Russia hummed to himself. This was going to be so neat! Lithuania would definitely be glad. The surprise was all set. Russia had coocked a full three course meal. He'd even caught a fresh salmon which he smoked himself at the attick. Catching it this time of the year had been a true miracle. Most of the rivers, yes even the sea had frozen over. He had to make a gap in the ice to catch it. The fish would be the toping of some hand made blinis. He felt so proud that he had made everything himself. Lithuania had often coocked for him. He'd coocked Russian dishes as well. Still in the end they stayed his own speciality. He'd almost forgotten he was so good at this. Ever since he became soviet his meals had been sober, nothing like the things he ate when ruled by tzars. The fire flared and the room was perfectly cosy. He usually didn't put on so much wood; he was used to the cold. Tonight tough, it was for Lithuania, there was a snowstorm outside, poor Lithuania would be comletely frozen if he reached the door. Those nervous little fingers would be all red and swollen from the stinging winds. They would fumble with the buttons of Lithuania's jacket. Russia could press them to his face to warm them. Or help with the buttons. Better make the house, or well at least the kitchen, as warm as possible without lighting the room on fire!
Now came the final part of his plan. Russia felt his ears tingle when he made preparations. Whether it was from the heat or the anticipation he didn't know. He felt somewhat naughty for setting something like this up. He took out a pillow and blanket and shoved his own, lying on top of the comfortable pechka more to the side. He fitted the extra pair next to his own. Behold: a nice warm two person sleeping place. He really hoped Lithuania wouldn't want to trade the warm room for the cold night again and would stay with him. Sleep with him. That is why he felt so… Weird he had no words for how he felt now. Russia almost never felt this way. It was best described as a naughty, embarassing, pleasant tingle somewhere near his groin. He couldn't stop thinking that maybe Lithuania would snugle up to him in his sleep. That would make him so hapy!
The Borchst was standing on the pechka as well; the large oven would keep it warm so
Lithuania wouldn't need to eat cold food. Everything smelled fantastic. Russia could already hear his own stomach rumble. Still when everything was done he didn't eat. He had to wait for his precious guest of course! He took a book and set himself infront of the fireplace. He sometimes read a sentence then stared at the door or the clock. He was so nervous about what Lithuania would think of this!
Now all there was left to do was wait untill Lithuania would come home.
Once it was eleven in the evening Russia smiled to himself and rose silently from his chair. Lithuania rose from his spot on the sheep skin in front of the fireplace and hugged him. Russia smelled the chesnut hair, he held tight as to never let go again.
"I wish you would stay Lietuva…"
When he opened his eyes he was alone with the dying fire.
The illusion made of daydreams and the scent of the room had quickly faded. Russia sighed; he really wished the illusion could stay. His pained mind started to think about when it had gone all wrong.
One day Lithuania didn't come home to him.
The day after that he didn't come home to him, again.
For three years Lithuania didn't come home.
Today he didn't come home either.
Russia started putting leftovers, an entire meal, in the fridge. He ignored his stomach. He really didn't feel like eating now. If he ate now he would puke later tonight.
Well, at least he could have blinis tomorrow. Tomorrow he wouldn't prepare a surprise for Lithuania. He would just do some moderate waiting then start eating. It was the boys own fault if he wasn't home before dinner.
The large man took his head in his hands and stood still, slumped against the fridge for a while. He was worried, about that boy somewhere out there. It had been so long! Lithuania would miss all the nice things Russia prepared for him.
There they were again. All the feelings, he would kick over the table in rage, cry while pulling his hair, hit his head against the wall untill he fainted, then go out and turn some snow red.
Not yet…
That was the future.
He was just doing groceries, he will come home tomorrow comlaining about how the snow got him trapped. Or he was visiting Poland and then the car broke down and he wouldn't think it safe to drive to Russia in one of those trabbies, and the phone was broken. Many more and also more unlikely images of Lithuania with a weary look on his face and slightly slumped shoulders proclaiming 'I am home! Man it was a hassle out there.' like he had for many years.
All those scenarios were hope for him to cling upon. Maybe all this was just a dream and he would wake up tomorrow and feel Lithuania sleeping close. Maybe if he told Lithuania about his dream the other would comfort him, tell him that he'd never leave.
Still he wanted it all to end soon. It was torture.
Russia moved over to the cabinet and took a candle from a drawer. He walked acros the room and placed it on the family altar. Carefully he lit it and then used it to light the other candles on the altar. Little stumps of the nights before.
Russia had never learned how to pray.
He doubted if god would listen.
Maybe that's why god would never spare him.
He was very sorry tough, and often tried hard.
In Soviet Russia there was no god.
He didn't need him back then.
He folded his hands and just wished very hard.Somehow he felt that a few of those wishes would reach god. Esecially these he wanted god to hear: "Please bring him back", repeated for an eternity He slowely closed his eyes, looking at the little lights trough his eyelashes. The blur of lights made in a furthermore dark room made him think of Lithuania even more. That cluster of lights was the Lithuanians soul…
He finally put himself in bed. He decided to sleep on the pechka tonight. It was a bit warmer and it would seem as if tonight he had come home, and they were lying there together. It would be less of a reminder than the cold bed.
He put on his sleeping clothes as fast as possible within the dying warmth of the room and after a few efforts he was ontop of the huge white Pechka. Once he was completelly snuggled in he made a face as if to cry. Then he took a deep breath and straightened it. It would me ok, afterall, tomorrow was the day Lithuania would come home! If he cried he'd accept that Lithuania had left him and if he accepted that…
He could act as if Lithuania was singing him to sleep. He softly chanted Tchaikovski, Лебединое Озеро. He liked this melody and even tough it was a Russian ballet he was sure he heard Lithuania hum it once. To bad he didn't know any Lithuanian folk songs.
He didn't even dare opening his eyes anymore. Here inside his own mind he was safe yet not completely safe. It seemed as tough everyone who had ever left him took a piece of him with him. The emptiness was in the shape of a person. Everyone left a demon inside to plague and torment him. Lithuania was never supposed to become that as well. If that happened he would lose it. Yet there he felt it, lying with him a shadow of what once been his precious one. He tried his best to ignore it, to pretend that it wasn't true. He tried very hard, but not hard enough.
The fierce snowstorm had calmed. Lithuania ploughed trough the freshly fallen snow. Poland had been right, the snowstorm was no condition to travel in. Well only half right, because his love had almost clung to his leg to keep him from going to Russia. Poland didn't understand, that if you've shared everyone with someone for so many years, it's hard to just dissapear. He needed to talk to Russia again. See if they could be- friends. Or at least speak to each other again. He was a gentle person and after his country had been indipended for so long there really was no reason to play the victim anymore.
Then he sensed it for the first time, something wasn't right.
The air was completely still.
Nothing made a sound, not even his footsteps.
It was when when Russia's house apeared on the horizon that he saw the red snow. It was then that he should've turned and run for it. He did start to run, but towards the house. His heart screamed only one name now. He had to be sure he was alright!
As he reached the door there was a note pinned to it. It only read one word.
'surprise'