There are times when a performance is so engrossing that the audience is entirely captivated, unable to notice anything else around them, with the possible exception of someone shouting 'fire!' or a falling chandelier interrupting the production. This was not the case for Russia. It wasn't that the show was bad (it was neither the best nor the worst he had seen) but the occupant of the seat on his right kept elbowing him every five minutes and thoroughly breaking up his focus on the ballet.

"So how are you liking it so far?" America hissed in Russia's ear, after yet another sharp jab in the ribs about three fourths of the way through Act I. He had already asked this three times before.

"It is different," Russia whispered back, giving the same answer for the fourth time. "No more questions until intermission."

It was different. Roles had been swapped, parts of the story were changed, the costumes and style and everything was different, though often in ways that might not stand out to someone who hadn't seen as much ballet as him. It wasn't his Nutcracker. The dancers didn't flow like his, and there were little changes, different steps and positions that stuck out but...maybe that was the point. This wasn't his Nutcracker; it was America's.

Intermission wasn't entirely necessary for a ballet of that length, but it came anyway, lights glowing back to life as the audience shuffled and chattered.

"Well?" America asked expectantly, thankfully skipping on another elbow jab.

"Well what?"

"What do you think? You've seen some dancing, let's hear some judgment."

"I have said it several times before. It is different." America was still staring, waiting for more of an answer, so he tried to continue. "Not better or worse, is what I am trying to say. It is...yours. But your dancers are much less fluid than mine, and not all the changes are for the better. And the ballet is not finished yet, so-"

"But you're having fun so far?" America persisted. His expression was oddly concerned. "Da or nyet, which is it?"

"Da," Russia allowed. "Fun so far." And it had been, in it's own way. He had attended so many ballets on his own, sandwiched between strangers, which didn't matter when he was only there to watch the performance anyway, but...he didn't mind having someone to sit next to, even if the someone had a very sharp elbow.

The lights began to dim again and the audience fell obediently quiet again. More changes, more differences, which bothered Russia less and less the more he watched. America didn't jab him for quite some time, and he took a quick peek at the younger country out of the corner of his eye. America was watching intently, eyes locked on the stage. The light from the stage was reflecting off his glasses, and with a bit of difficulty, Russia turned his attention back the ballet as well. America was surprisingly well behaved for a while...until half-way through the Trepak, when he gave Russia yet another bruising elbow in the ribs.

"Hey Russia-"

"There are other ways to get my attention," Russia whispered sharply, but he was ignored.

"Hey, can you do that?" America pointed at the stage.

"Can I what? Dance?"

"Yeah! Like that! With all the jumping and kicking and stuff."

Russia paused, trying to judge whether or not America was teasing him. "I used to," he whispered at last, after deciding that he wasn't being laughed at. "I doubt I could do it very well now. Out of practice. I used to dance all the time, but times change."

"Wanna try later at home? I'll push back the couch, give you some room to show your moves." Now America was teasing, but Russia couldn't find it in him to be annoyed.

"I will probably trip."

"So what? You'll get a bruised ass and I'll have a good laugh- ow!" America yelped as Russia stomped on his toes, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. Fortunately, the music drowned him out. Russia braced himself, waiting for a retaliatory hit, but America just slapping his wrist lightly and whispered, "Behave yourself, asshole. We're at the ballet."

America returned his attention to the performance, but left his hand resting over Russia's wrist. Was he doing that on purpose? That slight weight and warmth of the younger country's hand made it almost impossible to concentrate, but Russia couldn't bring himself to pull away. After all, he had been to the ballet so many times in the past, but holding hands with someone, especially America, was a much rarer experience. Not that it was really holding hands, but if he pulled his hand back slightly it would be almost the same, close enough for his imagination to fill in all the gaps. But America might take his hand away if Russia moved, so he stayed very still and tried to pretend that it meant something, that they were holding hands together in the dark theater.

America's hand went away when the ballet ended and the lights came back on, just like Russia knew it would (so why was he disappointed when he saw this coming?)

"Okay, final judgment! Let's hear it," America said as they filtered out.

"Fun," Russia said firmly, letting a smile twitch up the corners of his mouth. "Different but fun. I prefer my own ballet, of course, but I...enjoyed tonight."

"Really? You aren't just saying that to be polite?"

"I do not often say things just to be polite."

"True!" America laughed, giving him a little punch on the arm. "Whew, I'm relieved! I was hoping you'd have a good time, but I was a little nervous, y'know?"

"You did not seem nervous," Russia said, frowning. What would America have to be nervous about?

"Ha, good to hear. Oh maaaan, look at that," America moaned, pointing out the window. "Still a blizzard!"

"I keep telling you, that is no blizzard."

"Don't care," America sang playfully, sticking his tongue out. "Well, since you're immune to the cold, except for when I dunk your heart in ice water-" Russia winced at the memory of physical discomfort and humiliation, "-how about we go for a walk?"

"I might be resistant to a little snowfall, but I did not think you were so hardy. You would not rather go straight home?"

"Nah. I can handle a little cold," America insisted, waving off Russia's concern. "And it's not bad if we walk close together, so...you want to?"

"Where would we go?" Russia asked, suddenly feeling fidgety under America's gaze.

"Central Park's not too far," America suggested. "Wanna go there for a bit? It looks nice in the snow."

"I-if that is what you want," Russia allowed, slipping his arm back around America's shoulders as they stepped outside. It wasn't a blizzard by any stretch of the imagination, but it was snowing harder than before. America threw an arm around Russia's back, pulling them so close that walking was almost difficult. There was too much noise outside for conversation, and Russia let America steer them towards the park in silence. The crowds dissipated as they drew closer, and by the time they reached the park they were practically alone. Still they continued deeper in, until America stopped them in front of a park bench.

"Pretty nice at night, isn't it?" he said proudly, looking back at the glowing city. "It's supposed to be kinda dangerous around here at night, but-"

"But surely the two of us can handle any criminals, da?"

"My thoughts exactly," America agreed as he dusted snow off the park bench and sat down, motioning for Russia to do the same. The wind had died down, taking a lot of the bite out of the low temperature. The park was so quiet at night too, oddly peaceful, even more so because snow had a way of making things seem soft and muffled. It wouldn't have been too bad to stay out there for a while, just sitting there together. Maybe America would even accidentally almost hold his hand again.

"Listen, can we talk?" America said suddenly. His eyes were straight ahead, staring out across the city and snow-filled air.

"Talk about what?"

"About...uh, last night."

It was lucky that America was staring off into the distance and not at Russia; it gave him a few seconds to compose his face and voice into something calm and unconcerned. "We can talk about last night, da. Sadly, I remember little. It was maybe a mistake to drink so much-"

"You didn't seem that drunk to me."

"But I must have been. I can only remember pieces of last night, and I had a terrible headache this morning."

"What do you remember?" America pressed.

"Just little things. Silly bits of drunken talk. Why? Did I...did I say something?"

America sighed heavily, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. You did."

"I-I...You understand that people sometimes say things they do not mean when they are drinking, da?" A note of panic was slipping into Russia's voice, and he stopped to swallow it back down.

"But sometimes they say the things they really do mean, too. Drunks can be awfully honest," America insisted, frowning off at nothing.

"They can be. They are not always. If I said something to offend you last night-"

"It wasn't...you didn't offend me. You just...you said something, and I wanted to know-"

"It was only talk," Russia pleaded, wishing it didn't sound like pleading. "W-whatever it was, I am sure I did not mean anything-"

"You do remember, don't you?" America cut in, and Russia almost choked on his own tongue. "You remember what you said. You wouldn't be so damn nervous if you didn't remember, right?"

Russia sagged forward limply. It would be futile to deny that he remembered at this point...but he could still insist that it meant nothing. He could still-

"Did you mean it?" America asked, turning to look at Russia before the larger country could order his thoughts. "Do you...do you love me? Seriously?"

Russia tried to get the words out, he really did, but his vocal cords refused to obey. "N-nyet," he finally managed, but he had hesitated too long. His silence had already answered the question.

"You're lying," America said softly, and there was something almost like wonder in his voice.

"I-I am sorry," Russia blurted out, standing up quickly. He hadn't drank anything more than two glasses of wine at dinner, but he suddenly felt drunk. The ground tipped dizzily under his feet, and he grabbed the back of the bench to regain his balance. "I am," he continued hoarsely. "I am so sorry I said that. Can...can you forget...can we pretend I never-"

America's hand came down heavily on his shoulder. Russia wanted to run, catch a cab, get to the nearest airport and fly back home, he could ask America to mail his things back later-...but that hand had him rooted to the spot. He couldn't move an inch, and he couldn't fight back at all when America pulled him back around to face him and grabbed his collar and pulled him down and...

...And suddenly America was kissing him. Russia had never been struck by lightning before, but he imagined it felt something like that; cold and shivery all over, but somehow burning, scalding, sending prickly goosebumps up and down his body. It probably ended as abruptly as lightning strike as well, because suddenly it was over...but America was staring up at him, hopeful and expectant-

No. No, that wasn't it at all.

"Stop," he gasped, pushing America back weakly. Why had all his bones suddenly turned to jelly? It wasn't fair, he was supposed to be strong, stronger than this... "Stop," he repeated. "I d-do not want this, I do not want pity-"

"It's not fuckin' pity," America growled, leaning back in again. Russia gave him another wobbly shove, not enough to stop a country who could pick up buffaloes even as a child, but enough to make America pause and pull back. "It's not! Shit, I'm not the kind of guy to kiss someone just because I felt sorry for 'em-"

"Of course you are," Russia whispered miserably. "You like to be the hero, like to try to make things better for others..."

"Doesn't mean I'd lie about something like this! I-I'm serious, man! I...did that because I wanted to-"

"Liar. You do not....d-do not..."

"Is it really that hard to imagine that I feel the same?"

Russia's head jerked up and down on its own accord. He kept his head down, staring at the snow between his feet. If he looked up he was going to be sick or start crying, and he really didn't want to do either, especially in front of America. He felt small and pathetic enough without losing his dinner or bursting into tears like some stupid child.

"Y'know, for someone who's supposed to be smart, you're really fucking dumb," America said without any heat.

"Never said I was smart," Russia mumbled to his shoes.

"Well you sure act like a fuckin' know-it-all a lot."

"Because I have more common sense than you? That is no accomplishment."

"See, there's the smart ass I know and love!"

"...Stop teasing. Please."

"Fine, I'll stop. But you gotta listen to me, okay? Okay. I..." America took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You what?"

"Give me a sec! This is kind of hard. Okay. Okay. Look at me, I'm gonna say it for real this time."

Russia swallowed hard a few times, and slowly looked up once he felt confidant that he wasn't going to throw up or get teary. America's face had gotten red since the last time Russia looked at him, but his eyes were as piercing as ever.

America took one more deep breath and finally said, "I-I love you. There, I said it!" A weird little grin stole across his face. "I love you. Ha, it's easier to say once you've done it already. I love you! Hey, eyes back up here."

Russia's eyes dropped back down to the snow at his feet again. His eyes had started pricking dangerously. He couldn't look up now.

"Fine, don't look at me. I'm gonna keep talking. You know what? I was pretty fuckin' thrilled when you said that last night. No joke, I-I've..." his voice softened suddenly. "I've loved you for a really long time, alright? I-I just thought it was all me the entire time."

"Liar. Y-you always looked so scared-"

"What are you talking about?"

"W-when I kiss you. The first time...y-you were scared of me, I know you were. E-everyone always is!"

"Are you talking about the meteor shower again? The time I broke your window?"

"D-da."

"Goddammit, I wasn't scared of you!" America snapped angrily, stomping his foot in frustration. "Where the hell did that even come from?"

"You looked terrified," Russia whispered faintly, wishing he could just stop talking and go back home to his quiet, empty house and his vodka. "You-your eyes got so big, and you tensed up-"

"And it had to be because I was scared of big bad you, huh?" America said dryly. Russia could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Couldn't be that I was surprised or anything. Or that...that I was just kinda caught off guard 'cause that was my first kiss."

The breath caught in Russia's lungs. "Was it?"

"Yeah, you asshole. And then you pull back all of sudden and won't talk to me or look at me, and I'm thinking 'shit, I must be a pretty lousy kisser, huh?' And then you pretend it never happened, so I figure it was just a fluke, didn't mean anything to you..."

"...Last night was not your first."

"Well you still kind of surprised me, didn't you? I-I really did think I was the only one...I thought you only saw me as a friend at best. I was surprised, okay? And you ran away again before I could tell you I felt the same. Plus, I was pretty smashed. My reflexes are kinda not awesome when I'm drunk."

It sounded good. It sounded wonderful. It all made sense and he wanted to believe it...more than anything...

"Hey," America said softly, and Russia saw his shoes step closer. "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna cry." The shoes stepped closer and closer again, and suddenly Russia found himself pulled into a tight hug. "Why's it so hard to believe me, huh? Why's it hard to believe I love you?"

"B-because....because...why would anyone?" Russia whispered into America's shoulder. He wanted to hug the smaller country, wanted to cling to him, never ever let go. But this was just a nice dream, and the dream would go away if he did that.

"Oh hell, you're gonna make me say it?" America whined as he rubbed Russia's back briskly.
"Jesus, fine. Well, you're really fucking cute for one thing. I don't get how a guy as big as you can be so damn cute, but you really are. And you've got ridiculously pretty eyes-"

"You are talking about yourself."

"Wha....fuck, you're making me blush, man. Okay, thanks, but I'm talking about you right now. You wouldn't be such a big deal if you were just cute, y'know, but you...you're so fucking tough, you know that? I can't even believe the shit you've lived through, but here you are. That's goddamn impressive. I admire that, okay? But more important than all that is that you...you get me. And you listen. Even if it's just to make fun of me, you listen. It feels like nobody else really gets me. But you...I feel like you understand the parts that no one else even tries to get. And it's not just 'cause we've both been superpowers...it's 'cause we're the outcasts. We're the freaks that are never good enough for Europe or anywhere else, and it pisses me off, but...but we can be freaks and outcasts together. That makes all the difference in the world, that I don't have to be alone with this. I feel like I can be stronger, when I've got you around. Like I can last through anything, do anything. It's...it's a real good feeling. So I want...I want to be with you all the goddamn time, so I can feel like I'm more, and so maybe you can feel like that too, 'cause God knows you deserve...you deserve a lot more than you get. You deserve to feel strong and safe and happy."

America stopped to catch his breath, still holding Russia tightly. The honesty in his words seemed to fill up everything, make everything warmer and brighter. Russia took a deep breath through his nose and slowly, cautiously, allowed himself hug America back. And America didn't pull away, and the dream didn't disappear and...and a laugh was suddenly building up in his chest, making his shoulders shake as he held it in.

"Oh fuck," America moaned. "Are you crying? Come on man, don't..."

The semi-hysterical laughter finally broke out, echoing loudly around the park. It was useless to try to talk and reassure America; he was just laughing too hard. It was the most wonderful thing in the world to hear America start to laugh with him.

"You dick," America chuckled, smacking Russia's back without breaking the embrace. "Makin' me worry about you..."

"M-my apologies," Russia giggled, finally breaking away and smiling down at America. "I do not have much experience with this...this kind of thing."

"What, with somebody spilling' their guts to you and telling how much they love you like some lame loser? Yeah, I'm not really experienced with doing that either, so I guess we're in the same boat, huh?"

"What happens now?"

"What, you mean right now? Shit, I don't know. Didn't I just say that I'm kinda new to this whole deal?"

"I meant...what changes? Y-you say you love me and I...I love you too-" God it felt good to say that. "So where do we go from here?"

"I dunno," America said frankly, shrugging. "Why does anything have to change? Why can't we just be the way we've always been? Except, you know...more." He smiled on the last word, that brilliant smile again.

"How do you mean 'more'?" Russia could feel his face splitting with a smile too, and for once he didn't try to force it down into his usual blank grin.

"Well," America drawled, grabbing Russia's hand and squeezing tightly. "How about we go back home and find out for ourselves?"

Santa had been there by the time they got back home; the shot of vodka was gone and there were two presents under America's tree.

"Damn, Finland's fast this year!" America cheered. "Hey, he left you one too!"

"Is it coal?" Russia asked, tipping his head thoughtfully at the square box addressed to him. "He does not usually give me anything, but when he does, it is almost always coal."

America gave the box a little shake. "Doesn't sound like it. Wanna open it? Oh wait, lemme get your present from me!"

America disappeared into his bed room, and Russia slowly unwrapped Finland's present. Coal wasn't such a bad gift. It was always good for burning, at least. But no, not coal this year. Instead, Finland had given him a book about the Winter War.

"Did you open you're present already?" America asked as he returned. "What'd you get? Oh, the Winter War? Wasn't that the one when Finland seriously kicked your ass-"

"I won that war."

"Yeah, but Finland says he was seriously outnumbered and still managed to send you back home crying like a little girl before the end-"

"You were not there, so maybe you should not talk about it. Anyway, Finland was kind enough to give me kindling for a fire. Very thoughtful of him. Do you think he's still on the roof? I would like to go...thank him."

"Naw, I think he's gone. You'll have to thank him later. Oooh, I got the new Silent Hill game!"

Russia stared at the ominous game cover. "Is it a horror game?"

"Yeah, this shit is great! I didn't sleep for a week after the last game," America said happily, as though the quality of a game could be gauged by how much sleep it deprived him of. "Okay, open my present now."

He pushed a flat package to Russia, which turned out to be the same sunflower calendar he had admired in the bookstore earlier.

"Like it?" America asked hopefully. "I wasn't sure what to get you, but I thought sunflowers were usually a safe bet with you."

"You thought right, dorogoy," Russia said, flipping through the pictures.

"What's that mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"Do...doro...that thing you just called me."

"It means...It is like 'darling.' I think that is the closest word."

"Oh," America said softly. His ears were turning red, Russia noticed.

"...Can this be part of the 'more' you were talking about? I want to say things like that."

"Y-yeah. I mean, why not? But I'm gonna find a cute pet name for you too, buddy."

"I look forward to it...dorogoy."

America laughed quietly, and suddenly closed the space between them. How had he moved so fast? "The 'more' can be more than just pet names, you know."

"I was hoping it would be," Russia said quietly as America pulled him down into another kiss. This time wasn't like lightning; it was slower, sweeter, warmer.

"Merry Christmas, babe," America said when they broke apart.

"You know that my Christmas isn't until January 7th, da?"

"Yup. What about it?"

"...What are you doing on January 7th?"

AN: Aaaaand it's done! Whew!