The young American sat at the bar, and took a sip of his non-alcoholic Shirley Temple. Although it was rather lively, he tried his best to distance himself from the crowd as the usually chatty Alfred sat zoned out at the counter.
Suddenly a tall man entered the bar and took a seat in the stool besides Alfred. He stood out like a sore thumb; from his towering height and platinum hair, to his thick jacket. No one seemed to even bat an eye besides Alfred and the bartender, who quickly went over to serve him.
"I'll just have whatever he's having," He explained as he pointed at Alfred.
"I've got to drive home tonight!" He joked, and the bartender laughed alongside him as he prepared his drink quickly.
Alfred's teeth gritted as he looked over at the man to his left. He showed him a forced smile, how badly he wanted to punch the man in the face right then and there.
"What do you want, Ivan?" He scoffed.
"Oh, nothing in particular. I was hoping to have a bit of a chat with you, about what's going on. But I won't force you to speak if you don't want to." He explained.
"Really?" Alfred asked ironically.
"Oh of course, my friend. You'd just have to listen to me!" He laughed at his own joke.
Alfred rolled his eyes at the fool.
"Come on, you silly atta boy. Cheer up Alfie." He tried to de-escalate the situation.
"You sure you're not already piss drunk?" He asked the Russian.
They both laughed.
"I've been thinking recently about our relationship over the past few years. We were rather close during the war, wouldn't you say?"
Alfred nodded his head.
"So why, why have things turned out the way they are now?" He asked and the two paused for a moment.
"Yes, I would agree that the quarrels that we're up to now are rather childish. And pointless too; everyone else I've fought with had a clear end goal. But there just doesn't seem to be anything there with you." The American replied, as he sat more upright, trying to seem more mature than he actually was.
Ivan began to sniffle a bit, and Alfred was shocked when he looked over an saw tears forming at his eyes.
"Come on dude, don't cry." He stammered as he tried to comfort him.
"I don't hate you Alfred. I don't have hate in my heart for anyone. And I can only hope that you feel the same." He explained.
Alfred rubbed his back, as Ivan leaned over and put his face into his sleeve to dry the tears.
"Yeah, of course; you yourself have never done anything wrong for me to feel such a way about you."
He struggled to get the last part out.
"I'd even say that I look up to you." He finally finished.
His quiet sobs stopped.
"It brings me peace that you feel the same. But I must ask, why? You and I don't want it to be this way, so why must we comply with them? Are we just puppets to our bosses? Slaves to them?"
He practically yelled the last part, and his eyes filled up with tears.
The two sat for a moment in silence, collecting their thoughts.
"I think, therefore I am" Alfred said.
"Descartes" Ivan replied, almost immediately.
"I don't yet know why we follow their orders blindly, well at least for the most part. We will find out eventually." He started.
"But you and I are most definitely not slaves or puppets to them, tonight you and I have both proven that we were separate from them and have our own rationale. That I am sure of. " He finished, as he took a sip of his Shirley Temple.
"Let's toast to better days." Alfred started.
"A beautiful mind." Ivan added.
"And a flow that will never change." The two said in unison, as their glasses clinked.
Ivan stood up and pushed the barstool back into his place.
"I really do thank you Alfred. I hope we can meet again in a setting such as we did tonight." He bid goodbye with a smile.
And he was gone as soon as he came.