America's hips swayed unsteady as he drunkenly stumbled down the street. His blue eyes glazed and his expression overall dazed as he dragged his feet across the sidewalk. People eyed him curiously as he ambled on. America's mouth moved rapidly however he wasn't sure if the words from his throat were catching up. Anyone who cared to try to decipher America's blather would come to find out the usual cheerful American was unusually sad.

Sad why? He wasn't quite sure how to put it into words. Or at least a stream of consciousness in a drunken state of mind. After the world meeting today America found himself worn and sick. It was the same old shit time after time again. Everyone throws up their thoughts in an animated manner and interrupts each other. In the end Germany red in the face screams at everyone and everybody agrees to not disagree but to accept their opinions are more superior to others.

Although America typically snickers over such nonsense and well admittedly participates in it, today he couldn't find himself too. A new election meant more stress on top of everyone opening their fat mouths about America's problems. China the first to remind him of his debt to him, France second to point out how fat his people were, and usually someone like England third to anxiously add to the pile of criticisms how poor his education was.

So yes he did owe a lot of money to China. And perhaps his people have managed to pack on a few pounds…But his education wasn't poor! He wasn't an idiot! Nor were his people. America chewed his lip and stuffed his hands into his bomber jacket pockets. He was tired of everyone mocking him. Maybe his ideas were farfetched and a tad too fantastical. But that's because America was a dreamer. He always was. Something the older nations have long since ditched to better function in the adult world.

The American was beyond frustrated when the meeting finally came to a close. He left the room with his head down and eyes cast to the floor. As he stormed down the hallways with his hands balling into fists, the American realized he was more sad opposed to angry. The jokes didn't really get to him, it was the people involved. As America continued to mature as a nation, he began to conceive just how lonely the position was. His people unaware of his existence unless they were politically involved and only so few were in on it. And fellow nations too wrapped up in themselves to notice the rising depression.

America sighed. He found himself in a bar alone that night. His lips pursed as he stared over the splintering counter and into the barmaid's dead unfeeling eyes. Her scowl connected with her yellowing wrinkles waiting impatiently for the American's order. America not fond of wine even if Paris was well known for it, opted for a Rum and Coke. Simple enough right?

He then drank another.

And another.

And another.

He kept chugging those bad boys down until he couldn't feel anything. And that was what made America feel worse. He couldn't feel a thing. The man smacked a couple of bucks onto the counter forgetting where he was and lumbered out of the hole in the wall place. His eyes swimming as the barmaid yelled something in French. He paid no mind however.

So here he was, drunk as a skunk wandering the streets of Paris in hopes he makes it back to his hotel room. God must have been looking out for the younger nation for somehow he managed to do so. He even figured out the elevator.

America fished through his pockets for his room key. Finally he found it and swiped it through its slider. He jiggled the handle and realized it didn't work. "Musta swiped it too fast." He then swiped it again. And again. "Dis thing is broken!" America exclaimed. Suddenly the door swung open revealing a tall violet eyed man. "Russia? Bro, what'ya doing in my room?" The younger nation slurred. Russia gaped at the man for a moment horribly confused.

"What?"

"You're in my room bro!" America clarified.

"No Amerika I think you are confused. This is my room." The American's face contorted.

"Okay, you don't gotta be doing this to me man. I'm in no mood for your case of crazies." America hiccupped. Russia sighed.

"You've been drinking." The Russian plainly stated.

"Yeah and what are you gonna do about it?" America leaned into the Russian's face. The man stepped back for a moment. His shoulders then slumped realizing the idiot nation wasn't going to leave and slowly stepped out of his room.

"Do you remember where your room is?" He asked patiently. America lolled his head to the side. His glasses askew and lips puckered. This must have been America's thinking face.

"Yeah. You're in it." He spat. Russia pinched the bridge of his nose and snatched the card key out of his hands.

"Room 222, it's on the opposite end of this hallway."

"Oh man you mean this isn't my room?"

"No Amerika. This isn't your room."

America deflated. "I'm so stupid."

Russia was a little taken off guard by this confession. He had never known the loud mouth nation to ever downgrade himself. He watched as America leaned against the wall and slowly slid down. His fingers picked staples out of the carpet as he drunkenly bobbled his head at Russia. Russia wasn't sure if he should laugh or feel bad for how pathetic his old enemy looked. America had the appearance of a tired child who was fighting sleep. The taller nation found himself lifting America by the arm and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I will walk you back to your room. You are too drunk to make it on your own. In fact it is but a miracle you've made it this far."

"Thanks bro. I'm sorry." America felt no point in fighting Russia's help. Even the hero was too drunk and tired to care about politics. The two nations gradually walked down the hallway. America chatted on and on about some nonsense and Russia ignored it. They finally made it to the American's room. Russia swiped the key through the slider and opened the door.

"There." Russia was about to turn to leave until he noticed something clinging to his scarf. The man turned around to see two big blue eyes staring at him. "What is it Amerika?" He asked annoyed. America smiled something sinister and used Russia's shoulder to steady himself. Carefully the younger nation leaned in and gently pecked Russia on the lips. Russia looked back at him stunned. America offered no explanation and entered his room. As he shut the door he giggled at the shocked look on Russia's face. "Wait America-" The door was closed.

Russia stood there for a moment or so. Why? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Was America just so drunk that he didn't care about his actions? That had to be it. Russia walked back to his hotel room trying to forget his encounter with the drunk nation. However he could do anything but.

XXX

The next morning all of the nations were all packed and ready to go home. America on the contrary spent a majority of his morning puking his brains out. The man cursed aloud as he threw himself in the shower. God why did he have to drink so much knowing he had to get up so early? The man leaned against the cool tile for a moment as the shower head pelted his chest. He put his fingers through his wet hair as he tried to recollect what happened last night.

How did he even make it back?

America laughed cockily congratulating himself on being a pretty a functional drunk. "If it were England he would have gotten lost." He laughed. The nation then continued to wash his hair.

America leapt out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed his glasses and stared at his gauntly reflection. Although he was all clean the America still had the appearance of hung over. He hoped to God that last night he didn't wake anyone to save himself the embarrassment. Or if he did, he hoped they had already left and planned to keep it to themselves. America groaned and began to get dressed.

XXX

Russia and Japan didn't say a word to each other in the elevator. Russia was far too lost in his thoughts to subject the man to any of his scare tactics. And maybe that made Japan just the more suspicious. Why was the man being so quiet? Was he planning something? When they stopped on the second floor, the door opened revealing a rather breathless American. They both made room for the man who dragged his suitcase behind him.

"Thought I would take the stairs," He began between breaths. "Terrible idea."

Neither man said a word to the American. However Japan noticed how Russia's expression had changed. His eyes were glued on the American, like as if he was studying him. Japan felt a tad uncomfortable as he observed Russia's mannerisms. When they had hit the next floor Japan scurried out not wanting any part in whatever Russia was planning. America was too busy texting to pay any mind. When the door finally slid shut leaving the two nations alone Russia cleared his throat.

"Bless you," America said mindlessly has he continued to text.

Russia deflated a bit but still managed to keep his composure. The taller nation found himself gazing at the American, never once noticing before how flawless he was. His skin sun kissed, eyes baby blue, and lips…Those were the same lips that opened that door.

Wait? What was he thinking?! He could never even consider somebody like America ideal for somebody like him. China was the ideal one. Not America. America was rowdy, annoying, stupid, and…and…elusive? Was that the word?

Yes that was it. The American was unpredictable only going by whatever whim strikes his fancy. Like kissing Russia.

Kissing Russia.

The Russian found himself sliding over to where the American was. His eyes still glued on his phone unaware of the man's suddenly closer presence. Russia loomed over the American and grabbed his phone and tossed it. The American stared at him confused for a moment but seemed to understand.

"Now that I'm not drunk, do you want to continue?" He asked arrogantly. His eyes staring straight into Russia's begging him to take a taste. The Russian swooped in for a kiss connecting their lips so beautifully. Never had the taller nation tasted something warm and sweet like all of those apple pies the American's people talk about. His body leaned against his ex enemy's, pressing tightly their chests. The embrace was so wanting, so needing, so lovely as they continued to get tangled in each other.

But suddenly Russia heard a chime. The man flickered his eyes open to see the American getting out of the elevator, phone still in hand unaware the Russian was trailing behind him. Russia had never felt so confused in his life. Never had he experienced such a strange fantasy. Usually when the man did fantasize, it was about curb stomping his enemies or bashing in their skulls with his pipe. Never was it this.

Why is it all he wanted to do was kiss America?

AN: Felt like writing this. Should I continue it? This is my first time writing a story like this so yeah…

Precious Birds will probably be updated sometime this week.

Just wanted to try this.