In case some people don't know:
Ivan=Russia
Gilbert=Prussia
Matthew=Canada
The Art of Coveting
(and how Ivan Braginsky became acquainted with it)
. . .
Ivan Braginsky refused to think of the circumstances; the facts that he was sitting in a bus shelter, snow falling as if the world were a snowglobe and a child had shaken it, and it seemed unlikely that the bus would be coming soon.
He refused to think of the questions that pestered him like flies that he wished he could swat away: Ivan, what are you doing here, in a bus shelter, in Ottawa, of all places?, Your phone's fully-charged, so why don't you just call a limo?, and finally, the last one that loomed over his head ominously, Why are you in Canada in the first place?
Honestly, the Russian himself didn't know. He had piles of paperwork waiting to be filled out back at his house. He certainly had better - and more productive - things to do, yet he was here in Ottawa, the capital of freaking Canada, sitting in a bus shelter. A bus shelter. In what seemed to be a snowstorm. When he could just call up a driver, he was waiting for a bus.
Ivan toyed with the edges of the long scarf he always kept around his neck. Usually it kept him warm but now it just felt itchy. He'd spent the majority of the day touring Ottawa, trying out the food, checking out the museums, then nearly running back out when he realized what kind of a pervert it made him seem. Normally he wouldn't care, but this was Canada, Matthew, and even though the idea of Ivan being in the boy's country sounded pretty perverse anyway, something was different. Or, he should say, Matthew was different.
He could say that he was visiting the nation because he wanted to become one with him; that would sound like a reasonable excuse. But as nice as that sounded, Ivan could not lie to himself, and therefore he had to accept the real answer, the truth: he missed Matthew.
The blond was invisible to everyone else, but Ivan saw him(always did), and he was not ashamed to admit the fact that he had meant to sit on the other during that one meeting. And Ivan could also admit that he'd been planning to ask the other to become one with the mother country.
But, of course, a problem managed to present itself just before the man could act. The problem happened to go by the name of Prussia, the ex-nation who insisted frequently that he would invade everyone's vital regions. Despite the glaring ex- prefix in the red-eyed man's title, he would still attend the world summit. Lately, Gilbert had been absent, much to a lot of people's relief.
And along with the Prussian's absences, Ivan noted in irritation, Matthew also seemed to disappear.
Ivan was not stupid. He had an idea that Gilbert had somehow convinced Matthew into skipping meetings with him. Since Prussia wasn't a country anymore, and nobody noticed Canada anyway, they should just go somewhere for a drink, lunch, or maybe even ice cream, because Ivan knew that Prussia knew Matthew loved ice cream, and-
There was the sound of laughing before something - or rather, two someones - plopped into the empty space beside Ivan.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, the Russian thought, wondering whether or not to be awed at the coincidental sight of the red-eyed man. And - was that Matthew? "Matvey?" Ivan inquired, turning his head to study the pair.
Yes, it was indeed Matthew, the Matthew with the unforgettable violet eyes and that endearing curl. The blond's cheeks were flushed, either from the cold or from the small chuckles that had yet to die down and his eyes twinkled in mirth. "Oh, Ivan?"
"Da," Russia replied, a childish smile appearing on his face. "And Prussia." He gave the other man a smile as well, though he itched to take the pipe hidden in his coat pocket out and smash the ex-nation senseless with it.
Not that he didn't feel like that towards everyone on a daily basis.
"Hey there, your life just got a whole ton better," Gilbert crowed, slinging a casual arm around Matthew.
"Gil and I were getting some ice cream, but he dragged me into that museum, so instead of being home on time like planned, we're stuck here." Matthew laughed, pressing against Ivan's side as he jokingly tried to squirm away from Gilbert's offending arm.
"Ice cream in this weather?" Ivan said. "That must not be healthy, da?"
Matthew shrugged as if it weren't a big deal and pressed into the Russian's side more as Gilbert threatened to hug him. "Stop it, Gilbert!" he commanded, but dissolved into a fit of giggles as the Prussian managed to get both arms wrapped around him.
Ivan felt the blond go limp against him and stifled the urge to adjust his scarf again.
"This is a little awkward," Matthew stated, voice a little muffled from where his face was half-buried into Russia's coat.
Gilbert nodded. "Took the words right out of my mouth, Birdie. Come and sit on my lap instead to make it less awkward, yeah?"
"No!" the Canadian shrieked amidst peals of laughter. Gilbert raised his eyebrows suggestively and moved to grab Matthew's waist. "Gil, stop!"
"Listen to Matvey or I'll hit you with my pipe, da?" Ivan giggled, reaching over and pinching the albino's cheek good-naturedly.
Gilbert recoiled after that, rubbing his cheek gingerly. "The awesome me does not appreciate being pinched!" he said haughtily. "Birdie, kiss my cheek to make it feel better."
"Ivan will hit you!" Matthew answered, trying to sound threatening and failing as laughs got the best of him.
"Fine." Gilbert pouted, leaning back on the bench with his arms crossed. "At least hold my hand? You know that I forgot my gloves at home. You don't want the awesome me's hands to freeze, do you?"
Yes I do, Ivan thought, never once stopping smiling. His eyes flashed as Matthew took the Prussian's hand into his gloved one. "Prussia left his gloves on purpose," Ivan announced with a lilt to his tone.
"I'd never," Gilbert replied, but the triumphant grin that he wore as he glanced down at their intertwined fingers said otherwise.
"What are you doing here, Ivan?" Matthew asked. His voice had grown somewhat weary, probably from laughing so much. "Not to sound rude or anything, but you've never visited before."
"Maybe he wanted to see your vital regions, Birdie," Gilbert said, bumping Matthew's shoulder, then looked like he regret it when the Canadian hit him with an indignant, "Gil!"
Ivan tried not to blanch in distaste at how...flirty the two were acting. Surely Matthew had at least an idea of Gilbert's intentions? "Maybe he is right, Matvey," Ivan said cheerfully, the smile never once leaving his face.
Matthew smiled as well, looking happy. "That's nice," he said softly. At Gilbert's surprised, "What?" he continued, "I mean, it's better than being ignored all the time, eh?" He leaned his head against Gilbert's shoulder. "The bus comes in about twelve minutes. Wake me up then, all right?"
"You got it," Gilbert said, and Ivan merely nodded.
About a minute later, the Canadian had slumbered off. Ivan wondered how the blond could possibly be in the mood for sleeping in this weather.
"Hey Rus, do you have a problem with me?" Gilbert asked some time later.
Ivan winced a little from the nickname before querying, "I do not understand the question."
"Let me rephrase it, then," Gilbert said, glancing sideways at the taller man. "Did the awesome me do anything to make you mad? Your fingers have been twitching for some time now and you usually do that whenever you want to hurt someone.
"It can't be Birdie - I mean, Matthew, 'cause I know that you practically never spoke to the guy until today. Besides, who would hit this cute face?" Ivan blinked, but stared forward, smiling absently. "And I figured it must be me," Gilbert finished. "So, what did I do?"
Ivan cast a long look at the sleeping blond between he and Gilbert, before turning to the albino. "I don't know what you're talking about, da?" he answered. It was partly true; he really had no idea why he wanted to introduce Gilbert's face to the Russian's pipe.
"Fine. Don't answer my question, then," Gilbert huffed. A few minutes later, he said impatiently, "Hey, give me your scarf, will you?"
Ivan's hand came up to clutch the possession protectively. "No," he said.
"It's for Matthew, dummkopf," Gilbert snapped. "He's probably already cold enough as it is with that pathetic excuse for a jacket and-" He glanced at Ivan's scarf. "-that thing's probably long enough to cover all three of us."
"For Matvey," Ivan let up. He grabbed an end of his scarf, loosened it, and reached over to wrap it around Matthew's unprotected neck. Gilbert muttered another German insult before taking the scarf and doing it himself.
"If you're not careful, you'll choke him," the Prussian said, winding the scarf around gently. He gave back the end of the scarf to Ivan, smiling. "There."
Ivan looked over and frowned at the sight of the albino also wrapped in the scarf. "If you wanted my scarf, you should have just told me, da," he said simply, leaning back. The Canadian in the middle purred at the sudden warmth and moved, now leaning against Ivan's arm.
"You wouldn't have said yes, though," Gilbert laughed softly, and sombered up almost immediately. "But I do care about Matthew; I don't want him to freeze. Not only would Francis kill me, but that would be un-awesome. No one would be there to make me pancakes, then."
Ivan sat, listening pensively. Gilbert's tone suggested that he had other several other reasons than the pancakes. Ivan didn't know whether to feel happy that Matthew had someone looking out for him, or be worried that that person was Prussia.
"Da. I understand," Ivan finally said, and chose to watch the continuous snowing. It had slowed down somewhat.
"The bus is here," Gilbert said redundantly. He twisted his body to the side, shaking Matthew. "Birdie? Bus's here, wake up."
Matthew's eyelids fluttered open and the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "Eh? That felt like thirty seconds..." He blinked, violet eyes focusing on the scarf around his neck. "Why do I have Ivan's scarf?" he slurred.
Gilbert chuckled, unwrapping the scarf from a dazed Matthew and himself before standing and dropping the garment into Ivan's lap. "Thanks," he said to the Russian as the bus pulled up to the curb. "C'mon Birdie, you can keep sleeping inside."
"Huh? Oh, okay." Matthew allowed himself to be ushered through the bus's doors.
Gilbert lingered behind. "Hey, so are you angry at me?" he brought up again.
"Perhaps," the childish smile was back, "I am angry because someone got him before I did," Ivan said, voice unnaturally quiet.
The Prussian eyed him warily before turning around and taking a step into the bus. "Okay." He was evidently confused by the other's words. Ivan figured he'd get it later, when he and Matthew were on the bus, riding away. And, Ivan wondered, how would Gilbert react?
"Russia?" Gilbert's voice broke interrupted his thoughts before he could answer his own questions. "Aren't you getting on?" As if on cue, the driver gruffly called at them to hurry up.
Ivan shook his head, still smiling despite the snowflakes that whispered across his face and the wind that ruffled his hair slightly.
Looking more confused than ever, Gilbert nodded and stepped into the bus. "See you," he said, and the doors closed and the bus rumbled away down the streets of Ottawa.
Ivan watched it disappear into the horizon. He wouldn't have been able to stand seeing Matthew's head lolling sideways onto Gilbert's shoulder and seeing their hands in each other's again.
Sighing, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
Guess he was calling a driver after all.
A/N: My first Hetalia fic ever. I was a little tentative at first, but I'm glad that I'm finally putting this up. =D
Dummkopf - 'Idiot' in German