Canada kicks his feet in the air, staring down at the world beneath him; the only thing between him and freefalling: a metal balcony. And if he fell? Well, he'd just brush off the dust and move on.

The fall, in itself, might be cool though…

The stillness of night shifts behind him, and before Canada can try anything a hand clasps his shoulder. "No need to take flight, Little Bird, I will not hurt you."

Oh maple leaf… Trying not to look too nervous, Canada glances over his shoulder to see Russia smiling down at him. "Ha..ha… I wasn't going to do anything, if that's what you mean, Mr. Russia-"

"Just call me Russia, friend."

Canada lets out another severely awkward chuckle. "Ooh, o-okay, Mr, um, no-, Russia. Russia." Deciding that he should probably move from the very edge of the balcony before he pisses off a very strong country – as if moving away would do any good, really – Canada pushes himself off the ground and stands to the right of Russia. A thought crosses his mind. "Hey, how d-did you even get in here?"

Russia peers over his shoulder at the entrance to the room. Behind the glass wall, one can clearly see a splintered hole in Canada's wooden door, large enough to fit a fist, and the doorknob hanging haphazardly on to a very loose nail.

Russia looks away as if the sight was normal and nothing was strange about the broken door. At all. He even has that innocuously evil smile on his lips, which sends a sharp shiver up Canada's spine.

He clears his throat, "So…How about that meeting earlier, eh?" Crap. Gosh darn it mother of maple-leaves-and-syrup-poured-over-Canadian-hockey-players, did he just say that? The nation beside him tilts his head, endless smile in place, and says a simple, "Why do you ask?"

Well, how is he supposed to answer that?

Side-stepping a little to put some distance between them, Canada begins to scratch his chin with an index finger, looking everywhere except at Russia – Russia, who is now staring at him and sending cold shrills down Canada's spine. Sure, he loves the cold, lives and breathes for it, but not this cold. Not the cold of winter nights in an icy wasteland covered in snow and bathed in fierce wind. Not the cold of normal, everyday Russia with happy people going about their daily routines; he can take that. But the personification of Russia has a whole other cold radiating from him and Canada isn't sure if he should run away now or later.

"Um," he says hesitantly, "Just asking, you know? Small talk…" That earns him a raised eyebrow.

"Well, since you're asking, I rather enjoyed the meeting today. It was very entertaining," Russia answers cheerily. The larger nation nods his head once, closing his eyes and smiling sweetly. He looks fairly happy then, and Canada can't help but give his own small, appreciative smile.

Until Russia opens his mouth.

In that same, mockingly sweet tone and nostalgic aura, Russia's childlike voice pierces the air and leaves it dry. "Entertaining, da? My friend, would you like to know what would have made the meeting even better?"

Canada flinches hard and takes another step away from Russia, reluctant to urge him on but he knows that resistance is futile. "Wh-what?" he asks.

"If America was on the table when I fell, that would have been splendid," Russia chuckles, "I would have crushed him. Every bone would have snapped and he'd be in the hospital for a while. Well, not for too long, because he will heal decently fast." He furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully and leans against the balcony rail on his elbows, eyes shining in the light of lampposts. A sigh breaks through the silence and he smiles. Russia turns to Canada with a bright glint in his eye, saying, "In that case, I'll just have to break his bones often, da?"

Canada's skin pales and he rushes to lean over the rail, gagging. "I think I'm going to be sick."

A hand slaps against his back painfully, and Canada yelps as Russia flips him around so that they're facing each other. With a very intense and serious expression, Russia lightly offers, "Become one with me, comrade, and we can get rid of America together."

"What?! N-no! He's like my brother!" Canada rejects and wiggles against Russia's hold on his arms. His eyes widen in panic. "Oh god.. L-let go of me, R-Russia. This isn't funny."

"But I'm seriously asking," Russia says, "Well, okay, we don't have to destroy America… yet," he adds. "How about you just become one? Our land is nearby anyway. It's reasonable."

Canada vehemently shakes his head. "No!"

Russia's expression turns earnest. "I'll give you plenty of maple syrup, sweaters, hockey games, and we can make pancakes together. That's fun, right?" He gives Canada a little shake, "I even have cuddly bears willing to play with your Kumajiro."

"No, Russ-"Canada raises an eyebrow. "You'd do that for Kumatatchi?"

The nation nods. "Of course."

…

"Eh, he has enough 'friends' in me. Sorry, but I have to decline," Canada nervously says, to which Russia just shrugs, drops him, and walks off… after kicking his hotel room door down. Honestly, Canada can't say that he's surprised, but for some reason neither can he shake the feeling that Russia isn't done with him yet.

Despite not having a front door to his room (only a cot strewn in the place that should be accommodate a door), Canada is happy. The night is clear with only a few dazzling stars illuminating the sky, and he's gotten over his suspicion of a creepy Russian menace attacking him.

Stepping out of the shower, he drapes a long blue towel loosely around his waist and ties it at his hip. The air hits him refreshingly, a nice contrast from hot to cool, as he brushes his teeth and then towel dries his hair with much abandon. He's still rummaging the towel around his scalp when he walks out of the bathroom.

It was a nice choice to stay in a room by himself – not that anyone would have knowingly shared with him, but still. The freedom felt unparalleled, being able to walk around aimlessly, except when near the half blocked 'door', and do what he pleases.

Tonight, he is going to sleep like a king.

Walking into the bedroom, Canada doesn't bother to glance around before he unwrap the towel and steps into his favorite pair of camouflage boxers, crawls into bed, and rests his head on a pillow. He throws his arm around another, larger and firmer pillow. Canada frowns. Is his pillow…breathing?

The blood in his veins run cold.

"Goodnight, comrade."

"Dude! This game's quality is legit," America exclaims, leaning forward on his knees and narrowing his eyes at the screen, thumbs moving a mile a minute as he maneuvers his character through a crowd of zombies. "Didn't know they added screams on Zombies," he comments.

Japan, who is hanging off his bed a few inches from America's head, raises an eyebrow. "They didn't. The scream must not have come from the game." Shuffling back a bit a prop himself up by his arms, he looks around the room questionably. "So you heard it too?"

Successfully pulling off a headshot at the last second, America bounces excitedly. "Yeah man," he says.

"Hm," Japan hums, "How strange. I wonder if the other countries are okay…"

"Oh yeah, they're fine. Don't worry about-" A zombie grabs America's character and he shoots it just before it bit, "OH! Did you see that Japan? Wish I could do that to Russia! Hahahahaha!"

So! It's been absolutely forever since I've updated this. Much apologies - but enough with that. Let me know what you thought and I'll see you guys next update~ Hope you enjoyed