"Ivan."

The bear stared back at Yao with wide, unblinking eyes, its paws folded innocently in front of it.

"Ivan. I know you're not Panda."

Yao felt stupid now. On his way home, he had rambled incessantly about every nation and how much he hated them all, how Kirkland was becoming more of a douche by the day, and how Kiku had grown strangely distant.

"I liked him much better when he was a child, aru," he had sighed. "Before he started acting all...weird. And speaking of weird, Braginsky – Ivan, he wants me to call him by his first name, aru, like we're close friends or something, but I hardly know the man. Anyway, he keeps showing up everywhere. Sometimes I get home and he's just sitting there! Eating my rice! He even pretended to be you once, Panda. I could be talking to him right now for all I kn—"

Only then had he realized.

Now, his lip slightly curled in both annoyance and amusement, Yao stood on his toes and yanked off the head of the panda suit, revealing, to no one's surprise, a very sheepish-looking Russia.

"How did you know?" He blinked, perplexed. He emerged from the costume, somehow still bundled up in his usual winter gear. He didn't seem to mind the heat.

"Well, pandas are not so tall." As the nations stood face to face, Yao once again scolded himself for not noticing sooner. Ivan towered over him, so much so that Yao had had to struggle considerably to reach the head of the panda suit. "Besides, I wouldn't fall for the same trick twice."

"But you already have," Ivan pointed out. He grinned, an unsettling gleam in his violet eyes.

"Oh, wipe that smile off your face," Yao snapped, but his irritation only made Ivan's smile widen.

"Say, dinner should be ready about now, da?"

"Dinner!" Yao practically shrieked. "You think I'm going to invite you into my house? You have stalked me for months, Ivan, and I still do not understand why you won't leave me alone!"

"You don't have to invite me in, but I'll still join you."

"I'll lock the door." Yao backed slowly away.

"The magic metal pipe of pain is very useful for breaking down doors, da?" Ivan smiled sweetly.

"You…!" Yao stared at Ivan, speechless. The Russian man looked right back, his smile unchanging.

After a long moment of silence, Yao sighed and turned and continued his way back home.

He followed an overgrown trail through the isolated bamboo thicket. Though his cities were ever-growing, China made sure to preserve the small pockets of nature on the outskirts of every metropolis. Being close to nature calmed him. Surrounded by beauty, he was able to forget about the chaos his people were slowly descending into, if only for a few moments.

It was quiet here, save for Ivan. He could hear the Russian man strolling along behind him; the earth seemed to crunch like snow beneath his feet at his every stride. He was content to be ignored, humming a whimsical tune under his breath, something from a ballet, perhaps.

Yao didn't mind him much when he was like this. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure why everyone else was so terrified of Ivan. True, there was something off about him, but the other nations weren't exactly normal, either.

Soon, Yao found himself getting out of breath. A chill crept beneath his skin, spreading through his veins like a frigid tide rising from the winter sea. A familiar ache returned to his chest, throbbing with a steady pulse. He cursed under his breath. Not now. Not in public.

"You're shivering," Ivan noted. "Are you cold?"

Yao's already leisurely pace had slowed considerably, and he and Ivan were now walking side by side. Ivan had stopped, brow furrowed in concern as he peered at Yao. It was still summer, the setting sun bathing the air in a dry, almost visible heat, yet the smaller nation had unconsciously wrapped his thin arms around himself as though braving through the worst of Siberian blizzards.

"I'm fine, aru."

Ivan persisted. "If you are cold, you should tell me. I'm Russian—I know all there is to know about the cold, da."

"Why would I be cold?! It's thirty degrees out here, aru," Yao snapped. He was growing more irritable by the second, and he felt the smallest twinge of remorse for lashing out at Ivan. Why should I care if I offend him? he thought indignantly. He began walking again, trying not to seem so exhausted.

For the rest of the journey, a stiff silence hung in the air.

After what felt like hours, the path lead the two men to China's house. As he pushed the door open, Yao realized that he'd forgotten to lock it again. No wonder Ivan always managed to get in.

"You can come in, I guess. There's xiao long bao in the kitchen, aru."

Before Ivan could reply, Yao had already run off. "You can wait for me there!" he called.

He dashed into his bedroom and grabbed the long, decorated pipe resting on his bedside table. His hands trembled as he filled the pipe-bowl and lit the opium lamp. Almost instantly, the cloying smoke invaded his lungs, choking him from the inside. Finally, he could breathe again.

Only then did he begin to regret his decision.

The drug would not wear off for hours, and Ivan was bound to notice. Yao had been doing everything he could to keep his addiction from the other nations. That bastard Kirkland knew, of course, and so did his crony, France, but that was it. Russia was growing stronger, and China could not afford to let him know that he had become the feeble, sickly nation he was. Yao squeezed his eyes shut, vainly attempting to silence his thoughts.

Then the high kicked in and Yao ceased to think at all.