Oh crap, this is so late! *dies* I wouldn't have guessed that it would take me so long to get this done - and this is also my excuse for not having updated "What I've Always Wanted" yet. To any readers of that story: I offer you my sincerest apologies and will do my best to get it done as soon as possible.
I moved additional explanations/information to the end of the fic (be sure to read them, since they might answer some questions that could come up!), but there are two or three things I want to say beforehand:
Since I don't live in America, I don't know how ESPN really commented the game; it's all made-up or slightly based off the Swiss commentary. That's also the reason why I didn't include more commentary.
I also jumped to certain points of time during the match. I mean, I have no idea if this is any good as it is, but could you imagine how boring it would be if I'd go into more detail, like how the guys got yellow cards and all and every single time a team advanced on their opponent's goal? ;D
Oh, and if you're not happy with my portrayal of Ivan, blame it on my hardcore love for fluff and innocence. Once I've gained more confidence, I might try my hand at a different characterization of him, but for now, this is just what works the best for me, so please don't criticize this simply because this isn't the Ivan you prefer. (Gee, that sounded weird... XD)
That's all for now - see you at the end of the fic... maybe...
It was a sunny afternoon in June when a taxi dropped Ivan off at Alfred's house. As he rang the doorbell, suitcase in hand, he prepared himself for getting fussed over because he had shown up in his usual attire: long brown winter coat, trademark scarf and boots. The temperature wasn't desert-like, but warm enough for him to have received plenty of incredulous stares as soon as he had stepped off the plane and into the airport. But he hadn't paid much interest to those who stared at him, because on one hand, he didn't deem the temperatures bothersome enough to shed his winter clothing, and on the other hand, he wanted to keep it on so Alfred would be sure to know it was him. His usual small smile grew as he thought about the chipper American.
Finally, the door opened.
"Hello, Ivan," a soft voice greeted him.
At first, Ivan could only blink and stare. The young man who had opened the door looked oddly familiar; he felt that he had seen him before, but his memory failed to provide him with a name on the spot. He looked so much like Alfred, but that long curl of stray hair was different from Nantucket…
Being used to this procedure from past experience, the other man sighed. "Matthew. …Canada," he elaborated, and if he was annoyed, his voice did a terrible job of conveying it.
Ivan's face lighted up at the reminder, and he held out his free hand. "Oh, that was it. Привет, Matthew."
"It's nice that you could make it on such short notice. Come on in, Alfred will be happy to see you." Matthew shook the offered hand and suppressed a wince when Ivan's fingers clasped around his rather tightly. He didn't want to let his brief distress show, however, for fear of triggering the Russian's at times unpredictable temper.
In the house, the stereo was blaring a fast-paced rock song to which Alfred was singing quite off-key as he entered Ivan's field of vision, his arms fully laden with chips, other snacks and bottles of soft drinks. He had been happy to begin with upon coming here because of the lovely, sunny weather, but seeing Alfred made Ivan even happier.
"I'll take your suitcase, if you want," Matthew piped up, peering at him and seeing the look on his face.
"Your offer is very kind, but I do not think I can accept it," Ivan replied, pleasantly surprised.
Matthew shook his head. "It's okay, really. Go ahead to my brother."
"If you insist." Ivan handed him his suitcase and headed off to where he had last seen Alfred. Matthew had expected the suitcase to be freakishly heavy – after all, one never knew with Ivan – but to his slight astonishment, it wasn't heavier than most other suitcases he had carried, and he proceeded to take it upstairs.
Ivan found Alfred in the spacious living room, where he had unceremoniously dumped his load onto the table between the couch and the large flat-screen TV. It was already running, and ESPN was wrapping up the last bits of pre-match information. Alfred was wearing a t-shirt which looked like a big star-spangled banner, and he was humming along to the last notes of a song while he readied the remote for the stereo. As soon as the song was over, Alfred hunted for the next one, not noticing his guest who was sneaking up on him. Actually, Ivan wasn't really sneaking up; Alfred was just completely oblivious to his surroundings as he was busy with the stereo.
"America… America…"
Just as the infamous "America, Fuck Yeah" really started blasting from the speakers, Ivan put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. The slightly smaller man uttered a manly scream (he would have called anyone who begged to differ a liar), jumped four feet into the air and dropped the remote. Kumajirou lazily blinked at them from where he was sitting on the couch.
"Gah! I'm being attacked!" Alfred yelled.
"Attacking you is probably the last thing on my mind right now, Америка…"
Alfred spun around, wearing a smile as wide as Christmas. "Ivan! Holy hell, I didn't even hear you come in! But how…?"
"Comr- Pardon me, Matthew welcomed me to your home. He was even so gracious as to relieve me of my suitcase," Ivan replied, praying that his little faux pas would go unnoticed. He was in luck: it did.
"God bless Mattie's good hearing," Alfred sighed. Then he perked up again. "Well, now that you're here: good to see ya! How about a hug?" he suggested, spreading his arms.
"It would be my pleasure." And with those words, Ivan bear-hugged him, nearly crushing Alfred's windpipe because he was unable to contain his happiness of being in the other nation's presence once more.
"Oof! You… must be very… happy to see me…" Alfred gasped, squirming as he tried to find a position in which he could breathe a little easier.
"Indeed, I am. It was a fortunate coincidence that my schedule was not busy enough to make me decline your offer to spend some time with you," Ivan murmured, his lips nearly brushing Alfred's ear as he spoke so he would surely be heard over the music.
Alfred couldn't suppress a shudder when he felt Ivan's breath tickle his external ear, yet he didn't deem it an unpleasant feeling. But hot damn, was it just him, or had the room gotten unusually warm? He looked down and noticed exactly what Ivan was wearing.
"Whoa, whoa, big guy! Why the heck are you wearing that?" Looking horrified, he broke free of the embrace, and sure enough – like Ivan had anticipated – he began to fuss over the Russian's trademark clothes. "All right, here's the deal: you'll kick off those boots, the coat has got to go… geez, at least you're missing your gloves… and the scarf –"
"The scarf stays, Alfred," Ivan interrupted and grabbed the other's wrist as the American's fingers started to finger the precious gift he had received from his older sister long ago.
"Seriously? I mean, you'll make people break out in sweat by wearing this thing!"
"The scarf stays," Ivan repeated politely yet firmly, yet releasing the younger man's wrist all the same.
Alfred briefly raised his eyes to the ceiling, sensing that it would be unwise to push this particular part of the issue any further, and plucked at the coat instead, which was missing its medal. "Christ, Ivan, it's 86 degrees outside and plentifully warm in here, AC or not. Do us all a favor and take some of these clothes off, will ya? And you still didn't tell me why you're wearing this."
Ivan shrugged. "I just wanted to be on the safe side and make sure you would know it was me."
This elicited a laugh from Alfred. "Don't be silly; how could I mistake you for someone else?"
"Do you really mean that?" Ivan asked as he took off his coat, which was immediately claimed by his host.
"Sure. You're one in a million for the very least." Smiling like the ball of sunshine that he was, Alfred winked at Ivan before wandering off to hang up the coat.
With his heart beating quite a bit faster and a blush on his cheeks, Ivan stayed behind and discarded his boots. It meant a lot to him to hear something like that from Alfred; sure, there was a number of things he disapproved of which concerned the country itself, but he downright adored so many things about Alfred that his flaws paled in comparison. Even in the light of their history, most notably the Cold War, his personal affection for Alfred had taken preciously little damage, but due to Arthur's noticeable, continued influence in addition to watching over him from a distance – among other things – he had been condemned to keep these feelings to himself until the beginning of the 21st century. He sincerely hoped he wasn't misinterpreting Alfred's behavior towards him as flirtatious instead of purely amicable.
Meanwhile, Matthew reappeared and turned off the stereo as soon as the song was over, muttering something about Alfred having hyped himself up ever since getting out of bed. The silence in the living room didn't last for more than a couple of seconds before the auditory output of the TV was resumed.
"Al, they're about to sing the national anthem!" Matthew called over his shoulder as he took his place next to Kumajirou.
With Road-Runner-esque speed, Alfred came bounding back into the living room, skidding to a halt in front of the middle of the couch, where he would plop down later. As the anthem sounded out in the stadium in Rusterburg, he burst into song as well, singing much better than before.
Ivan took his precious time in sidling over to the couch as well, his gaze lingering on TV for most of the anthem before turning to Alfred at the end. He found it interesting to see how many people were actually singing, who actually knew the words, even, or who just listened, some with their eyes closed. Eventually, another camera showed fans wearing ridiculous hats or whose chests were painted in the colors of the star-spangled banner. As far as listening went, he indulged himself completely in Alfred's singing, which was ardent from the first word till the last. Blue eyes clearly mirrored the other nation's passion as well, Ivan noticed before he sat down too.
"O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!"
"Go team!" Alfred cheered enthusiastically when the anthem was over and the fans on-site broke into applause.
"Your national anthem sounds beautiful enough as it is, and it elicits so much passion from you… So was it really necessary to play – pardon the expression – 'America, Fuck Yeah' to spark your excitement?" Ivan inquired when Alfred let himself fall gracelessly between the other two.
"Fuck yeah!" Alfred beamed, showing him thumbs-up. "Guys, I bet we'll kick some serious Ghanaian butt here!"
"You sure sound confident," Matthew muttered.
"Hey, why not? The home team must be supported, after all, and we've done quite well so far."
"That may be true, but as far as I can tell, anything is possible at this event. Surely you remember how France and Italy got crushed early on, da?" Ivan interjected.
Alfred shrugged this off. "Bad luck, perhaps? Like, no offense, but you guys didn't even qualify…"
The other two nations glanced at each other.
"He's got a point there," Matthew admitted.
"Granted, our qualification failed, but there are more important things than qualifying for the World Cup of soccer."
"I thought soccer's popular in your country, dude."
"It is, but personally, I can think of more entertaining sports to watch." Seeing the look Alfred was giving him, Ivan quickly added: "Nevertheless, I would be more than happy to watch the game with you."
"Yay!"
In the meantime, the referee had blown his whistle, thus announcing the official start of the game. Alfred practically tore open a bag of chips, nearly overflowing with excitement at this point.
"20 bucks say that we'll be heroes today! How about it?" he asked his companions with his mouth full.
"I wouldn't bet money on an event in which we've seen that anything can happen," Matthew declined, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the TV. Ivan merely nodded in agreement.
Alfred looked back and forth between them in disbelief. "Aw, come on, it's just a little bit of gambling…" When neither of them gave in, he called upon his pleading look, which was very hard to resist, especially if he combined it with peering at someone over the frames of Texas.
Matthew was the first to explicitly crack. "Oh, fine then… if it makes you happy."
"Since you are so insistent…" Ivan trailed off. Deep inside, he had given in the moment Alfred had given him that kicked-puppy look, but he saw no point in admitting that out loud.
Alfred punched the air happily. "Great! Two against one it is, then! I'm telling you, I can practically smell that first goal…!"
minutes later - - -
"It's in! Goal! Ghana takes the lead!" the sportscaster proclaimed as the Ghanaian fans went wild, playing their vuvuzelas as if there were no tomorrow. The noise sounded vaguely like a swarm of bees in the living room, where Alfred's wail of "Noooooooo!" had subsided. Now his elbows rested on his thighs as he clutched his head, still barely able to believe that this had happened despite his repeated cries of "Defense! Defense!". The goal was undeniable: a well-aimed, perfect shot into the lower left corner… albeit from the wrong team, as far as he was concerned.
Matthew and Ivan glanced at each other, the same thought running through their heads: "Ouch." It was never pleasant to see Alfred when he was crushed, except perhaps when he was one's enemy on the battlefield.
Finally, the awkward silence was broken.
"Come now, Alfred, this does not mean anything. The score is only 1:0," Ivan spoke, gingerly touching the other man's shoulder.
"He's right, Al. And we're only five minutes into the game. There's still loads of time to catch up," Matthew chimed in, "Right, Kumasaburo?"
"Who?" the polar bear asked flatly.
"Canada," Matthew answered, looking slightly put out that not even his own pet knew who he was. Then again, unbeknownst to him, he did keep getting the bear's name wrong…
Slowly, Alfred looked up, just in time to catch another replay of the kick that had scored. He frowned and sighed heavily, causing the other two to brace themselves to make another attempt at comforting him, but suddenly he seemed to regain most of his former confidence.
"You're right, we can still do it. Guess this just took me by surprise… C'mon, guys! Show 'em who's boss!" he whooped, punching the air yet again.
"Um… Go team!" As usual, Matthew's voice practically went unheard – it didn't matter if he was angry or really wanted to make himself heard, or merely speaking normally. This could be very frustrating for him at times.
"Please do," Ivan muttered to the white-clad players who were running after the ball again; he certainly preferred the cheerful and energetic Alfred over the moping one…
- - - Halftime - - -
Exhaling with a groan, Alfred let himself fall against the lean of the couch after muting the TV, which was now showing commercials. Things were not looking nearly as rosy as he had hoped they would: the score was still the same, and there was plenty of room for improvement on his team's side. After all, how else could it be phrased when it was far more common to see Ghanaian players in the American penalty area than vice versa? He just… didn't understand it. He had thought it would be a pushover, so why in the world hadn't they scored a goal yet?
"This bites. How could this happen? Why couldn't we at least tie the score?" he complained.
"Please forgive me for being so frank, but it is obvious that your team is lacking possession of the ball compared to your opponent," Ivan pointed out, "Though exactly why this is the case, I do not know."
"I… guess you're right, but still…" Alfred wished the Russian could have provided that particular answer, but although this game was eating away at him, he knew that Ivan wasn't a psychic and it wouldn't be fair to whine about the issue too much.
"Calm down, Al, you've still got the entire second half of the game to turn the tables. Perhaps the team just needed… you know, a wake-up call," Matthew suggested, offering his sibling a Coke in the process.
"Thanks, Mattie. Man, I sure hope you're right; if we'd win this baby, we'd be heroes!" He took a swig of Coke and stared happily into space. "I like the sound of that…"
Kumajirou chose this opportunity to paw at Matthew's arm, demanding nourishment, and while the Canadian tended to his faithful yet forgetful companion, Alfred let his head drop onto Ivan's shoulder and gave him that irresistible look again. Ivan jumped a little, and as soon as he stared down into those brilliantly blue eyes, he felt like he was starting to drown in them. Oh, how he longed for being able to gaze deeply into them without needing to rely on such coincidental situations as the current one…!
"Ivaaaaaaaaan," Alfred whined, nearly making Ivan's desire for him rocket off the charts, "Can't you use those crazy Russian powers of yours to make the other guys cower in fear when we're on the ball?"
The tall man fidgeted and tried his best not to look flustered as he turned towards the TV to avoid losing himself completely in his host's eyes. "Crazy Russian powers?" he repeated. Sure, he was the personification of a nation, but the claim that he had psychological powers was one he hadn't heard of so far, or at least not to his face.
"Yeah, you know, the way you can reduce people to a quivering mass of fear just by looking at them."
"I do not possess psychological powers that you do not have, Alfred."
"You're too modest. C'mon, give it a shot. Please? For me, your buddy?"
"Even if I had such powers, I daresay they would not work through a screen," Ivan answered, straining against the urge to look back at those eyes. "What on earth gave that you that idea, anyhow?"
"You're Ivan," was the simple answer, then his scarf was given a hearty tug. Unable to ignore this – he never could ignore someone touching his scarf, and in the vast majority of such cases so far, it hadn't ended well – Ivan swiftly redirected his attention to Alfred. Was it just him, or were those blue eyes closer than ever?
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" That whine again…
"A-Alfred…"
"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"
…Perhaps it was for the best to just give in to the plea and make-believe for a change. Alfred did tend to be gullible – ask Arthur – and he was plenty stubborn as well, and if it would make him happy…
"Um… very well. I shall… try, I guess," Ivan finally said.
"Yay!" Alfred cheered and stared at him expectantly. Ivan cleared his throat in a brief display of embarrassment (he was feeling rather foolish just then) before staring at the TV with as much feigned interest as he could, muttering "Kol kol kol" under his breath. Alfred watched him for roughly half a minute, then punched the mute button again and rounded on his brother with an expression of pure delight. "This'll be a cinch! We've got Russian powers on our side, whoo!"
"Sure, Al, why not…" Matthew muttered. Sometimes the other nation's gullibility caused him to feel somewhat ashamed, just like now.
Despite the non-too-quiet audio of the TV, Ivan overheard Alfred's words, and he frowned, looking put out.
"That was not your motivation for inviting me over, was it? Please tell me that is not the case…"
"Of course not! That would be exploiting you, and friends don't do that to each other. Nah, I really wanted to have you over again 'cause I hadn't seen you in a while." As if to emphasize his point, Alfred hugged him tightly. Nantucket tickled Ivan's chin, and before he knew it, he had bowed his head to indulge himself in the softness of Alfred's golden hair whilst returning the embrace.
"I should have known that you are not that type of person. Forgive me for doubting you," he muttered.
"There's nothing to forgive. But I'll try to be an even better friend from now on," Alfred assured him.
Ivan just hummed happily, and since Alfred didn't end the hug, he saw no harm in following suit. Neither one of them knew whether mere seconds or minutes passed as they sat there like that, but suddenly a soft, timid voice called out to them:
"Um, excuse me for interrupting, but I think the game is on again…"
"Huh?" Alfred's eyes snapped open, and when he realized that his brother was indeed right, he finally released Ivan while his cheeks flushed pink. "Whoops, guess I got a bit carried away there… sorry for clinging to ya, big guy…"
"I am not offended, so you need not worry yourself," Ivan told him. He wouldn't have been surprised to discover that his cheeks were somewhat pink as well, had he looked at himself in the mirror just then.
Alfred nodded, then reverted back to his temporary soccer-fanboy-mode. "Okay; first halftime aside, let's kick some ass now, guys!"
"Hooray," two voices said from either side of him. Ivan and Matthew caught each other's eye, and a smile was exchanged behind Alfred's back.
- - - 61st minute - - -
"Oh God, this is it. I can't believe it. We might catch up to them now," Alfred said, his voice sounding strained with excitement as he clutched Ivan's knee, eyes glued to the screen. Donovan had been fouled in the box, and a penalty kick had been awarded to the American team.
"If I'm not mistaken, there's an 80 percent probability that this will result in a goal," Matthew interjected.
"Come on, Donovan, come on… you can do it, man…" Alfred muttered, biting his lower lip.
Next to him, Ivan was silent; his fellow nation's excitement was quite contagious, but unlike Alfred, he was a rather quiet type when excited. Matthew clutched Kumajirou tightly. The polar bear seemed to be the only one who was unaffected by the excitement.
The referee blew his whistle, Donovan took a run-up, kicked the ball and –
"Goal!" the sportscaster and Alfred yelled in unison, the latter throwing his hands in the air in triumph.
Matthew cheered, though of course this went unheard in the noise that erupted both on TV and in the living room, and cuddled Kumajirou. The bear still looked rather unimpressed by the game, but for a fleeting moment, he seemed to nuzzle his master in return.
"Goal! Yes, yes! We did it!" Alfred all but leapt off the couch in wild enthusiasm. At his side, Ivan clapped his hands and uttered a sound of delight; while he certainly was happy for the team itself, a fair part of him was getting carried away by Alfred's euphoria. But what happened next caught him completely off-guard.
Totally caught up in his cheering and brimming with happiness, Alfred whirled around, cupped Ivan's face in his hands and kissed him. Not on the cheek, no: full on the lips. It was an intense yet not exactly gentle touch that conveyed the entirety of Alfred's excitement. Ivan was so startled that his violet eyes widened remarkably and remained open for those precious few seconds that the kiss lasted until Alfred drew back with a very audible "Mwah" sound, rounding on Matthew right away as his emotions still ran high.
"Did you see that, Mattie? It's even Steven again! We– Hey, are you okay?" he asked, noticing how his brother was staring at him as if he had just seen a ghost.
"I… I'm fine, Al, and yes, I think it's great that your team scored…"
"Did I say something funny? Seriously –" Suddenly, everything fell into place, and he realized what had happened. His eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, and his jaw dropped. He had just… kissed Ivan! On the lips, too! Good God! His cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink as he turned back to the other man.
"Um… listen, man, about that… I-I'm sorry… Guess my feelings got the better of me – you know, because of the score…" he struggled to explain.
"There is no need to apologize, Америка. I understand that you are very happy about this turn of events." By now, Ivan was blushing too as he found himself wishing he had snapped out of that daze in time to actually kiss Alfred back, but… he couldn't tell him that now, could he? What if it would drive Alfred away from him? That was the very last thing that Ivan wanted, so he held his tongue about his true desire, and although considering that he had done just that for many years now, it suddenly was very hard to do so.
"You sure? I mean, if there's any way I can make up for that, just let me know…"
Well, if he put it like that… "You could let me kiss you back," Ivan suggested quietly. In the background, the soccer game continued, but it was mostly forgotten as Matthew tried to convince himself that it was impolite to listen in on this clearly private discussion – then again, since his brother was involved, could one really blame him for being curious?
Alfred's eyes widened, though it was more in surprise than in horror. "What? Gee, uh, well…"
"You asked if you could make up for your previous actions, did you not?" 'Even though that really would not be necessary…' he added in his thoughts.
"Ah, you got me there. It'd only be fair, so…" Alfred swallowed and tried to rid himself of his nervousness. "O-Okay, go ahead," he prompted the Russian. For some reason, the thought of Ivan kissing him like he himself had done before made a part of him feel downright giddy with anticipation – a part whose small voice he sometimes heard in his mind when he was with Ivan or when he hadn't seen the other man in quite a while. Exactly how long this part of him had existed, he couldn't tell for sure, but he guessed that he had only really become aware of it sometime during the last two or three decades.
Having received Alfred's approval of his request, Ivan leaned over, his eyes closing in one slow, fluid motion. In turn, Alfred closed his eyes tightly, fully expecting his lips to get claimed in the next second – but instead, he felt those lips softly press themselves against his right cheek in a fleeting gesture of affection. It was such a pleasant feeling that it made him hold his breath.
All too soon, the touch ended, and a voice whispered into his ear: "See? It is just a kiss…" Then, now sounding farther away and barely even a whisper: "Just a kiss…"
Wait; was it just him, or did that last bit sound rather… downcast? Alfred opened just one eye at first, peeking at Ivan, then opened the other eye as well, taken aback by the painfully wistful aura that emanated from his guest.
"…Ivan?" he asked hesitantly, "What's wrong?"
The other nation briefly shook his head, and when he looked up again, that strange look was gone, replaced once again by that childishly innocent look he was known for.
"Nothing. We should resume watching the game, otherwise it will be over without us noticing it, da?" Even his voice had regained its usual air, so much so that had Alfred neither caught sight of that peculiar expression nor heard the matching tone of voice, he wouldn't have considered associating it with Ivan during this stay.
"…If you say so…" But despite his words, Alfred did not redirect his attention to the TV right away, instead eying Ivan with poorly disguised worry. The other side to the taller man didn't resurface again, however, as he just kept pointing at the TV and insisting that Alfred indulge himself in the game. Eventually, he gave in, and although most of the awkwardness in the atmosphere gradually subsided, the experience of watching the second half of the game was far different from the first.
- - - overtime - - -
"Damn, I was hoping it wouldn't come down to this," Alfred muttered concernedly as the players resumed their positions on the field after no more than a five-minute break. The sportscaster was pointing out that despite being exhausted as well, of course, the Americans appeared to be having the upper hand in terms of remaining strength.
"It could be worse; it could be a penalty shoot-out," Matthew reminded him, and Alfred shuddered.
"Ooh, anything but that!"
"I presume you do not like that particular part of the game, do you?" Ivan asked.
"You bet. I find it quite nerve-racking to watch the outcome get decided by a bunch of penalty takers and the goalies. There's a reason why it's called a penalty drama," Alfred answered with a sigh.
"Well then, we must have faith that your players will score at least once more without conceding a goal in return."
"You're right. We'll win this without the shoot-out." Alfred shook his head as if to rid himself of a pesky bug that went by the name of unnecessary pessimism, and the familiar competitive spirit returned to his eyes in form of a glint. But no sooner had he spoken those words when his eyes widened in horror as the Ghanaian players advanced on the American goal once again. "Oh shit, no, no… somebody do something… Aw, fuck!" he swore loudly when Gyan scored the second goal for Ghana, "Tell me this didn't just happen!"
"The score board doesn't lie, Al," Matthew replied ruefully.
"Cripes, we're barely three minutes into overtime! What the hell?" Alfred looked like he was ready to tear out his own hair as Texas slid down his nose.
Ivan reached over and freed the golden strands from those twitchy fingers. "Do calm down, Alfred; after all, like you said, only three minutes of the obligatory half-hour have passed, so you still have plenty of time to catch up."
"You think so?"
"Da. It is only truly over once the whistle has been blown for the final time."
Alfred miserably watched the replay and adjusted his glasses. "I hope the guys out there aren't feeling the way I do," he muttered.
Neither Matthew nor Ivan said anything in response to this, but they too hoped that the players' fighting spirit hadn't sustained the same damage like Alfred's had.
The minutes dragged on by, and the score remained unchanged. The players had just about reached their limits, and as much as not only Alfred hated to admit it, the American players seemed to have been put off their game ever since that fateful 93rd minute. Alfred could barely stand watching anymore, seeing as there was ever less time to even out the score; he even would have welcomed a penalty shoot-out at this point, but the hopes of achieving even that were increasingly slim.
Finally, 121 minutes had been played, and now there were three more tantalizing minutes of additional time to go.
"Look at them go! There might still be hope yet!" Matthew exclaimed as the American team advanced into the Ghanaian half of the field in one last desperate attempt to prevent their defeat from happening.
"Even the goalkeeper is taking part in this. What a rare sight," Ivan marveled as he spotted the black jersey of Tim Howard mingling with the other players.
"Please, guys, please! Make it happen!" Alfred pleaded, lurching forward and clasping his hands together.
The ball was passed to Dempsey, who tried to level the tie with a header. But the ball narrowly missed the goal as it flew past the left post.
"Shit!" Alfred cursed, punching his own thigh. "Dammit, we were so close! But that's it. It's over, finite." He sighed heavily and glanced at Ivan. "I know you said it ain't over till the last second has passed, but I do think this is the end of the line for us."
Ivan dearly wished there were something he could say to lift the other's spirits somewhat, but he was at a loss for such words. It would be more than a miracle if the American team could launch another attack in the remaining two minutes of playing time.
"Alfred…" he began, but the other man merely shook his head to indicate that there was nothing else to be said. For the remainder of the game, the TV was the only source of news in the living room. And after long last, the referee blew his whistle for the last time. The vuvuzelas were played louder than ever, and the Ghanaian fans immediately started to celebrate their advance to the quarter-finals while the American team looked understandably dejected.
On the other side of the Atlantic, Alfred's hands flew to his face to hide his despondent expression from the world. Unfortunately, he forgot all about Texas and smudged the lenses badly.
"Shit!" he hissed, wanting to slap himself for being so careless.
"Please calm down, Alfred. Nothing good will come of you getting angry with yourself," a soft voice spoke to him, and in the next moment, Texas was gently removed from his nose. Instantly, his vision blurred, but he really couldn't care less, for there was nothing more for him to see on the screen besides how his team shuffled back to the locker rooms, and that was a sight he could do without. Instead, he turned to gaze at Ivan's face, which was far less blurred than the TV because he had inched closer, so closely that their foreheads nearly touched. The Russian smiled warmly at him, then handed the spectacles to Matthew, who had silently offered to go clean them. Kumajirou padded after him as he left for the kitchen.
"We lost, Ivan," Alfred said faintly.
"Unfortunately so, but there can always only be one winner. Your team played well, yet your victory just was not meant to be," Ivan told him, taking one of Alfred's hands in his own.
"You think so? That we played well?" Those blue eyes were dark with disappointment now.
"Of course. And like you said before the game, your team did very well at this championship. After all, tonight's game aside, you never lost a match. You even tied against England."
A weak smile flitted across Alfred's face as recalled that particular game. Arthur had been most distraught over that goal which would have been quite avoidable, yet still had come to be due to a mistake on the English goalie's part.
"I thought you said you don't like watching soccer so much," he remarked, his eyes flickering down to his hand that was being lightly held captive before returning to Ivan's violet orbs.
"That is indeed true, but I did keep track of the tournament's progress by reading the newspapers. I believe that your team has made it clear that they're a force to be reckoned with although this sport is far less popular than others in your country, and in the light of that, their effort should be properly appreciated. You need not be ashamed to no longer be a part of this tournament."
Alfred rubbed at his eyes with the back of his free hand even though there were no tears to wipe away. "Beautifully said, man. I guess you're right… but I was just so damn sure we would win…"
"Try not to think about it too much," Ivan asked of him, "I do not enjoy it when you are upset." He held Alfred's hand a little closer to himself in a silent way of asking him to come closer. To his delight, the other male complied and leaned against him, only gingerly at first, but relaxing soon.
"You know, if we had made it to the quarter-finals, it would have been a sensation since that hasn't happened yet," Alfred murmured, absently watching the colors on the TV screen change and dance as it flashed commercials at them.
"There is always the next World Cup in 2014. Perhaps it will work out then, da?" An arm was slung around his shoulders, and Alfred reacted by snuggling up closer, indulging himself in the feeling of Ivan's soft, warm scarf against his cheek in the process.
"Yeah, we'll be heroes then."
There was a moment of silence before Alfred spoke up again:
"Ivan?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm really glad that you're here. I really owe you big time, so I'm gonna make this stay of yours the best one ever."
"I may presume that my company has been quite agreeable, then?" Ivan chuckled.
Although he had only just begun to stomach his team's defeat and thought that laughing was probably one of the last things he felt like doing at the present, Alfred couldn't help but do exactly that at the other nation's words. "Hell yeah! Geez, you're so modest…" he said.
Ivan shrugged and squeezed Alfred's hand, unable to regard him with anything short of unmistakable fondness. "It makes me so happy to hear you laugh again so soon, Alfred."
He smiled at the Russian and lightly tapped his nose as he answered: "I hold you responsible for this."
The touch elicited a soft giggle from Ivan, who gently kissed him in return. Now that there had been no awkwardness to precede this moment, the kiss felt even more pleasant than the other one, and Alfred hummed contently as he kissed back. The fingers of his free hand carefully dug themselves into the tan scarf for additional support.
After several blissful seconds, the kiss came to an end, and they just needed to exchange a short glance to silently agree that there was no need for words just then, so Alfred gladly settled for making himself comfortable in Ivan's arms. This, in turn, made the taller man as happy as he hadn't been in quite a while: holding Alfred close to him like this – after a kiss, mind you – felt every bit as fulfilling as he had imagined it would. If only such a moment could last forever…!
But as it was the case with all moments, it ceased to be when Matthew rejoined them with Kumajirou in tow, squeaky clean glasses in hand. At first, he looked slightly surprised to find them in such a heartfelt embrace, but he didn't ask any questions (for now), smiling at them instead and offering the spectacles to his brother. Alfred waved them aside, however, claiming that he didn't need them at the moment before saying thank you for their cleaning.
After the TV was turned off, the group of four sat there in complete silence for a while until Matthew put an end to it, his very soft voice for once easy to hear:
"Hey Al, now that you're no longer in the tournament, who will you root for? You said you'd follow it until the end, didn't you?"
Alfred thought about this for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, I did. I'll be rooting for Iggy, of course! His team will play against Ludwig's tomorrow… Hey Ivan, wanna watch that game with me too?" he asked their visitor hopefully.
"If it makes you happy, I will gladly do so," Ivan answered, and Alfred's 1000-Watt-smile told a tale about exactly how happy the American was.
"Oh yeah, I owe you both 20 bucks, by the way…"
"Nonsense, Alfred. I could not accept your money over a simple game of soccer," Ivan replied, shaking his head.
"I second that. We just didn't want to be spoilsports, that's the only reason why we claimed to accept the bet. Right, Kumadaimon?" he asked the polar bear beside him.
"Who?"
Matthew whined. "Canada!"
"I bet Iggy will kick Ludwig's butt," Alfred said confidently.
"Do you, now?"
"Yep. Did you know that England hasn't won against Germany in the five times they played against each other in a World Cup knockout stage since 1966?"
"Allow me to make a guess: Arthur is wildly determined to put an end to that streak of misfortune," Ivan assumed. He couldn't deny that the thought of Arthur holding a grudge against Ludwig because of soccer, of all things, greatly amused him.
"Bingo. He's practically on fire about it. I'm sure he'll be fine."
The next day, Alfred could only sit and stare in shock as the English team suffered a crushing defeat against the Germans, and Ivan considered himself fortunate to only need to deal with a daze instead of the outright tantrum Arthur was certainly throwing…
Translations:
Привет - Hello
Америка - America (I know it isn't much, but I don't want to use too much of a language I'm anything but familiar with. However, I just love these two words so much... I can't really explain it.)
Whew, I'm finally more or less satisfied with this! I made three different attempts to write this thing, but with two of them... I just got stuck at some point. Man, I sure hate it when that happens...
If you see any typos/weird stuff (expressions), please tell me, and perhaps help me to improve them. That would be very nice.
Now, as for the additional stuff I mentioned earlier on:
Why is Kumajirou in this, but Tony isn't? I dunno... I just didn't feel like it, I guess. Please don't hurt me! *ducks behind chair* You shouldn't try doing something you don't feel like doing, you know? At least in my case, I tend to screw it up royally if I push something too hard. (And yes, I know I was uncreative in terms of the wrong names for Kumajirou.)
I based Alfred's shirt off a similar one I saw Plushenko wear in a pic. Every time I see it, I wish I had one like that as well :)
Music-wise... The first song that is mentioned is "Ready To Roll" by Jet Black Stare. ...Yeah, aside from writing this, I spent quite some time watching Film Brain's reviews. Mathew Buck is awesome! And "America, Fuck Yeah" pretty much speaks for itself, I suppose. It's really extremely catchy, if you ask me.
I did do some research on Wikipedia to find out if soccer is popular in Russia, but although that is the case, I just... cannot imagine that Ivan is into this. Sorry, soccer fans, but I just can't, probably because I'm not much into soccer myself aside from the World Cup and possibly the European Championship. On that note, I have nothing against fan's costumes, but some of them really do look silly, don't they?
France and Italy bummed out in the group stage, and it appeared to have been quite a shock for them. I mean, even our papers had a field day... (Personally, I'd like to see someone win the cup for the first time in their soccer career, and since that would be the case for both Holland and Spain, I could care less about who will win on Sunday, yet I'll be rooting for the Dutch.)
Oh yeah, and am I the only one who thinks that sometimes those vuvuzelas sound like a swarm of bees? I swear, I sometimes turned down the volume because the noise bugged me so much...
And finally, I hope the American soccer team got a fairly good press - I really thought they put forth a good effort! ^_^
If you can spare the time, please leave a review. It would be very much appreciated!