Out Cold: Chapter 6

It was late in the morning when you woke up, almost 11 O'clock with the sun shining up high in the sky. You blinked blearily against the rays of light hitting your face and growled.

The only good thing about that day was that the Allies weren't holding a meeting. The bad thing about that was that you were stuck with Alfred the whole day. You just didn't want to face him after what happened yesterday; you didn't have much of a reason, though. There was just this nagging feeling in your stomach that something bad may come out of talking to him.

But you still had to get up and go about your morning routine, no matter how much you wanted to just lie in bed and avoid Alfred. So you dragged yourself out of bed and threw on some clothes, uncaring if they matched or not. Out of habit, you glanced in the mirror at your outfit and shrugged; if your plan to avoid America worked it didn't matter.

You pulled the door open to your bedroom and was greeted by a loud thump and sleepy-sounding grumbling. With a sigh and an exasperated smile, you took note of the slumbering hero that was occupying your doorway. There was no way you could drag that almost-completely-muscle body back to his room. You weren't even planning to try to. So you just proceeded to repeatedly jab him in the shoulder with your finger.

"-sorry, Name . . ." he mumbled, still unconscious. "I'm a jerk and I don't deserve to . . . be your hero . . ."

With a few more jabs, he finally woke up and peered up at you from his spot on the ground. "Darn, I fell asleep."

"What were you trying to do?" you questioned with an eyebrow raised.

His face reddened out of embarrassment and he looked away from your intent gaze. "I wanted to stay awake until you woke up so I could say sorry."

"So you slept leaning against my door just to say sorry?"

He gave a curt nod and puffed his cheeks out like a child. "Yeah, I did."

You poked him in the forehead with a playful smile. "You can be so dramatic sometimes, Al."

"I thought that we were just having a moment there," he replied with a pout.

"You're sweet. Thanks for caring," you said, laughing. "Now get up and let's go make breakfast."

Groaning, he got to his feet and ran his hand through his sandy blonde hair. But before you could go off to the kitchen and begin cooking, Alfred caught your hand and spun you around to face him.

"Hey . . . are we all right now?" he asked, ducking his his head and looking at the ground shyly.

"Of course, Al," you assured him with a smile. "But . . . what are you apologizing for?"

"For making Russia leave . . ."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "I . . ."

"It's just that . . . I don't like him and I thought he was taking advantage of you," Alfred explained. "In fact, I'd prefer England to be your boyfriend instead of him. But if you like him . . . then you can go back to him and date him or whatever."

"But, Alfred—"

"No," he interrupted, "it's all right." Wearing a smile that was a ghost of the one he usually had on, he placed his hand on the side of your face. His long fingers splayed out into your [color] hair and he began to gently stroke your cheek. "I know that you loved him once, so it only makes sense for you to want to be with him again, right?"

You placed your hand over his and frowned. "I can't just leave you after all this time . . . besides, I barely know Russia anymore. He's changed since then. Everything about him has changed since then."

Usually bright star-filled eyes darkened. "Yeah, I guess he did."

"He was different a long time ago . . ."

"But you still love him," Alfred said bluntly.

Sighing, the corners of your lips turned up just a bit. "I do."

"Then go back to him, don't worry about me."

"Are you trying to get rid of me or something?" you joked half-heartedly.

Shaking his head, he pulled his hand away from your face and let it fall back to his side. "I just want you to be happy."

"Would me leaving make you happy?"

"No . . . it wouldn't."

"Then I won't leave," you said firmly.

He reached over and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. "Won't you miss him?"

After he spoke, you almost wanted to laugh had it not stung so much. You did miss him. Though there you were, refusing to leave Alfred's side. Why were you turning down his offer to go back to Ivan? You could have picked up where you left off with him, waking up to his kisses, hugging him hello when he came home, and spending wonderful nights in his arms. Everything could go back to the way it used to, or as close as his new personality would allow, and you could be happy with him. But there was a single issue with that. A single issue with blonde hair, glasses, and a hero complex.

"Yeah, I will."

"So why are you staying?"

"You're important to me, too, Al," you answered. "I can't just leave you alone."

That familiar grin appeared on his lips and he pulled you to him. "I would have really missed you if you left, Name."

"I would have missed you, too."

There was a soft pressure on your cheek. "You're really important to me."

Your face flushed.

Did he just kiss me?

He released you from his embrace and walked past you. "I'll go get breakfast started."

You watched his retreating form round a corner and go out of sight, your face pink and your mind everywhere. That one little kiss, one on the cheek no less, changed the rules to the game you found yourself playing.

Wasn't love supposed to be simple and sweet, not demanding and harsh?

The thought surprised you. Alfred was the embodiment of simple and sweet, though his obliviousness sometimes ruined his sweet side. He held a promise of an innocent and possibly naïve romance, as you have never seen him in love with anyone.

Ivan on the other hand was almost the complete opposite. A simple and sweet love couldn't be guaranteed with him anymore. Too much had changed with him.

So after a moment of thought, you walked after Alfred.