It was the depths of midwinter, the time of year and weather best spent huddled indoors by a crackling fire under a soft blanket or two, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, a plate of biscuits and chocolates a comfortable distance away. Not hurrying through the streets of Moscow as the wind snatched at your clothes and pinched your cheeks and nose until they were scarlet and numb. Yet, that was the position one Arthur Kirkland found himself in. From indoors, the blizzard - as he dubbed it - would probably have looked pretty. The snowflakes spiralling in their multitudes down from the steely blanket of clouds far above were whipped by the wind into beautiful, intricate patterns, building up on windows and around doors to form an undeniably picture perfect scene. However, outside... The snowflakes were blinding, stinging as they were forced into his face and eyes. He would be very surprised, although his rational side argued that he shouldn't be, if when he got inside there were no cuts on the exposed skin. As such, he was practically blind, hoping to dear God that he was going in the correct direction. And as if that wasn't bad enough, there was the wind. Seemingly determined to rob him of any warmth he managed to garner from his almost pitifully thin coat, the gusts didn't go five seconds without trying to rip it off him and leaving him shivering and exposed to the elements. Not to mention that it was so strong it was rather hard for him to keep his balance.
All in all, this was not a very pleasant situation for the Englishman. His boots were soaked through and freezing; his scarf long gone, stolen by the storm; head bowed; arms crossed across his chest in an attempt to keep both his warmth and his coat; hair practically frozen to his scalp and teeth chattering and nose running ferociously as he fired off choice expletives, not even bothering to keep his voice down.
"Bloody Russ-sia in the fucking wi-i-inter what the d-devil possessed me to thi-nk that this was even c-close to a g-g-good idea?! A-Absolutely fucking terri-i-ble, that's what this is! And that... That b-bloody arse of a f-ro-og, "oh no, Arzur, you cannot 'ave zat nice, wa-arm, s-sensible coat, I will repack your b-bag before you g-go zo you can look more like m-m-me and F-FREEZE TO D-DE-DEATH". What a bloody pra-at, I ask y-you!" The second to last sentence in this ongoing rant was said in a mocking, absolutely awful French accent.
Still grumbling angrily to himself, he made his weaving, shuffling way through the snow already piled on the ground, just wanting to get somewhere warm and dry. Preferably with tea. Or whisky. Or even better, both. Already irate with his surroundings, when someone bumped into him he instantly spun around, planning to vent his frustrations on this unsuspecting person.
"Excuse you, I'm s-s-sure, you fucking pill-lock! Are you b-blind?!" The words were spat out through almost blue lips, his eyebrows furrowed over acidic green eyes which narrowed in a hopefully threatening manner at the other. A second passed as the other seemed to hear him - somehow - and turned around. That was when Arthur started to think that maybe he had made a mistake.
The man standing in front of him was much taller and broader than himself, and was wearing a long, fawn coloured coat that you could just tell kept in the warmth like nothing else. These, and the long, white, warm scarf wrapped around his neck and being suspended and whipped from side to side by the wind were the primary things the Brit took in. From where the coat had lifted above the ground, a pair of big, black boots were visible, and the man's hands were concealed under a pair of thick gloves. Then, Arthur looked up, squinting against the wind and snow, to see the man's face.
A pair of almost luminous violet eyes leapt out through the gale at him, glowing from under an ash blond fringe. A sweet, innocent but innately terrifying - for what reason, he wasn't quite sure - smile was set on his lips, and his complexion was barely more colourful than the snow flurrying around him. For a moment, Arthur wasn't quite sure that he hadn't encountered some sort of snow devil. But then he set that aside for the moment as the man spoke, his voice deadly soft and syrupy; sweet and almost sticky, a rather addictive sound. And it certainly didn't hurt that it was rather deep, either.
"Were you talking to me?" Arthur fiercely - internally - debated the pros and cons of affirming the statement for a second, and in the end his pride won over his common sense.
"Oh, no, I was t-talking to the other brainless n-ni-incompoop who deci-ided with the w-whole of the rest of this godf-f-forsaken road to walk on he was going to run s-straight into m-me. Of c-course I'm bloody talk-ing to y-you!" His teeth chattering rather took away from the effect of his acerbic tone, and the Russian - as he could tell from his accent - seemed to pick up on it. After a moment of simply staring at him, the taller man's smile grew, and a laugh - almost a giggle, of all things - drifted through the wind towards him. His mouth moved, but the words were whipped away by a fresh gust of wind.
The next thing Arthur knew, the other had grabbed his arm and was practically dragging him through the snow after him. His shouted protests were snatched away by the wind, and his struggles to be free from the man's grip practically unnoticed. The man was strong. Stronger than Alfred (a stupidly strong American who had been his roommate in university), even. As such, although he wouldn't admit it... He was starting to get rather scared. How long would it be before anyone noticed he was missing? Would anyone think it worth their while to look? To inform his family and friends?
This train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a door opening, and the sensation of cold, biting wind and snow giving way to a burst of warmth, causing him to let out a most undignified sound of relief. Looking around as he was dragged through a large crowd and pushed down onto a seat at a corner table, he managed to establish that he had been taken to a bar.
His - he hesitated to call him his 'saviour' - acquaintance emerged from the crowd a moment or so later, when he had finally started to warm up and feel a little more human again. A small glass full of a clear liquid - he had been in Russia long enough to know it was more than likely to be vodka - was pushed across the table towards him.
"Drink. Will warm you up~" Arthur stared rather suspiciously across the table at the taller man, who was still smiling as he sat down across the table from him. ... Well, what did he really have to lose? At least here he was surrounded by people. Reaching out, he took the glass and downed it in one, like he had learnt to. People tended to take you more seriously if you could drink your vodka in one. Almost instantly, a warmth started to spread through him, and he sighed quietly in relief, setting the glass down and starting to rub his hands together, relishing the returning feeling and heat.
The other let out the same almost giggle at the sigh, although how he could have heard it through the noise of the rest of the pub, Arthur had no idea. "Better?" At his nod, the Russian sat back, smiling widely and let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like: 'Yay~!' After a moment of them both just sitting there and the Englishman getting more and more uncomfortable with it, Arthur cleared his throat.
"Right. Uh. Thank you for the drink. Uh... Spasibo?" He knew he had got it right by the widening of the other's smile. "... By the way, what's your name? I'm Arthur, dreadfully sorry to not have introduced myself earlier."
"Ivan~ and it okay~" Another moment passed, then Ivan leant forwards a little, causing Arthur to unconsciously lean back. "... Where you staying, Arthur?" Arthur almost didn't recognise his name past the thick accent, blinking for a moment before responding.
"One of the houses down..." He hesitated, trying to remember the name, and in the end just gestured, hopefully in the direction of his quarters. "That way." Ivan nodded.
"Not nice down there, da? Cold." Arthur paused, but had to nod in agreement. They weren't the nicest in the world, but they were a roof and had electricity and the basic living commodities. "Come live with me. You can pay me back in future~"
Arthur sat up straight, shaking his head. "Live with you? No, thank you. I wouldn't... I don't..." He suddenly became aware of a dark aura forming around the Russian, and gulped silently. "..." He had been nice so far... Right? And he hadn't done anything to hurt him... Plus, he still had his phone. "... Maybe..." The aura disappeared, replaced by his - from what he could see - normal grin.
"Good! Come on, we go now~"
Arthur sighed, before he was bundled back into his coat and was following Ivan along the streets to god knows where.
He could hardly have anticipated what that chance occurrence would grow into, or why it would make going to Russia the best decision of his long life.