Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of the mentions referencing to it.
AN: I wrote this on February 16th, for Lithuania's birthday. My editor just got it back to me... Anyway, I really hope you like it! Please review if you do. It would make my day~!
Lithuania stared out the window at the still snowy landscape of the large country he inhabited. He leaned heavily on a broomstick, the bristles at the bottom end bending and scratching at the floor as he shifted into a more comfortable position. His emerald hues studied the outdoors, chocolate brown locks of hair attempting to obscure his view. He moved them away, tucking them behind an ear with a small sigh.
The sun was setting.
It was February 16th at Russia's house.
His birthday.
A sharp pang in his chest forced him away from the window, back to the confines of the house—back to his work. The broom crunched as he shifted his weight from the delicate brush and went into the next room to place it back in the closet, along with the dust pan he had grabbed along the way. As he moved, he felt the small weight in his pocket shift, making him more aware of its presence.
Eduard and Raivis had remembered his birthday and given him something of taboo, something he missed dearly and would cherish for as long as he was able to keep it hidden: a single book, written in Lithuanian. It was one of the few the larger nation hadn't burned when he discovered the tiny secreted library under his bed. That was so long ago… Much time had passed since then and the brunette had believed all of his possessions from his time of freedom had been lost forever, that is, until his younger brother had presented him with the gift, wrapped awkwardly in a small napkin from the kitchen and a crude bow tied to the top with one of his shoelaces.
He had told Toris that Eduard had kept it, spirited it away somewhere in the house when he had come across the treasure. Said brother, however, was away and had been unable to see the look of pure happiness on his face when he opened it. Surely Ivan had forgotten his birthday, and in support of this assumption, Estonia had been sent out to Ukraine with a message from Russia's superiors.
If Russia ever found out… If Ivan caught him with this book…
Toris shook his head, not wanting to think about the pain that would ensue because of the discovery. His back burned with past scars, some long healed, some recent. Memories of welts blistering on tortured skin sent a shiver down his spine and he tried to ignore the small weight in his pocket. Latvia had given it to him after dinner, when Russia had withdrawn to his room… so Lithuania had only to evade suspicion long enough to get to his own quarters… and he only had one chore left.
One single chore that could give away his secret if he did anything differently.
His legs felt like lead as he trudged to the kitchen and set water on the stove to heat. Rubbery arms reached for a small container, palms slick with sweat as he prepared the evening's drink, the tea he would deliver to Russia's room before he was allowed to retire to his own.
Toris had the tray ready at least two minutes before he usually did and chanced a look in the mirror at himself. Stress lines raked his face and beads of sweat threatened at his temples. His usually sparkling green eyes were wild with worry and even his hair seemed to fray a bit with the tension. Russia would know for sure something was amiss… He glanced around the kitchen, looking for a hiding place—somewhere to stash the book while he transported the tea. His gaze flickered to the pantry, then to the table. In a rush, he collapsed to the ground and crawled under the oak furniture. Studying the underside construction, Toris found a rafter near the corner, just large enough to hide a small book. A sigh of relief flowed through him as he settled his gift into the hiding spot and stood up. It was done. Hidden away, forgotten.
He turned back to the stove and saw that the water hadn't even begun to simmer yet. He smiled with his ingenuity of the act, but almost as soon as the smile appeared, it was frozen in place with the realization of what was to come.
No… No, Russia would follow him.
If, when Toris left Ivan's room, he headed back to the kitchen, down the stairs, instead of down the hall towards his own room…
In an instant, the book was back in his hand, a panicked look to his eyes as he stared at it. There was no other way. Unless everything was done just as it always was, Russia would know.
Slowly, Toris returned it to his pocket, its weight settling uncomfortably against his thigh. He would have to bring it with him when completing the last of his chores.
The sound of the kettle whistling made him jump, tearing him from his thoughts and reigniting his worries in an instant. There was no more time to plan, no more time to concern himself with what might happen. He was a mess and he knew it. Russia would surely know something was amiss and beat him… or worse…
He thought of Raivis, of Eduard coming back from Ukraine. If it was ever discovered his brothers had kept something like this for so long…
A steel edge hardened the borders of his mind. His brothers were not to blame for this. There would be no way he would allow Russia to hurt them, not again. Anything that happened, he would take it and never divulge his brothers' involvement. From his past, a strong reason to protect surfaced. Just like before, when he shielded Feliks from harm, he would now do the same for his brothers. Not once in his past did he lose a battle with Poland during the time of their reign, not even to the great Mother Russia. Even in the end, when they finally fell, he made sure Feliks was safe. It was only after he had left that Poland partitioned out among Germany and the others.
It would be the same today. This night wasn't any different from any other night of his past. He combed his fingers through his hair, smoothing down the stray strands, and patted his brow with the spare towel that hung over the rung of the stove. Calmly, he poured the water into the pot and began his trek up the stairs.
Unfortunately, however, the resolve he had felt in the kitchen had been replaced with his old concern once he reached the large door leading into Russia's private chambers. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of his uneven breathing and gentle clatter of the cup on the tray. He closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat down, although it only worked to steady his hands a bit. With a deep breath, Toris balanced the tray and knocked on the door.
"Russia, sir, your evening tea is ready," he called, counting to ten before opening the door. He didn't wait for an answer. With a creak of old hinges, the room beyond slowly became visible through the widening crack. While the rest of the house burned with electrical overhead lighting, Ivan chose the simplicity of candles and oil lamps to illuminate this section of the house. However sparsely decorated, the room held warmth unnatural to the one who inhabited it. Warm reds and yellows seemed to dominate the cool purples and blues hidden within the tight reaches of the space.
Red satin sheets covered the neatly made bed to one side of the room, mirroring a writing desk with the only working telephone of the house. Unlike the oak of the kitchen table, the furniture of this room was all African mahogany. The deep shades of wood seemed to glow and flicker with a flame of their own, mimicking the candlelight that danced with his entrance. Old paintings hung on the walls and photographs could be seen in gold and bronze frames arranged on the desk and dresser on the far side of the bed. Matching the bed, a deep red carpet covered the floors, which Toris vacuumed weekly. At the other end, however, this carpet was covered by an old yellow rug housing a magenta loveseat and mahogany coffee table across from an ornate fireplace, the home's main source of heat. Red pillows usually graced each edge of the couch, a bit of purple lace tied to the sides and crossing in the center of each pillow, which completed the room.
Toris's gaze settled on this couch and its inhabitant now. Ivan sat at one end, having moved the pillow to the center so he could rest against the edge. Purple and red satin pajamas replaced the usual uniform of his attire, but his scarf remained. A book lay at his side, a familiar bookmark dangling from what appeared to be little more than the center of the book.
The bookmark had been the birthday gift Toris had given the other man. He had braided red, yellow, and purple strings together to make a long thread, tying each end with a charm. On one end was the Russian flag, a charm he had no problem finding at the shops on the days he had been allowed leisure time. The other, however, had been more difficult to locate. The bright yellow sunflower twinkled as it spun from the book. It had taken him three personal days to find the right one.
"Your tea is ready," Toris said again, gently closing the door and crossing to the table in front of the couch. The book felt like a balloon in his pocket. Surely Russia would see the telltale shape and rip it from him. Emerald eyes stared, transfixed upon his boss, waiting for his usual smile to turn into something much more sinister.
Instead, Ivan nodded, as he did every night. "Thank you, Toris. Your tea is always the best before bed. You should have a cup yourself, da?" The nightly ritual began. As per usual, a suggestion or request from Russia should always be met as an order, even if the last place Toris wanted to remain tonight was here, stuck in this room any longer with his gift. For a split second, Lithuania thought about rejecting the offer, claim he was tired and would rather retire early.
"Of course, thank you," he said instead and poured the tea into the two glasses he had brought up. As Toris handed one of the cups to Ivan, he felt sweat form in his hair, dribbling down his scalp. He resisted the overwhelming urge to scratch them away, but that would cause even more movement to his already horribly exposed pocket. Never mind the fact that it was hidden under his jacket and the bump was no more noticeable than his usual appearance. To Toris, it was a blinding beacon of disaster.
Once Toris sat next to Ivan on the couch, the duo drank their tea in silence, which also followed the rules of the nightly ritual. Every once in awhile, a contented sigh would escape the larger male. During these evenings, Toris swore Ivan became a different person. Throughout the day, he was imposing, always ready to lash out if something was amiss, but once dinner was done and there was nothing left to do, no one left to punish, Russia seemed to relax.
On most nights, Toris was grateful for the company the two of them shared while drinking tea before bed. It showed him another side of the horrible man he lived with, reinforced the fact that, like Lithuania himself, Russia was no different than him. While neither was actually human, they were as close to it as anyone else. In fact, Toris was sure that some humans were more barbarian than the countries that walked among them.
"Ah, your tea is wonderful always, Toris," Ivan said as he placed his empty cup back on its saucer. There was still more in the pot, but the brunette was only invited to stay for one sitting. By morning, the tea would be gone. Toris had been finished with his tea a few moments before Russia spoke, so he was easily able to set his own empty cup next to the other's.
"I'm glad it was to your liking, sir," he responded, standing and smoothing out the creases in his pants, his heartbeat drumming in his chest as his fingers ghosted over the book.
Ivan nodded, not standing, but moving his book from the arm of the couch and into his lap. Toris stifled a gulp. Ivan didn't usually make any movement of whatever book he was reading until he was gone, and the fact that he had done so sent a freezing chill through his blood. Violet eyes stared at him, linking to his soul through the emerald of his own. Toris dared not break the contact, fearing that if he did, Ivan would lunge at him as a wolf leapt upon its prey. After an agonizing moment, Ivan closed his eyes and smiled.
"Thank you for the tea, Toris. You are done for the night, da? I expect breakfast to be just as delicious as dinner was tonight." And with that, Ivan opened his book and twirled the string around his finger, both charms now dangling as he focused on the pages. Toris couldn't believe it. It was impossible for Ivan to not have noticed something was different, and surely he had to have noticed the crease in his pocket.
With a confused nod, the brunette left the room. His back to his boss, Toris didn't notice that his retreat had been watched. A large finger traced the pages of his own book, the pendants of his bookmark clinking slightly as they moved against one another.
"Happy birthday, Toryška," Ivan mumbled as he watched the last sliver of Toris's image disappear behind the door and vanish into the confines of the house.