The fire swept away all hope as it turned each picture, letter and keepsake to ash that now littered the grounds. It was gone, all of it, everything. His knees buckled and his breath was captured in his throat. Gone. One word, four letters that seared themselves into his conscience as everything crashed around him. The heat of the flames reached his skin as he watched the orange devour it all.

The high pitched scream of agony had him sprinting towards the heat, he didn't feel in control any more but he had to do something, he had too. Flashbacks of hidden memories flickered through his vision as the smoke grew thicker with each step he took.

He shrugged away from a hand that pressed itself to his shoulder. He didn't want company, he should have known what would happen. That this would be the result. His hands cradled his head as pain seared through him, electrifying him to the spot before the orange glow before him gave away to black and pain became a dull memory.

He was first aware of the musky scent that lingered on the bed spread beneath him, and for a few seconds he deeply inhaled enjoying it before realizing he wasn't at home. And that his body felt like he had fell down a few mountains. He opened his eyes slowly, aware of the slowly creeping nausea that began to affect him and noticed he wasn't alone in the room. He also noticed that this wasn't his room and that the clothes currently covering him where two sizes much too big.

Ivan had fell asleep on the chair opposite the bed, his long limbs spread out. Arthur thought of every way he could possibly evacuate the room without waking him yet each time his dizziness threatened to make him fall right over the older man's body. Arthur had never been a careful person and the previous night only added to the hate gravity seemed to hold for him.

Still, there was many things he would rather do than socialize with Ivan. It wasn't the man's fault at all, but Ivan had this way of somehow always intimidating Arthur. Even his smile made intimidated the shorter man. His eyes lingered on the Russian's sleeping face. He appeared so peaceful that it caught Arthur off guard, he trailed his eyes over the rough features created from years of hard living if all the stories where true which he believed they were. Especially if the cold demeanour which Ivan fast adopted towards anyone who probed into the man's past, showed anything. He wouldn't admit it aloud but there was certainly something to be said about the man. He held a beauty he couldn't put his finger on, a certain rawness that intrigued yet terrified anyone who was allowed a glimpse into the man behind the myth. Arthur couldn't decide whether he fault sorry for Ivan or not.

Arthur groaned involuntary as he moved up and his head reacted, as if lightening struck him itself. He fell back into the pillows and arched his back instinctively, hot tears pricking his skin. He heard someone call his name, cold hands pressed to his face as foreign words where muttered but he couldn't open his eyes, instead he gave into the darkness that claimed him once more.