He's relieved when Netherlands gaze settles somewhere at his feet, because all of a sudden it would be too much to meet Netherlands' gaze and answer honestly. Or promptly for that matter. As it is, Russia ponders over that, hands folding together.

Russia might have Netherlands' attention, but he's not sure what to do with it all of a sudden. So the silence drags out near uncomfortably before he nods to himself and looks over, follows the fall of light hair, watches that scowl grow.

"Maybe," A faint acknowledgement. "Would it help you?"

Because he does remember why Netherlands is at his door so early in the morning after all.