Like We Used To (America x Reader x Russia)

I can feel her breath as she's sleeping next to me,
Sharing pillows and cold feet.
She can feel my heart fell asleep to its beat,
Under blankets and warm sheets.

Alfred lightly traced the edge of the glass, whiskey half-gone.  A light, nostalgic smile graced his face;  the way you breathed in your sleep was so cute to him.  Inhale through the mouth, exhale through the nose.  Sometimes a little snore came out.  Cute.

He remembered the way you would rub your cold feet against his legs, shivers running down his spine at how they felt like ice.  But he didn't mind.   He loved the way you wrapped your legs around his, even with your ice block feet;  the way you gripped his waist tight in the night, a peaceful look on your face, or your face screwed up in horror as you had a nightmare.  He would rub your back until your face relaxed and your grip loosened a little.  And he would fall asleep with a smile on his face knowing you were in his arms, happy and alive and at ease.

If only I could be in that bed again.
If only it were me instead of him.

If only.
If only.
If, but, and, or.

Alfred missed it.  What did he, the monster of a man that he was, do that was so different from what Alfred did, or how Alfred treated you?  He was everything you wanted in a guy.  He did everything you wanted a guy to do.  So just what did he do to make you leave him?

And just what did that purple-eyed freak do to win your love?

Does he watch your favorite movies?
Does he hold when you cry?
Does he let you tell him all your favorite parts when you've seen it a million times?
Does he sing to all your music while you dance to Purple Rain?
Does he do all these things, like I used to?

Was the man even capable of feeling?  Each time Alfred had conversed with him, he'd been cold and distant.  Then again, what did he really expect?  He was an ex, so it was natural for the purple-eyed freak  -or Ivan as you had told him many times before-  to be cold to him.  But it still made no sense to Alfred.

Did he watch your favorite movies with you?  And let you tell him your favorite parts, though you and him had both seen it millions of times?  And did he hold you when you cried, or sing to your music with you, or anything that Alfred did to and with you?

Surely a man as big and cold as he wouldn't do any of those things.

Surely.

Fourteen months and seven days ago,
Oh, I know you know how we felt about that night.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered that night.  A tear rolled down his face.  Just what went wrong?

He remembered you screaming at him, throwing the whiskey bottle at him and it hitting him in the head.

He remembered blood running down his head, tears running down your face, and both you and him were in pain.  Yet he still tried to apologize.  Told you he would do better.  Would stick to his promises.

But he didn't.

It just got worse.

Just your skin against the window.
Oh we took it slow, and we both know.

You would lean against a window and stare outside, not moving for hours at a time.  It didn't matter where the window was.  In the kitchen, the living room, your room--  you would always just find a window and stare outside when you were thinking or upset.

The break-up was slow.

There were many fights.  But he always tried to hold you when it happened, to try and end the fight, and to end the hard feelings.  But it rarely worked.  And there were so many fights, it just added to the hate.  But what happened?  Where did all the fights appear from?  Why?

It should've been me inside that car.
It should've been me instead of him, in the dark.

Should have.
Would have.
Could have.

Alfred should have been in the car, taking you to your favorite places for a date, or to surprise you, or just to go because you wanted to.  He used to take you everywhere.  The mall.  The skating rink.  The bowling alley.  The laser tag place.  The park.  The cafe.

Everywhere.

He wasted  -no, not wasted.  It was worth it.  He used up-  so much gas and money taking you place and buying you things.  Did you not like it?  Were you getting bored with him?

And when you and him made love-

Was it not enough?  Was it boring, bad, was it?

He would grip your hair and your waist, tight enough to, somehow, let you feel his love.  But soft enough to not leave any bruises or marks.

He would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, while you let out sighs and, sometimes, a giggle.  There was much laughter when you and him made love, because Alfred loved hearing your tinkling laugh, even when you and him were making love.

He would gently nip on your neck or your ear or your lips.  Or place little pecks on your neck or your ear or your lips.

And another sigh would come from you.

Does he watch your favorite movies?
Does he hold you when you cry?
Does he let you tell him all your favorite parts when you've seen it a million times?
Does he sing to all your music while you dance to Purple Rain?
Does he do all these things, like I used to?

Maybe you didn't like any of that, Alfred figured.  But why wouldn't you?  Why didn't you?

But-

But.

It was killing Alfred as he wondered what Ivan did that was so much better than what he did.

I know, love.
I'm a sucker for that feeling.
Happens all the time, love.
I always end up feeling cheated.
You're on my mind, love.
Oh, sorta let her when I need it.
That happens all the time, love, yeah.

He was a sucker for that feeling.  It always happened with the girls he was with, and he did end up feeling cheated.  Although you and him were broken up, he still felt betrayed, as if you were still his.

But you weren't.

You were, however, always on his mind.  But he needed you to be.  He would go insane if you weren't.  Yet, he felt himself slipping away when you were on his mind because he wanted you back.

He needed you back.

Will he love you like I loved you?
Will he tell you everyday?
Will he make you feel invincible with every word he'll say?

Each and every day Alfred told you he loved you.  He probably said it about ten times a day, if not more.  And he knew he made you feel invincible.  Because you were.

You were so brave.

You would stand up for that little kid that was being bullied.  Or you would put that animal down that you knew wouldn't find a good home, even though you loved animals to death and hated to see them go.  You were brave in small ways like that.

You were also brave when you saved that man from being hit by a car.  And sure, Alfred yelled at you and that was yet another fight, one that ended with him holding you and telling you he was sorry and kissing you.

You were so brave and invincible.

Can you promise me that this was right?
Don't throw it all away.

But it wasn't right.  It wasn't.  He didn't want you to say that it was right.  Because it wasn't.  It was wrong, oh, so wrong.

But you just threw it all away.

Can you do all these things?

Maybe, maybe you weren't the one to blame.  Maybe you weren't the one who messed it up.

Will you do all these things?

Maybe. . .

Like we used to?

It was him.

Oh, like we used to.