Neon Lights & Dangerous Heights

Meeting Him

Russia 3rd Person POV:

Russia shivered under the wolf fur coat he wore as he stepped into an alleyway. The light faded out as he reached the end of it, and he clutched the letter just a bit harder, hearing its crinkly protest. Running his eyes around the many upturned boxes, he searched for a figure, but none came up to greet him.
Perfect. He was alone.

Looking over the boxes again, he picked his way over them till he found a larger box, standing out proudly from among them, and crouched behind it. The snow gladly rested on his coat, worn out from their travel through the demanding wind, and he paid them no mind. All he did was shift his ushanka to the side and strain to hear any noise that for sure couldn't be hidden with the amount of snow to crunch through. The white fur from his hat tried to brush against his eyes, but he ignored it.

He wasn't a detective for no reason, and more than once countries have tried to set him up in a trap and kidnap him. Just because a letter was sent to him directly, that didn't mean he could trust whoever sent it. It could have been a hoax, after all. So he just wanted to make sure.
After a couple of minutes of crouching there, he could feel his legs starting to stiffen up a bit, and he shifted around, wincing when they popped slightly.

He could just imagine what his family was doing at that moment, all believing that he went to be by himself in the mountains for a little while. It wasn't rare for him to go off to places like that, especially when there was a case he needed to solve. Most of them probably thought he managed to get another mission.
Which he kind of did. But he wasn't going to admit that.

Letting out a breath, his legs began to ache slightly. He still hadn't heard anybody come in. Maybe it was okay to stand up for just a second? Peeking around the box, the ally still looked empty. His eyebrows drew together and he unfolded the paper very carefully so it wouldn't shout out his position, and re-read the address, checking it up against his phone.

Yup. It was correct.
Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and decided that it was okay enough to stand up for a second. With a mitted hand, he reached for the top of the box and pulled down, getting his frozen legs to unwillingly listen to him. They cracked and popped all the way up, reminding him that he needed to hit the gym again this week and loosen them up again. Sure, he was stacked, but tell that to a frozen body.

When he finally straightened out, his legs got a tingling feeling inside them, close to needles stabbing him and tickling him at the same time, and his eyes widened when he realized that he had accidentally cut off the circulation of blood.

"Some great detective I am," he muttered, forcing his right leg to move just a small step forward. But, he had miscalculated just how much pressure he actually needed to move his leg, and instead kicked the large box, making it scrape loudly against the floor.

Flinching at the noise, he glanced around, thankful that nobody was here-a sharp pain erupted on his face and he stumbled back, gasping, falling onto the boxes behind him. They jammed themselves against his arms and back, trying their hardest to make him pay for their neglect.

He seethed, allowing himself to brace against it for a second, before he jumped up and swung a fist out blindly.

"Ow!"

Peeking his eyes open, he spotted a small, black figure crumpled up on the floor. They hugged their abdomen, writhing, but picked their head up. "Dang," a light male voice said through gritted teeth. "You pack a punch. What do you do all day, arm wrestling?"

If he had been in any other type of situation, he would have smiled at the joke. "Who are you," he shot out instead. "Why did you attack me?"
"Why were you hiding?" the figure countered, clambering to their hands and knees, one arm wrapped around his stomach. He looked like he was getting ready to sprint away at the slightest sign of a fight.
Russia crossed his arms. "Tell me who you are and we can proceed from there."