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AMERICA
"Nothing's gonna happen if you don't step out of this room and knock on their door," JE drawled. 

"Shut up," America spat, drilling his fingernails into his leg. "You're making it worse." 

JE turned away, taking a long sip of coffee. "Whatever you say," he muttered dryly. "It's eight already, you know?" 

America heaved a breath. He pushed himself sharply off the chair, slamming the door without as much as a look back, stopping with one raised fist in front of Russia and Reich's room. Sweet as she was, Ukraine, he would never forgive her for many of the unnecessary measures she took during this trip. And beneficial as they were, he would ignore that fact out of pure spite. 

When he had finally gathered enough courage to knock, Russia appeared in the frame, grinning. "Excited?" he joked.

"You're the one who said we should drink today, I'm only keeping to your word because I'm about a tenfold more responsible," America rolled his eyes. He wanted to slap the smirk off Reich's face, who had thrown him one as he slipped out of their room and into JE's. 

Russia tilted his face away from where Reich had stood with his hand. "Don't let them get to you," he said softly and the familiar heat had began to rise. "You've had experience dealing with it. They're not much different from how I used to act. Come on." And then they were walking out, away, probably to much more questioning from Canada upon return. 

★

RUSSIA
His insides were on fire for both the alcohol and something else that night. It burned, engulfed all sense, and charred his stomach until he could only consume more to relieve the sensation. 

"I didn't think you were this heavy of a drinker all the time," he commented, amusedly watching America ask for another refill. "When you drank with South I only assumed it was to one-up each other."

"You'd be surprised," America said, raising an eyebrow over the rim of the glass. Russia hummed, tipping back another shot of vodka like it was water. "You always surprise me." 

 "And what does that mean?" The way he acted was changing again, now under the charge of alcohol— like a petulant child, denied access to the playground. Russia gave no reply, momentarily glanced at the way America's lips puckered into a pout, and looked up again, unrestrained thoughts threading through his mind. 

You wanna tell me about that secret you've been keeping this entire time? or, Russia, I think he's in love with you. 

There was too much he had to think about and the drinks weren't helping to tame this unprecedented desire for boldness. I'll either prove Reich right or wrong today, he thought, with humor he just couldn't put his heart to. His eyebrows knitted together as he focused back on America, who was looking back curiously.

His eyes were glistening, half-lidded, icy, unbridled blue. Under the influence, it was easy to accept he'd gladly drown in them forever. 

"Remember you asked me about that secret and I told you I had no clue what you were talking about?"

America's lips curved up into an affectionate smile. "You only have the balls to say that to me now, and it's because you're drunk."

"Does it matter?" Russia frowned. That coconut shampoo needed to go, otherwise he'd lose his mind.

"No. Tell me."