This is from a prompt on Tumblr, which I've posted there. A short drabble. Short, straight to the point, kinda angsty.

Warnings (because there's always warnings in my stories): possible character death. Obviously. When do I not have some kind of character death in my fics?

"Your OTP love to prank each other.
One day, Person A comes home to find Person B lying in their kitchen with a knife stabbed through their chest.
They laugh it off, go over to pull the fake knife from B's 'corpse'."

"Hey, I'm home!" Alfred called from the doorway. He locked the door behind him. Taking off his coat, he hung it on the coat rack. Taking off his shoes, he lined them up neatly next to the row of other pairs. Just in the way Ivan kept nagging him to do everyday, as he usually forgot hem, flung carelessly on the doormat.

Not hearing a response, he called again. "Vanya, I'm home!" Still no reponse. He must've gone shopping or into town? But hadn't Alfred seen his car in the driveway?

Then realisation hit him.

"Aw, man, c'mon, I've had a long day! I don't want a prank war now!" He made his way to the living room, where he would begin his search nonetheless. He looked around, not seeing his husband anywhere. There had to -

Ooooh, look, footprints of dirt leading up to the kitchen. How elaborate.

Alfred paused for a moment, a grin on his face.

"I hope you realise, Ivan, that I ain't cleaning that up."

He began walking towards the kitchen. Upon entering, he was met with a sight that would have scared any other person on the planet.

Ivan was lying on the floor, red pooling underneath him onto the kitchen tiles. A knife was plunged into his chest a bit above his heart.

Alfred simply laughed. "Okay, Ivan, this is a new low. You're even copying my pranks now? Kudos though, very realistic looking. A+ for effort."

Ivan didn't move. The man was still playing. Sometimes, in Alfred's opinion, the Russian was worse than a child.

"Ivaaaan," he whined for effect. "Dude, I did this once already. You can't fool me."

Upon receiving no response once more, Alfred got closer to his husband. He eyed the knife, the crimson liquid. The handle... Alfred wasn't quite sure what gave him a feeling that just screamed that something was off.

The handle looked familiar? Ivan's face was pale, but so it was usually and that could be makeup? The blood was very realistic, it even... It...?

The air smelt of iron?

With furrowed brows, Alfred knelt next to Ivan.

"Heh, Ivan? Joke's over, it's very well done. I believe you, now get up, I'm hungry. Let's make dinner," Alfred said, trying to get a rise out of his husband. There was no movement.

There was… What?

A feeling of dread settling over him, he felt under Ivan's nose.

Nothing. His chest wasn't moving, no air was going in or out.

"Ivan?"

"Ivan, wake up!"

"Come on, what the hell is going on? Ivan!"

He then tried to find a pulse, from the throat, the wrist - anywhere. Why… Why wasn't there any?

"Ivan, hey uh could you please please please say something - okay, I'm scared, please just say something-!"

He looked at the knife, and grabbed the handle before beginning to pull it out.

He suddenly felt the urge to vomit as the knife began to drag its way up, bloodied, red, metallic, blood bubbling out with it.

Alfred stood up, horrified, terror gripping him. What was going on? What had happened? He gripped the kitchen country's edge, needed something to cling to. He placed a hand over his mouth, refusing to think about- to even process- there was absolutely no way-

He turned and vomited into the sink, his thoughts whirling around in his head. He couldn't believe that - he just couldn't - Ivan couldn't -

He rushed out of the kitchen, fumbling for the telephone. He punched in three numbers, awaiting desperately.

"911, what seems to be your emergency?"

"A murder - there's been a murder - my husband, he's - he's here and he's been - oh god he's been stabbed and he's not breathing and I can't find a pulse and I need an ambulance, please!"

The very rushed answer was not enough - after being calmly asked to, he disclosed his name and address and was told to wait for the ambulance.

After hanging up, he went to Ivan, dropping to his knees next to him. He grabbed the heavy hand, pulling it up towards his face, keeping it up to his lips.

It was cold - too cold. It made no sense…

Alfred held the hand at his face, rocking slightly back and forth as tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"Ivan-" A sob escaped his chest. "Ivan, please… Vanya, I love you - I need you to stay with me - please stay alive, I can't… I couldn't… I need you to be alive…"

"Please…"

When the ambulance came, it was all a haze - questions, people, more questions, rushing - too fast, too much. All he wanted to know was if his husband would make it out alive!

He looked around him, hai head whipping from face to face, searching for an answer. He wanted someone - anyone to just tell him anything!

"Chances… Survival…"

Alfred whirled around to try and catch snippets of the conversation between two paramedics.

"…too late,… Trip to hospital… Gone by the time gets there…"

Alfred stumbled, immediately trying to catch someone's attention, somehow find a way to the hospital - Ivan couldn't… He just, he couldn't leave Alfred.

But what if he did?