Narrator:
Alfred's heart raced with every inch he moved closer to the lumbering man. It thundered deep inside of him, like the foreboding drums of war telling of the enemy rushing toward you, armed and ready for death. And with each step, this enemy did seem to rush all too quickly toward him and before he had even fully committed himself to speaking with the man, he was standing next to him smelling the alcohol from his labored breaths. He walked beside him for a couple moments, unsteady and nervous, legs twitching and ready to run. His body was hot and cold at once and he was sweaty and clammy. The eyes of the world had no effect on America as compared to a sideways glace from this drunken Russian. His inner monologue whirled noisily, fast and cluttered but without anything significant to prove it. He walked silently, until Russia's drastically slowed reactions finally caught up.
"Ahhhh, Добрый вечер, Amerika," the Russian slurred.
"Hello, Russia." Russia staggered awkwardly forward as if he was wearing only one very high heel. America looked around hoping to find something besides this ridiculous man to focus on, but his efforts were in vain. He had focused on nothing else for months. America scanned the streets curiously.
"What are you doing out here, Russia?"
"Ahh, it is, errr… how do you say… interesting story, yes? I was drinking at bar when suddenly, I was here… heading somewhere…" America couldn't help but cringe at the Russian's slurring of broken English. He was inebriated to the point that his own language was becoming quite a challenge, let alone another nation's.
"Where were you headed?" Russia stopped and looked at America seriously, with a startling sobriety. He watched him for a moment and then turned away drunkenly again, stepping off of the sidewalk and then stumbling back on, each step taking absolute and utter concentration.
"Tha's a good question, Amerika. A veerry good question," he looked around, mildly suspicious.
"God, where is Toris? This is usually his department," America muttered. "Where's your hotel?" Russia stopped again, his hand caressing his chin in deep thought.
"It used to be that way," he threw his hand arbitrarily to his left, "but now, I'm not so sure…"
Well, that settles it with a nice little bow, now doesn't it. "Alright, well, my hotel's only another block away, we'll go there and sober you up a bit."
"Your hotel…" Russia mumbled, thinking to himself. "I think I was headed there…"
"To my hotel? Why?" Russia ignored the question and focused his efforts on walking while he pulled a flask out from his coat. America caught to movement in his peripheral vision and snatched the container from the Russian's lips. Russia looked startled.
"That is mine, Amerika."
"Yes, it is Russia. But I'm not going to deal with you any drunker than you already are." Russia glared defiantly, dark purple eyes gleaming with malice before shifting instantly to a disturbingly childish smile.
"I will have it back from you." He promised, and America sighed. America, despite his own slightly inebriated state, decided that a heavy drink from the flask was absolutely necessary given the situation. He drank heavily and pulled the flask away from his mouth with a slightly satisfied sigh, as he twisted the cap back on and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. His hotel had just come in to sight and he was anxious to have the Russian in his apartment and sobered as quickly as he could; just being near the man set him in a vicious whirlpool of emotions. He guided the large man as best as he could past the lobby, avoiding the curious and patronizing stares. They rode the elevator in silence to the third floor where America pulled his keycard from his wallet and opened the electronic lock. He opened the door with a twist and pushed it open completely, allowing the other man to shuffle-step his way through.
America pointed to the hotel bed. "Sit." Russia smiled threateningly, but complied. With repeated glances to assure that the Russian had not moved, America made a pot of complimentary instant coffee and poured it in to two Styrofoam cups. He handed one to the Russian and fell unceremoniously in to the sitting position on the bed beside him.
"Drink." Russia watched the liquid for a moment before turning to America.
"If I may have a little bit from my flask…" The other sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently.
"Now. Please." Russia complied with a pout, grimacing as he swallowed the unwanted substance the hotel claimed was 'coffee'. They drank silently for a moment, sobering only slightly.
"Why are you here, Russia?" He stared blankly.
"…if I remember correctly, you brought me here…"
"Yes. No, I mean, where were you going at this hour as drunk as you are?"
"I am not drunk." America let it drop with another deep sigh.
"Alright." They fell silent again, focusing on their drinks.
"….Hey, Russia?"
"Mmm?"
"Why did you kiss me?" He mumbled stupidly. "I mean… You knew I hated you, and yet you still…" Russia just smiled in response.
"Hated," he stared at his lap with his smile. He turned to Alfred and repeated himself, "Hated." America's heart beat sporadically in his chest, stopping for a moment and then fluttering. He looked down at his lap as well.
"Hated?" He asked his thighs. Yes, hated, they replied.