AN: Inspired by various reincarnation stories...so I thought I'd do a rochu take on it lol.
-Possible OOC!
-Very very very small mention of an intimate scene
-I do not own Hetalia
-ENJOY!
Born of ice and snow he was an immortal whose breath turned sprouts into frost.
He was the winter that never faded and the spring that never arrived.
Looming over the lands of Russia, for centuries he lived in desolation and accepted his fate of observing the untouchable world.
Were they as cold as him?
Did they share an intangible warmth unbeknown to him?
He found his answer in a man called Wang Yao.
The first time he saw him, he was a lone merchant travelling from the Middle Kingdom to foreign lands. That man told him, he didn't mind the cold. The lonely snow spirit was enchanted by him, by a mere human who stuck out his tongue to catch drifting snowflakes. He taught him what love was…and he died frozen in snow. And so the snow spirit waited for him, waited for the day when he would open his eyes again.
But the next time he saw him, his eyes were of a different color.
Crimson red.
He was still his Yao, but he was someone else.
A tyrannical warlord with blood on his hands. A cruel warrior who sacrificed his soldiers for victory and selfish ambition. The snow spirit was confused, but he didn't care for as long as he had his rays of warmth, everything else could be damned. They shared the most passionate affair, and so this Yao taught him what love felt like. Two bodies melting together, it was hotter than summer heat, and died faster than the lights of fireflies. He held his bleeding body in his arms, and watched as his eyes faded to gold. The snow spirit cried tears of storms and the land was ravaged with snow for the next hundred years. He waited and waited, he lurked every corner of the land trying to find his warmth.
And then he saw him again.
Different again.
Younger this time.
A little creature with a fearful look in his eyes, a slave sold to the black market for twisted purposes. The snow spirit decided to taint him before anyone else could. He imprisoned him and dug his fangs deeply into his flesh trying to reconnect with what he lost. Yao never recognized him, how could he when the man in front of him was nothing but a monster? How could he remember if their sins were from another lifetime? He committed suicide, and the snow spirit knew the pain of love.
He stopped waiting for Yao, he stopped searching for him. But centuries later, he found him in a quiet painter who insisted on painting his portrait. This time, he didn't even know that he was a child of winter. The snow spirit didn't want to prolong this tragedy, but how could he say no to this man whom he had loved for thousands of years? And so he played along, pretending to be human, pretending they were strangers, pretending he wasn't in love. But more than anything, he hoped that this man would recognize him, even if he never did in those four thousand years. The painter was murdered on a night that didn't snow.
By now, the snow spirit was hateful towards fate, furious at his existence, angry at the red string suffocating his veins of frost. He promised himself if he ever saw him again, he would kill him before he has a chance to break his heart. Of course, his promise was all but forgotten as he encountered a soldier who was about to die in a losing war. He saved him. But he knew it was a matter of time before he would lose him again. This was the last life time. With their blood mixing together, Yao pushed the sword already penetrated through his back into the snow spirit's body. The snow spirit thought at last he could have some rest. As he took his last breath, he realized all he ever wanted was to live a normal life with Yao, to grow old with him, and to laugh as they both stuck out their tongues to catch fluttering snowflakes.
"Are you not afraid of me?" The amethyst-eyed spirit stared curiously at the merchant.
"No, not really." Yao shrugged as they trudged through snow.
"Are you not afraid of the cold?"
"I'm not." He answered casually. "But what about you? Are you cold?"
The immortal laughed. "I am the cold."
Yao glanced back at him, smirked and walked towards him before stopping right in front of the smiling giant. He grabbed his hand and placed it on his cheek.
"I'd say you're pretty warm," Yao grinned as he saw the spirit's face reddened. "Ivan, you're not cold to me."
Ivan grabbed a handful of the raven locks and pulled on it sharply as he thrust deeply into the man whose arms are wrapped around his torso.
"I'll never let you go again," he said it in a muffled voice while planting kisses over his lover's shoulders.
"Haha, what are you talking about? You lustful spirit," his laughter sounded like bells. But it was quickly replaced by moans as Ivan quickened his pace.
The snow spirit was enamored by an evil man who bathed in the blood of his victims, he wasn't his old love, but his soul remained the same. At least that was what Ivan told himself.
"I loved you for centuries," he said in the breaks of their kisses.
"We met two years ago."
"What if I told you I know you from another life?"
"That'd be ridiculous."
"Let me go," the boy stared defiantly at his capturer.
"No," Ivan simply smiled while he watched his prisoner shackled on the cold concrete floor.
"You got the wrong person!" Yao screamed desperately. "I don't know you!"
"But I know you. I waited so long for you. I searched everywhere for you, and now I finally found you." Longingly, he walked over to Yao and kneeled down to the boy crumpled on the floor. "Don't you see, I love you."
Yao looked into his violet eyes that held raging storms, and felt his heart shatter for reasons he couldn't fathom. "You got the wrong person."
Ivan wondered what he was thinking. He wondered if he recognized him.
"What are you thinking?" said Yao as he glanced between his drawing and the person he was painting.
"Nothing," Ivan smiled nonchalantly. "Just that it's such a shame that the beauty of the painter himself couldn't be captured on paper."
"Haha, you're a smooth talker." Surprised, Yao laughed as he added a new patch of color on the canvas.
Their time passed away in peaceful silent. The artist observing his muse, and the roles were interchangeable.
"Say, why did you stop me on the street that day and asked to paint me?"
Yao didn't answer. He thought about this question a lot, but he was never able to come to a satisfying conclusion.
"I don't know… inspiration comes from strange places."
"But why me?"
"….."
"Do you believe in reincarnations?"
"Perhaps."
"I know a fairy tale of an immortal who fell in love with a human. He watched his lover dies over and over again. But he still waited for him every time because he still hoped that one day he would recognize him."
"I don't think he'd want that…"
"Pardon?"
"I think, his lover, well the human, he would not want him to wait for him."
"Why?" Ivan whispered.
"Because he doesn't want him to get hurt anymore."
The sword pierced deeply into their bodies as their blood mingled together. Yao rested his head on the curve of Ivan's shoulders and wrapped his arms around the taller man.
"It's all over now Ivan," he spoke softly.
"Thank you Yao," Ivan murmured, his voice lost in the howling wind.
He travelled for so long to find what he was looking for. He was tired. He was home.
The train is late. Yao lightly taps his foot against the ground, and raises his hand to look at his watch. The train is already ten minutes late. It isn't as if he was an impatient person, it's just that he is rushing for an important job interview. In Russia.
Yao chuckles to himself. In a land where everyone is a stranger, he doesn't feel at all fazed by the foreign scenery.
As he amuses himself by fidgeting with the button on his jacket, another pair of feet arrives on the platform.
It is a rather quiet platform, so Yao can't help but to glance at the person besides him. He smiles politely at the man, and that man nods back.
As Yao averts his glance from him, he instinctively feels the desire to glaze at him once more. That man looks normal enough, with his long winter coat and a white flowing scarf. He has a warm smile, Yao muses.
"The train is late," that man spoke.
"Indeed," Yao replies formally.
"It's nice to wait for the train with someone," he gives him a bright smile. "Are you waiting for the southbound one?"
"No, eastbound." For strange reasons he can't understand, there is this undeniable sadness in his own answer.
"That's too bad…" The tall man shrugs.
Then quietly, snow begins to fall. Intricate patterns of ice float weightlessly downward from the pure white sky above, each flake swirling and dancing, falling around the two strangers.
The violet-eyed man sighs, "Will it ever stop snowing?"
Yao raises his head and stares at the snowflakes appearing from seemingly nowhere. "I quite like the snow," he says.
"But aren't you cold?"
"No," his golden eyes shimmer against the droplets of white. "No, I'm not."
"You're a strange one," the man chuckles.
And Yao joins in laughing with him.
The sound of the train approaching wakes him from his trance, as he realizes that it is time to say goodbye to his company.
"This is my train, well I guess it was nice talking to you," Yao reluctantly begins stepping away from him.
"Da, have a nice day," the man gives a small wave.
Turning his back to him, Yao starts to walk away. As he reaches the door, his heart squeezes tightly against his chest.
He doesn't even know his name.
The door opens, but his legs refuse to move.
His entire body freezes, and he stops breathing. The world becomes paralyzed around him, and the only sound comes from the whispers of the wind.
I know a fairy tale of an immortal who fell in love with a human. He watched his lover dies over and over again. But he still waited for him every time because he still hoped that one day he would recognize him.
The door closes, and the train wanders away. Yao laughs at how insane this all is; he just missed his interview all because he wanted to know a stranger's name.
"Was the train full or something?" The man asks him curiously.
"No," Yao shakes his head. "I realized that wasn't what I was waiting for."
The man doesn't ask any more questions. Instead he seems almost relieved that he came back.
"I don't believe we had introduced ourselves properly… my name is Ivan Braginsky."
"Wang Yao." He answers.
"My name is Wang Yao, nice to meet you Ivan."
AN: thank you for finishing the story! I hope you liked it~