It took him a full moment to realize exactly who he had just seen, but when America looked around for the other man, he couldn’t find a trace of him. He was tempted to believe that it was a trick, that his mind had simply imagined the sight of his fellow country.
But he licked his lips, and there it was - the familiar mix of fresh snow, honey, and vodka that he hadn’t tasted in years. It was Russia who had kissed him in the middle of the melee.
America spun around again, twisting his ankle on the rubble, but he couldn’t see Russia anywhere.