Title: One Night
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst (Strangely enough... I usually don't write in these genres...)
Pairing(s): Russia/China
Rating: K+
Warnings: Human names used!
Summary: After all their friends from high school move out, Yao and Ivan are left in the near empty house they all once shared. Ivan's problems aren't the kind Yao knows how to fix, but he can certainly try anyway.
A/N: Wow. I actually wrote Hetalia fanfiction! And Russia/China too! Yay! Of course, you'd have to squint to see it, but there is SOME Ivan/Yao in here somewhere...
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia... really. As if I could have thought up something so awesome. Psh.
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Wang Yao was cleaning out the dishwasher.
The task wasn't all that exciting, but it had to be done. As he put the dishes away he noticed how empty the cabinets were, the way the clatter of settling plates echoed in the vacant space. This was to be expected, of course, what with the way that everyone had moved out of the big house in a flood. They had all used to share this place — it was the first home any of them had ever put a lease on — and they'd moved in just after graduating high school and having the big bonfire where everyone burned their old uniforms and moved on with their lives.
In the beginning, 'they' had consisted of a big group, somewhere between eight and eighteen depending on who claimed the couches and who commandeered the beds of willing parties. The core had always been Alfred, Arthur, Kiku, Ivan, Heracles, Francis, himself… and Matthew, that other guy he was always forgetting for some reason, with various other people moving in and out on a whim. The house had been crazy and full of life, overflowing with people and fun at all hours.
But the shared house situation had other effects as well.
It had put certain people in close proximity with other certain people, and, one after another, they began to pair off. Childish taunting and old grudges dissolved into passion and embarrassing situations at three in the morning when somebody had to leave for work early and found people feeling each other up in the shower. Suddenly it became awkward for people to live with anyone but their chosen partners.
Alfred and Arthur had been the first to go.
Arthur had made excuses about 'being the only one who could manage the insufferable git' and Alfred saying that if Arthur was moving out he had to go too — that 'a HERO has to protect even tea-huffing jerks'. Francis had gone on about 'l'amour' and how 'Matthew was the only one who understood him'*. He'd practically thrown the Canadian over his shoulder in his rush to get his own place, leaving the meek Matthew to mumble apologies as he and his stuffed polar bear were forcibly removed. Heracles and Kiku had disappeared in the night, neither man being talkative or courageous enough for a confrontation with Yao or their more threatening Russian roommate.
So Yao was left alone in the huge house.
With Ivan Braginski.
"Need help, Yao?"
Think of the devil.
"No thank you, Ivan, I'm perfectly fine," the Chinese man replied, almost dropping a glass at the much bigger man's sudden appearance. "Why are you still up, aru?"
"Couldn't sleep," Ivan said, a smile on his broad face as he ignored Yao's words and began to put dishes away too. His massive hands made pitchers look like teacups as he set them on the shelves. Yao's idea of a cozy evening at home had never included tensely watching as his certifiably insane roommate put away dangerous cutlery while cheerily whistling a Russian folksong, but it couldn't be helped.
When the idea of everyone sharing a house had first come up, Ivan had invited himself in on it, and no one had enough balls** to say no — they all figured that doing so would mean having an 'unfortunate accident' later, like Kiku. Ivan had supposedly 'cursed' the poor man, causing the normally studious and reserved Japanese student to fail all of his midterms and have sex with three people while drunk off his ass.
So Yao had been left with Ivan. Of course, that was putting things harshly; it wasn't like the Russian was a huge problem — they both liked to run a house the same way***, and he certainly helped out when something was on a high shelf and—
But while the Chinese man was engaging in mental warfare with his conscience over the other man's good points, Ivan had stilled. Yao looked over to find him holding the knife they typically used for chopping vegetables, staring down at it as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. He was running a finger along the blade, and a whispering sound could be heard as it ghosted over the striations that honed the steel down to a cutting edge.
"Ivan?"
No response. The Russian looked hypnotized as he caressed the knife. His violet eyes held the glint of serrated steel, though whether that was a reflection of the blade he was staring at or something internal was impossible to tell.
"Ivan, are you okay, aru?"
The man's head snapped up suddenly, and although he was looking into Yao's eyes his gaze was distant.
"This knife is strange. If you compared this knife to a butcher's knife you'd see that this one looks more like a sword. It even feels like a sword. That's strange, isn't it?"
Yao didn't even ask how Ivan knew what a sword felt like. From what he'd heard about the man, his childhood had been pretty fucked up.
"I guess it is strange, aru. Why don't we put the knife down, Ivan?"
It was no use — the Russian was back to staring at the blade with it held straight out in front of him, unmoving.
He'd begun to tremble faintly.
Yao took a deep breath and prepared to do something he probably wouldn't live to regret. He held up his small hands, palms out, as a gesture of non-aggression and moved towards Ivan, the knife to his chest. He reached up and placed calming hands on either side of the much taller man's face, trying not to start shaking himself.
"Ivan. Look at me."
Violet eyes fixed on him. With a clatter of steel on linoleum, Ivan dropped the knife and Yao kicked it away from them. The Chinese man didn't even have time to breathe a sigh of relief as he was enveloped in a bone-crushing embrace. He could now feel how horrible Ivan's trembling had become, and Yao did his best to soothe it while simultaneously trying not to suffocate.
"Shhhhh… It's okay, aru…"
He was helpless. Unlike his little brothers and sisters, Yao had no idea how to scare away the bogeymen that whispered to Ivan in the night. Hands that could crush a man's skull fisted in the material of his red silk changsham as the shuddering began to subside. Yao bit his lip and rubbed the Russian's broad back to further comfort him in his breakdown. There was nothing else he could do.
For now, he would be Ivan's red-dressed teddy bear and hope that the Russian never turned a blade his way again.
Presently, Ivan began to sob.
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FOOTNOTES:
* French Canadian joke! /nerd
** Or any, in Elizaveta's case, but she'd stepped out the moment Ivan had stepped in.
*** Referring to Communism here. Remember, children – it doesn't pay.
A/N: Yeah. This is obviously not based on a historical event, unless there was a Great Sino-Russian Hug of 2010 I didn't hear about. Reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading till the end. :D
- C