Tea time with a commie - Countryhumans SovBrit

Chapter 1 • Would you like a cuppa, bruv?

Commie man's POV:

I am drenched in nothing but the abysmal weather of this country. Not even the snow back home is as dreadful as compared to the rain here. Despite wearing a hat, my hair is still soaked. Great. Now I'm gonna get a cold too. I gaze downward at the short British man beside me. The fact that I have to helped out by an enemy is god awful enough. I let my hands tightly grab at my ushanka and drench the floor below me. I hear the other's voice speak again.

"Would you like some tea?"
I don't speak English very well. Sure, I've practised for a few years, but I absaloutely hate learning the language. I know enough to hold a decent enough conversation, I just hate how slow it is to translate everything in my head.
What did he ask again? Oh, right, tea. I don't like the drink, but I am thirsty. I nod.
"Да, yes."
It's oddly empty in this house. Is it just us two? Doesn't he have like... A wife? And kids?
"Alright..! You can put your coat on the, uh, coat hanger. If you want."
He's stuttering. It's amusing to watch. What's a coat hanger? I turn around until I see a... What I assume is a coat hanger. It's hanging coats, so... I put my trenchcoat, which is still soaking wet, onto the coat hanger and leave my hat there too - there's other hats on the top, so surely I can put mine there, right?
"There's a living room upstairs, it's warmer there." He gestures towards the stairs.
He's still stuttering. It fills my heart with pride to see him like at just because I'm here. I walk up the stairs and I'm greeted by a sudden warmth that I hadn't noticed from walking outside for so long. It's still much warmer outside then it is back in my country (outside, not inside).

British man's POV:

Why did I let him in my own house!? He could actually murder me if he wanted!
I'll just focus on making the tea!
The kettle is already done and the teabags are already in the cups. And, as curtosy, I have a small plate of biscuits. It's only natural to have biscuits if you have tea and vice versa. I bring the tea and biscuits up to the living room and see that the overly-tall-Russian-guy has already made himself comfortable. I place the beverages on the table and the biscuits too. He's only here for an hour, roughly, so it should be fine. I made myself comfy on the chair I was sat at beforehand, sipping away at the tea to calm my nerves. If America saw who I invited to my own house... No, why do I have to be belitted by my own son? What I'm doing is general politeness, and it'd be rude not too! Just because he doesn't get along with him doesn't mean I should be flat out rude! What I'm doing is peace keeping if anything and-
He's looking at me. It is awkward to not have a conversation with a guest in your own home. I open my mouth to speak–
"You are talking to yourself." Soviet speaks up.
He was so blunt about it too. Does he not know anything about respect? Or politeness? He's being authoritative and it's working. I tense up at his tone of vocie.
"A- apologies, USSR. I was... thinking," Was I actually speaking to myself?
"How are you doing, might I ask?" I'm gonna sway the conversation to something else.
"Bad," that's not a good thing to hear, "how do you live in a place with this weather!?"
I hate to see this man angry. I've seen him get agressive during meetings, really agressive. He shouts like a drill sargent and could easily take down someone (in a fight).
"I'm sorry to hear that. I don't leave the house often, so I'm not in the rain often either," the tea is not calming my nerves one bit.
I have to take small sips at a time, gently singeing the end of my tongue. I try not to, but everytime I drink tea I singe the end of my tongue. I've grown used to the feeling. I glance at my unexpected guest and see that he's drunk far more than me. His throat must be burning. Is he alright?
"Snow is easier to deal with," he takes another swig of the tea.
I just nod in agreement. The snow is nice, but I prefer rain. But! I also don't want to anger the communist sat right next to me.
"I do wish it'd snow more here." Okay. I didn't need to say that.
"Then you should come to Moscow. Is beautiful there."
He's boasting about his country. I need to just agree with it. The rain begins to fall faster.
"I have heard; maybe I'll visit during the colder months."
If America could hear me right now then I'd never hear the end of it.
Our conversation mostly concluded at that. He didn't speak any further and I wasn't too sure to ask. It's quiet again, and there's only the sound of rain. Just how it was before Soviet had shown up. I could nearly fall asleep right now, but there is guest sat in the same room as me.

"I thought you had other people who also lived here?" He looks around the room, staring down the corridor.
My heart skips a beat. I remember exactly what happened. It hurts to think about. My bloody wife, France, divorced me no less than a month ago. She's the one who cheated, but everyone is sympathetic to her. And now my own children are avoiding me! I could see the tea shaking in the cup as I placed it on the coffee table.
"Divorce," was all I could utter out.
Soviet didn't say much, as expected. What could you say when someone just says that? He avoided looking in my general direction and kept his eye on the weather outside. It wasn't getting any better.
"Sad to hear," he soon responded.
He wasn't that sorry. He didn't sound it, at least; his tone never changed.
"The weather doesn't look any better," he changed the subject.

I shake my head at the thought of the divorce and also to his statement. The weather has not improved at all.
"No, not really. It might not calm until morning," I shudder at what I'm about to say next, "you can stay here overnight if you wish. Much better than walking out there again."
To my surprise he actually agreed to it. There was a small sneer of anger from his breath while he eyed the rain. I doubt he was keen on staying here.