A/N: Ja, I are very aware that I haven't done anything with this story for like six months. Sorry about that. I'm writing this story in a journal outside of the computer as well and it slowly found its way to the back of my closet. It was just a mixture of writer's block and "I really don't wanna write this right now... sleep... bed..." feelings. Anyway, you guys probably want to read the story by now so I'll go away.

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America's pov:

America walked into his room, closing the door behind him before flopping down on his bed.

Tonight had been a disaster. He'd been surprised at the request in the first place but still...

America groaned and flipped onto his side. He and Russia hadn't been able to find a music they both liked, hadn't been able to establish a common rhythm, and America couldn't help but feel as though he'd been dictating Russia's every move.

But what could you expect when America gives Russia dancing lessons?

It was only modern dancing, of course. Russia was actually really good at the more traditional ones, which was good because those were actually America's weak point. Russia had promised to help America out with those later.

No one knew about these lessons for two reasons:

a) They had just begun two days after America arrived at Russia's place

b) It was a guarantee that if either of them blabbed, the other would slit their throat all over the nice carpeting

America sat up and looked at the clock.

Two in the morning. Fantastic.

He and the commie were gonna die tomorrow.

America gave up and closed his eyes, falling into a rather interesting nightmare in which he and Russia had to dance in front of a room full of multiple Prussias, Frances, and Englands. Soon, Prussia and France disappeared, leaving only England, who for some reason kept looking at him sadly.

"I thought you wanted to dance with me?" dream England asked.

But every time America tried to answer him, the music would turn up and England couldn't hear him.

And then of course, at some point in the dream, Mexico showed up in a straight-jacket made out of pink highlighters and pot leaves. He kept chasing him, screaming, "You should join me, hermano! Asylums are really fun! And Taco Bell is not authentic Mexican food!" The sleeves of America's t-shirt lengthened, fastening behind him. He lost his balance and fell, Mexico's laugh echoing behind him as all the walls around him turned white. "See hermano, I told you it was fun!"

America woke in a cold sweat.

What a weird dream...

Taco Bell was totally authentic Mexican food!

No more hamburgers before bed.

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Latvia's pov:

"Latvia? Latvia?"

The small nation sat up quickly, almost banging his head on the headboard.

"Are you okay?" Estonia asked.

Latvia glared at him. "I was sleeping." He looked at the clock. "And it's six a.m.! You're insane!" He pulled the covers back over his head.

"Not as insane as you," Estonia mumbled.

"What was that?" Latvia asked lightly.

"Um, nothing."

"Why are you in my room, Estonia?"

"I..uh- Latvia what did you think of America? Have you met him yet?"

Latvia slowly pulled down the covers. "He seemed fine. A little awkward but fine. Estonia, where are you going with this? What does America have to do with you waking me up at ungodly hours?"

"Everything. Believe me. Everything."

Latvia stared at him. "Spill."

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Russia's pov:

Russia painfully got out of bed and got dressed, replaying last night in his head.

Horrible.

Humiliating.

Those were the only two word to describe it.

He and America should really forget about wars. If they wanted to cause their opponents pain, all they had to do was tag-team it and give them dancing lessons. Said opponents would probably die in ten minutes.

Still...

Russia would much rather have America teaching him than any of the Baltics or his sisters. The Baltics wouldn't tell him if he was making mistakes and his sisters-

It was better with America.

The stupid little blue-eyed capitalist definitely wasn't afraid to point out his mistakes, that's for sure. They must've run through those drills a billion times. Who'd ever think America's inner army sargent would come out while doing the bunny hop?

It didn't matter though. Russia would be able to pay him back when he taught him to waltz later on.

Russia adjusted his scarf and walked downstairs. Estonia was already at the table, writing something. He looked up, startled by Russia's entrance.

"R-Russia sir! I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up so early! Would you like me to make breakfast?"

"Hmm, no it's fine, Estonia. I was actually thinking of making breakfast today."

Estonia blinked. "Oh. O-okay then. Thanks."

Russia began to answer before a tired voice cut him off.

"You're gonna make breakfast, huh? Remind me to check it for poison."

"A-America!" Estonia looked, if possible, even more startled than when Russia came in. "Yo-you're up early, too?"

"Yeah," America laughed. "I actually didn't get much sleep last night."

Russia nodded. "I also did not sleep much."

Estonia stiffened, his eyes widening. For some odd reason, a blush started creeping up his cheeks. "R-really. Both of you?"

America lied. "Politics. We had to do that crap all night. Not. Fun."

Russia looked over at him, slightly amused, "They can be fun sometimes, comrade."

The tall blond snorted. "I guess so," He looked him in the eye. "Last night wasn't that bad."

It was the American's coded message to the Russian. You danced fine, relax. Russia smirked and looked back at Estonia.

Why was he shaking?

Why was he blood-red?

Why did he keep looking back and forth between him and America?

Apparently, America noticed, too. "Estonia, what's up? You look like hell."

Estonia opened and closed his mouth for a second, finally finding his voice. "It's n-nothing! I-I-I'm fine! I am. I sw-swear!" He looked more like he was convincing himself than the other two.

From the looks of things, it wasn't working.

"Are.. are you sick or something Estonia?" America's voice was concerned. He took a step towards him but stopped when Estonia almost leapt back into the wall.

Russia thought America looked hurt.

Estonia must have thought so too. He scrambled to cover up his mistake.

"Ah-no! I mean yes! Yes, I'm not sick! O-or maybe I am? Sorry America. Sorry Russia. I'm a little out of it right now."

"We noticed," both America and Russia said this at the same time. Estonia looked like he was about to faint.

"Are you sure you are not ill, Estonia?" Russia asked. "If you need it, you can take the day off."

Estonia shook his head quickly. "No really! I'm fine."

Russia didn't believe him. "Well then at least take the morning off. You look like you need more sleep. As I said, I'll make breakfast. If you are that ill I can even take it up to you if you would li- What is it, America?" The last part came out a bit darker than he meant it, but the capitalist had been staring at him since almost the second he started talking.

"You," America sounded ready to set the Russian on fire.

"What about me?"

"You.. are supposed to be an asshole."

Russia's brain shut down for a second. Is this what America thought of him? He couldn't understand why he'd.. What'd it.. What?

"H-huh?"

"You're an evil asshole."

"America.. I don't.. qu-quite understa-"

"You're an evil, disgusting communist. You're system is jacked, but you push it on people anyway. You hurt people just for fun. You're not supposed to be nice. Why are you acting nice right now? You're evil."

Russia hesitated. What did America mean? He wasn't evil was he? Did he hurt people? No. He had always thought that that was what America did. Was this what capitalists thought of communists? It was an awful lot like what communists thought of capitalists. M-maybe neither one was-

He cut himself off at the thought. No. He was right. America was just trying to push his guilt onto him, that's all. Even so, that didn't stop his voice from wavering slightly when he answered the man's rant.

"I.. I am being nice because I want to be nice."

"Well stop with the charade."

"It is not a charade."

"Yeah, it is. It makes you seem nice."

"I was not aware of this.."

"No? Well it does."

Russia couldn't take this. He decided to turn the tables on him. "You think of me as nice?"

"I- no!"

"How very sweet of you, America."

"I said it makes you seem nice, commie."

"If I was nice would you become one?"

"Never. I'm my own country, dammit!"

"We could be our own country together.."

They had completely forgotten that Estonia was in the room and were about a millimeter away from each other.

Russia's eyes gleamed. "You will become one someday, comrade."

"Dream on." America snarled.

"I will dream," Russia's arm snaked out and grabbed America's wrist. He wasn't so much holding it as... massaging it? America turned a light pink. "I will dream of that and many other things. Like last night for instance. That could be considered special, da? You taught me how to do things I never would have known how to do."

The trapped man bypassed pink, turning a bright red. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger the Russian couldn't tell. "It wasn't traditional, smart-ass!"

"No, it wasn't, was it? That will come later on. Then I will be teaching you new things. I hope you are ready for them."

America gave him a twisted little smile. Russia had seen that smile before on the battlefield. What followed afterwards usually wasn't pretty. "I hope you're ready, Russia. I'm a fast learner. Even when I'm inexperienced, I'll always end up on top!"

A loud thump resounded throughout the room. The two nations turned to find its source.

Estonia had passed out on the floor.

A/N: Not too much I gotta say, but I'll leave you with this parting thought.

America always tops~~