The grass was starting to yellow in the chilly air, but Alfred figured he might as well enjoy it before the snow came back. He knew he could get the same weather at home, but he liked it better in Russia. He liked to travel, and it was a beautiful country after all, no matter what his and Ivan's past connections had been, their relations had warmed since the Cold War. He felt the blades scratch his face and looked up at the sky. If it weren't for the blue, everything might as well be in sepia tone. During the winter, everything was in grayscale. Ivan didn't seem to mind though.

Alfred closed his eyes when he heard the boots crushing the dried grass. He didn't open them until he could feel Ivan standing over him, his tall figure blocking where the sun had been. "Alfred," he said. "You didn't tell me you were visiting."

"Yeah, I was on my way to a meeting with the Arthur, but I had some time to kill. Hope it's okay." Alfred sat up, brushing himself off.

Ivan smiled, his scarf gently blowing in the breeze. "It's always a pleasure to see you, trust me." He held his hand out to Alfred.

"Thanks." Alfred said as he took Ivan's hand and stood up, this time listening to his own boots crush the grass.

"I was wondering if you would come by before the snow sets in." Ivan said, letting go of Alfred's hand gently. "I know how you feel about the cold."

The two walked for a while before anyone said anything. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky orange. Something like this would have never impressed him at home. He wasn't sure what was so nostalgic about Russia or Ivan's presence, but it made him feel better and sick at the same time. "You don't mind the cold, do you?" Alfred asked, breaking the silence.

Ivan thought for a moment before saying anything. "I have mixed feelings about it… to say in the least."

"What do you mean?"

"I do like the cold, but here it just seems to last for so long. Too much of a good thing I suppose." He thought again for a moment. "It's cold at your house too, right?"

"Sometimes." Alfred looked away from Ivan. "If it's too cold, you can just move a little bit. The weather is so varied there. I don't get how your country is even bigger than mine but your weather never changes."

"Sometimes I think it's punishment." He said quietly. "Blood shows up on snow better, but it numbs you so you can't even feel it."

Alfred hated it when the conversations got like this. Despite his military's involvements in so many wars, he didn't like to think about it a lot. Or at the least the bloody parts. Ivan continued. "I think I'd rather die in the snow, though. It's not as hard as the ground." He stopped. "It's getting dark, we should head back."

Alfred silently agreed, and they began walking in the direction of Ivan's house. Maybe he'd skip that trip to England. Arthur could wait, and Ivan's couch was far more comfortable to sleep on than his. "You know, sometimes I think you're the only one who really knows me." He said softly.

Looking him in the eyes for the first time, Ivan muttered something. "Perhaps, but you don't really know me." His eyes glazed over. "No one really does."