Well. I can't say I'm exactly proud of this... I kinda wrote it a little last minute and all(even though its still late for Valentines Day OTL). So um, yeah. Fluffy Russiamerica is really cute to write, I must admit.

February 13th, 2011

The streetlights flicked on around him, signaling that yes, it was officially night. Ivan sighed, breathed out, invisible in the American winter. He could hardly contain himself from scoffing at this so called "storm of the century" that America had been prattling on about for the past few weeks. It was hardly a summer day in Siberia to him.

He knocked again, louder this time, rapping his knuckles against the hard oak of the door. He wasn't exactly looking forward to more of that said whining once he got inside. No doubt that was the reason the American had skipped out on the meeting today. For such a strong country, the superpower had his fair share of vulnerabilities.

He hoped briefly that no thunderstorms would strike, giving the other nation license to degenerate into a shivery, blubbery mess, hiding under the blankets and refusing to come out.

Ivan sighed again. How had he gotten roped into this again?

"Ivan."

The Russian looked over his shoulder to see the Englishman, standing, as usual, with crossed arms and perpetual scowl. In turn, Ivan greeting him with a characteristic smile.

"Yes, Angliya? What is it you want?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

Ivan tilted his head to the side.

"I do believe me and my government have been very good recently. I do not feel obligated to return any favors of your-"

"Ivan" the Brit interrupted. Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly, enough to send a detectable flinch in the Englishman. However, he continued in his steadfast tone.

"I need you to go check on America for me." The Englishman finally exhaled, as if he were admitting a rather shameful secret.

"America is a strong nation, a superpower, even. I do not believe that he needs someone to check on him."

"Yes, well I know more about him than you do. And I know when he starts suffering from one of his idiotic neuroses again. The boy is bloody clockwork."

"Why, Angliya," Russia played idly with the buttons of the coat, "Does America need help on such a day? I recall no specific significance of any sort during this month-"

"Don't ask me why. I don't know why. All I know is that the git gets it into his head every February 14th to sit in his house all day, skip meetings, and stuff his already overstuffed mouth with candies and chocolates. For the past few decades I've had to visit the damn idiot to make sure he doesn't make his stomach burst. It's stupid, self destructive behavior, and I'm sick of being the one who always has to take care of him."

"Ah! I understand it, Angliya. Similar to what one certain nation does around the beginning of July each year, yes? I fear I do not remember such nation's name-"

"Oh, come of it, you bloody bastard. Alfred's just being a git. The day has no specific significance for him in any manner."

"And why do you not do it, Angliya? What about the 'special relationship,' yes?"

The Brit rolled his eyes.

"Please. That has nothing to do with this."

"Still. I do not understand why you are unable to take care of one small capitalist."

"Oh yes. Let me just push aside any meetings of true international importance that I may have today in order to cater to that idiot's inexplicable need for attention. I'm not his bloody nursemaid."

"And I am?"

"I didn't say-"

"Do you not consider that perhaps I have issues I must take care of today? I as well perhaps have no time to deal with silly capitalist nonsense?"

"You don't think that I mean that-you don't have any plans today, do you?"

"No. I do not. But it is unkind of you to believe so in the first place."

The Englishman bit his lip. "Ivan. I could care less about that idiot's wellbeing, I really could, but-The stupid git is going to end up killing himself one of these days. He's already on the fast track to become a diabetic fatass, and it certainly doesn't help that ego of his when he gains a few pounds because of this ridiculous eating binge-"

"It cannot be that bad, Angliya-"

"And then he gets depressed, calling me at ridiculous hours of the night because the absolute git cannot seem to grasp the concept of different time zones and whines to me about not being able to fit into his pants-"

"Angliya. Stop. I will do as you ask."

The Englishman looked surprised, as if he hadn't expected Ivan to agree at this point.

"R-really? You will?"

"Da. Anything to stop this prattling of you about Amerika."

He brushed past the Englishman, unhooking his heavy winter coat from the coatrack near the door.

"Ivan."

The Russian turned, his coat half on, half off.

"Yes, Angliya?"

Ivan thought he saw a smile quirk on the Englishman's lips.

"Just make sure the moron doesn't eat himself to death."

He knocked again on the door, harder this time, noticing with a slightly smile that thin brown crack that formed under his fist. Perhaps he would break the door down?

He mused over what England had said as he waited. Was the American truly that desperate for attention that he would be content with a former enemy arriving to keep him company? Ivan couldn't fathom why England had asked him, of all people, to check on the American. Additionally, he couldn't fathom why the American would be distraught on such a day, a day which he had recently learned was some form of American holiday that celebrated love through gifts of foods and items.

Really, Ivan despised the idea of such a holiday. It touched beyond his distaste of blatant consumerism, he had learned to accept that somewhat as an essential evil of the changing world. Rather, what annoyed him most was the dilution of romantic love into the giving of material things. Ivan knew that, despite his exterior, he was a romantic, with a taste for peaceful walks in parks and beautiful dinners and gazing into each others eyes.

He doubted there would be much time for any of those things if he were to spend the day with America.

He slammed his fist against the door harder this time, effectively snapping the deadbolt from the door with a loud crack.

The Russian blinked in surprise. He had not meant to hit the door that hard…

Shrugging it off, he gently eased the door open and stepped inside the house.

"Amerika? Are you in here?

The entrance hall was dark, although Russia could see dull light peeking out from both doorways near the end of the hallway.

"Amerika?"

Hearing no reply, Russia kicked off his snow uncrushed boots and shrugged off his thick winter coat, hanging it on a nearby prong. He was almost beginning to feel warm in this pitiable North American winter.

Striding down the hall, he peeked through one of the lit doorways, which led to a kitchen. Surprisingly empty of the young country's presence, Ivan moved to the other door way, which was more dully lit than the kitchen. The walls flicked between light and dark shadows as the images on a large plasma screen TV danced about, continuing their intricate lightplay on the Russian's pale face.

It was then that Russia noticed a red, white, and blue blob curled up on the couch. Russia allowed himself a brief laugh as it shifted, and he saw a mop of golden hair and a pair of blue eyes stare out at him.

"What're you doin' here?" came the half hearted mumbled from within the mass of sweatshirt and sweatpants huddled on the overstuffed couch.

Ivan noticed with a disparaging look the various empty wrappers and heart shaped boxes that piled on top of the couch and a nearby coffee table. He let a terse breath escape from between his teeth. England wasn't kidding.

"I suppose that it is customary on American holiday to skip meeting and to sit and gorge oneself?" Ivan allowed himself a wry smile.

"Serves 'em right for putting a meeting on a Sunday," the American grumbled.

"I suppose, but you do not plan to come tomorrow either, da?"

"I can't help it if-if Valentine's Day falls on a weekday." He stuttered over the words. Russia wondered why.

The silence that followed was interrupted as Alfred blurted out artlessly.

"Are you going to go now?"

Ivan strode over to the table and sat on the other end of the couch as a response, arms folded, staring at the American with an amused look.

"Nyet, Amerika. I have heard of your tendency to eat yourself into these-what did you tell me they were once? Ah, yes, these 'food comas,' that you described. I cannot help but think that eating yourself into one of those is not beneficial to your health, and certainly is not an appropriate response to the existence of such a silly holiday."

America pulled his legs, clad in blue sweatpants up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He shot the Russian another annoyed look.

"Whatever," Alfred shrugged, "Why is it going to matter to you what I do?"

America leaned forward with a grunt, shifting on the couch as he reached towards one of the half empty boxes of chocolate on the nearby table.

"Amerika," Ivan caught him by the wrist, causing the American to shoot the Russian with an annoyed glare. He clutched one chocolate in his hand, holding onto it as if it were a precious jewel.

"What?" He responded gruffly, struggling against the Russian's bearlike hold. Ivan tightened his grip and roughly pulled Alfred away from the table.

"Such rudeness, little one. Is it not in American custom to offer one's guest before helping oneself? Though, if I am truthful, it is not much surprising-"

The American stopped trying to pull his wrist away and lowered his eyes. Ivan smirked.

"D-do you want it?" The Russian looked down, to where the American held the chocolate tentatively in his hand. Ivan cocked his head, appraising the lumpy looking sweet in Alfred's palm.

He mind flashed back to the promise he made to England to stop the boy from gorging himself to the point of immobility. From how the Englishman had spoken, it seemed that that had happened before.

He tried to reason why he would dare to each the sugar laden landmine. After all, one more chocolate that he ate would be one less than disappeared into the American's mouth.

Also, he had just chastised the boy for not sharing, it would be rude for him to reject such an offer.

Finally, he nodded, taking the chocolate from the American's outstretched palm.

"D-da, Amerika."

Ivan swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat as he took the chocolate in his hand, examining it, twirling the fat brown lump between his fingers. It was adorned with a thick, vibrant red icing, garishly decorating the sweet with a large, loopy heart.

He felt himself fattening just by touching the toxic thing.

The look in the boy's wide blue eyes forced down the groan that rose in his throat. Forcing a smile, he brought the chocolate to his mouth and took a tenuous bite, breaking off a small chunk of the sweet and swallowing it whole.

Ivan forced his grimace in a slight smile for the American intently watching him, although his mouth felt as if it were coated in wax.

"Are you going to finish that?" Alfred pointed to the half eaten chocolate in Ivan's hand, wetting his lips.

"Well, I am not sure-"

"Well, don't waste it-" Before Ivan could respond, the American had leaned forward and plucked the sweet from his fingers with his mouth, pink tongue unintentionally flicking on of Ivan's fingers.

There was a touch of warm saliva on Ivan's finger. He blinked in surprised, snapping out of the stupor only when he realized America was reaching for the box again-

This time, instead of restraining the boy, he snatched the box up from the table and held it away from the Alfred's grabbing hands as the American boy flung himself at the Russian like an addict desperate for his next fix.

"Fuckin' commie-give it back-"

"Nyet, little one, I am believing it that you have had too much already-"

"Shut up! You can't tell me what to do, russki! He latched roughly onto Russia's arm, trying to pull the box back towards him.

"Give-it-back!"

America yanked back hard on Russia's arm, causing him to lurch forward. Ivan lost his balance on the tiny couch, and as America's weight lurched to the side as a result of his harsh tug, he pulled them both off the cushions, sending Ivan toppling to the floor.

Ivan landed hard on his forearms with a hiss, shutting his eyes temporarily. Stupid, stupid overweight capitalist brat. He cursed inside his head. Always with the stupid antics.

Russia opened his eyes, with the complete intention of looking for where the American had surely scrambled off to with his newly won box of chocolates, ready to chastise him for his idiocy.

But his anger softened as he opened his eyes and realized that the American had landed beneath him, with Ivan practically pinning him to the ground. Despite himself, he felt a certain heat rush to his face.

The American seemed to have frozen up completely the moment he had hit the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, the rest of his face buried deep in the sweatshirt which, Ivan had noticed, was several sizes too big for him-

He blinked several times, finding himself strangely entranced by the American's flushed face, his glasses knocked askew and his blonde hair ruffled from their tussle on the couch. Only when the American peeked his eyes open did Ivan respond. He covered his face with a cool hand that he hoped would reduce the heat in his cheeks.

"Ah-I am sorry, Amerika." He stuttered out, sitting up and scrambling to get off the American's hips.

As soon as he did so the American drew away like a scared animal, huddling against the couch and staring at the floor.

Ivan felt a pang in his chest. Had he hurt the American?

"Amerika-" He started, but Alfred curled into himself at the sound of his voice, bringing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his jeans. Ivan tilted his head sadly.

"Amerika, listen-"

"Why don't you just leave?" The muffled murmur came from the pathetic little ball.

The Russian let out a small sigh. America was simply a child. A child who for some reason was distraught over one silly little over-commercialized holiday-

So he did what he thought would be best to comfort children: he moved over the where Alfred was sitting, ignoring the annoyed glare that he sent his way, and pulled the American into his arms.

The American stiffened and immediately protested his touch. He heard annoyed noises and mumbles of "Leggo, commie" and "Stupid russki," but he only constricted his hold further as he felt the boy tried to pull away. Eventually, the American stopped squirming, but his body remained tensed and on edge.

"Why are you doing this?" came a pitiful whine from the bundle smothered to his chest.

Russia bit his lip. Naturally, he could admit the real reason why he came, because the Englishman had requested it of him-but he had a feeling that saying so would simply dampen the American's already low spirits.

"Because, I am worrying about you, yes?"

Alfred untucked his head from the Russian's chest, nesting it into his shoulder and looking up with questioning blue eyes.

"Really?" His voice was tinged with incredulity, and perhaps a little bit of hope that yes, the Russian did mean it.

Russia worried his lip under his teeth further, almost feeling the sting of blood.

If this had happened a few decades ago, he surely would be breaking a few of the American ribs rather than trying to soothe him. By all right he shouldn't be here, comforting a nation too strong and too powerful and with too many responsibilities to be allowed to act like a pouting child.

But there was no reason for him to distress the boy further.

"Yes," He mumbled, taking the chance to run his fingers through the American's hair in what he hoped was a comforting motion. Because that's why he was doing it, yes? To comfort the boy.

But Ivan felt a thrill of happiness as Alfred let out a contented noise and nuzzled further into the Russian's shoulder. Ivan smiled and dropped his arms to the American's waist, where he squeezed him lightly.

America let out a groan at the embrace.

"Owwww," he whined, then pouted, "Stupid commie, don't do that."

Russia smiled and twisted a strand of the American's hair between his fingers.

"What is wrong now, Amerika?" He curiously poked Alfred's cheek. He shifted uncomfortably, letting out frustrated whines.

"My head hurts," Alfred moaned, "Stomach too."

Russia chuckled and let his eyes fall on the piles of empty chocolate boxes adorning the table.

"Too many sweets, little one," he prodded the American's side through his bulky sweatshirt, "You do not want to get fat, da?"

America flinched at the touch, starting to fidget in the Russian's arms again. Ivan tried to meet his eyes, but the American looked away. Ivan thought he saw a tinge of pink on the boy's cheek.

"Let me go," he murmured, hands coming to Russia's chest in an attempt to push him away.

"Why, Amerika?"

The boy let out a puff of air before settling his head back on Ivan's shoulder, pouting.

"'Cause you're makin' fun of me." he stated sleepily.

"I am merely observing. If you do not want it to hurt, than you must not eat so much, da?"

"I guess." He mumbled, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the Russian's body, accidentally pushing his elbow against Russia's stomach. Ivan stifled his desire to cuff the American on the head under a smile.

"It will only hurt more if you continue to move, da?" The words came out more threateningly than he wanted them to be.

Alfred finally settled into a comfortable position, with his legs folded underneath him, leaning up against the Russian with his hands curled up onto Ivan' chest, his head resting on the juncture of his arm and shoulder.

"Fine." Alfred mumbled, tugging the end of Ivan's scarf over the exposed side of his face. "You're cold as hell, russki, but you're pretty comfortable and all, I guess."

Ivan hummed in agreement, resuming his gentle stroking of the American's head. Ivan began to drift into daydreams, his experience at the American's house turned out quieter and more pleasant than he had expected.

He felt the warm curl of even breaths on his neck and looked down on the American's face with a smile, only to find Alfred's eyes closed and his face relaxed. He felt annoyance flit through his body.

"No, no," he started, placing a hand on the American's shoulder, as if to shake him awake, "Amerika, you cannot fall asleep here-" He stopped, tensed.

He let out an annoyed sigh. This was like the child, to force himself upon others like this-

What to do, what to do he mused over in his head. Without realizing it, he had begun to gently stroke the American's back, lightly tracing his spine with his fingertips.

He could wake the American up, of course. Then he would have all the freedom to leave. But despite himself, he found that he didn't want to leave. Not yet, at least. Perhaps he would stay to at least the morning, to make sure the American was all right and he wouldn't, as England put it, "eat himself to death". He supposed if the American's stomach decided to explode it would be bad for the world. And certainly such an problem would be blamed on Russia himself. Yes, he would stay for those reasons.

But they could not stay on the floor like this. That was not an option. He would have to move America to his bed, or at least back onto the couch. Ivan's legs were already numbed from where the American's weight rested, and he imagined the floor would not be very comfortable, should he choose to lie down.

Ivan was about to move to shift the American off of him when he chanced a glance at the young man's face. He felt his heart swell at the look of utter peace and contentment across features that were normally either stressed out or smiling. There was a delicateness to these features that he had never noticed before, complemented by a sort of childish vulnerability. He couldn't bear to disturb that look.

Resigning himself to a night of restless sleep, Russia leaned back as slowly as he could until his back touched the cool wood of the wood, holding the American against him until his head rested against his chest. He smiled at the soft whistling of the American's breath. Gently he reached up and slipped the American's glasses from his face and set them on the couch, then grabbing for a corner of the blanket that the American had wrapped himself up in. He pulled it down until it settled on top of both of them, Russia making sure that Alfred was completely covered. When he was done, he placed his arms around the American's back with a contented sigh.

Of course, he would move eventually. There was no chance of him staying on the floor the entire night as the American slept. As soon as he was sure Alfred was sleeping soundly, he would move himself.

Ivan closed his eyes for only a moment and felt himself murmuring soothing phrases in Russian as he felt his mind drift off.