this was made at 3 am

... yeah that's my only excuse WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW SON HUH BRING IT

please feel free to point out any flaws or ooc-ness or throw a brick at my head because i probably deserve it idc

and uhhh what else OH YEAH this fic's dedicated to my sister who has an obsession with russia (not really but she likes him which is good enough for me)


To sink into a deep slumber.

It is not often Ivan thinks about it, but when he does, he can instantly feel his blood run cold and his brows furrow, and there is a bitter taste in his mouth that he cannot get rid of. He is exhausted and weary, his mind is wandering, racing, forcing him awake. His violet eyes stare up at his ceiling—they have grown accustomed to the darkness, he realizes, as he can make out the blood stains that would otherwise be hard to see. He wonders absent-mindedly what it's like to sleep peacefully. What it's like to be gently enveloped by kind dreams, dreams about warm weather and friends laughing merrily at horribly corny jokes and flowers. He knows not of these things. Sunshine is always accompanied by fat ugly snowflakes or hail making his windows rattle. Flowers wither and so does friendship for all he's concerned. No, Ivan knows. Nightmares will always be able to find him, no matter how sickeningly bright his future may be.

He rolls over, listens to the old bed moan audibly in protest. The sea of blankets seem suddenly suffocating, so he kicks them off, instantly regretting his actions as cold seeps through his skin but he does not bother to retrieve them. A sudden wave of fatigue takes over and he tightens his grip on his pillow, tensing, bracing himself for the images that usually followed. He sees no reason why tonight would be any different.

Nothing.

Not even a whisper. Ivan finds himself confused, and admittedly quite scared. He peers ahead, desperately trying to spot anything he might recognize, though there is only emptiness.

So he starts to walk.

Being lost is quite a scary thought, especially when there is nothing to guide you. To comfort himself he sings. The tune is quite jolly, and to his surprise he skips along. The words that spill out of his mouth are of no importance. He does not hear them. His pace fastens. He isn't lost any more. This is his world, and he is just exploring it. Everywhere he looks he sees sunflowers. It is wonderful.

His eyes open. He's back to where he was. Slowly he rests his head, turns it, watches his fingers shiver with an absent smile. Tears roll down his cheeks, streaking his pale skin and rolling down onto the bed sheet. He understands now.

Reality is the nightmare he fears so much.