America didn't come out of the guest room for the rest of that night, or most of the following day. Soviet was both worried and upset, all at the same time. He'd found himself glancing at the guest room door many times throughout the day, wondering what he'd done wrong. America had kissed him first, so why did he seem so angry now? Was Soviet not supposed to kiss back?

He huffed, staring out the kitchen window. It was storming, rain blurring the sunset sky. Perfect weather for agonizing over small things.

When America had kissed him, it was like a puzzle piece fell into place. Maybe he didn't have to ostracize himself anymore, maybe he could let himself have a heart. He certainly did with America.

But now, something had changed. What, he didn't know, but now the capitalist was avoiding him. What the hell had he done wrong? What had made America go from flirty and romantic to closed off and cold so quickly?A kiss should do the opposite. Kisses brought people closer, not tear them apart.

This begged the question, why haven't I talked to him? Soviet didn't really have an answer. In truth, he was scared. Not that America didn't feel the same way, but that he did. What if he hurt him again? Left him? He couldn't hurt another person again, he wouldn't let himself. But he was hurting both of them by avoiding him. They just needed to talk it out.

Soviet stood, planning out what he would say before he would say it. I'm sorry I've done something wrong -No, that sounded too fake. Why are you avoiding me? Sounded like a guilt trip. What happened? The best option, the simplest. So he knocked on the door and waited.

Nothing.

He knocked again. "America, can we talk? Please?"

A click, and the door opened. It was dark inside the bedroom but he could still see America hiding behind the door, the slight glare off his glasses giving away where he was. "Yes?"

"Can I come in? So we can talk?" Soviet asked, almost pleading. America seemed to sense his desperation and opened the door so he could come in.

Soviet closed the door behind him and leaned on it, taking everything in. America sat on the edge of the bed, and even in the darkness he looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders dropped wearily. Had he slept at all last night? "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," America replied, a little too quick to be true. The way he said it showed he didn't want to talk about it, so Soviet moved on.

"What happened last night? I...Did I do something?"

America shook his head, pushing his glasses up. He looked...almost relieved. Like he'd been wanting to talk too, just too scared to ask. "I...I don't know, really. It's not that I don't like you, because I do, but...I don't want to risk getting caught and losing you." He paused for a moment, meeting Soviet's gaze. His eyes were full of an emotion Soviet couldn't name. Fear? Or something else? "I can't lose you again." He said quietly.

Soviet's heart did somersaults, and then he cursed it. Serious moment, he shouldn't be happy about being thought of like that.

He took a long inhale, trying to word this in a not-blunt way. America's fears were valid, certainly, but what good would they do? It seemed almost impossible that they'd be caught, and besides, since when had either of them cared about the rules? "America...you're not going to lose me. How would we even get caught?"

"I don't know, Sovi. What if I'm here and Russia finds out? He hates me, he'd turn me in to NATO or UN in a heartbeat." America shook his head, curling in on himself slightly.

Soviet scoffed. "Russia doesn't hate you, he's just socially inept. And he'd be in as much trouble as you, maybe more." He sat down next to America, and was pleased when he didn't move away. Maybe he still had a chance after all.

Even if they were caught, Soviet had nothing left to lose. America, at most, would be monitored, and it wasn't like he wasn't monitored by the press anyways. Nothing would really change if they were caught. What was stopping them from being happy? Some moronic laws nobody actually followed? Sure, Soviet was supposed to be dead, but they couldn't kill him. And while there were laws saying that countryhumans couldn't have romantic relationships, nobody actually followed that rule. Hell, Britain and France were married, and the two women had come up with the rule themselves. Nothing was stopping him and America from being together, so why shouldn't they give each other a chance?

He sighed. "America, let's just give us a chance. We've been pushing each other away our entire lives, and now we have a chance to make up for it. Just...give us a shot."

America laughed, softly. Soviet's spirits rose with the sound. "You sure can drive a hard bargain."

"So does that mean we're going to do this?"

America turned to him, eyes soft. He leaned forward, and in one swift movement, brought Soviet's lips to him. He gasped in surprise, and America took advantage of that, the taste of him flooding his mouth and his senses. This kiss was rough and passionate, so unlike last night. America smelled of whiskey and his vanilla shampoo, and god did he know how to kiss. Soviet was drowning in him, a most pleasant death indeed.

Before he knew what was happening, America pushed him down and his fingers tangled in his hair. This wasn't the response Soviet had been expecting but he was living for it nonetheless. America tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. Soviet made a sound like a mix of a whimper and a sigh, pulling America down closer.

America pulled away, both of them needing air. Soviet made a disappointed noise. America was smiling down at him, still on top of him. "You didn't need to be so sappy about it."

"How else would I get you to kiss me?"

America laughed, pressing his face into the spot where Soviet's neck met his shoulders. Soviet shivered. "You're ridiculous," he murmured, wrapping his arms around the smaller country.

Soviet wasn't sure how long they stayed there, wrapped in each other's embrace. The storm raged on outside, rain hitting the windows, but neither of them minded. It provided an oddly romantic backdrop to this moment. Soviet wished he could save this moment in glass and relive it whenever he wanted. How nice would that be?

This gave him an idea, and he sat up. America grumbled at the loss of his pillow, but paused when he looked at Soviet.

Soviet beamed. "Would you go on a date with me?"

The look of surprise on America's face was priceless, mouth wide open and eyebrows raised. His lips were still kiss-swollen, but his blush was brand-new. "You- what?"

"A date. I know there's not many places we can go, but we don't need to go out for a date, right? We can-"

Soviet was silenced by yet another kiss, this one really only a brush of the lips. He could get used to the random kisses.

America shook his head playfully. "You talk too much. You had me at date."

Soviet felt like he was flying. He laughed, feeling the happiest he'd been in years.

Maybe everything would turn out alright.

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