Author's note: Quick fluffy thing. I somehow ended up reading about taxis in Russia on wikipedia. Then luxury taxi services. Then my mind wandered to makeouts. I apologize to any actual russians for what I bet is an inacurate description of Moscow.

America had seen many winters. In fact, he had been of the opinion that winters were good fun, all snowballs and hot cocoa and blankets by a roaring fire. He was used to throwing on a scarf and a coat and leaving it at that when leaving the house. He was used to pretty snow and clear weather.

Russia's winter was different.

"How the hell do you even survive this, dude? It's like, minus ten thousand of your celsius things!"
Russia patted him on the shoulder and smiled. "At minus ten thousand, you would be dead. Is just minus 20, barely cold yet."
America begged to differ. His face felt frozen. (He had flipped through Illustrated Science a couple of times and was fairly sure that he had read that one's face wasn't ever supposed to feel that way because the human brain somehow blocked out certain signals from the face that made it feel cold, because that's the place where you breathe and where all your senses are. At least something along those lines. The fact that he felt pain anyway only made him more uncomfortable - it supported his personal theory that Russia was a place where the laws of science simply didn't apply). Icy winds seemed to come from every direction at once, and a light snow that had fallen during the last week had now accumulated into large piles. Moscow did not seem intimidated by the weather, though, as the traffic was lively and people were still going about their day. The two nations had been standing on the corner of a busy street for a while now, waiting for a chance to get across. Ivan looked quite content, smiling at Alfred over the edge of his scarf.
"I can't feel my hands," Alfred mumbled. "...Is it far?"
"Da."
"Ivan, I think I might freeze to death."
"I see. Well, it is to be expected since you are not russian."
"Thanks, captain obvious." Alfred rolled his eyes, but the tone of his voice was still as friendly as before. "I'd like to see you survive the californian summer! I'm just saying, I didn't know fingers could feel like this."
"Perhaps it would better to take taxi, then."
"You have those?" Alfred wanted to bite his tongue - it was such a stupid thing to say. Of course taxis existed in Russia. As he had been discovering since he arrived, many more thing existed in Russia than he had previously been aware of. At least Ivan didn't seem to take it personally. To Alfred, his persistent smile had slowly become more endearing than frightening.
"Da. I will make arrangements." Ivan pulled out a phone from somewhere in his coat.
Alfred looked at the traffic, trying to find even a single yellow car in the crowd. "I haven't seen any. Are yours a different colour, or..?"
"Depends. The car should be here shortly. Are your hands still cold?"
Alfred was just about to launch into some speech about how he'd be alright and Ivan shouldn't bother doing anything - then he felt Ivan's hand briefly touching his own. Alfred didn't shy away and felt a strange heat rising in his cheeks as Ivan's larger hand enveloped his own hidden behind the folds of Ivan's coat. They were still separated by two layers of cloth: Alfred's mittens and Ivan's gloves, but it was enough to warm not only his hands, but the rest of his body, too.

Alfred's blue eyes followed the paths of the snowflakes as they waited. When Ivan started walking, the american didn't question anything and only followed. He kept a tight grip on Ivan's sleeve - ice, slippery and dangerous, covered the sidewalk, and Ivan seemed too steady and heavy to fall like Alfred had twice already. They stood on a corner for a while.
"K...kysh...lkn...?"
"Kuznetsky."
"Cyrillic is hard," Alfred declared and sighed theatrically.
"I could teach you."
Before Alfred could answer, Ivan waved at a car that pulled up to the sidewalk. It was a far cry from a yellow cab: it looked expensive, black with toned windows. "This is a taxi?" he asked, already being pulled inside by Ivan (who was still smiling that ever-present smile of his).
"It is for people like us," Ivan answered. "Big, important people."
"Well you've certainly got one of those things down to a T," Alfred said as Ivan ducked into the car. Alfred buckled his seatbelt and closed his eyes, sending unsaid thanks to the person who invented airconditioning. A thin screen between the driver's and back seat gave the passengers a certain amount of privacy, which was the reason they could both discard their gloves and hold hands, feeling each other's skin, cold as it was.
"You are very important," Ivan said. He didn't look directly at Alfred, but the american didn't notice; the car started and he laid his head back with his gaze fixed on the world outside the window. He closed his eyes and listened only to the hum of the engine and the dulled sounds of traffic and inner-city noise filled that the space between them and took a deep breath like he was concentrating, trying to save a moment with all details intact so that he could remember it for years to come. Ivan watched.

The next time they drove by a sign, Alfred once again tried to read it out loud, much to Ivan's amusement.
"B... Bonbw - no, wait, that isn't an 'n'. That's "I', right?"
"Bolshaya."
"Whatever - I swear to God all your letters look like - like the wrong letters. Your 'H''s are all 'N''s and your 'X''s are 'K''s."
"It seems we both have the problem with languages. English," Ivan said, "was not made for Russian mouth."
"How about you come to my place soon, and we play this pronunciation game again?" Alfred leant back in his seat and looked at Ivan "and every time you get it perfect, you win a kiss?"
"If we-" Ivan began, only to be cut off as Alfred exclaimed;
"Alright, this one's easy. I got this. Sre-ten-skiy. Sretenskiye." Alfred paused. "...Was I right?"
"Da."
Alfred's blue eyes lit up as a smile appeared on his face. "I am going to kiss you once we get to the hotel," he declared, "and maybe also other things... even though technically, I think you're supposed to kiss me. Whatever. " He put his head on Ivan's shoulder sighed happily, almost dozing off, his head filled with thoughts and sights and experiences. He heard Ivan sigh, too, a content sound, and felt his chest and shoulders moving. Alfred closed his eyes.