Ivan tugged at the scarf wrapped securely around his neck as the late summer sun bore down on him. He couldn't help but feel grossly overdressed as his boyfriend pulled him through the gates of the State Fair. Groups of people flocked in the same direction, though comparatively, the parking lot was packed, most having arrived earlier in the day. Even from here, he could smell the greasy aroma of fried foods and barbeque and hear some obscure band playing.
"Fredchka, what are we doing here?" He asked.
"What do you mean "what are we going here!"' Alfred exclaimed as they passed under the entrance, "we're having fun!" Ivan looked on in disdain. The area had a few buildings: small shops, arenas, a stadium, and the likes. All things expected from a venue used a few times out of the year.
He knew fairs and knew the nice, air-conditioned buildings would not be their focus. Rather, they would be visiting the pop-up tents with sputtering fans and homemade trinkets. "Right," he sighed.
"Listen," Alfred started, turning to face his boyfriend, "I know it's not the best at the moment. You're more into the formal dates, and we're still too far south for an icicle like you," Ivan scoffed at the jab, "But! I have a plan," Alfred dug through his pocket, pulling out a couple crinkled up tickets. "There's a horse pulling competition over in 4H soon, and the art exhibit isn't far from it."
"You hate art exhibits," the other pointed out, quirking an eyebrow.
"But you don't," Alfred offered softly, grabbing his boyfriend's hand, "c'mon, it'll be fun." Ivan looked down at the sunny blond, raising an eyebrow. "It'll be air-conditioned…" Alfred sang, a goofy smile on his lips.
"Fine," he conceded, pecking the other on the lips, "but if I die of heatstroke, I'm blaming you."
Alfred's hands clapped together as he let out a small, "Yay!" Before continuing to drag his boyfriend through the fair.
The two made their way to some empty seats in the coliseum. The building was lined with stadium seating, sparsely filled by those who bothered to come to the competition. At the bottom, where the event was taking place, the floor was lined in a thick coat of dirt. If the basketball hoops tucked against the ceiling were anything to go by, the dirt was not a permanent fixture. In the court? Arena? Whatever the dirt area was called, a long table was set up, seating a panel of judges. The left side of the room housed a state, American and…
"Alfred?" Said blond hummed in response, sparing him a slight glance. "Why is there a Canadian flag hanging from the ceiling?"
"The local hockey team plays here. Did you not see their shop downstairs?"
"I must have missed it," Ivan said.
The dirt floor was most definitely temporary.
Back on the floor, they were hooking up a couple Belgians to the weights. Overhead the speakers blared out a barely intelligible, "Darke County Farms, 1500lbs." As soon as the farmers let go, the horses dragged the cart across the floor.
An hour had passed, and the horses were doing a fair job, though many had left by this point in the competition. Most had been Belgians, the breed being popular for these kinds of events. Though Ivan was rather fond of the Russian Ardennes himself. Alfred seemed, unsurprisingly, enraptured by the one American Cream that was competing.
At first, he had been surprised by his boyfriend's interest. The younger nation always seemed to lean toward the sciences rather than the more mundane farm life that many of his people still enjoyed. Though it shouldn't have been surprising with Alfred's cowboy phase. For all the bells and whistles the nation surrounded himself with, he was still the freedom-loving nation, infatuated with the open plains and vigilantism that came with the cowboys from the 19th century. He'd just traded in his horses and cowboy boots for cars and Converse.
Ivan was shaken from his thoughts by Alfred tugging on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow at the mischievous gleam of the energetic blond's eyes.
"Hey Vanya," he nearly whispered, "If you can't pull 10,000 pounds, I might have to break up with you." The younger blond tilted his head, sparing a brief glance at the competition. Where a team was pulling said weight.
"What a shame," Ivan droned, "and I was going to take you to Comic-Con this year too. Guess I'll have to cancel those plans." Alfred's head snapped towards him with wide eyes.
"Wait, what?" Ivan just shook his head with a small grin, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder.
"Don't worry about it, Fredchka."
---
"Vanya, Look what I got us!" Alfred shouted, drawing attention from the other people near the food stand. Ivan raised a brow, looking between the American and the two cartons he'd placed on the table.
"What did you get us?"
"Deep-fried Oreos and s'mores," Alfred chirped as Ivan stared at the fried dough balls between them. The bottom of both cartons was coated in a thin layer of grease, and chocolate dripped from a few malformed monstrosities.
"This looks incredibly unhealthy." Alfred just rolled his eyes.
"Of course, it's unhealthy. That's part of the state fair experience." He proceeded to reach out for one of the fried treats and pop it into his mouth. Ivan, deeming his boyfriend insane, though loveable enough to humor him, also grabbed one. As he chewed it, he noticed it was a strange combination of too sweet and not enough flavor. The oreo ones seemed to suffer the latter more while the s'mores seemed guilty of the former.
Neither, however, was particularly spectacular, and he elected to let Alfred finish them off.
---
Somehow Alfred had convinced him to try more sickening fair staples, leaving a thin film of sugar in his mouth. And, despite having eaten very little of each of them, he found himself feeling pleasantly full, if not a little too stuffed. Though now that the sun was nearly set, Alfred had turned his sights away from buying copious amounts of food and towards the midway.
Ivan sat on a bench in front of something called the Gravitron, watching his date interact with others who had just ridden it with a small smile. The American, noticing his lover's attention, shot him a small wave. The Russian was more than happy to return the gesture. Alfred said a few more words to them before making his way over to the bench.
"Are you sure you're fine with me going on rides without you?" He asked.
"Of course," Ivan chuckled, "I have already told you that." The American smiled.
"Thank you," he said, "but I would like you to get in this final ride with me." The Russian thought for a moment.
"Nothing extreme?"
"Nothing extreme," Alfred reached out a hand, silently requesting his boyfriend accept, "Do you trust me?" Ivan rolled his eyes, grabbing the hand.
"You and your Disney movies," he scoffed, "of course, I trust you."
Alfred pulled him up and began leading them across the midway towards the giant Ferris wheel on the other side. The two stood in line for the attraction waiting for the employee to wave them into a cart.
Once waved one, they sat by each other, holding hands. The employee waited for another group to enter the cart behind them before starting the ride. Before long, they found themselves stopped at the top of the wheel. Ivan looked over at Alfred, amused. "Well, isn't this cliché." Alfred just laughed for a moment before responding.
"A bit. So," he said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the cart, "what was your favorite part?" Ivan hummed, looking out the side at the flashing lights and bustling crowds. Even now, as the sun began to set, he could feel the sweat running down his back and settling between their conjoined hands. The smell of fried foods permeated the air, mingling with that of oil and faint manure. The scene was peaceful in that commercial way that only Americans seemed to pull off quite this well.
"This part," he answered, turning and bringing the other's lips to his own. When he pulled back, the American's face had taken on a red hue. His expression lay somewhere between shocked and content. "Though next time, Alfred, do let me know that you want to support your small businesses."
