How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (2/?)
anonymous
August 7 2009, 06:02:23 UTC
Russia watched the American across the table blow unto the hot bowl of Borsch, with his elbow on table, head resting in his hands, eyes searching the situation for information, deciding how he’d change his plans, which ideas to trash or recycle.
America hesitantly took a bite of the mystery dish, praying to whatever deity was listening that this wasn’t all part of Russia’s plan to poison him. The stew instantly warmed his bones and the flavoring was strong and tangy. He nodded a little in between chewing the meat, and felt the Russian’s eyes on him.
America thought it looked like Russia might have been seeking his approval. As strange as the American felt in this new situation, after swallowing and going back for more he made sure to say “It’s pretty good. Bet you guys eat a lot of this up here, huh? Keeps you warm.”
He let a small smile out from behind his spoon, and America knew he wasn’t the best at reading people but he was pretty sure Russia’s expression was genuine. His eyes lit up, their shade of violet becoming softer, as their harsh shadows disappeared blending into his pupils.
America suddenly blushed a little as Ivan caught his intense gaze and Russia’s answering smile made his stomach do tiny flip flops.
“If you wish, I will teach you how to make it one day.” Russia spooned more into America’s almost empty bowl, smiling his dimpled smile and watched Alfred eat.
America was a little confused at the moment, trying to muster his righteous anger of before but finding that his heart wasn’t in it. Ivan was like a 1000 piece puzzle and each time Alfred experienced another faucet of the Russian’s character he felt like he was further away from putting the puzzle together than before.
As he finished what seemed like his fifth bowl, America dropped his spoon, pushing his chair back to relax, a content sigh escaping his lips. Russia’s adoring gaze set him on edge, and he didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to say now, fumbling for words wasn’t usually his thing.
“Russia, I’m sorry I hit you earlier...” he managed to stammer out, scratching his neck nervously, feeling himself flush red from the roots of his hair to his neck.
“It is fine. It was just a missunderstanding. We must forgive and forget, yes?” Ivan chirped back, and continued on, “If it pleases you, I feel that in addition to our talks of nuclear proliferation and cooperation proposed by your wonderful boss, our two countries should openly share cultures and…” Ivan trailed off at the confused look on Alfred’s face, and decided to be as obvious as possible.
“Would you like to get together sometime? Outside of business?” Ivan hoped he didn’t seem as hopeful as he felt, he needed to be prepared to deal with rejection. Russians were famed for their patience, and if America seemed unresponsive, there was always tomorrow, always another chance to woo him.
Alfred, feeling very full and warm, fighting off the urge to doze happily, tried to understand Ivan’s question and when he finally processed it, he flushed again. It has to be a misunderstanding, or I must be going crazy. The borsht made me crazy! Maybe that was his plan all along!
As much as his tired muscles protested, America stood abruptly, looking at Ivan apologetically, feelings that he didn’t understand expanding and growing inside his chest.
“Yeah, sure Ivan. Maybe sometime soon. I have to go. Thanks for dinner.” America looked down at the floor, anywhere but Russia’s eyes.
Ivan sat at the table until he felt the drift of frigid air from outside enter from the closing door. He wordlessly picked up the bowls, bringing them to the sink, and pouring himself a cup of the lukewarm tea.
How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (3/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 09:15:09 UTC
~
On normal weekdays, Matthew Williams liked to come home after work in his boss’s office, loosen his tie, grab a Molson’s and relax. Maybe watch hockey reruns, not because he hadn’t already seen them of course, but because it was comfortable, like a well worn blanket or a favorite suede jacket you always wore.
Maybe order some takeout, pot stickers and sesame chicken. Or whip up some pancakes drizzled with the ultimate confectionary topping, maple syrup.
Canada’s stomach growled in response to that train of thought as he struggled with the front door, juggling his briefcase, his dirty coffee mug from this morning and his keys in a pretty good imitation of a Cirque du Solei clown.
At last he managed to budge open the door, the familiar air of his house rushing out through the crack and around him as he shook the remnants of snow off of his hair and stepped into the hallway.
Like always, the soft click-clack of claws on the wood floor became steadily louder as Kumajiro sleepily crawled from the living room to greet his owner.
“Hey there, buddy. Had a good day?” Matthew questioned the seemingly unaware bear as he plopped to the ground near his feet, reaching out and snuggling his trouser leg. He set his briefcase and cup down by the hall closet, and scooped the groggy bear into his arms, cold fingers finding warmth in the bear’s multilayered white fur.
Canada let out a weary sigh and snuggled his nose deeper into Kuma’s fur as he walked into the living room, noticing the blinking red light of his answering machine flashing urgently.
Despite his overwhelming desire to collapse on the couch, Matt pushed the button.
The grating robotic voice explained that he had two new messages.
“Matt, hey it’s your big brother and awesome hero Al. Something really weird happened to me today. I went over to the Russki’s house to kick his ass for spying on me with his commie subs and stuff, and he made me eat with him! The nerve of the guy, right? I know, it was weird already but then he looked at me all gushy and stuff. I almost threw up it was so disgusting. His face, I mean. Not the food. Anyway, Call me. Peace.”
The machine beeped and Canada listened in with fond amusement as it transferred him to his next message.
“Privet, Matvey. This is Russia calling. I hope you are doing well and are in good spirits. If you are not busy I would be pleased to hear from you. I have a few things I wanted to discuss with you, because I am unpracticed in such things as appeasing your brother and have need of some advice. I will meet with you at length to discuss my intentions if you require, as I would feel better speaking face to face about such matters. I trust you will promptly call. I’ll be waiting.”
As the robot woman ended the play back, Matthew could only gape at the machine as if it would somehow explain to him what alternate reality he was now in and how to get back to the one where Ivan didn't put out an effort to make Alfred like him.
Kumajiro stirred in his arms and turned slightly, facing Canada to mumble nonchalantly,
How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (4/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 09:17:02 UTC
“So what’s this all about, eh?” Canada’s kind eyes sparkle with mischief and amusement, as he ushers Russia into the house.
Ivan is immediately greeted by the smell of pancakes on the griddle and the low buzz of the morning weather report as he takes in Matthew’s cozy residence.
Russia always did like the other northern Nation, it was to be expected. He had many commendable qualities (like promptly returning phone calls) and his work ethic was to be admired. Not to mention his overall sweet demeanor that won over most countries (when they could remember the name of the “nice young man” they were talking to).
But now, as he was openly welcomed into Canada’s home, Russia felt almost out of place among the hockey magazines scattered on the coffee table, hiking equipment leaning up against the wall, and the heaping stack of hot cakes waiting for him on the wooden dining table. The giant windows allowed the sunlight to stream in all along the eastern wall where a mini polar bear sat sleeping in the rays of warmth.
He twists his scarf in his fingers awkwardly while Canada vaguely gestures towards the kitchen,
“I hope you’ll eat some pancakes, I made two extra stacks. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water is fine, and I would like that. They look delicious.”
They made their way to the breakfast nook, and Ivan sat down and grabbed the fork and attentively poked at the steaming cakes on his plate.
“Syrup’s right here; feel free to pile on as much as you like.”
Canada nurses his coffee and regards Russia with curiosity and a touch of concern as he looked on while the other chews smiling and nodding his head in appreciation and acknowledgement to the host.
Once he is finished and the conversation can’t be delayed any longer, he sets his knife and fork down, licking his lips to remove all traces of syrup.
“Thank you my friend, these were very tasty indeed. Does America like pancakes as well?”
Canada snorts a laugh, “Are you kidding? He adores the things. When he comes over I like to put chocolate chips in them, his favorite, and he ends up eating enough to feed a whole crew of lumberjacks!”
Russia grins as he pictures an exasperated Canada leaning over a hot pan making stack upon stack of chocolate pancakes while America bounces behind him in excitement, looking over his shoulder and swooping in, trying to steal the pancake batter.
Canada stares at him for a few seconds, noticing the Russian’s expression, complete with fondness brimming in his eyes before Canada’s own eyes widen perceptively(comically).
“Oh my god, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?!?!”
How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (5/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 09:19:20 UTC
I apologize for forgetting to mention indicate the time gap between 3 and 4. 4 is the next morning when Russia comes over to talk. 3 was the night before. Sorry for any confusion ~
Russia is startled out of his thoughts, blanching instantly as everything he wanted to say, was going to say , feels torn out of his throat.
“Da.” He manages to squeak out in shock, mouth twitching in a hysterical smile at his Canadian friend’s ability to see right through him, like a glass windowpane.
They stare incredulously at one another for a few more seconds, and then Russia’s expression softens in a sheepish flush.
“You see…” Russia starts off shaky, and then is able to continue, staving off the fear of possible rejection or scorn from the polite nation across from him. He is soothed by Canada’s even temperament and he knows that the other man will hear him out.
“He infuriates me to no end. It’s no secret our views differ. He is the only one who draws such strong emotions from me, and when I am with him I can feel my heart beating again. Like a small warm flame is in my chest and it skips and burns and reminds me that I am still alive, that I am not the cold unfeeling monster so many believe me to be. I believed them for the longest time. I thought my heart had died long ago with my last czar, now I know I was wrong.”
Russia gazes to the Canadian, who looks back with a small smile, and reaches across the table to touch his hand supportively before urging him to continue.
“When the Cold War was over, when the Berlin Wall fell and people streamed unto the other side, laughing and hugging and crying, I saw him. And he smiled at me. I think that was the first time since 1905 my heart thumped in my chest.
The same man who had threatened to kill me for decades, my ‘enemy’ helped me after the collapse of my family and my Union; he took my hand and told me he was going to be my hero. I didn’t understand why until I truly saw his soul for what it is. And for who Alfred is.”
Russia finishes and clears his throat, as Canada silently gets up and takes his plate, utensils and glass to the sink before washing it methodically. He gives the other time to think and process as he leans back in the creaking seat, and watches the other clean the dishes.
“That’s good enough for me, man, good enough for me.” Matthew mumbles as he cleans dishes, cheeks flushed in embarrassment from the “love bomb” the Russian had just dropped in his kitchen.
Canada wipes his hands on the dish towel, and blows his bangs out of his face, turning back to the table and his guest.
“I believe you. Every word. And I’m happy for you, Ivan. Alfred is a handful, but he’s worth it. He may talk tough but I know he still remembers when you were the only country that would give him the time of day back in the 1800’s. What you told me, tell him. Be truthful with him. That’s all the advice you’ll need, really.”
Russia gets up from the table and hugs the Canadian tightly to his chest.
“Thank you for listening. But most of all, thank you for seeing me. As who I am and not what I have done. Not many are able to do that. You are a special one, Matthew.”
Canada rubs his back soothingly and answers “Of course, Ivan. Any time.”
Re: How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (5/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 12:09:30 UTC
OMG this fic is made of fluffy clouds and soft rainbows and awwwwwwwwwwww~~~~~~ I love it! Russia is incredibly cute here, America is even cute,r if possible, and Matt's adorbale (his embarrassment, lol). I hope Russia succeeds like a pro and they have hot loving sex ^^ but I hope Russia needs more time to really make America understand, because we all know how weird Russia is and how thick America can beXD
Author!Anon
anonymous
August 24 2010, 04:28:16 UTC
Yes, do not worry anon. I plan on lots of weirdness and America embarrassment before they both wise up to what the other wants. So no rushing into sex.
This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've written so I'm new to this but I'm going to draw it out for 10 days.
How to Court a Nation in Ten Days (6/?)
anonymous
October 28 2010, 04:48:57 UTC
Author!Anon apologizes for the delay ~ Day Two ~ AWE, GEEZ. No, No, Becky don't go in that door, AWE NOO...Tony I can't look, tell me when it's over"
The little green alien looked over at his friend with amusement as the nameless cliché horror movie played on, despite the pajama clad American's protest.
Tony continued his careful dusting of the bookshelf, working around various knick-knacks and pictures. He miraculously managed not to break anything when America suddenly let out a high pitched shriek at the killer's entrance on screen.
He calmly blinked and continued his fevered cleaning of the furniture. If Alfred wasn't going to be productive today, he'd have to double his input in order to keep the house running at an optimum efficiency level.
Fucking humans, pu pu. ~
Russia was in a very good mood today. Not only did he get the Canadian's permission to officially pursue America (because that was the honorable thing to do), but he also had procured a box of Alfred's favorite treats and was bringing them to his beloved's home in the suburbs of D.C.
As he, exited the cab, he hefted the box containing the delicious pastries into his arms and walked up the pristine sidewalk. America's yard was well manicured and had a small garden in the front, with many brightly colored flowers. Two English rose bushes framed the doorway and Russia fleetingly wondered if they were a gift from the bushy eyed nation himself.
Stepping onto the welcome mat, he steeled his nerves and softly pushed the doorbell.
A pleasant chime resounded throughout the house, and the styled glass of the door allowed him to make out a small green shape approaching him.
America hesitantly took a bite of the mystery dish, praying to whatever deity was listening that this wasn’t all part of Russia’s plan to poison him. The stew instantly warmed his bones and the flavoring was strong and tangy. He nodded a little in between chewing the meat, and felt the Russian’s eyes on him.
America thought it looked like Russia might have been seeking his approval. As strange as the American felt in this new situation, after swallowing and going back for more he made sure to say “It’s pretty good. Bet you guys eat a lot of this up here, huh? Keeps you warm.”
He let a small smile out from behind his spoon, and America knew he wasn’t the best at reading people but he was pretty sure Russia’s expression was genuine. His eyes lit up, their shade of violet becoming softer, as their harsh shadows disappeared blending into his pupils.
America suddenly blushed a little as Ivan caught his intense gaze and Russia’s answering smile made his stomach do tiny flip flops.
“If you wish, I will teach you how to make it one day.” Russia spooned more into America’s almost empty bowl, smiling his dimpled smile and watched Alfred eat.
America was a little confused at the moment, trying to muster his righteous anger of before but finding that his heart wasn’t in it. Ivan was like a 1000 piece puzzle and each time Alfred experienced another faucet of the Russian’s character he felt like he was further away from putting the puzzle together than before.
As he finished what seemed like his fifth bowl, America dropped his spoon, pushing his chair back to relax, a content sigh escaping his lips. Russia’s adoring gaze set him on edge, and he didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to say now, fumbling for words wasn’t usually his thing.
“Russia, I’m sorry I hit you earlier...” he managed to stammer out, scratching his neck nervously, feeling himself flush red from the roots of his hair to his neck.
“It is fine. It was just a missunderstanding. We must forgive and forget, yes?” Ivan chirped back, and continued on, “If it pleases you, I feel that in addition to our talks of nuclear proliferation and cooperation proposed by your wonderful boss, our two countries should openly share cultures and…” Ivan trailed off at the confused look on Alfred’s face, and decided to be as obvious as possible.
“Would you like to get together sometime? Outside of business?” Ivan hoped he didn’t seem as hopeful as he felt, he needed to be prepared to deal with rejection. Russians were famed for their patience, and if America seemed unresponsive, there was always tomorrow, always another chance to woo him.
Alfred, feeling very full and warm, fighting off the urge to doze happily, tried to understand Ivan’s question and when he finally processed it, he flushed again. It has to be a misunderstanding, or I must be going crazy. The borsht made me crazy! Maybe that was his plan all along!
As much as his tired muscles protested, America stood abruptly, looking at Ivan apologetically, feelings that he didn’t understand expanding and growing inside his chest.
“Yeah, sure Ivan. Maybe sometime soon. I have to go. Thanks for dinner.” America looked down at the floor, anywhere but Russia’s eyes.
Ivan sat at the table until he felt the drift of frigid air from outside enter from the closing door. He wordlessly picked up the bowls, bringing them to the sink, and pouring himself a cup of the lukewarm tea.
He’d have a little vodka in his tea tonight.
Tomorrow he’d try again.
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Thanks I'm glad somebody filled this!
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Was he hoping that the food would make him sleepy and stay at his home? Start move but his will, It is strong.
Please continue soon anon! I'll love to read more and see what happens next.
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I ALREADY HAVE LIKE FOUR INCOMPLETE STORIES OPEN IN CAMINO.
WHY MUST YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO WONDERFUL THAT I HAVE TO ADD ANOTHER TAB?
Also, this is adorable! Please continue!
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Omg, I loved this line soooo much. Please continue this!! ;w;
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Please continue soon! *refreshes like mad*
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On normal weekdays, Matthew Williams liked to come home after work in his boss’s office, loosen his tie, grab a Molson’s and relax. Maybe watch hockey reruns, not because he hadn’t already seen them of course, but because it was comfortable, like a well worn blanket or a favorite suede jacket you always wore.
Maybe order some takeout, pot stickers and sesame chicken. Or whip up some pancakes drizzled with the ultimate confectionary topping, maple syrup.
Canada’s stomach growled in response to that train of thought as he struggled with the front door, juggling his briefcase, his dirty coffee mug from this morning and his keys in a pretty good imitation of a Cirque du Solei clown.
At last he managed to budge open the door, the familiar air of his house rushing out through the crack and around him as he shook the remnants of snow off of his hair and stepped into the hallway.
Like always, the soft click-clack of claws on the wood floor became steadily louder as Kumajiro sleepily crawled from the living room to greet his owner.
“Hey there, buddy. Had a good day?” Matthew questioned the seemingly unaware bear as he plopped to the ground near his feet, reaching out and snuggling his trouser leg. He set his briefcase and cup down by the hall closet, and scooped the groggy bear into his arms, cold fingers finding warmth in the bear’s multilayered white fur.
Canada let out a weary sigh and snuggled his nose deeper into Kuma’s fur as he walked into the living room, noticing the blinking red light of his answering machine flashing urgently.
Despite his overwhelming desire to collapse on the couch, Matt pushed the button.
The grating robotic voice explained that he had two new messages.
“Matt, hey it’s your big brother and awesome hero Al. Something really weird happened to me today. I went over to the Russki’s house to kick his ass for spying on me with his commie subs and stuff, and he made me eat with him! The nerve of the guy, right? I know, it was weird already but then he looked at me all gushy and stuff. I almost threw up it was so disgusting. His face, I mean. Not the food. Anyway, Call me. Peace.”
The machine beeped and Canada listened in with fond amusement as it transferred him to his next message.
“Privet, Matvey. This is Russia calling. I hope you are doing well and are in good spirits. If you are not busy I would be pleased to hear from you. I have a few things I wanted to discuss with you, because I am unpracticed in such things as appeasing your brother and have need of some advice. I will meet with you at length to discuss my intentions if you require, as I would feel better speaking face to face about such matters. I trust you will promptly call. I’ll be waiting.”
As the robot woman ended the play back, Matthew could only gape at the machine as if it would somehow explain to him what alternate reality he was now in and how to get back to the one where Ivan didn't put out an effort to make Alfred like him.
Kumajiro stirred in his arms and turned slightly, facing Canada to mumble nonchalantly,
“It’s really not that surprising, eh?”
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Ivan is immediately greeted by the smell of pancakes on the griddle and the low buzz of the morning weather report as he takes in Matthew’s cozy residence.
Russia always did like the other northern Nation, it was to be expected. He had many commendable qualities (like promptly returning phone calls) and his work ethic was to be admired. Not to mention his overall sweet demeanor that won over most countries (when they could remember the name of the “nice young man” they were talking to).
But now, as he was openly welcomed into Canada’s home, Russia felt almost out of place among the hockey magazines scattered on the coffee table, hiking equipment leaning up against the wall, and the heaping stack of hot cakes waiting for him on the wooden dining table. The giant windows allowed the sunlight to stream in all along the eastern wall where a mini polar bear sat sleeping in the rays of warmth.
He twists his scarf in his fingers awkwardly while Canada vaguely gestures towards the kitchen,
“I hope you’ll eat some pancakes, I made two extra stacks. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water is fine, and I would like that. They look delicious.”
They made their way to the breakfast nook, and Ivan sat down and grabbed the fork and attentively poked at the steaming cakes on his plate.
“Syrup’s right here; feel free to pile on as much as you like.”
Canada nurses his coffee and regards Russia with curiosity and a touch of concern as he looked on while the other chews smiling and nodding his head in appreciation and acknowledgement to the host.
Once he is finished and the conversation can’t be delayed any longer, he sets his knife and fork down, licking his lips to remove all traces of syrup.
“Thank you my friend, these were very tasty indeed. Does America like pancakes as well?”
Canada snorts a laugh, “Are you kidding? He adores the things. When he comes over I like to put chocolate chips in them, his favorite, and he ends up eating enough to feed a whole crew of lumberjacks!”
Russia grins as he pictures an exasperated Canada leaning over a hot pan making stack upon stack of chocolate pancakes while America bounces behind him in excitement, looking over his shoulder and swooping in, trying to steal the pancake batter.
Canada stares at him for a few seconds, noticing the Russian’s expression, complete with fondness brimming in his eyes before Canada’s own eyes widen perceptively(comically).
“Oh my god, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?!?!”
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~
Russia is startled out of his thoughts, blanching instantly as everything he wanted to say, was going to say , feels torn out of his throat.
“Da.” He manages to squeak out in shock, mouth twitching in a hysterical smile at his Canadian friend’s ability to see right through him, like a glass windowpane.
They stare incredulously at one another for a few more seconds, and then Russia’s expression softens in a sheepish flush.
“You see…” Russia starts off shaky, and then is able to continue, staving off the fear of possible rejection or scorn from the polite nation across from him. He is soothed by Canada’s even temperament and he knows that the other man will hear him out.
“He infuriates me to no end. It’s no secret our views differ. He is the only one who draws such strong emotions from me, and when I am with him I can feel my heart beating again. Like a small warm flame is in my chest and it skips and burns and reminds me that I am still alive, that I am not the cold unfeeling monster so many believe me to be. I believed them for the longest time. I thought my heart had died long ago with my last czar, now I know I was wrong.”
Russia gazes to the Canadian, who looks back with a small smile, and reaches across the table to touch his hand supportively before urging him to continue.
“When the Cold War was over, when the Berlin Wall fell and people streamed unto the other side, laughing and hugging and crying, I saw him. And he smiled at me. I think that was the first time since 1905 my heart thumped in my chest.
The same man who had threatened to kill me for decades, my ‘enemy’ helped me after the collapse of my family and my Union; he took my hand and told me he was going to be my hero. I didn’t understand why until I truly saw his soul for what it is. And for who Alfred is.”
Russia finishes and clears his throat, as Canada silently gets up and takes his plate, utensils and glass to the sink before washing it methodically. He gives the other time to think and process as he leans back in the creaking seat, and watches the other clean the dishes.
“That’s good enough for me, man, good enough for me.” Matthew mumbles as he cleans dishes, cheeks flushed in embarrassment from the “love bomb” the Russian had just dropped in his kitchen.
Canada wipes his hands on the dish towel, and blows his bangs out of his face, turning back to the table and his guest.
“I believe you. Every word. And I’m happy for you, Ivan. Alfred is a handful, but he’s worth it. He may talk tough but I know he still remembers when you were the only country that would give him the time of day back in the 1800’s. What you told me, tell him. Be truthful with him. That’s all the advice you’ll need, really.”
Russia gets up from the table and hugs the Canadian tightly to his chest.
“Thank you for listening. But most of all, thank you for seeing me. As who I am and not what I have done. Not many are able to do that. You are a special one, Matthew.”
Canada rubs his back soothingly and answers “Of course, Ivan. Any time.”
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I love it! Russia is incredibly cute here, America is even cute,r if possible, and Matt's adorbale (his embarrassment, lol). I hope Russia succeeds like a pro and they have hot loving sex ^^
but I hope Russia needs more time to really make America understand, because we all know how weird Russia is and how thick America can beXD
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So no rushing into sex.
This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've written so I'm new to this but I'm going to draw it out for 10 days.
So far we are on the morning of day 2.
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~
Day Two
~
AWE, GEEZ. No, No, Becky don't go in that door, AWE NOO...Tony I can't look, tell me when it's over"
The little green alien looked over at his friend with amusement as the nameless cliché horror movie played on, despite the pajama clad American's protest.
Tony continued his careful dusting of the bookshelf, working around various knick-knacks and pictures. He miraculously managed not to break anything when America suddenly let out a high pitched shriek at the killer's entrance on screen.
He calmly blinked and continued his fevered cleaning of the furniture. If Alfred wasn't going to be productive today, he'd have to double his input in order to keep the house running at an optimum efficiency level.
Fucking humans, pu pu.
~
Russia was in a very good mood today. Not only did he get the Canadian's permission to officially pursue America (because that was the honorable thing to do), but he also had procured a box of Alfred's favorite treats and was bringing them to his beloved's home in the suburbs of D.C.
As he, exited the cab, he hefted the box containing the delicious pastries into his arms and walked up the pristine sidewalk. America's yard was well manicured and had a small garden in the front, with many brightly colored flowers. Two English rose bushes framed the doorway and Russia fleetingly wondered if they were a gift from the bushy eyed nation himself.
Stepping onto the welcome mat, he steeled his nerves and softly pushed the doorbell.
A pleasant chime resounded throughout the house, and the styled glass of the door allowed him to make out a small green shape approaching him.
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