russki!!"
"What in the name of Father Son and Holy Spirit are you here for?!"
"For your information, I have a surprise for you," America sniffed. "And you're being rude. You can tell the Father Holy Son I said that."
"It is middle of night," Russia hissed. "So apologies if I am not exactly in ecstasies."
"I forgive you, I guess—"
"Last time you said 'I have a surprise' you threw toilet paper at my house, America," Russia continued, bending down to his level and looking positively dangerous. "Is there toilet paper on my house?"
"NO." America made to duck under his arm, but was thwarted. "That was just for Halloween. Toilet papering— it's this old American tradition we have, you know. It means you like someone and appreciate them. For real! It's a symbol of love and respect. People TP the White House all the time."
"You want to know how I know you are lying?" Russia leaned against the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The U.S. has no old traditions. Not enough culture."
"Capitalism is a great culture, you clot," Ame barked, and took the opportunity to jump over Russia's feet and into his living room. "Woah! I like your house, Russia!"
"Hey. 'Merica. How many members of NATO are there, again?"
"Uhhh, like thirty, I think. Why?"
"Calculating military fallout of strangling you."
"AHH!" America dove out of his reach, scrambling on top of the sofa, but Russia was too fast, grabbing him under the arms and yanking him back. He dangled there, thrashing like a naughty cat, feet inches off the ground, as Russia held him at eye level and glowered.
"You tell me why you are here, or you leave."
"Okay!! Okay! Please don't hurt me!!" America wrenched one arm free and floundered for his phone in his pocket— his teeth clicked together as Russia gave him a little shake for good measure— and after a moment, shoved the phone in the other country's face, bathing it in neon green. "I'm learning Russian!!"
Da-ding! The Duolingo sound effect chirped gleefully as Russia's face shifted through a dozen emotions in the span of a second.
"You— you what?"
"Learning Russian!" His feet touched the ground again, and Rus tilted his head to study America's phone.
"Why?"
"Because—" Because why? No reason he could say out loud without looking dumb and sappy. "I dunno. Haha."
"And you came all the way here to tell me that."
"Uh huh."
Russia straightened up and studied him for a long moment. This was something he did sometimes. Regarded you like you were a fascinating line in a long, profound book, or like a sunset streaking the sky over the gas station. Frankly it was dizzying, and America sneezed explosively before he could stop himself— by far the most embarrassing nervous habit he had in his considerable arsenal. A smile drew one corner of Russia's mouth upwards, before his hand drifted to cover it.
"Mm. Well?"
"What?!"
Rus nodded at him.
"Say something."
"Ohh. Okay, okay." America cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, turning his eyes importantly to the ceiling. "Радио*."
"Ha!" Russia clapped his hands, grinning. "Радио! Radio, yes, sure! When you say it—" he put two fingers to his throat— "put more 'hh' in beginning. Very strong."
"HHРадио!"
"You are not bad."
"I love this language," Ame gushed, spinning around as he opened the Duolingo app. "There's no stupid— no stupid little words to memorize cause they're just gone!"
"Yeah, yeah. Russians do not waste time." Rus shrugged. "Sit down. I want to see the lesson."
"Wh—"
"Sit."
So they did. And Russia watched over America's shoulder as he floundered through his Duolingo Russian lesson at 11 PM— and when Ame drifted off to sleep on his shoulder, snoring softly, Rus's breath caught in his throat, and he sat in the dark holding very, very still.
- [] -
* radio. pronounced a lot like in english
a/n: based on REAL EVENTS. russian is the least fussy language i ever laid eyes on. if you want to say "Mama, Diwa is a medic!" you go "mama. diwa medic." WHYD I HAVE TO PICK FRENCH FOR MY OTHER LANGUAGE. WITH THEIR FIVE MILLION DIFFERENT GENDERED NOUNS AND ARTICLES. fool move