I stare that abomination known as my wardrobe, not for the first time making a mental note to go shopping sometime. I need clothes. Desperately.

Right now, I'm trying to work out what I should wear to my date with America.

Wait, what?

It's not a date. It's a.... It's a.....

Thingy.

Ok, I have no idea.

But definitely not a date.

Definitely.

Anyway, back to it.

Since I was making stollen with Germany in to much of the afternoon, I now have literally about an hour before I've got to meet America in that coffee shop.

I really need to work in time management. Desperately. I think I'm just a massive procrastinator. Which probably isn't a good thing.

I'd call Poland and ask for his advice, but seeing as I saw him only this morning, it'd be a bit weird to call him up. Plus, he said he was gonna go out with Lithuania later, which means they're probably out now.

Damn. That means I'm on my own.

Eventually, I pick out a cute red dress and some black kitten heels. I put on some tights and tie my hair in bunches. Ok. So I don't look too bad. Thank god for that.

I put on my coat and some gloves, and a red scarf that matches the dress, and leave the house. The walk to the cafe that America isn't long (I googled directions on how to get there as a means of putting off deciding what to wear earlier), but it's still very cold. Wow, though. I mean, it's only the middle of December. I'm actually fearing January. The cold is probably one of the (many) reasons why I haven't gone to see Russia in a while.

No Sophy. There will be no thinking about Russia, not this afternoon. Today, you are meeting America for a coffee, as a way for you to get to know each other a bit better. Because let's face it, I barely know America. All I really know is that he's loud, slightly obnoxious, thinks he's a hero, has a weird obsession with hamburgers and has a thing about freedom.

In retrospect, that list is longer than I would've thought. Perhaps I know more than I thought I did, or at least more than I might like.

Even though I'm wearing gloves, my hands really are quite cold and so I put them in my pockets. Thank god I'm nearly at the cafe.

Once I find the cafe, I breathe a sigh of relief and go inside. Funnily enough, it isn't a McDonalds. It's a Starbucks, which doesn't really surprise me in the slightest (this is America, after all). I sit down at a table for two towards the back of the cafe, just so it'll be more private. Plus I always feel weird hanging out with other countries like, right in front of humans. I don't know why, but I always get paranoid that someone will blurt out something, or refer to someone by their country name, and people will get suspicious.

It's not like I don't trust America or anything, he's quite a bit older than me and so he (hopefully) knows what he's doing. I'm just paranoid.

Anyway, it's not like it matters too much, I doubt anyone will hear us, even bough America's pretty loud.

"Deitich! Dude!" I look up from my slightly bored, slightly paranoid thoughts to see a young man with blond hair with a weird cowlick and glasses practically bounding over to me. He grins, and I smile back.

"Guten tag, America," I say, offering my hand politely. Is that what you do on dates? I have no idea.

Wait. This isn't a date.

Oh who the hell am I kidding, of course it's a date.

America grabs my hand and shakes (very) firmly, beaming at me. "It's funny, I usually just see you in your normal clothes, you look different in pretty dresses!"

I have absolutely no idea how to answer this at all, so I just blurt out, "You look nice, too." He does look quite nice, actually. He's not wearing his usual bomber jacket. Instead, he's wearing a nice shirt with some dark jeans and a leather jacket. Actually....

He looks kinda hot.

The second this thought enters my head, I make a little squeaking sound, which I don't think he hears. How can I like both Russia and America?

"Thanks, Deitich!" he says, sitting down. I sit down too.

"You can call me Sophy," I say. "Sophy Beilschmidt." His eyebrows go up a little.

"I thought it was Sophy Kirkland." I cringe.

"Well..... I-it was... But then I changed it."

He nods. "That makes sense." He smiles. "In that case, I'm Alfred F. Jones!" He says this in such a way I can almost imagine him standing in front of flags at the White House with trumpets blaring. That's a strange image. Oh well. My head is full of similarly strange images.

Mein gott. That sounded messed.

I giggle a little, which hopefully sounds cute. That or I sound like I've got something in my throat.

"Anyway, dude, what do you want?" he asks, of the drinks menu.

"Uhh.... Caramel latte?"

"Cool! Just gimme a sec!" He heads up to the server to order, and comes back with a large caramel latte with chocolate sprinkles, and for him, a massive hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. I laugh.

"I think that may be the biggest hot chocolate I've ever seen," I comment. He grins.

"Dude, it's just Starbucks."

"Yeah, but I've never really been to a Starbucks before," I admit. His eyes widen.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nein."

"Nine?"

"Nein, um, it just means no in German," I inform him. Alfred nods.

"Yeah, right right. So you've never been to a Starbucks?"

"Never."

"OH MY GOD," he practically yells. I laugh, it's kinda funny how surprised he is. "Don't they have them at your place?"

"They do, but that doesn't mean I go in."

"Tell me you've been to McDonalds." I think about it.

"Actually, I haven't." He literally bangs his head on the table. I burst out laughing.

"You. Haven't. Lived," he proclaims.

"Well. I wouldn't say that."

"Then your life has had no meaning. C'mon, dude! I'm taking you to see the real US of A!" He picks up our drinks and takes my hand, tugging me out of the Starbucks with incredible strength. I blush at his hand holding on to mine.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"First stop, McDonalds, for some real 'Merican food!" he yells. "And then I dunno." I smile. He's actually kinda cute.

As we walk along the street to the nearest McDonalds (I swear, Alfred must have some kind of McDonalds-radar built in to his head), I get to know America a little more. He talks about himself quite a bit, but I don't really mind. We mostly just talk about films, really. Yes, I call them films. Deal with it, I was brought up British. 

He tells me that he liked watching and making "movies", especially horror ones, although he says (while shivering) that "ghosts are way too freaking scary!" Alfred also tells me that he loves hero movies. Which makes sense. After all, he's always proclaiming himself as "the hero".

When we get to the McDonalds, America offers to pay.

"Are you sure?" I ask, anxiously. "I've got enough money."

"Yeah, but the hero has to pay for the pretty girl!" I blush at that. "Plus, it's my treat! I'm not gonna drag you here and then make you pay! What kind of a guy would do that?"

I guess he's got a point. "Ok," I say, putting my purse away. He grins and orders three cheeseburgers for himself and large fries. He also orders a beef burger and medium fries for me, seeing as I don't eat like he does.

We sit upstairs, at a table for two in the corner. America digs in, while I stare at the food in front of me.

"C'mon, Sophy dude. Try it," he says, grinning at me. I nod, pick up the burger and take a bite. And then another.

"Wow, this is actually pretty good," I say, eating more. Alfred laughs.

"I thought you'd like it!" I nod.

"I'll have to get you to try some German wurst or something sometime," I say. He beams.

"Sounds great! Your family's beer is awesome!"

"Well, it was invented by the awesome Prussia," I point out, and we both laugh.

As weird as it may sound, I actually quite like America. He's a pretty good guy. He'd make a good friend.

And maybe....

Maybe we could be more than that.