Black Coffee :|: America x Russia :|: Countryhumans

Part 1, Act I, Chapter One

He already knew what the man was going to order.

He didn't know the guy's name, age, personality or even his favourite colour - but he knew what he was going to order.

One black coffee; no sugar, no cream, no milk, no foam.

It was weird to America. A plain coffee with no extras?

Seemed kinda boring.

Although, maybe he had the right idea, America thought bitterly as he furiously scrubbed the bench. Some idiot spilt caramel flavouring all over it and left it there to stick to the marble. Black coffee was the cheapest thing on the menu afterall.

He looked up as the shadow of the man shrouded him in darkness. Good god he was tall. Like, at least a foot taller than him.

Ok, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. He was a couple inches taller.

But was still really saying something - since America had only met one person taller than him in his whole life and that was his younger brother Canada.

The man was actually quite attractive too, not that America was willing to admit it out loud. At least not there anyway, the amount of homophobes in the stupid town was quite high for the day and age.

The man had on a blue and white striped t-shirt and some black jeans. He also had a black Adidas jumper with white stripes tied around his waist by the sleeves and a cute, fluffy brown ushanka with a star in the middle. His skin was a lovely bright crimson - quite a contrast to America's darker scarlet - however he had a warm blue along with a stunning pearl white on his face. This man was obviously a country, just like America.

Countries had revealed themselves to the public centuries ago. Usually in their countries they would be revered for their status and only worked government jobs, or for some countries for the royals. However, once the humans figured out if you kill a country their country dies with them, attacks on their race grew to an all time high and they had to go into hiding. Now they wear disguses to help them pass as monoskins, which is their term for a human. Despite that, fellow countries can see through the disguises and tell which country is which.

This one seemed quite far from home.

"Small black coffee, right?" America asked the man before he even had a chance to speak. The man chuckled slightly (and attractively, might he add) and nodded.

America grabbed a cup from the pile and got to work using the machine to fill it to the brim with coffee.

As he worked, he contemplated slipping some sugar or cream in there - free of charge. But the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to risk it. What if he buys black coffee because he likes it that way? What if he's lactose intolerant? What if the sugar's too sweet? What if he's a special type of diabetic that can't have sugar? What if America accidentally poisoned him and he never came back again??

Soon enough the cup was filled and America clipped a white plastic lid in place to keep it from spilling. He returned to the tall country waiting at the till for him and grabbed a pen from his pocket that he carried around with him everywhere.

His father had given him the pen when he was just starting high school; back when his father didn't hate him nearly as much as he did now. Back in the old days when his dad loved him because he assumed he was still straight. The pen was a black ballpoint pen with stars all over it, along with the names of all the constellations. Not that he needed the names of course, he had memorised every major constellation by the time he was ten. After the fiasco with his dad, he considered throwing it out but ultimately decided against it. It might have bad memories behind it, but it was a damn good pen.

"Name?" America asked.

"You don't need my name," the man snickered, slightly confused. "You've already made the coffee, you can just hand it to me."

Holy cow, his accent was hot. The way he rolled his r's and the deepness in his voice sent shivers down the smaller man's spine. He had never really gotten to hear it properly, what with how simple his usual order was. Boy, had he been missing out.

America sighed overdramatically with an air of playfulness, handing the cup over to the grateful country.

"You caught me, I just wanted to finally know the infamous black coffee guy's name. Wondered if you have a name as boring as your coffee choices~"

The country winced at the nickname, pretending to be insulted, "What? Can I not have my own preferences? Am I too boring for you?"

America grinned at that, happy to have someone to mess around with. The people at his work were all super lame and tired of his shit.

"'Course you can have preferences, a hot guy like you can have anything he wants."

America decided to risk it, he winked at the taller country.

The other's reaction was immediate and priceless. His eyes widened, his cheeks redden profusely, and he had to swallow his coffee quickly before coughing a bit into his arm. America's grin only widened.

The man looked away, trying to nulify his blush as he dropped three dollars onto the counter.

"Russia."

America smiled. He liked that name.

"Nice name, hotstuff."

Russia choked again, leading America to send him an apologetic glance, handing him a napkin to cough into.

"The name's America, but you can just call me Ame."

The taller country nodded, seemingly satisfied. He seemed to mull over something in his head before sending him a hesitant wink of his own.

"Great, now I know the name of the cute barista I always see."

America flushed and hid his face in his red striped hands, feeling his cheeks slowly get warmer. He laughed to himself and looked up at the triumphant looking Russia.

"Well played, Russia. Well played."

Russia smiled and headed for the door, waving slightly through the glass as he closed it behind him.

America took note of that adorable smile. He should try to see it more often.

As he busied himself with other customers, he sighed at the realisation he had extra shifts today. He wouldn't get home until 7:30 at best, and he still had to study for his engineering final.

He froze in the middle of creating a mountain of foam on top of a caramel frappe.

He forgot to give Russia his number.