When Alfred got out of the bathroom, finally, with hair freshly combed and a tie lose around his neck, Ivan was already waiting by the door, fiddling with the hem of his jacket mindlessly. A large, sleek black phone with in his other hand, casually opened to what Alfred assumed was either the man's emails or messages. Oh, please tell him that they weren't going to be late...

"We have five minutes," Ivan stated as if he had read the blond's mind. His amethyst eyes flicked up to meet Alfred's gaze almost stoically, not a hint of his usual cheerfulness in sight. What the heck...

"'Kay." America tossed him an unsure glance as he turned to the hallway mirror and fixed his tie. Russia merely stared at him, silently. Creepily. Alfred groaned internally. The silence was already too much to begin with, why did the freak have to make it worse with his absolutely lovely habits? "Is my phone still by the bed?" He asked. Kind of a dumb question, but the quiet was unnerving him. Besides, it wasn't like it wouldn't be there-

"Nyet," said the Russian, casually taking Alfred's phone and wallet out of one of his jacket pockets, "I have your room key too." The sunny blond wasn't sure if he should freak and complain to keep up appearances or just accept it and go because they were really friggin' late, holy guacamole.

"Thanks, man." The smaller nation took the items from Ivan's open palm and put them into his own pockets, shivering briefly at the other man's frigid touch. Why was he so cold!? How was he even alive!? Priorities, Alfred. The wheat blond turned to his fiancé, peering into the man's empty purple gaze. "Ready to go?"

"Da," Russia agreed tonelessly. Sheesh, what's his deal? America frowned at the ashen blond, doing a quick once-over of his appearance. Something seemed off somehow...

Well, for one, the dude's tie wasn't even on straight. And where was his scarf? Snorting quietly, Alfred casually reached up started to untie the slightly crumpled knot. He ignored Ivan's wide eyes as he muttered for the other man to lift his chin. There was hesitation, but the order was followed and the tie was deftly fixed.

"That's better," the blonde mumbled to himself, then looked up again in gentle inquiry. "Is it too tight?" As Alfred moved his hands from the man's bandaged neck to his broad shoulders, the Russian ducked his chin and shook his head. "Hm." Blue eyes trailed along the white strips rounding the other man's pale throat. "No scarf today?" There was a sort of foggy sheen over the taller man's gaze, making him appear dazed. Or...shocked maybe?

Well...good?

"Nyet." Cool fingers rose as America made to question his answer, closing gently over protesting lips. "Hush, dorogoy," Russia bade, a lightly strained smile curving over his face. A slight frown pinched the boy's brows together, azure gems beholding Ivan suspiciously. "We are needing to be going now, da?" The hand fell and opened the door, the other lightly guiding the smaller man through. Said hand lingered against the small of Alfred's back as they ventured downstairs, sending odd chills up and down his spine. But he did not fight the contact. Why? He wasn't so sure.

America gnawed at his lip delicately at his boss's deadpan expression as the duo entered the lobby. He felt Ivan's hand flex along his back, no doubt reflecting a similar feeling of sheepishness at the blank look on the Russian president's face. Shit, what was his name?

"You're late," Chase stated plainly. Alfred felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment and he coughed a meek, "Yeah," into his sleeve. The other human remained silent, opting instead make both nations intensely uncomfortable by staring at them disappointedly.

Talk about awkward…

"You don't eat syrup with your pancakes!?" Ivan raised a brow at the boy's incredulous tone. Did it matter?

"Nyet," he replied in a hushed tone, flicking his eyes across the table at their bosses, adding, "Be quieter." Alfred fumed at that, giving the two presidents a glance before turning back to his fiancé.

"Do you even like maple syrup?" He continued to question in a whisper. He had unconsciously leaned closer to other country, his chin nearly brushing the taller man's shoulder. Not that he noticed, America never was one to care much of personal space. Ivan, by contrast… The Russian chewed his food slowly, swallowing it even slower. He was not even touching the younger nation, and yet… Perhaps it was his imagination? Alfred could not be that warm, could he?

"I have never eaten it before," Ivan answered finally, eyeing the golden liquid drizzled over the wheat blond's food suspiciously. Alfred's mouth dropped open in a mixture of shock and horror.

"You've never had maple syrup!?" He cried in whispered outrage, "What, have you been living under a rock, or something?" He then started to babble too quickly for Ivan to follow as he turned to his plate to saw away at his pancakes with a small knife. Russia raised a pale brow, feeling faintly offended. Was that an American expression, or did Alfred truly believe that he lived under a rock? Americans made no sense…

"Open your mouth." Ivan flinched in surprise, his amethyst eyes locking onto a small stack of golden squares dripping with whipped cream and syrup. A fat blueberry was speared on the end, somehow managing to hold it all together. Warmth spread across the crest of his cheeks as the Russian hesitated and slowly opened his mouth, allowing Alfred to place the sweet confection inside. The boy's eyes seemed to sparkle as he gazed at his fiancé hopefully, watching the older man chew and swallow with interest. His gaze brightened further as Ivan's tongue darted out to catch the drop of syrup clinging to his lip.

"Well?" The smaller nation pressed, "D'you like it?" Russia nodded shyly, trying and failing to inconspicuously hide his blush behind a white gloved hand. That was...adorable. America felt his own face flame at the thought, and a smile tugged irresistibly at his lips. He couldn't help himself. Grinning now, he raised his other hand and lightly pinched the taller man's uncovered cheek, laughing fondly, "I'm glad. Cutie."

The American missed Russia's mortified appearance as he turned back to his pancakes, gloriously ignorant of the deadpan expressions fixed onto the faces of their bosses. Meanwhile, Ivan sat blank faced once more as his troublesome emotions wreaked havoc on his poor brain. He felt jittery, his limbs shaking and quivering where he sat. He was much too hot, his tainted cheek burning, the fire spreading leisurely across his skin. He could still feel the imprint of Alfred's fingers, the affectionate prick of pain where he had been pinched. The Russian's soft features were nearing a hue of scarlet when he finally licked his lips and nudged his plate away. He buried his face into his hands and scarf, adamant about staying like that for the rest of the day.

Alfred continued on, scarfing down his pancakes and even pilfering a piece of Russia's untouched French toast from his plate. As he munched away, America regarded the other's slumped over form silently.

What's his deal? Is he sick?

Alfred glanced down at the toast, swallowing uncomfortably.

Or was his toast...poisoned?

…

Eh, whatever. No biggie.

The American shrugged to himself and continued to eat, happily polishing off his enormous meal in mere seconds. The two presidents looked on in a mixture of unease and wonder before turning back to their conversation as if nothing had even transpired.