The Sun Rises Red

A/N: Axis Powers Hetalia and all characters used in this fic belong to Himaruya Hidekaz…not me.

This was really a very sudden idea…sorry if it sucks. The first quote in italics is inspired by Gold Flower and the Bear.

Rating: T, for implied sexual themes.

Summary: A day is spent confiding with him his most well-kept secrets. A night is spent tangled in his arms.

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…And the sun rises red in the east…

The scars run deep across his skin. Welts, some a fresh, angry red, are littered about his chest. How long has it been since he's felt sane? How long has it been since there was peace among his people? An industrious nation, yes; one that pushes the brightest, the ones that work the hardest, forward…a nation so populous and massive, one that has lived many long years, an ancient in anyone's eyes. China has all the strength and wealth he needs, all other nations borrow from him, owe him money that he was kind enough to give away in their times of need.

But is it really worth it? The struggles he faces often…his people are becoming restless. And when they protest, he has no clue what to do. He beats them down with his own hand, forces them to relent. What else is there to do? He could comply with their wishes…no. No, he should do no such thing. What would happen to his state of power? All of the wealth he's accumulated?

That is what leads him, shaking, to the doors of his northern neighbor's home. The chill beats against his skin, forces him to huddle inward in order to dodge the frigid wind's wrath. 'It wouldn't be the first time something has been angry with me….' China smirks bitterly. Raising his hand upward, he rings the doorbell and waits patiently for its master to allow him inside, away from the biting cold.

He hears something break, followed by distant Russian profanities, footsteps storming towards the door. With surprising force, the door is swung open, a glaring Russian looking down at his southern neighbor. When he recognizes the dark-haired man, he makes a small sound like an apology. "Ah! China. I didn't expect you. What's brought you here?"

"Ni hao, Russia," China attempts to dodge his question, looking past him. "I heard something break, aru…."

The taller man looks behind himself as well. "Oh…just a glass; nothing to worry about," he nods, turning back to China, and something lights his eyes up. "Haha! Come in, China – come in! I'd almost forgotten."

"Thank you," the Chinese man mutters, shivering as he walks past and begins to peel off his coat. Russia attempts to assist him, but the stubborn elder brushes his hands away and finishes, hanging the red coat up on the coat rack attached to the wall. As he's finished, Russia gestures down the long hallway and escorts him into the large, barren and empty living room, sits him down on a cold chair drawn up to a small coffee table, and shuffles off into the kitchen to fix the two nations something to drink. China is left alone for the time being. He feels his confidence beginning to break, and snaps his eyes shut, leaning his head back against the high-backed chair, the cool wood clearing his chaotic mind for just a moment, allowing him to focus, while the Russian hums a soft tune in the background.

'What should I say? Should I really be here? This is…this is stupid. I should handle this on my own…he can't help. It's all on me.' He almost gets up to leave, but another thought assaults him. 'No, you came all this way, China. Stay here, seek advice. The worst that can happen is that he'll refuse to help.'

With all his pondering, he became oblivious to the real world. The humming and the dull clattering had stopped. "…China?" A soft, childish voice asks, slight concern diluted by his usual tone. "Are you alright? You look a little pale." China opens his eyes and looks at his northern neighbor with surprise, which he quickly pushes aside for a fake reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about me, Russia. I'm fine, aru." He lied smoothly, his tone even. The Russian did not seem convinced, but sat down across from him, placing one blue mug in front of himself and the other white one in front of his guest on the coffee table. China picks the drink up and cools it with a gentle gust of breath, then takes a gentle, quiet sip. White tea, he notes, with a subtle undertone of vodka. It was a very strange combination.

The two lapse into a strange, companionable silence, drinking the tea-vodka mixture with little noise made but the clatter of cups on the wood of the coffee table and quiet slurping. China is somewhat aware that the tall Russian has never looked away from him since he'd come back with their drinks, those amethyst-like eyes lingering on his face. Any time China looked up to confirm his gaze, the Russian would look at China's hands instead, and this dogged pursuit would never relinquish.

A good long hour or so passed before any one of them spoke. Russia cleared his throat and began, "You don't normally visit without telling me…any reason you've come to my home today?"

China blinks slowly before he speaks up. "I just…felt like surprising you, aru."

Russia gives him a hard gaze that tells the shorter nation his excuse has not worked. "Your real reason, please," when he says this, China knows that he should just get it over with. He takes a shaky breath and his eyes slide shut, his shoulders slumping.

"Please." He begs. "Please…I don't know what to do…!"

Russia's eyes widen. China's tone is so urgent, so desperate…his heart sinks deep into his body, his throat tightens. With difficulty, he swallows the saliva that has gathered in his mouth. "What is it, China? I'll help as best as I can, but…you must tell me what it is you need."

And so China begins to speak about his struggles, the abuse he gives to his own people, how he is uncertain of what to do, how he feels that he will fall apart at the seams any given day, how Russia was the only one he felt comfortable in confiding to, as he had gone through similar things. The inevitable begins, and China shakes like a leaf, fat tears falling from his eyes and staining his cheeks, pathetic sobs and sniffles breaking apart his speech on occasion. Russia's expression is crestfallen; all he can do is listen to his southern neighbor's plight. When China is good and finished, he hangs his head. Russia is silent for a long while, and China fears the worst.

"China," Russia begins in a gentle tone. When China looks up, Russia is standing in front of him, forcing him to stand up. Complying, China stands, and finds himself drawn into a crushing embrace, his cheek pressed against Russia's chest. His tears only fall faster, his body shuddering and racking harder with the effort. He allows his arms to fly around the waist of the taller nation. "Listen to me, China." China looks up at Russia reluctantly, meeting the purple gaze that has not once left him; not once.

"The future is uncertain, and the past is set in stone. All that counts is what you do now…what you do to keep moving on in the direction you feel is right; focus on the present, Wang Yao, for it is the present where you take all your actions."

His words are solid and reassuring. He doesn't know why, but China finds his tears stilling, while his reeling mind settles, mulling over Russia's advice, before something strikes him. Had Russia just…?

"R-Russia," his voice is raspy, he notes. "Did you just use my name, aru?"

"Ah," Russia begins "I did. Do you have a problem with me calling you that, Yao?"

China shakes his head. "N-not at all; I don't have a problem with that, aru." A smile blooms on Russia's face, and it is real. Something strange bubbles in China's stomach, making his eyes widen. He becomes aware that Russia hasn't released him yet, and that he himself has not let go of the Russian. He laughs weakly and pulls away from the hug, watching Russia's expression fall, his smile slipping into one similar to what China had used earlier.

China looks around himself, out the windows and in the shadowed rooms, and realizes that he has wasted away the sunlight. The moon shines down upon the world with its dull, sickly light. He sighs – he had hoped that he would not have to travel home so late at night. Russia seems aware of what he is thinking; as he leans down to look him directly in the eye, smiling once again, his amethyst-colored eyes twinkling merrily. "You did not think I would send you out in the cold so late at night, did you? No…you should stay here until morning, at the least. Would you like something to eat, Yao?"

The two have a small meal, speaking of typical things, smiles and laughs rising often. When they have finished, China washes their dishes – despite Russia's protests – and puts them away in the cupboards with Russia's assistance. After this is done, Russia leads him off into the living room once more, sitting the two of them down on a loveseat. Russia sends China a longing gaze, and takes his hands between his own, holding them to his chest, closing his eyes and breathing softly.

"Ivan?" China inquires, and the Russian opens his eyes, grinning madly. Oddly enough, chills do not run down China's spine as they normally would upon Russia grinning, but rather, it makes him smile slightly in return.

"You used my name?" He looks intently at the smaller nation. China's cheeks light up with a gentle rosy pink, pursing his lips and shrugging in response. Russia chuckles softly and pulls China into another tight hug, cooing at him in soft Russian – nothing of which China can understand, but he grasps the tone, and this allows soft giggles of his own to rise up from his chest and echo across Russia's halls. The taller nation pulls away, holding China by his shoulders, looking at him once more. "Yao," he murmurs, before he closes the distance between the two and seals their lips together. China is shocked, his body stiffens, but before long he softens up, allows himself to lean into the kiss fully, enjoying the warmth passed between them, reveling in every good feeling Russia's given him today. When the two finally pull away, they are both smiling at one another. The sparkle in Russia's eyes makes the breath in China's throat catch. Russia revels in the softness of China's skin.

"Come on, Yao. Let's go to bed. You must be tired," Russia comments, and China nods at him with a weak smile, very aware of the weariness in his old bones. The two walk side-by-side, hand-in-hand, to Russia's bedroom, where the night is spent with warmth and comfort, wrapped in one another's embrace, past troubles forgotten in exchange for the feeling that currently surrounds them.

In the morning, China is the first to rise, stretching out as much as he can without waking his sleeping partner. He looks at the peaceful Russian's face and smiles before he slips from Russia's hold, sitting upon the edge of the bed. As he reflects all that has come to pass, Russia has sat up in bed and wraps his arms around China's skinny torso, caressing the soft skin of his abdomen, kissing the naked shoulder and laying his chin upon it. "Yao, why are you up so early? Lay down with me a little longer…" Russia attempts to coerce him, but China shakes his head, sighing softly and rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ivan. It's time I go home, aru." China stands and shuffles about the room, searching for his clothing. When he finds his shirt, he clumsily buttons it up, straightening up and rubbing the lingering sleepiness from his eyes. Russia pouts like a child but stands, assisting China in his search. He grabs his heavy coat from the hanger on his door and puts it on, too tired to get fully dressed himself.

When China is fully clothed Russia escorts him to the door, his arm around the smaller nation's hip, pulling the red coat from the coat rack on the wall. Russia puts his coat on for him, making sure to button it up fully, while China smiles up at him; Russia returns the smile with a sleepy one of his own.

The morning sun will only warm his southern neighbor slightly, so he gives China a parting kiss that heats his entire body, yet makes it difficult for him to leave. As his front door closes, Russia walks over towards the window. He smiles as the wind whips around China's hair.

While his people continue to protest, China forgets the pain. He loses himself in the wonderful feeling he cannot describe – the wonderful feeling that he is not alone, that someone cares, and that someone is someone he will see soon. A smile graces his lips. Nothing will ever compare to the warmth he still feels within.