Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary:
In which Napoleon notices that after living for five years in the US, Illya’s accent has changed.

Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.

Illya could tell that Napoleon was in deep thought as he
arrived at the breakfast table to see his partner with his chin on his hand,
ignoring the glass of orange juice in front of him and the many dishes of
breakfast foods.  Baba Yaga was helping
herself to a piece of bacon, with Napoleon oblivious to the theft in
action.  The cat looked at Illya as he
approached, but knowing that he would let her get away with anything, she
continued to indulge in her plunder.

“Morning,” Illya offered to Napoleon, gently petting the
cat.  “What’re you so focused on?”

“You,” Napoleon said, glancing at Illya.  “Your accent is gone.”

Illya, who had now been in the process of piling potatoes
onto his plate, paused with the serving spoon in midair.

“…I realize THRUSH has been mostly inactive and our work
has been unusually slow as of late,” he said.
“But has it come to the point that you’re pondering over things like
this?”

“See?  See right
there?”  Napoleon pointed at him.  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You’ve lost me,” Illya said, resuming serving himself the
potatoes.  “I haven’t really noticed my
accent having changed—though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  I have
lived here for five years now, after all, listen to you talk and talk and
talk…”

“I didn’t notice it either until I realized that you’ve
started stressing syllables differently—and you’re using contractions a whole
lot more,” Napoleon said.

Illya, now serving himself bacon and eggs, considered this,
and nodded.

“Guess you’re right,” he said.  “Well, if it means I won’t draw any
suspicious stares from passersby who think I’m a Soviet plant, then why should
I mind?  I don’t plan to go back to
Russia—you know I’m working on getting my American citizenship.”  He smiled.
“It’s more official now, isn’t it?”

Napoleon smiled.

“Guess so,” he said.
“I’m just trying to figure out how I didn’t notice until now?”

“Same way you never notice that your hair is getting too
long, and, before you know it, it’s time for a trim.”

“…Not that you’d know anything about getting a trim,”
Napoleon teased.

Illya smirked, running a hand through his growing, blond
hair.

“So you noticed that I’m growing it out?”

“That, I did notice,” Napoleon grinned.  “…Looks nice, by the way.”

“Spacibo,” Illya
said, deliberately, prompting Napoleon to chuckle.  “There’s no need to worry, Napoleon—my accent
may have changed, but who I am and what you mean to me never will.”

Napoleon smiled.

“And I don’t foresee my accent ever changing, but even if
it did, the same would apply to me, too,” he promised.

“I never doubted it,” Illya said.  “Now, if you are through pondering, let’s
eat.”

“…At least that hasn’t changed…”

And they enjoyed their breakfast together.