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"Fedya~"

Russia paused in the doorway to the living room, having not found the American in his room. The name lingering soft on his lips as his chest warms and swells with emotion.

Sunlight streams in the wide windows, that pinkish golden quality of light that only happens right before dawn. It catches in Alfred's hair and radiates around it, soft and hazy like a crown.

Or a halo, Ivan's mind supplies as he moves forward and sinks to his knees in the carpet beside the American. Alfred was sprawled on his stomach in the center of the patch of sunlight, fast asleep in the glow. Ivan reaches out and runs his fingers gently through golden locks, fluffs them, fingers the soft strands tenderly.

"Cute," he murmurs, fondness welling up inside. Alfred doesn't move, and Ivan sits back on his heels and gazes down at him for a long minute as he pats his hair affectionately.

Alfred's tan skin is flushed pink from sleep and from the sun bathing him in its warm glow. His cheek is pillowed on one hand, and his other hand is flung out, palm up, cellphone cradled in his limp grasp. It's still playing music, a soft soothing melody.

The younger boy is curled up on himself, barefoot, bare legged, dressed only in a loose sweater, the hem lying suggestively across the top of his thighs. Ivan knows this sweater; it's one of his, one that's a little long on him and so it swallows Alfred up perfectly. It's adorable.

Ivan sighs, "You say we're just friends, but you still have that old thing. I gave you that sweater when I was still Imperial Russia; I was sure you'd throw it out."

He trails the back of a finger down the side of the American's face, drags it across his pouty lower lip because he can. Alfred is beautiful. He's always beautiful, but especially when he's sleeping. Especially when he's quiet.

Russia glances around and wonders how America ended up asleep on the floor. A glass of water beside the plants in the window catch his eye and he guesses the reason. His stomach clenches sympathetically as he considers how tired Alfred must be, to fall asleep in the middle of such a short task.

Ivan rolls Alfred carefully to his back to pick the smaller nation up, moving quickly as the smaller boy moans slightly and stirs. America may be smaller than Russia, in terms of height and weight, but his lean body is all toned muscle, and since Russia was not powerful like he was as the Soviet Union, he struggles for a moment with America's weight before surging to his feet, silent groan trapped in his throat.

Ivan collapses on the couch, Alfred cradled bridal style in his arms and grins down into the sleepy eyes blinking up at him.

"Hey sleeping beauty."

"Hey commie," Alfred murmurs back, slowly resurfacing from the depths of dreamland. There's a crease on his cheek from where he'd lain on his hand and Ivan smiles out of irritation.

"If you call me that again, I'll make you sleep in a hotel like the other nations," he says, tracing his thumb down the mark and watching Alfred pout. Ivan sighs, now remembering that his original goal was to wake Alfred for the meeting; Russia would not tolerate America being late while staying in his country.

"But you've got so much space," Alfred grumbles, batting his hand away, uncoordinated, mind still hazy with sleep. But he's smiling, a soft little secret smile that he tries to hide in Ivan's shoulder. "Let me sleep some more." Russia holds him closer, slides his hand into Alfred's hair, cups the back of his neck. He's so warm. It's nice. Ivan wishes that the coldness of his hands would take in that warmth, but they were permanently cold.

"I moved the meeting to Sochi for you. The least you can do is get up and see it," Ivan waits to see if Alfred responds and when he doesn't Ivan dips his head down and nuzzles into Alfred's neck. He smells sweet, like vanilla and sugar. He inhales deeply, darts his tongue out experimentally and Alfred giggles, soft and high.

"Stop," America whines and buries his face in Russia's chest, arms stealing up to loop around his neck. "No tickling."

"But you laugh so cutely," Ivan protests, but he's smiling, "If you get up now, I'll make you coffee." Alfred whines again, but gets up anyway, wiping the sleep from his eyes and yawning as he makes his way to the kitchen; the sweater looking like a dress as it ended just below Alfred's boxers.

America only does cute things like this when he's tired; secretly Russia didn't want him to get up or leave his arms. Ivan shakes his head as he watches the honey blonde go, "Why is it I have to speak to his stomach to motivate him..."

"You haven't been taking care of yourself lately," Ivan says, following the blonde, who was now seated at the kitchen table.

Alfred shakes his head, "Things aren't going so well in the States. I think the kids are mad at me or something."

"Hmm. How's Alaska," Russia asks as he pulls out the brand of coffee he bought just for Alfred's stay.

Blue eyes stared him down for a minute, before responding with, "You should go see him, he misses you."

"I doubt he does, I treated him terribly. You're just trying to make me feel better."

Suddenly, Ivan feels arms wrapping around his waist and Alfred's chin on his shoulder. He pauses in what he's doing so he doesn't make a mess, as his heart skips several beats.

"I let him keep the name you gave him, he's proud of it. He still calls you papa, ya know," Alfred sighs, "He tells his siblings that he's Russian when he's mad at them."

Russia's eyes widened out of elation; Alaska never called himself Russian before, he always declared he would forever be Alaska. "I bet that pisses you off."

"Just a little."

Ivan turns himself around in Alfred's arms and stares into the younger boy's blue eyes, wondering how the sunny nation always knew how to cheer him up. "Why are we just friends," Russia marvels out loud.

America blinks once, chin resting on Ivan's chest as he gazes into violet eyes, "Because I'd have to break France's hands when I see him touch you."

"Huh? I should be saying that to you-"

"-And, England would never approve, we'd be in trouble with our bosses, I'd want to talk to you every night, I'd send you gifts every time I'm thinking about you, I'd leave the country more often, and I'd willingly become a union with you."

Ivan felt the heat rise to his ears and he turned his head to the side to escape Alfred's intense gaze, "Y-you don't know what you're saying. You'd deny me like the first time."

"You're right," Alfred unwrapped an arm from around Ivan's waist to place a hand on the Russian's cheek and turn his head back so Ivan was looking at him again. "We're just friends because I can't put my wants as Alfred above my needs as America, and you have no idea how much I desperately want those things."

Ivan smiled softly and placed a small kiss on Alfred's forehead. It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, but it filled his heart with joy to know that Alfred had such feelings for him. "Alright Fredka, go get ready now, your coffee will be done when you come back."

"Aye Aye," the American flashed a pearly white smile and saluted him before racing out of the kitchen and up the stairs, oversized sweater doing nothing to stop him.

"That American is going to be the death of me," Ivan whispered to himself as he turned back to the coffee.

When Alfred returns, in what he thought was just a matter of minutes, dressed in his suit and feeling gloriously fresh... the Russian was missing. Going to the counter where the white coffee mug sat, still seeping steam, a yellow sticky note with a sunflower doodled on it caught his attention.

I left you a rental car.

Don't be late.

-Your friend, Ivan

Blue eyes glared at the sticky before slapping it back on the counter. "That guy really annoys me sometimes," Alfred grumbled, but then his hands wrapped around the cup of coffee and he smiled. "But only sometimes."