"You will see things you have never thought possible in my studio."
That was what the Russian had proclaimed in a fairly serious manner to Francis sometime ago at the end of their meet-up. They made a yearly event of the renewal regarding their Franco-Russian Alliance by spending a week together in France's home and then Russia's and back and forth and so on. The previous meeting had been held in France under the lamplights of Paris city streets and livened up by mostly pleasant conversation accompanied with the best red wine money could buy. I mean, this was French red wine, after all. And French anything was already the best as it was. Never less for your guests, no?
The two had indulged in quite a lovely evening to his surprise, but what took the gourmet proverbial Crème brûlée was his companion's calm proclamation of completely annihilating him at his own interpretive dance. Ivan had some real nerve for falsely claiming to upstage the French representation at his own perfected art. It was Francis himself that helped cultivate the dance within the giant man's country as a part of the Franco-Russian Cooperation back in the 1900s. And what a success that turned out to be.
A widespread theory of the literal takeover of France through Russian performing arts dominating French culture is all that accomplished and he couldn't believe how hysterical some of his citizens were in those days until that moment.
Back to his present, more pressing, predicament...
Just how in God's name was he supposed to find anything in this storm of powdered, frozen evil, let alone that ballet studio he was on the lookout for?
Francis wanted to believe he would be prepared to traverse the freezing nation this time around by dressing in multiple layers, using his snow gear and getting advice from Mathieu and Alfred about how intense the weather could get. And yet, he felt as if he were a lost and fatigued penguin waddling around the arctic without a clue in the world of what it was doing.
Such a terrible situation almost made him long for Arthur's sucky rain and fog that normally filled his poetic soul with an endless pit of gloom and horrid despair.
Almost.
"Ah! There you are, неопытная лыжница." Quickly looking up from his retrospection, Francis shouldn't have been that surprised to see Ivan, the Russian grinning innocently as he usually does while he continued. "I was convinced you had not made it out there for a second. I hope you are well-rested and ready to work because we have a rendezvous, as you would say, to fulfill today."
It wasn't that seeing the other in his own country was the eye-opening part, of course. It was what said man was wearing that was getting to the Frenchman.
Dressed in a full-body, long-sleeved blush pink leotard with matching ballet flats was his host, his beloved scarf nowhere to be seen with bandages covering his neck in place instead. His hair was its normal, messy self and Ivan didn't appear to bat an eye at his extended onceover of his attire. Though, the silence was starting to unnerve Francis so he soon cleared his throat, nodding slowly and stepping inside the dance hall.
"Absolument, mon étrange ami."
The studio was gorgeous, as he expected, considering the fact that he has visited this country many a time and the architecture was one of its apparent strong points. The railing spanned the entire area of the room and the full-length mirror showed their reflections in crisp clarity, image nearly sharp enough to make you feel as though you could fall into the sparkling world beyond the mirror. Wide open space with a nicely polished cementitious floor and casement bow windows lining the one side for natural light to showcase the little thematic trinkets lining certain walls and popping bursts of color into the rose-gold tinted room. It was kind of cute how well-decorated this studio was, really.
"You noticed my nutcracker Matryoshka, I see. Is nice, da?" Francis bristled slightly from the voice springing up from right behind him, but he regained his composure and smiled a little at him.
"Oui, I hadn't known you used such a stunning space to conduct those fabrications you told me about earlier." Ivan smirked faintly at the challenge permeating throughout his taunting comment, a small chuckle coming out then when he noticed something.
"You talk big for someone who came without preparation." When the elder furrowed his brows in confusion, the Russian lightly shook his head and pointed out. "You brought nothing but many coats, my friend." And it was that moment that Francis knew exactly where he saw what he screwed up on whilst readying himself for this trip. He had been too focused on not freezing to death on the way there to think about anything else and now that child-like country was staring down at him like this was the funniest thing in the world - Ugh!
'I knew I should have taken Amerique's advice and request something normal to do for this visit, but non, I wanted to show up like I did now to make a fool of myself! Just marvelous...' Internally throwing his hands up in defeat, it came as a shock to hear what was said as the other spoke up.
"I saw this exact circumstance happen in my mind, so I made preparations beforehand to avoid disappointment." The expression on Francis' face must have made Ivan happy since he grinned a bit as he explained. "I made sure to get your size and ordered an outfit for you to use today. It only arrived a couple days ago, as well. You will love it."
Well, he was sure to, if only to keep that smile stuck in place and keep his limbs intact where he preferred them.
"Merci, Russie. I appreciate your foresight for my blunder." Russia merely shook his head before insisting.
"Oh, do not mention it. The outfit is in the back area, the dressing room of sorts. Take your time, hm?" With nothing more to say, Francis quickly thanked him once again before standing up to find the dressing room and get changed into this mystery costume of his. Hopefully, it wouldn't be something hideous... And yes, he was still not over being tricked into wearing that French maid cosplay by Gilbert.
Pushing that fashion travesty to the back of his mind, he picked up a box with a fluorescent pink post-it note that simply read 'Francis' in neatly-written, cursive font and unearthed the contents held within.
Inside lay a folded lavender tutu, the material as soft as it was durable and he must admit that this was of high quality. But why order him a tutu?
Shrugging his shoulders, Francis didn't question it further because this was only necessary due to his mistaken sense of planning and it was pretty adorable, so he would don it and make it absolutely sexy in result.
And indeed he did after leaving the back of the studio, the muted color of the tutu bringing out the deep blue of his eyes and accentuating his slender frame while he tied his hair up in a ponytail with a white ribbon he had brought from home. It was purely coincidence that the ballet slippers Ivan also seemed to have bought for him were the same color.
Eyes trailing over to his honored guest, Ivan remarked in a playful tone, "Your attractiveness will not deter me from decimating your routine without much effort, krasavets~"
This caused a pause as Francis picked out the flirtatious vibe in that sentence, feeling the other's violet gaze staying on him more than it honestly should to be maintaining good eye contact. The silently suave smile, much more pulled back and genuine than one of his trademark grins, complimented his poised stance and, well, the confidence behind it was charming to say the least. It couldn't be helped that this brought on a tad bit of red to the Frenchman's cheeks, his arms on either side of his hips as he stared back at his self-imposed opponent.
"We'll have to see about that, mon cher." A gentle grin graced Francis' face before he moved to the other side of the studio, beginning to warm-up with stretches and basic ballet poses.
First position: Ankle-to-ankle, arms curved outward and fingertips pointed to your hips.
Second position: Spread your legs apart and move your arms to extend the length of each side of the rail.
Third position: Right leg behind your left, right knee touching the side of the other; bend right arm in front of your stomach and outstretch the left in an arc.
Fourth position: Move the right leg forward gracefully and raise your arms at first low, and then high.
Fifth position: Just move your arms low, to your middle and, lastly, high.
These instructions flew through the Parisian's head, working in rapid succession to flex and also awaken his muscles in advance for more strenuous exercise to come. Subconsciously, he felt his gaze being drawn to Ivan, curious as to how he loosened up for ballet and what he found was quite... Something.
Head bowed down so his beige fringe fell just above his eyes, the Russian's left foot held its pointed position as it brushed out along the floor before he tilted his upper body back a little, holding his arms out in front of himself with practiced poise one can only achieve through devoting hours to improving and building upon their past techniques.
It reminded Francis of his own beginnings in the realm of ballet and other forms of competitive dance. How determined he was to prove to himself that he was easily more skilled in the craft than whoever dare challenge the nation of love.
Ah, how he used to be such a bad sport back in his day...
Quick blurs of motion caught him off-guard until he focused on his companion again to find a truly brilliant sight.
A swift, multi-turn pirouette that moved so smoothly that it paralleled the quickest of tornadoes was followed by a forward jump with a split-
'Grand jeté', his mind automatically corrected, although the Frenchman was too preoccupied in admiring the work of beauty twirling like it was second-nature by now.
Ivan made it look easy, effortless even, and just... as if it were the most fun he could ever have.
It wasn't made obvious to Francis, who was busy watching his footwork and posture more so than everything else, until a subtle inclination of his eyes presented him with the most beautiful sight he would see today.
Unabashed and joyfully unaware of his observer, Ivan was in his comfort zone and his smile that shone brighter than any sun displayed this discovery for no one to watch but Francis alone.
That serenity in his own capabilities. The unguarded nature of his fluid movements and contentment with himself, all for the sake of enjoying what he was doing because it was something he loved. It was...
"...Beautiful." He murmured faintly.
After halting his dance with a big bend plié, Ivan slowly stood up to his full height before smiling over at Francis, tilting his head to the side in question. "Hm?" This brought the latter out of his stupor, walking closer to the Russian now until he directly in front of him.
"I said, that it was beautiful. The dance, your amazing posture, the happiness evident in just the expression on your face..." His proclamation seemed to shock Ivan, if the quiet persisting was of any indication. Nevertheless, a sunnier grin appeared on his face as well as light blush that dusted up to the bridge of his nose, the younger nation looking down while he stated:
"Do not flatter me so, Francis. I have seen your own moves and I cannot yet compare myself to you. However," A mischievous violet eye peeked out from under fluffy fringe, an unspoken promise resting inside the depths of the majestic color. "I can only become better through trial and error and trial again. I want to do this with your help and guidance as my good friend, so that one day I may beat said friend. That is fair enough, hm?" Grinning must be contagious since Francis practically beamed at this, narrowing his eyes slightly to keep this mock-rivalry going despite their soft laughter ruining the phoned-in vibe.
"Oh, but of course. We have a lot to improve upon, after all, dearest Ivan." Another laugh left the Russian as he nodded enthusiastically before reaching out a hand toward his new dance partner.
"Pas de deux - A dance for two," the pronunciation was slightly off, but Francis found the usage and the effort to pronounce it at all too cute as he held the other's hand in earnest. "Let us make this first practice count, oui?" The elder did not think twice as he replied, "Da. Let's." Hand-in-hand, the two worked on their strengths and weaknesses together with no real competition amongst them, as it should be between friends.
Every Franco-Russian Alliance after that included a period where the hosting nation's ballet studio would be visited, and their understood yet untold promise would continue to be upheld, along with evocative thoughts and fears being shared and exchanged. The scariest one of all in the form of wanting to become something more than friends.
Thankfully, Francis said yes.