Red Sky: Chapter 1
First time posting anything on here in a long, long while, so bear with me if something seems incorrect as far as the format goes.
Eventual boy love in this story, but not planned for until a good while later. Also, swearing when it comes to a character who typically has a mouth on them. Many, many thanks to the betas who were kind enough to sit down and tweak the finer points of this until it sounded right, then giving me the run-down on what can be improved on.
Trying for somewhat modern-day accuracy, and doing what research I can for it, but my biggest apologies if a major mistake is made.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters, or Hetalia in general.
After an abnormally long and hard winter, the temperatures in St. Petersburg had reached a new low for spring—34 degrees Fahrenheit below zero — forcing even the locals to stay holed up in the warmth of their houses, only stepping out if it was truly necessary. In addition, it was March; a month where temperatures were expected to warm, and made the current weather completely unexpected. The previous record low was only around 22 degrees below zero, and the temperatures had gone nowhere near that for quite some time.
Russia shivered, and turned up the heat on the thermostat within the "modernized" house his government had paid for him to live in. He hadn't been sure about the building at first glance, the light brown walls appeared to be thin and the front door had patterned glass in the middle. He did not care for the two story abode, though the staircase was a nice interior accent. He'd been promised new furniture as well, but he'd told the nervous government officials with a smile that he had grown attached to his old furniture over the years, and they'd let him keep it without a single protest.
He didn't mind his new home, he simply liked the older, grander style. However, he had started to fall behind with the upkeep and regular repair of his old house—it seemed that as soon as one problem was solved another popped up in its spot- and with the Baltic trio gone and unable to help, he knew he would eventually need a new place.
The thing that bothered him the most was the lack of space- it was now obvious he lived by himself. Of course, Ukraine came to visit every once in a while, and Belarus if he couldn't make any other plans for the days she was here, and for a business meeting or two, a few of the European countries would come to visit, including the Baltics (but those countries never stayed over, always having a hotel booked in the area, and Russia supposed he had built up enough of a reputation; they had good reasons not to trust him). In the old house, he could pretend that he wasn't so alone, that Ukraine, for instance, was just down the hall.
Russia rubbed down the goose bumps that had risen for the first time in what felt like decades on his arm, even under his heavy red turtleneck sweater, and thought of places he might want to go to get away from the abnormally cold temperatures.
China's home was polluted, and he wasn't a fan of the atmosphere a lot of the country's new cities gave off. Japan and Russia were on relatively good terms, but he knew personally the island nation wasn't a large fan of his presence; although it not much of a surprise considering their history. England, America, France and Spain crossed his mind, but he wanted little to do with either of them at the moment. Germany (and Prussia, who he assumed was technically residing in Germany) was faced with the abnormally cold temperatures as well, though he liked the place and thought well of the personification who represented it.
He certainly wasn't going northward, which left the southern nations; and the only one he liked well enough to consider was Italy. North Italy in particular, as the southern half often made him want to do something violent.
Russia smiled, and pulled on his coat and gloves, adding a fur-lined hat for extra protection from the cold, and partially wrapped his scarf around his face before draping the long, trailing ends over his shoulders. He then made sure all the lights in the house had been turned off and went outside; locking the door behind him even when he was sure nobody would want to steal from him in the first place.
-o-
Meanwhile, Italy smiled and closed his eyes, leaning against the porch railing of his home in Genoa, watching the waves of the Ligurian Sea as they hit the rocks, enjoying the warm yet not quite hot temperatures that came around this time of year, and the cool breeze that rushed in to provide relief for a moment.
Opening his eyes again, he noticed a familiar figure walking along the sidewalk that connected the homes the personification of Italy shared the coastline with. He nearly thought it was Prussia from the hair color, then saw the man for who he was by the telltale scarf, hat, and coat tucked under his arm.
What was Russia here for? The temperatures were getting warmer, sure, and his tourists were coming to his home in what seemed like a larger amount every year, but the Russian didn't have any real reason to be here. The last business meeting hadn't been long ago—in fact, he and Russia saw each other quite often nowadays, whether it was a formal meeting or something more casual, even if their meetings were still full of nerve-wracking anxiety and fear in the beginnings of them. However, Italy could have sworn that everything had been worked out between them.
Had there been a point Russia wanted to go back on? Startled and nervous, he ran back into the house and quickly drew all the curtains, trying to make it appear as if he wasn't home. He then went over to the kitchen, and for a moment his hand hovered over the phone, wondering if he should call someone.
Italy took a deep breath and tried to gather his lost composure, attempting to calm himself after the initial shock.
No, there's no need for that, Italy thought. He was at a point now where he should be able to handle Russia on his own, as he had been for the last few meetings (though those were dinners, and he'd had others around to back him up, then)…
A knock on the door made him jump, startling the Italian from his own panicked thoughts. His hand ghosted over the phone, as if to reassure himself it was still there, and he carefully made his way over to the door.
If he didn't answer, would Russia think he was gone?
Another knock disproved that theory, and Italy cautiously twisted the brass door-knob, pulling back hesitantly to peek through the opening. He ignored the way his heart pounded a little, and tried to stop his hands from shaking as he put on his best look of surprise for the taller nation.
He chose to speak in their special language- something which he vaguely remembered that when he first awoke in this world left his mouth without his seemingly ever being taught it. It was meant specifically for them, to eliminate all barriers of communication and to help them recognize each other as more than human. It was easy to slip into, as easy as it was for them to speak in their native tongues, and it certainly helped in occasions of seriousness or secrecy. The various nations had found that the humans didn't pay much mind to it either, simply giving them a strange look or two and moving on in their day.
"Ve, Russia, what a surprise! What brings you here?"
"Just visiting. My home is particularly cold this spring so I thought I would wait out the temperatures for a few days here. Especially since it is so much warmer here, da?" Russia replied, a warm smile gracing his features.
Italy paused for a second, regarding the other's smile directed his way, usually not an expression of actual happiness but of something dangerous, lacking any good intentions, and then nodded- seeing no other reply could be given peacefully. He kept his guard up, but figured there was no harm in entertaining the other nation for a while; if he truly only wanted to enjoy the weather here.
Besides, he could call for help quickly, if need arose.
"It's… it's been getting warmer recently, yes…" he replied, and moved a little from the doorway, "Would you like to come in? I was just about to take a nap, that's why it's so dark, but I'm sure you'd like to sit down after your trip…"
Russia saw the lie, easily identifying it on the other's face through his years of practice, but chose to ignore it, moving past the doorway and into the dark house. Italy flipped the light switch next to the door, illuminating the comfortably spacious living room.
Adjoining this room was what looked like a fairly large kitchen, with large pots and pans hanging from the ceiling over an island, and many stainless steel appliances connecting to the surrounding countertop, along with a steel sink.
Russia could guess what Italy kept in the cupboards familiar enough with Italian cuisine and the small Nation's favorite meal. From the kitchen he noticed a smaller door left ajar that must have led to the garage, if the hint of a parked red sports car outside was any indication. A medium-sized table and chairs were set in the living room, close by to the kitchen.
In the living room, stairs went up to the second story floor, perhaps where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. The overall place was smaller than his, but Russia found he liked the feeling of it; it seemed to fit Italy and his personality rather well.
Italy went over to the living room patio door and pulled back the curtains, letting in even more natural light. From it, Russia could see a view of the sea he had seen from the sidewalk and a small porch that jutted out.
Russia went over to the door and looked out not bothering to hide his interest in the warm waters he might actually be able to swim in, without worry of the cold. He turned and looked over at Italy, who had closed the door behind him and had made his way over to the kitchen, drawing himself a glass of water from the tap.
"Would you like something Russia? I have water, soda, juice… and if you're hungry I can make some pasta…" Italy said, meeting the eyes of the other nation.
Russia thought for a moment. It was true he was a little hungry, but… "You don't mind cooking?" he asked. He saw the Italian's eyes light up a little at the prospect and he shook his head rambunctiously.
"No, I don't mind. It's nearly lunchtime as it is. Ve, Russia, did you like my pasta the last time I made it?" Italy replied.
"Da, it was alright," Russia said.
Italy smiled at this, and Russia decided that he liked the look of Italy smiling. The looks of fear, while entertaining, could get boring after a while, and the happy disposition the boy showed in his presence was a welcoming change. Perhaps should he see more of those smiles in his time here, he could admit, he wouldn't mind being treated to such a thing.
"I'll make you my special pasta, then," Italy told him happily. Though as he pulled out the large pot and filled it with water, he noticed his heart rate had sped up a little, and his hands shook with small tremors.
He hadn't expected Russia to take him up on his offer of food; he had thought perhaps Russia would have had something to drink, maybe chatted a little with him and then left him alone, his visit short. It really wasn't that he minded cooking or that he was nervous about doing something wrong, but food on the table implied a longer stay. That made Italy nervous; aside from business, he… Italy paused for a moment in his train of thought.
He realized aside from the meetings and the wars, he didn't know Russia all that well. He hadn't even been inside Russia's personal house, so did he have any pets? Did he have any hobbies (aside from drinking vodka)? Did Russia like to cook? Italy didn't think he wanted to know Russia's dislikes, but his curiosity nagged at him for those as well.
Russia watched Italy pause in cutting up the vegetables for a sauce, his expression changing from nervousness to thoughtfulness to slight surprise and back to apprehension. Russia wondered if Italy realized how much his emotions played on his face.
Soon enough, however, Italy was back to cutting the vegetables, and preparing the sauce in a separate pot. Italy's eyes never once went directly to him, though.
Turning around, Russia decided to open the door, letting the salty-smelling sea breeze caress his face, leaning against the railing comfortably.
"The pasta's almost done," Italy called out from the kitchen a little while later, and Russia turned his head to look behind him giving a nod to the Italian who finally looked up at him.
Just then another knock came at the door, and Italy looked confused for a moment before exclaiming "Germany!" and walking swiftly over to the door.
"Germany, come in, come in! I was wondering when you'd be coming. The pasta's almost done," Italy said, opening the door for Germany to enter.
Russia noted with amusement that Italy had let the man in much sooner than he had been let in, though wondered if the Italian had forgotten about Germany with him there. He hadn't mentioned Germany coming before.
He watched as Germany smiled softly to the other and responded to Italy's hyper-active statements with an affectionate tone. He then straightened himself up from the railing and walked back into the house, shutting the patio door behind him.
At this, Germany, who seemed to have not noticed Russia before, looked up in surprise.
"Russia!" Germany said, his stance tensing, more guarded now, "When did you get here? Why are you at Italy's?"
"Germany…" Italy started; ready to explain things for Russia.
"I've only been here for an hour or so at most. Your home is experiencing a colder than normal spring as well, so I hear, da?" Russia said, smiling.
"Ah, true it is. Why Italy though? Why not China? His place is just as warm," Germany replied.
"I still have a few difficulties with China that have yet to be fully worked out," Russia said, "I was hoping to keep things a little more on the relaxed side. Like you I'm sure, da?"
Germany nodded again, relaxing by just a little bit.
"Ah, Germany, since Russia's here I offered to let him have lunch with us, is that alright?" Italy asked, glancing at Russia before looking back at Germany. Ah, Russia thought, so he realizes he'd forgotten to tell me about Germany coming over for this.
Germany looked down at Italy, and sighed before nodding. Germany had hoped to spend some time alone with Italy, but it wasn't like he could say no to Russia, and Italy seemed to not mind; and so he gave in.
Italy smiled. "Ve, thank you Germany!" he said and went back into the kitchen, checking on the sauce by stirring it a few times and giving it a taste before adding in more ingredients. Germany watched him go, and then went to sit on the couch, turning on the TV.
"So, Germany, you've been well I hope?" Russia asked, sitting down next to the man.
Germany nodded. "Yeah. Pretty well. And you? How has your government been handling the cold?"
"Advising those in St. Petersburg to stay indoors if possible, but otherwise it's like normal during this season," Russia replied.
"Ve, Russia, Germany, the pasta is done!" Italy then called out, and began preparing plates and setting the table, placing larger bowls of excess pasta and sauce in the middle.
Russia glanced at Germany, then got up and went over to be seated, Germany following. As they ate, Russia watched quietly as Italy told Germany about the new café that had opened up a little ways away, and how the girls working there were really cute and nice. Germany smiled at this and shook his head, then made his own comment on how a few new places had popped up in his own neighborhood, even a few he remarked that he thought Italy night enjoy seeing.
Russia smiled a little, content to be left out of the conversation for the time being and able to examine Germany and Italy's expressions and gestures as they spoke.
Suddenly, Italy turned to Russia and asked him about his own place, "What about you Russia? Do you have any new places that have opened up near you?"
Russia, not thinking the conversation would have come back to him—since few really wanted to talk about Russia with Russia—was caught mentally off guard, though he kept a broader smile in place as he did some quick thinking, not letting his expression change to show his hesitancy.
"Only one or two that I've seen. Though I believe the owners of one closest to me might close shop soon, since they aren't doing well," he replied. Not because of him, he knew, as most of the humans didn't even know of the existence of nations, but the little art gallery had opened up just as it was starting to get cold, and were spending more than what was coming in because of how few people wanted to make the trip to buy their pieces. He didn't know much about art, but in his mind the pieces they had were nice enough, and thought it a shame that more people weren't interested.
Italy nodded in understanding. "That's too bad," he said, "What kind of place was it?"
"Just a small art gallery," Russia said, and he saw Italy's interest perk up.
"Really?" Italy asked, frowning a little at the thought of it closing, "That really is too bad, then."
Russia nodded in agreement, and went back to his pasta, thinking that he liked the way Italy had made it, but his thoughts didn't go further in his mind, his attention once again focused on Italy and Germany making light conversation. As they all finished eating, and brought their plates to the kitchen, Russia decided that he should probably go back to the hotel he had reserved, and let Italy and Germany alone for a while. After all, it seemed obvious that the German had come here to visit privately with Italy, and wasn't keen on the idea of Italy being alone with Russia either.
Russia admired Germany for keeping such a close friendship with Italy, even after what had happened between them in the war. Russia was protective over the Baltic States, yes, but the four of them shared nowhere as close a friendship after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. With China… he had thought perhaps he had reached that closeness with him, but China too eventually grew distant and critical of him, and the two of them—China mostly— had ultimately decided that it was better if the relationship was kept at a business-level instead of something more. The other relations he had with the various nations either had strings attached, or he simply didn't see them often enough to consider them more than acquaintances.
At this thought, a pang of jealousy hit Russia deep under his thick exterior, but he shoved it deeper. He was fine with his friendships being… limited.
"I should be going," he announced, and looked at Italy and Germany. "Italy, Germany, I'll see you two sometime soon, da?"
"Do you have a hotel here?" Italy asked curiously, and his thoughts wondered to the free guest bedroom upstairs- he would not say anything unless necessary, but he'd offer out of courtesy if Russia had nowhere to stay.
Russia nodded. "I do, not too far a distance from here," he replied.
Italy nodded in understanding. "I'll see you later then," he said, after walking Russia to the door and watching him walk off, giving the nation a return wave as Russia gestured a goodbye.
Germany stood quietly near the kitchen, not too thrilled with having Russia around in the first place, much less having any actual desire to give Russia a friendly goodbye himself. He wasn't even so sure if he liked Italy giving Russia a wave goodbye.
Perhaps it was simply Germany's own thoughts, but he didn't think of Russia as the type of nation you allowed yourself to get close to without caution. In addition, Italy's self-preservation skills usually only kicked in when something was actively happening to him, and Germany had the suspicion that Russia could use that to play Italy straight into his hands if Russia ever felt inclined to do so.
However, even when Germany felt the need to protect Italy's wellbeing, he knew Italy needed to keep his political ties with Russia secure, and his intervention wouldn't help. There was a delicate balance in it all that needed to be kept. For now, he could only watch and hope Italy didn't go getting himself into too much trouble.
-o-
As Russia made his way to the hotel, he began to notice a white car with tinted windows tailing a few paces behind him. He made a couple of extra turns to see if the car would continue to follow him and it did, though no actual move was made against him.
Strange, Russia thought.
To test his theory that if he was truly being followed, then the vehicle would stop if he did, he decided to grab a small scoop of gelato from a street vendor,who after looking the nation over told him to keep the cold treat for free as he leered at Russia behind his cart (Russia wondered if he was truly that intimidating to normal humans, because in Russia's opinion, he was far from frightening), and paused in his walk, watching the car pass him without even disrupting traffic flow.
Russia stared in the direction it went for a second, and then walked off. With all the extra turns it would take Russia an extra fifteen minutes or so to get to his destination, but he didn't mind. The snack was tasty, and melted on his tongue in a smooth way that ice cream did not, leaving very little in his mouth aside from the taste even though it was denser than ice cream. He wanted to enjoy it as long as he could.
When he got to the hotel and walked up to the counter, he found the suite he had booked several days ago (with extra vodka ordered to be brought in, since he could only carry one at a time), had been taken by someone else.
"Are… are you sure you have the right hotel, sir? Your name isn't anywhere on here…" the clerk asked as calmly as she could.
Russia nodded, a smile on his face, though false with his eyes expressing annoyance. "Da, I'm certain this is it," he said with what Italian he remembered since he was last made to learn what he could of it.
The clerk looked up from the computer at him, then back down at the screen anxiously. "I-I could book you another room, if you'd like, sir. We happen to have one open…"
"Da, I'll take it, then, thank you," Russia said curtly.
The clerk nodded. "And how long will you be staying, Mr….?"
"Put it under Ivan Braginsky,and one week," Russia replied, and handed over his credit card.
He wasn't fond of the name his government had given him, far back in the days when Polish influences were greater. The last name in particular implied he was part Polish, which he certainly wasn't. Russia was Russian, and nothing else, despite what nationality his former occupiers may have been. However, the government had decided that the name 'Rus' wasn't good enough for when he started to need a consistent signature on documents passing between them.
To his chagrin, the government had also slapped his new name on almost everything official related to him that might be seen by the public—aside from things like his passport and driver's license, which could remain on his person on most occasions, but also gave him the proof needed of his identity to put his official name to good use if the need arose. The name then ended up being used for a long enough time that it stuck with the coming of checks, credit cards and the like. It was also simply something to tell ordinary people such as this hotel clerk, so he didn't go broadcasting that he was Russia, the former Soviet Union.
"Alright then, sir, here are your cards… Your room will be number 318, and the elevator is on your left there… do you have luggage you'd like for us to bring up, sir?"
"I should have some that was sent to this hotel's address, da, if you could check for me," Russia said taking the cards and putting them in his coat, "Also, if you have vodka, could I have that sent up as well?"
The clerk nodded, and Ivan went up the elevator to his room. A few minutes later he received a call; it looked like his luggage had at one point come in, but was nowhere to be found. Russia sighed. He didn't like the way his first day in Italy was turning out.
Again, a good deal of thanks to the amazing betas of this first chapter, Sweet-and-Simple and Artificial Starlight :)
