Toris heard the knock on his door long before he had expected anyone.

From the knock, he could at least be certain that it wasn't his brothers, both of whom were either too timid or polite to ever strike a door hard enough to produce that sound.

It might have been Feliks, but that was unlikely as well. Feliks preferred a strategy similar to the sound of fireworks; loud, excited, obnoxious, and in rapid succession. Feliks was the reason Toris didn't have a functioning doorbell.

Alfred also seemed a likely suspect. When he had first invited Alfred over for dinner, he had suspected another user of the 'firework technique'. However, Alfred had attempted to barge straight through the door. When this was unsuccessful, he resorted to shaking the offending knob, and repeatedly twisting it. Alfred had then tried ringing the doorbell, which didn't ring anymore. Toris had heard most of the rattling, and assumed it was a housebreaker, until he heard the very feeble sound of a dying duck. He ignored this, until he realized that the noise happened to be the death throes of his perishing doorbell.
After this, he quickly let the American inside, with many apologies. Alfred was himself making noises comprable to that of a moribund fowl, and complaining of extreme hunger.
The person standing behind the door wasn't any of these people. Toris had a fairly good idea who the mysterious knocker was, but he checked the peekhole to be certain.
Certainly enough, he jumped back as the small glass lens magnified a giant, purple eye.

Muttering, he went up to the door and opened it. There was Russia, smiling.

"Privyet!" Ivan began happily. "Are you going to let me in?"

Toris didn't want to let Ivan in, but of course he did.
Ivan ducked awkwardly under the short doorframe. He seemed out of place, Toris decided, standing so tall in a house designed for much smaller people.
"Do you want me to take your coat-" he had to stop himself from adding the automatic 'sir'.
"Nyet. I will wear it. You can put my boots by the fire though," he said, "If you want to." he added, as if just remembering that Toris was no longer required to do whatever he ordered. Toris wondered if the addition was not merely ornamental. The threat still seemed to be hiding behind the words- it was simply sugarcoated.
He did of course take the shoes. They were heavy, steel-tipped, and damp with cold, melted snow. He carried them across the room (it felt oddlt familiar, and he was well acquanited with these boots, unfortunately), and placed them carefully by his fireplace. When he looked up, Ivan was already seated in the only piece of furniture accomodating the small room.
"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked, lookingdistractedly around the almost bare room.
"No." Toris didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but this didn't seem the wisest response.
"No? Do you not know what day it is, Litva?"
"It's - my b-birthday." His voice caught in his throat as he said it.
"Da," Russia replied softly, "And that is why I am here. To be wishing you a happy celebration of your independence!"
At the word 'independence', Toris flinched. He hadn't even been allowed to say this particular phrase whilst under Ivan's roof. the situation did not seem to be getting better, from his position. Especially considering the edge that had been present in Russia's tone at that last, beautiful, dangerous word.

"Don't be afraid. I promised Katya I wouldn't hurt you," he paused, "She didn't want me to come, because she said I might 'fall into old habits.' But I won't." he confided with assertion.
"You did't come to...do anything then?" Toris questioned. He was careful to leave out any obvious triggers, but the words lingered in his mind, along with the unhappy memories.
"Da, I was coming to do something. I came to celebrate with you!"
At this his eyes fell to the floor. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"Okay..." Toris was shaking. "Thank you."

Russia brightened, and reached into his coat. Toris backed away, discreetly. Russia didn't seem to notice. He pulled a folded paper out of the depths of his coat, an held it out.
Toris had to bridge the protective distance he had created, in order to take the extended card. He skimmed over the cover of the pale blue construction paper.
"Open it!" Ivan insisted. He sounded like an eager child. Toris smiled in spite of himself. He opened the card carefully, lest it held a paper-thin snake, or some type of acidic, skin burning powder. Instead, Toris unfolded a drawing of a sunflower, in crayon. It looked like it had been colored by a child.
"Thank you," Toris said, closing the card, "It's beautiful."
Ivan giggled. "I did it all by myself!" he declared proudly.

Toris almost laughed.

"Happy Birthday, Litva!" Ivan said, smiling. "I'll go home now, I think. Thank you for having me!"

As Toris finally shut the door behind Russia, he couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. "So he wasn't going to kill me. Well, I suppose that's a relief."

He glanced at the sunflower picture he had tacked to the wall.

"Sometimes you really do become a child again, I think."

Happy Birthday, Toris!