Hey. Here we go, just getting out of Russia soon. I'll publish this when I'm in the home country. But I tend to write about the places I've been. Lets go.
Warnings: I'm Finnish... This is in Russia. Take as you will. Cursing and sexual context as well.
Ages: 22 all.
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Kyle's POV.

"Why do we always go the hardest route?" I ask as I step out of the train platform to the busy... very busy streets.

"Take it positively. We could go see my cousins," Kenny says.

I smile at him, Stan coming behind us to look around.

"Thanks for coming with me, I really wanted to go but as you both know, I cannot speak Russian," Stan says.

"Hey. It's fun anyway. Plus, I love you. Of course I came," Kenny says.

"Am I here for no reason then? I do not speak Russian," I say, with a small laugh.

"Nope, you're our calculator," Stan says.

"Hey! I'm sacrificing the most here, Russia is a meat country. I'm risking my vegan ways for this," I say.

Kenny laughs and I turn around the corner.

"Oh fuck," I say, turning away.

"What is it?" Stan asks.

"It's marked wrong. It's supposed to be that one but surely it's not, considering it's not really like the picture is, at all," I say.

"Um... well. What was the street name?" Stan asks.

"Do you think I can fucking say this?" I ask.

I point the street name to Stan.

"Watch out!" Kenny yells.

I jump next to him, seeing a car drive where I just was.

"What the fuck? This is the sidewalk," I say.

"Don't question it," Stan says.

"That was too close for comfort," I say.

Stan nods.

"Yeah. Maybe a little," Stan says.

I nod and turn the same corner, walking a little bit on the street before a familiar building stands before me.

"Found it!" I yell to Stan and Kenny.

The two walk up to me and Stan opens the door, smiling at both of us.

"Gentlemen," he says.

"Fuck off," I say.

I get in and start looking for the information desk... which is, like everything about this fucking place, nowhere to be fucking seen.

"Okay. What the fuck is up with this place and everything being just nowhere near where it actually should be?" Kenny asks.

"Yeah!" Stan says.

Kenny quickly yells in every language he knows, other than Russian and English. Which, when I hear it like this, is way too many different languages. I can speak four languages and he has learned like 20. Stan and I share a confused look behind Kenny.

"What the fuck is he saying?" Stan asks.

"If he says the same sentence in every language, he is basically saying some pretty insulting things about this place and the whole of Russia," I say.

"I mean, I heard Spanish in there," Stan says.

"Spanish, Chinese and Finnish, at least from what I hear. There are way more, I could hear a bit of German but that's just because I know what it 'no' in German because of history classes," I say, smiling at Stan.

"A bit of Swedish, I heard 'inte'," Stan says.

"Are you speculating, what language I'm speaking?" Kenny asks.

"Maybe," I say.

"Found it," Stan says.

He goes behind a door and comes back soon, with three sets of keys.

"What?" I ask.

"Found the information desk. The room is fifth floor," he says.

"Okay. See you all later, I'll go the stairs," Kenny says.

He starts running up the stairs with no effort what-so-ever, keeping up the speed a lot after we no longer see him.

"You coming?" Stan asks.

I get into the elevator he at some point had the time to press and look at the weight limit.

"How the fuck do they mean to fit five people if the two of us are having problems with fitting? It's impossible! I mean, we're both on the skinnier side and still, it is waaaay to small for us," I say.

"Yeah well... I don't know, it's sort of possible," Stan says.

"Sort of?" I ask.

The elevator opens up and we get in, Kenny is stood against a wall, breathing heavy.

"You went a big slow," he says.

I laugh. Stan opens a door and gets in with the luggage, we come after.

The room has bright purple walls and a black, very clean, carpet. The bed, which is fucking huge compared to our actual houses bed, and has white sheets with purple pillows and black and white blanket. Kenny jumps on.

"I call left!" He yells.

"I call right," Stan answers.

I roll my eyes.

"I call the middle," I say, silently.

I sit between the two and open my jacket, getting it the fuck off me.

"Stripping, eh?" Kenny asks.

He throws his shirt off, taking his other shirt to put on.

"I love you," Stan says, falling down on the bed, on his back, while meaning to do it, obvious. Kenny rolls his eyes and keeps his eyes on Stan.

"Love you both," he says.

"Love you too," I say.

He rolls his eyes and takes my hand, I look at him, silently hoping that he is going to tell me a joke but his face is very serious.

"Kyle. Are you happy?" He asks, taking a tighter grip on me.

"I think I am. Are you happy then?" I ask.

"Yes, yes I am. Stan. Are you happy?" Kenny asks.

"I think so. Happiness is such a personal subject. I don't think if I am happy. Happy, to me, means completely and utterly satisfied with how life has turned out. I am able to be happy about some things and some I do not find happiness in," Stan says.

"That's deep," Kenny says, looking at Stan as if he were an alien.

"Why did you ask, why am I happy?" I ask.

"Same thing again. Christmas information," Kenny says.