Yeah, so I wrote this for a Secret Santa that I did. Publishing company AU! where Russia and the other countries are famous novelists. Hetalia Publishing does children's books, book covers, novels, etc. Read and review, please.
Ivan was not ready for this party.
He looked around the room, the customary flute of champagne in his hands and the tie around his neck feeling like a noose.
It was the holiday party for Hetalia International, a famous publishing company. Being it's star attraction, Ivan had no choice but to come, forced by his agent and his family to attend the lavish event.
"Braginsky, I've been good to you and you've been good to me, aru? Then get your ass over to that huge party of Alfred's and make sure to wine and dine with everyone. None of this 'Russian hermit' stuff I've been seeing out of you for the past few years, aru."
Ivan swallowed the entire flute of champagne and then set it on a nearby table for a waiter to collect, grimacing at the bright lights and gaudy decorations that assaulted his senses. This year's Winter Holiday party was hosted by Alfred F. Jones, and Ivan saw his particular decorating style everywhere.
Sighing, he slumped on a seat, loosening his tie slightly and taking off his jacket. A hand descended in front of him, holding another champagne flute. He looked up into acid green eyes, and accepted the champagne flute.
Arthur slumped down-or, as much as an Englishman with a stickler for manners could slump-beside him.
"Bloody fucking Alfred."
He raised his champagne glass and clinked it to Arthur's in agreement.
"The ponce over there, wining and dining with Francis, that slag. And this horrendous holiday decoration...it looks like an interior decorating store threw up its winter clearance rack around the room." Arthur sneered impressively and took a long pull of a whiskey flask that he had managed to sneak into the room. It was an obnoxious Union Jack themed one, and Ivan stared at it, fascinated by the sheer Englishness.
Ivan hummed in agreement, in no particular mood to discuss the American's particular failings. A flash of pale gold caught his eyes when he surveyed the room and as he peered closer he found it was a blond man in a fitted beige suit, his back to the wall. He seemed to be doing his best to fade into the surroundings. Ivan could attest to the fact. The mystery blond damn near well succeeded.
He leaned over to Arthur, not taking his eyes off of the blond.
"Hey, Arthur, who's that over there? The blonde with the tan suit?"
Arthur looked up drunkenly from where he had been moaning the lack of whiskey left in his flask. "Oh. That's-" green eyes squinted a little, peering at the mystery blonde before brightening in recognition. "That's Matthew. Matthew Williams." He drank another flute of champagne. "I c-can't believe that I'm-I'm missing Doctor Who. Or rather, that I did miss it. An hour ago. I think."
Ivan tore his eyes away from the morbidly fascinating display that was Arthur Kirkland drunk as hell and kept his eyes forward. He felt the vague uncomfortable feeling that he got when being around any drunk, but Ivan wasn't stupid nor vulnerable enough to show his discomfort.
"Matthew Williams?"
Arthur nodded, blond hair bobbing. "Yeah. The new writer-illustrator that did the ones for The Hole to the Other Side of the World and A Boy and His Bear. Children's stories. Though I think he publishes other works under a pseudonym."
Ivan looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye.
"You should go talk to him. I think I see Honda and that frog together. Might as well go save him." The Englishman walked off before Ivan could tell him that the Greek writer, Herakles something, had it all under control. He blinked slowly and turned his attention back to the blonde against the wall.
Writer-illustrator? He hadn't seen that combination before in a while. Though that could be because Ivan hated working with other authors. Most writers were eccentric and not fit for company, in his opinion. Ivan learned that the hard way after the disaster that was suppose d to be a collaboration back in 2005. He thought that his agent might still have nightmares about letting him around other people, but apparently not.
The interesting blond got up, grabbing another champagne flute, and headed...to Ivan's location.
Ivan froze, before forcing himself to relax. He still wasn't used to people approaching him so suddenly after the disaster of a collaboration that he thought still left scars both mental and physical.
He shuddered a little, remembering a certain blonde agent who would scream about marriage.
The glass was handed to him, and the Russian accepted, drinking the alcohol and barely feeling a burn after so many years drinking vodka.
"You're Ivan Braginski, right? The one that wrote Onomatopoeia and the Pastiche series?" The blond shot him a smile. His hair fell around his face in soft blond waves that framed slightly delicate, aristocratic bone structure. Ivan was struck by blue-violet eyes.
"Yes, I am."
"I'm Matthew Williams an-"
"-Illustrator-author. Of children's books. Arthur told me." The blond shot Ivan a look, which he calmly ignored in favour of drinking more champagne. He finally looked at Matthew, and was struck again by his unusual, large eyes.
"He also mentioned something about a pseudonym?" Ivan took another drink, not caring as Matthew froze a little. The Russian man wasn't known for his tact or polite manners. It wasn't like he cared. He was held in high enough prestige that most people either tried their best to ignore his faults or to ignore him entirely.
"U-um, well, I-I may w-write other novels, but it's not like it's a crime!" The Canadian was flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and Ivan took a second to appreciate the sight.
"Why? Didn't want to ruin your kiddy reputation by writing something like erotica?" Ivan took another drink, eyes resolutely forward. While not an erotica writer himself, the Russian liked to think that he wrote about life, and sex was a part of his novels.
This seemed to inflame the Canadian instead of making him stutter further, something that Ivan found quite interesting.
"Actually, yes. I write rather adult stuff under my pseudonym, and I refused to publish children's books and novels that border on erotica under the same name."
"Erotica?"
"I'm part French. Sex is part of human existence."
Ivan leaned back and looked at the Canadian with narrowed violet eyes. Oh, this was interesting. The little lamb had a bite.
"You're less boring than I thought you would be."
"And you're significantly less scary than I thought you would be."
Ivan grinned, an expression that he had been told by many people to be terrifying on his face to anyone who knew him well.
"Ivan Braginski. Author."
"Matthew Williams. Author-illustrator."
Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Your pseudonym?"
Matthew smiled a little.
"I don't release information like that until the third date." The Canadian got up, putting his empty champagne glass on a nearby table and walking towards a Dutch man that Ivan had seen once or twice on his rare visits to the publishing company's headquarters.
Ivan was left sitting on the couch, head cocked and laughing the same laugh that had made Toris Laurinaitis and the two other Baltic editors wet themselves the year before.
Matthew Williams was interesting. Pity that should Ivan be around him any longer, he would break like everyone else. Still, the blonde boy would last quite a while longer than the rest. Ivan smirked, and unbeknownst to him the expression was enough to make Ravis drop his glass in frightened anticipation.
Ivan was in front of his agent, Yao Wang's office. The Chinese man opened the door, perusing the Russian's form before yanking him inside.
"We've got a collaboration."
Ivan smiled sweetly, slightly confused. Was he hearing things correctly? Did Yao honestly think another collaboration was a smart move after the last one?
"Yao, I think I heard something about collaboration, but I don't think that's what you meant to say, да?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant to say."
Ivan's faux-innocent grin was firmly in place, violet eyes carefully blank as he stared down his agent, who stared right back. Yao Wang was one of the oldest and best in the business, despite his young, happy exterior. He was also one of the few that could withstand the barrage that was Ivan Braginski.
"Look, aru. This time it's with someone who checks out properly. His name is Matthew Williams, and he's a-"
"Writer-illustrator of children's books. Да, I know." Ivan murmured, creepy grin lost as he thought on this new development.
"He's also M. C. Monroe, that up-and-coming new author. His new book, Chatoyant, has rave reviews, and his style seems to mesh with yours quite well."
Ivan grinned again, his violet eyes cold.
"And you want me to write a novel with him."
Yao stared him in the eyes, a deadpan look in them, as if merely looking at Ivan in a certain manner would ensure everything would happen as it should and that the universe would conform to his ideals. To be honest, the look was starting work on him.
"I want you to just talk with him, aru. Discuss things. See if you come up with anything."
"He's a jumped-up erotica writer."
"Williams is very good at what he does, aru."
Ivan twitched minutely, and Yao grinned internally.
"Fine, I'll go talk to him." The Russian man pivoted on his heel and walked out of Yao's door. The long-haired brunet sat down at his desk, fiddling with his Hello Kitty paperweight with a small smile on his face. This should be interesting, and hopefully profitable.
Ivan drank some of his tea, setting the mug down carefully on the saucer.
He was waiting at a nearby cafe for Matthew Williams, a place that their agents had them meet, citing the out-of-the-way location and quiet atmosphere as perfect for their work.
Collaboration. The Russian twitched. The last time he had done a collaboration with an author, it had been with a Belarusian beauty named Natalia Arlovskaya. She was a famous mystery author, whose dark prose style was a close match for Ivan's. Yao had thought it would have been good for the two to work on one of the novels for Ivan's Pastiche series together.
It had been a disaster.
What Yao and Ivan didn't know was that Natalia was, to put it bluntly, insane. Though many authors were, especially at Hetalia Publishing, which drew eccentric people like flies to honey, Natalia had them all beat. She had become obsessed with Ivan, asking him to marry her constantly and stalking him whenever she could.
Hopefully Matthew wasn't like that.
Ivan shuddered and drank from his tea again, chasing away the sudden cold with the strong hot liquid. Sometimes he wished he could carry around a vodka bottle. If only his coat had more pockets...
The Russian was startled out of his musings by the arrival of Matthew, who sat down and picked up the menu in slim, long fingered hands.
"Fond of tea?"
Ivan's mouth twitched on one side, something that could be barely counted as a smile. Matthew took it as one and continued talking.
"You're a tea person. Somehow I'm not surprised." Matthew leaned back, signalling for the waiter, who arrived promptly and stood there, expectant.
"What would you like to drink?"
Matthew smiled sweetly, and Ivan felt himself drawn to the sight.
"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. And those lovely maple syrup cookies please." The blond handed the menu to the waiter with another winning smile.
Ivan raised another eyebrow and suppressed a smile.
"A Star Trek reference?"
Matthew's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened.
"You watch Star Trek: The Next Generation?"
"I may be famous for being a recluse, but that does not mean I live under a rock." Ivan's eyes narrowed, enjoying when Matthew swallowed in fear. The waiter came with the Canadian's food, and was rewarded with another, albeit shaky, smile.
"So, this collaboration of ours..." Matthew left the sentence hanging as he lifted his tea to his mouth.
"Will not be happening."
Matthew frowned, setting his cup down with a small clink. Ivan in turn drank from his cup, smile back in place although his violet eyes were as cold as ice.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like working with other people. Especially jumped-up erotica writers who think because they've been selling well that they're in the big leagues now. I have a newsflash for you," Ivan leaned over the table, setting down his cup of tea and staring directly into Matthew's eyes. The Russian man was impressed when Matthew didn't flinch away.
"You're nothing special, not right now. And from the looks of it, you won't be. Decide what you are-kiddie book writer or erotica writer. These two extremes? Just shows me you're an indecisive boy." Ivan leaned back in his chair, picking up his tea cup again and casually sipping from it before setting it down with a tiny clank.
Matthew's hands were twisted around the napkin in his lap hard enough that his knuckles were white and curled into fists. He forced himself to slowly relax, not taking his eyes away from Ivan's violet ones. Ivan noticed this with an unreadable expression before taking a small bite of his banana bread.
"You're right."
Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"That's why I've got to work with you. I need to dig myself out of this rut I'm in. And you? One thing my books are-besides well written-are approachable. You need this collaboration. You need to write books that are approachable. Because you are a critical success, and your books have been bought by readers everywhere, but I guarantee you that your books aren't read by everyday people. Which is a downright shame, Ivan, because you're an amazing writer."
Ivan felt his chest become tight as Matthew's words. He stared the blond Canadian down, no expression whatsoever in his eyes.
"You need this. You need to show that you can write books that are approachable and introduce the everyday man to the sort of works you write. I need this. I need to show that I'm capable of so much more than what I've done so far." Matthew flushed, and Ivan enjoyed the sight as usual. It seemed that the Canadian was starting a rant. Ivan found it entertaining.
This man truly didn't quit, did he? Ivan would have to keep him around. He hadn't been this amused since they put his office beside Gilbert's.
"So, let's at least try, eh?"
What the hell. Ivan decided that it was worth the risk.
"да."
Besides, Yao had really been getting on his case about not being a recluse and writing things that weren't heavy and dark prose.
Matthew, Ivan had grudgingly decided, was not a bad writer.
In fact, had it been any other person judging his works, they would have said that the Canadian was exemplary.
Ivan and Matthew had been regularly meeting up at cafes and bistros around the city for a month now. With their laptops and notebooks in tow, they had set themselves up twice a week to try and write.
It was going spectacularly. Ivan was apprehensive. Good things didn't just happen to him. There had to be a catch.
But it was hard to think about his bad luck with people and life in general when Matthew was staring at him with those large blue-violet eyes and nattering on about character development.
They had been meeting regularly at the cafe where they had first met up. It was a Friday, sunny and warm, with the waiter that Ivan tolerated for her politeness on shift and their banana bread in stock.
Naturally, Ivan was terrified as to what would happen. He sat down apprehensively and waited for Matthew, who always arrived second. He was not disappointed in his pessimistic thoughts when Matthew rounded the corner and came into view, followed closely by someone else.
Someone who turned out to be that loud obnoxious ass Alfred F. Jones.
"But Mattie! I want to see the new Avengers movie that came out! It's Captain America for fuck's sake! Mattie!" Alfred was whining at the top of his lungs, clutching at Matthew's red cardigan while the Canadian did his best to shake him off.
"Alfred, I've told you once and I'll tell you again: I'm meeting someone. I'm working. And besides, I'm Canadian. I'm not interested in Captain America, no matter how delicious Chris Evan's ass is in spandex."
"But he's just your type, Mattie! You can watch it for him and I can watch it for Black Widow's fine ass." The obnoxious American made a loud smacking sound with his lips. Ivan twitched before absorbing his words.
Matthew was gay? As in attracted to men? This was news. News that Ivan firmly told himself was neutral, meaning not good. He had no reason to be happy that Matthew was gay, after all. Despite the fact that he himself was also gay and single. That fact had no bearing on the conversation.
"Mon Dieu. Alfred, get off me! Iv-he's already there!" The blond tugged himself away from the annoying American and ran quickly to Ivan's table, which thankfully was enough out of the way that Alfred didn't see it when he was running past.
"Quite a commotion today." Ivan did his best to maintain a neutral expression and not show his amusement on his face. He masked an almost-smile with his tea cup, drinking deeply.
Matthew huffed, his breath blowing away the errant curl that was perpetually in front of his face. Ivan twitched with the absurd urge to tuck the strand behind the Canadian's ear. He shook off the thought and went back to sipping his tea.
"You might not know it, but Alfred and I don't just look uncommonly alike. We're related, despite the different last names."
Ivan choked on the sip of tea that he had been taking, in pain from the burning hot liquid. He swallowed quickly and painfully, and set his tea cup down with a larger clank than was necessary. He caught Matthew's worried, though unsurprised, eyes. Apparently this was the usual reaction. Ivan quickly composed himself and looked at the Canadian with a considering expression.
"It's not surprising I didn't see the connection earlier. Your bone structure is similar, but you act as different as night and day."
Matthew looked relieved at his feigned nonchalance. Ivan went back to eating his cookies and sipping his tea, scribbling in the margins.
"So what do you think if-"
"Thanks."
Matthew smiled shyly, and Ivan found himself entranced enough by the blond's expression that he forgot to react to the Canadian interrupting him mid-sentence.
"Thanks for not comparing me to my brother. I get that a lot, and I really appreciate it."
"It's a logical observation."
He laughed sweetly, and Ivan drank in the sound.
"You write enough about the human condition to know that humanity's not logical."
Ivan leaned back in his chair, raising his cup in deference.
"True."
A comfortable silence ensued as Matthew quietly signalled and then ordered from the waiter nearby, quietly eating his maple cookies and tea.
"So what do you think if we age the character by a couple of years?"
"So make him in his early thirties?"
"Yeah. Too old?"
"I see him as more of his mid-twenties, to be honest..."
Ivan wasn't there one Sunday.
Yao had forced him into a suit and on a plane before he was awake enough or wrathful enough to comprehend that a book signing meant missing his visits with Matthew. He firmly told himself that the irritation had nothing to do with the Canadian in particular, and everything due to the Russian man being a workaholic.
He sighed, his laptop softly playing a classical playlist that did little in the way of lulling him down. He drank his tea and stretched out his large hands, his left hand aching from the amount of novels he had to sign.
Ivan never really realised how popular he was until he went to a book signing and crowds and long lines began to suffocate him with the intention of meeting him somehow.
His laptop rang, indicating a Skype call. Ivan brightened, although he would deny it until the end of his life. That meant Matthew. He answered it, receiving a smile from Matthew, who yawned sleepily in his view.
Matthew was at their regular cafe, Ivan noticed with a pang.
"Hey, where are you?"
Ivan grimaced.
"A book signing."
His dour tone made Matthew laugh, loud and clear, making the corner's of Ivan's mouth twitch in return.
"You? A book signing?"
"Да, I know right?" Ivan leaned back in his chair, suddenly more at ease then he had been the entire day.
"But Yao-my agent, by the way-dragged me out here, yelling about not being a hermit, and so there's nothing else I can do."
Matthew laughed again. "Poor you."
"Poor me? Poor Yao. I'll kill him after this. We could have scheduled this tomorrow so that it didn't interfere with my meetings with you but apparently it had to be today." Ivan twitched.
"Miss me already?" Matthew's smile was cheeky and Ivan repressed the urge to smile again. What had gotten into him? He made a snort of derision.
"It's not you. I just don't like having my schedule conflict. I'm supposed to be a recluse that does nothing but "write and drink vodka all day" according to Yao and the one time I actually go out he schedules work appointments."
Matthew smirked and drank his tea.
"Keep thinking that, mon ami."
Ivan wracked his brain for his scant knowledge of French.
"My friend?"
"Well, aren't we after all this time? You've taken me out on dates every week; that warrants at least a friendship."
"We're not friends, we're temporary coworkers."
Matthew's smile seemed to fade somewhat. Ivan dismissed it. The fact was true.
"Don't like mixing business with pleasure?"
Ivan grimaced and put his thermos down on the cloth covered table he was sitting at.
"It leads to unnecessary complications and hassles that are easily avoided."
Matthew's smile was entirely gone now, the blond's previous happy demeanor now replaced with an unreadable expression.
"If you feel that way, I guess."
Ivan frowned a little, but decided to let it slide. An awkward silence ensued, though it was later broken by Matthew. However the ineffably tense feeling Ivan felt while talking to Matthew didn't go away through the remainder of their talk.
They continued their work after the inexplicably tense book signing call. Ivan still didn't understand what had happened to make the atmosphere so awkward, but the situation seemed to fill Matthew with some kind of fervour. The blond met Ivan almost every other day, Skyping and calling him constantly. He didn't know where the Canadian was finding the time to do so, considering the fact that the man was far more social than Ivan who had very little, if any friends.
Still, the Russian wasn't complaining.
Ivan had been laughing and smiling more in the past couple of months that he had been working with Matthew than he could ever remember being. He was more carefree and relaxed in a way that he hadn't been since his mother died and his father turned alcoholic and cold with sharp, cruel words and hands.
He was happy. And this terrified him.
No. Ivan was more than happy. There was another emotion there, one that Ivan didn't know or understand. He had no words for what he was feeling, as the Russian often tried his very best not to feel at all, most of the time.
Except for with Matthew. Mattie, as he had been given permission to call him.
He walked more quickly to the café, bumping rudely past people who were too intimidated by his size to protest the rude actions.
"Ivan!"
The blond turned around quickly from where he was mulling over his epiphanies at the corner of the café where he and Mattie usually met up. He was ready to eviscerate whoever had interrupted him before stopping short upon realising who it was.
It was his sister, Katyusha.
She was holding two disposable cups in her hands from a tea store that he remembered going to often with her, before her work and his collaboration with Matthew had suddenly taken up most of his time.
They sat down quietly on a bench in the open garden plaza near the café, sipping from their tea. They hadn't seen each other in a while, Katyusha's urban agriculture business growing from leaps and bounds and needing to devote her every moment to working to pay off her debts and Ivan spending his time holed up in his house writing or working with Mattie. They weren't a talkative pair anyways, the normally bubbly Katyusha understanding her brother's predilection for silence and not wanting to annoy him and Ivan either being in a bad mood or simply not having anything to talk about.
"How are you, brother?"
Ivan made a noncommittal noise and continued sipping his tea.
"Good. How are you? Business alright?"
Katyusha brightened and smiled happily.
"Soon I will be able to buy a larger location! I can finally pay you back, brother. Thank you so much for giving me the starting loan. Business is doing well enough that I can pay you back in two weeks."
Ivan smiled slightly into his tea at his sister's enthusiasm.
"You don't have to pay me back any time soon."
Katyusha looked at him sharply in wonder. Ivan paid her look no attention as he drank, the hot tea burning down his throat and chasing away the autumn chill. He had been drinking his weight in tea and hot soups as the Russian hated fall and winter with a fiery passion, the hot liquid serving to warm him up.
"You're in a good mood, brother. What's been happening with you? Haven't had to go out on any book signings?"
"Just one book signing for the Pastiche series. It was routine."
Katyusha looked disappointed with his lack of an answer, so he offered up more information, huddling into his large coat as a gust of wind blew by.
"I've been doing a collaboration with another author. You'll know him by either M. C Monroe or Matthew Williams."
"M. C Monroe? His books are fantastic, although," here Katyusha blushed, her cheeks pinker from more than just the wind as she tried to find the words to say. "His books are quite adult."
"You mean he writes erotica?"
"I'm surprised, brother. You disdain erotica."
"The man is not without talent, despite his unfortunate choice of genre."
Katyusha looked at him with confusion, which Ivan ignored yet again.
"Brother, I think that's one of the nicest things I've heard you say about another author."
Ivan harrumphed and burrowed into his coat a bit more, the cold making him slightly irritable.
"I've said good things about Arthur."
"I meant without being forced to."
"It's only the truth, Katyusha. I thought you liked me being truthful. It's one of my few positive qualities."
Katyusha looked at him with that puzzling look again, one that she had been shooting him for the entirety of their conversation. She let the subject drop however, and they spent time talking about her work.
"Matthew can't grow anything, actually. Just trees, and because they're hardier than regular plants. Idiot boy tries the best he could, but just fails every time."
Katyusha started laughing, which was a strange thing for her because unlike Ivan she wasn't one to laugh at other's mistakes. He looked at her oddly.
"Why are you laughing?"
She giggled sweetly, gesturing to him with a coffee cup.
"No, Ivan, I think I will let you figure this out."
They sat there in companionship, Ivan throwing too-large crumbs at the birds and watching the pigeons choke with a savage glee and Katyusha sitting beside him in blissful ignorance. He picked up his tea and walked away without so much as a goodbye, Katyusha looking at him but used to his less-than-polite demeanor after so many years.
Ivan was at the headquarters of Hetalia Publishing; a rare thing for the Russian. He was there to see Yao, to update him on the progress of the collaboration.
In truth he was just bored.
Matthew was out of state, going for a short appearance at a writer's convention. Ivan could have gone with him, but he felt that the action bordered on desperate. Especially considering he rarely, if ever, went to those events.
"Braginsky. How's the deal with Williams?" Yao arrive, dressed in sharply tailored Chinese clothing and flanked by two of his lackeys/family that constantly followed him. Ivan eyed them, wryly noting their sharp clothing which matched Yao's but the tired bags under their eyes and trembling hands. Yao worked them to the bone. If Ivan was in a more charitable mood, he'd pity them. As it was he admired the man's well-hidden ruthlessness. Yao? Kind? Not a chance in hell.
"The deal with Matthew is going well." He remarked absently, staring at Eduard and watching the Estonian man flinch and quickly run back to his cubicle with a savage glee.
"Matthew, is it? Look who's changed his opinion on collaborations, aru."
"The boy is competent. I appreciate only that he is not half-insane and screaming for my hand in marriage."
"High compliments, aru. You're in a good mood."
"I'm making Raivis cry right now."
"If you were in a bad mood, Raivis would be puking."
Ivan laughed a strange harsh sound.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Please don't. I pay the janitors enough as it is, aru."
Ivan ignored the turn of the conversation and instead decided to say what he had come to the building for. Other than to make Toris, Eduard and Raivis cry and remember their Year of Hell when they worked with Ivan.
"The collaboration is going well. At our current pace we shall be done by New Year's at the latest."
Yao's eyebrows shot up.
"A year of working only, aru?"
Ivan nodded, smugly pleased inside. This is what Yao got for under-estimating him.
"For the first draft alone. It will take a year, maybe longer for the polished, edited version but that will not require us to meet up as frequently."
Yao smiled, and Ivan knew that was a bad sign, when the man's lips curled up and his voice came out thinner than a knife's edge. Ivan and Yao worked so well together because they were the same, both sadistic and cruel though Ivan didn't hide it and Yao slid his malice under a thin, kindly veneer.
"Disappointed, aru?"
Ivan smiled, the expression just as fake and tight as Yao's.
"Why should I be disappointed in the first place?"
"That your first true human contact outside of your sister will leave you with no excuse to see him come New Year's, aru?"
Ivan's smile turned dangerous, and from Yao's subtle flinch he was reminded of the fact that no matter how domestic the Russian man seemed these days that he was the same.
"Careful, Yao, that's not a sentence I seem to enjoy."
Yao eyed him carefully before dropping the subject.
Ivan walked wordlessly away; snarling at a slight brunette intern who bumped into him and making her tear up.
Christmas music blasted in the elevator, despite it only being early November. Ivan twitched, and the minute he got out he broke the caroler's stereo in half 'by accident'.
This always happened around the fucking holidays. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year's to him.
Ivan was relaxed on his couch in a full body sprawl, arm over his eyes and classical music blasted in the back ground when someone knocked on the door.
He opened the door with a snarl only to come face to face with a smiling Matthew, who quickly came in. Ivan shut the door behind him, still slightly disconcerted. The blonde dusted off his coat and hung it on the antique brass coat hanger that stood beside the doorway, and then stood and took in the sights.
Ivan's home was magnificent, a work of art by any interior designer and worthy of snobby catalogues. However it was cold, impersonal, and there was no human touch. No picture frames on the walls or schedules stuck to the fridge of the state-of-the-art kitchen. Nothing at all.
Matthew smiled, holding out a round tin to Ivan, who blinked and accepted it.
"What's this?"
"It's cookies. For Thanksgiving."
Ivan's face remained blank. He didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, being both Russian and holiday-despising.
"Why have you given me cookies?"
Matthew's smile remained stubbornly fixed in place despite Ivan's less-than-friendly attitude. The blond's expression was teasing, as if he was amused by the Russian. Ivan suppressed the urge to destroy the smile, to mar the pretty, almost innocent face of the Canadian, to make the other man weep.
"They're my speciality, maple sugar cookies in the shape of maple leaves." Matthew thrust the tin at Ivan.
"You didn't mention anything for Thanksgiving so I got you somet-"
"What makes you think I want your help or presents? What presumptuous decision is this, that you think that you're a friend that you can give me presents for Thanksgiving?" He tossed the tin onto a nearby table, the loud sound echoing in Matthew's sudden silence.
"This is business. Not a friendship, not a relationship, not anything. We're working on this book, and then I couldn't care less if I never saw you again."
To Matthew's credit he barely flinched from the barrage of words. He simply looked at Ivan, without pity, fear or sadness. They remained this way for a while before Matthew opened his mouth and started speaking in a low, measured tone.
"I won't let you push me away, Ivan."
"What makes you think you've gotten anywhere near?"
"You wouldn't be this scared if you hadn't started caring about me." The blond picked up the cookie tin in a nonchalant way, making his way towards the kitchen.
Ivan slammed him against the wall, strong forearm pressing against Matthew's throat. The cookie tin fell to the floor with a loud clatter, the only sound besides the strained breathing that marked the tense situation.
"What makes you think I care about you, hm?" Ivan pushed Matthew harder against the wall, ignoring the blond's gasp of pain. He laughed under his breath a little, a harsh, broken sound.
"What makes you think anything? I could-I will-I'll forget you, after this. This? These meetings every day, these calls-you think they're anything more than business? You think I can actually care about you? You and all the others, you overestimate me, you think I can be saved. I could kill you," He punctuated his harsh words with a sharp push of Matthew's throat against the wall. He laughed again as tears from the blond's eyes fell onto his hand.
"I could kill you without a thought, and you seem to think-"
"Trust me."
Matthew's voice was nothing more than a whisper, his throat being cut off by Ivan's hand. Though he was crying due to the pain, the blond's voice was steady and without fear. Startled, he eased up a little on the Canadian's throat.
"Please.
Please, Ivan, let me in."
He released Matthew's throat, looking at him wordlessly. He blinked his eyes once, slowly, the drag of his surprisingly long lashes against his cheekbones a fascinating display.
"Everyone I've ever let in has let me down."
"I won't, Ivan. You know I won't. I'm not like the others."
Matthew picked up the cookie tin and handed it to Ivan, who brought it to the kitchen wordlessly.
"I'm sorry."
Matthew's eyelids were at half-mast, violet eyes peeking through a fringe of gold-blond lashes.
"I'm sor-"
"It's okay."
Ivan slumped against the wall with those words, body tense and hands curled into fists.
"Fuck."
Matthew's hand was in front of him, slightly scraped from where he had shoved the man against the wall. He was holding a cookie in the shape of a maple leaf, the crumbs falling to the ground and half-broken from the several times the tin had violently fell.
Ivan took it silently, and the two stayed together like that, side by side in the main hallway of Ivan's large, empty house. They said little, offering little insights once in a while but they sat beside each other in mutual understanding.
Ivan appreciated it.
He had never known what to say. From a young age his language was the fists of his father and the harsh, tense words of his drunken rants. He didn't know how to deal with emotions, how to deal with trust and love and all of the things that he never had. So he fought. He fought everything and everyone that he could until his knuckles were bleeding and his voice hoarse with suppressed screams.
Matthew though…
He understood, a little, the Canadian. He understood the silence. He understood Ivan. Someone that he had very nearly killed, whose throat he could have crushed mere minutes ago was sitting beside him-for what?
For trust. Because Matthew trusted him.
And then it clicked, for Ivan, a slow realisation that spread through his mind slowly, like a paintbrush dipped in water.
He trusted Matthew. No. It was more than that. He loved Matthew. In the couple of months that they had been together, the Russian man had opened up to the blond more so than he had with any other person in his life.
And maybe, the road to this realisation wasn't healthy. Ivan knew that he was far from whole, that he had deep issues stemming from almost every part of his childhood. He knew that he would most likely never have a normal, functional romance, or normal, functional relationships.
But Ivan knew that Matthew wouldn't either. The Canadian was just as fucked up as he was, with an overbearing brother, dual writing styles, an absentee agent, forgetful family…was it a wonder that he had been so keen to start the work with Ivan? The man was just as ruined Ivan was, albeit in a quieter way.
They sat together side by side for the rest of the afternoon, slowly eating the ruined cookies. And if neither of them said a word, then it was still okay. Ivan had a feeling Matthew understood what he was going to say.
It was the holiday party for Hetalia Publishing again, this time held at Ludwig Beilschmidt's expense, the poor man having to coordinate it alongside Feliciano Vargas, who was a great illustrator but ditzy and simple minded.
This time it was held on New Year's, conflicting schedules and the fact that everyone from Hetalia Publishing was from a different country and had different customs which made party planning for any type of holiday absolute hell forcing the tactful German to put it on a religion-neutral holiday.
So New Year's it was, tinsel still being used as decoration although Christmas trees and ornaments had been taken down.
The decorations were tasteful however, the Italian man's artistic influence shining through and saving the party from being a horrible aesthetic mess due to Ludwig. Ivan caught the eye of Matthew, who was whirling about the room and wielding social courtesies and sarcastic quips like a well-honed dagger. Even though he was a friendly man who had many acquaintances amongst the company the Canadian man still disliked the schmoozing required at company parties. Ivan, being a known recluse, got to stay against the wall. He lifted his glass teasingly to the blond, who glared back. Reputation was everything.
Things between them had changed significantly since Ivan's minor breakdown in his home after Thanksgiving. There were more significant silences, more conversations held with just a glance. They met up almost every day just like before, ate together at the same café, and called each other like they had so many times before. And yet there was a different element to their exchanges, something deeper with the hint and promise of something more.
It was trust.
Ivan trusted him, trusted him to hold the fragile edges of his heart and carefully put it back in his rib cage. He trusted Matthew to hold his secrets, to not use them against him. He trusted Matthew to be Matthew, to be warm soft hands and kind words and keen violet eyes. Ivan trusted the blond Canadian not to hurt him.
And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it. Ivan and Matthew trusted each other. They knew each other, after almost a year of collaboration. They worked well together. They looked good together. They shared the same dry sense of humour. And they shared mutual attraction.
Ivan's relationship with Matthew was on a knife's edge, something unspeakably tense that could fall either way. The Russian was sick of it. He wanted to do something right. For once in his life he wanted to get a relationship right, to trust someone not to hurt him, to let someone near and wake up to them each morning. Ivan wanted this, and he wanted to do this right.
He walked over to where Matthew had collapsed onto a nearby couch, two champagne flutes in his hands. Ivan handed one over to the blond, who accepted it gratefully and smiled at him.
"A bit of role-reversal going on here?"
Ivan laughed a little, shocking Francis nearby who quickly scurried away, expecting pain. This of course, only made Ivan laugh harder.
"The party is less eye-agonisingly bright this year. Who knew that Vargas younger would be good for something?"
Matthew giggled despite himself.
"Don't be mean. Feliciano tries his best."
Ivan made a non-committal noise and put his arm on the top of the couch. And if his arm went around Matthew as well, that was just coincidence.
"The book is nearly finished."
Ivan looked at Matthew, who smiled again, though his face was tense and his eyes unreadable.
"We'll still need to meet up of course, for editing sessions."
Matthew looked up at him, startled.
"It makes no sense to cut off contact-"
"I thought we'd just have to call each other, and stuff like that."
"You're an idiot. We'll need to decide cover art-"
"Which I can do-"
"Which you can not do on your own, because I've written half of the book too so shut up, Matvey, and let me talk."
Matthew clammed up, miming a zipping motion with his hands.
"We still need to do the editing, the book cover, the little tiny decisions…work doesn't end here just because Yao thinks he can pull me onto other projects."
Matthew was outright grinning, smiling at Ivan like the Russian man had done something right and Ivan wanted to reach out and keep that grin, to put it in his pocket and treasure that smile for the rest of his life.
God, he was turning sappy.
"Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"
Matthew looked at Ivan in shock.
"The countdown's starting already? I must have been talking to Francis longer than I thought." He quickly scrambled up, heading for the balcony with Ivan following behind in amusement, quickly grabbing more champagne off of a passing waiter and gulping it down like a shot glass.
Matthew leaned over the balcony as if the extra centimetre of space would bring him closer to the skyline. Ivan leaned against the doorway in amusement, legs crossed and whiskey flask (he had pickpocketed a drunk Arthur after being frustrated at the weak champagne) in his hand.
"The fireworks aren't going to start until the countdown's over."
"Fifteen! Fourteen!"
Matthew laughed.
"So, in roughly 10 seconds?"
"Nine! Eight! Seven!"
Matthew moved closer to Ivan, plucking the whiskey flask out of his hand and putting it on a small table on the balcony.
"Six! Five! Four!"
He smiled up at Ivan when they were close enough to touch, bright violet eyes shining even from the dim light from the party hall and city line lights.
"Three! Two!"
"Trust me."
"One!"
Matthew kissed Ivan as the New Year began, heralded with fireworks and the drunken screams of the partygoers inside the hall that Ludwig rented. The Canadian slowly ended the kiss, eyes at half-mast and panting for breath after a while.
"I'm sorry if-"
"Matvey, just shut up. Just please, shut up for once."
This time, Ivan kissed Matthew back.
Their book was a roaring success and turned into an award-winning series of collaborations. Matthew moved into Ivan's large, empty house and filled it with laughter and tacky Canadian-themed knickknacks. Katyusha met the Canadian and Ivan smiled with relief as the only one whom he considered his relative left in the world got along with the man that he trusted more than any other.
They had cats, dogs, and icy fights. They had parties and marriages and conventions and book signings. Most importantly of all, Ivan and Matthew had trust and happiness.
The icing on the cake? Ivan no longer found holiday parties a waste of time. Now, he had someone to go with him.
Matthew smiled at Ivan from where he had his shirt half-buttoned and was doing his cufflinks. The Canadian drank the sight in hungrily, wishing he wasn't fully dressed already in his suit so that he could kiss his husband senseless.
He took Ivan's large hand in his after Ivan had finished putting on his suit jacket.
"Ready?"
The Russian snorted.
"It's Alfred's turn to host again. I don't think I'll ever be ready for his decorating monstrosities."
Matthew shot Ivan a look, though he agreed with him about his brother.
"Trust me, it'll be fine."
Ivan smiled back, linking their fingers together.
"Always."