A/N: My very, very, very ever-first fic that centers Russia and China.
But it's AU 'cause I fail at following plots that aren't mine.
Anyways, yes. It might suck, it might not. That's up to the humans who read it. I feel discourage already.
Russia will definitely be out of character. Well, when he's thinking, anyways. Do YOU live in Russia's head?
Nope.
He was beautiful.
Very, very beautiful.
He had very pretty hair, that was quite long, almost reaching the middle of his back. It was very dark brown, almost black, but most definitely not. He had a delicate face, pretty brown eyes, very soft looking lips, looking almost like velvet.
But not quite, probably better.
He looked like a doll. The dolls that sit in the windows of toy shops, where the children would walk by, tugging on their exhausted mother's hands, going, "Mommy, Mama, Mother, I want that one." But they would never get it, never no.
This is how Ivan felt when he looked at Yao. He never felt this way about anyone, and he was confused about the feeling. He felt his heart pounding harder, heard it hammering through him, through to his ears like a pedal hitting a bass drum, whenever Yao walked past him, looked at him, passing a paper back to him in the classes they shared at school, even just being in the same hallway as Yao made Ivan want to melt into a puddle.
He could not figure out why.
He usually knew why he felt the way he felt about things. He didn't know the name of the emotion he was feeling, didn't know the definition even of the infamous four letter word.
He knew he was supposed to. The only thing close to love was the need he had to protect and care for his two sisters. They were the only pride and joy in his life- the only reason he tried to keep a smile on his face.
He couldn't help the twisted mind he had, he couldn't help his intimidating smiles, his over-powering height, his psychopathic ways.
He wished he could. And he only wished he could for Yao. The sweet, beautiful boy of his dreams. The reason he couldn't keep his heartbeat in tact, the reason he could never sleep at night, anticipating the next day so he could just watch Yao do simple things, but with immense radiance and beauty.
But Ivan could never say a word to him. Could never look him in the eye, could never help him after he drops something in the hallway, never ask him if he's alright when he isn't smiling.
Could never express the over-powering love he felt for him.
The word was alien to Ivan. It was not in the 'New Edition Dictionary of Ivan Braginski'- it did not exist. But if it did exist, if it was printed in bold letters in Ivan's mind, with synonyms printed next to it, the pronunciations and such... there would be no definition that could make sense to Ivan. Because what he was feeling was not real. And what he was feeling was probably more intense than this love word. Because love was just a word.
Ivan was not very bright. But he was smart enough to know that whatever he was feeling was definitely strange, and it ached that he could never do anything about it. The nights he would spend awake, trying to keep his heartbeat at a steady pace because it got going the second he thought of Yao. The hours he would spend, daydreaming that the delicate Asian boy could be in his arms, telling Ivan how much he loved him back.
Ivan wanted to destroy the world, make it so that it was only he and Yao. Ivan wanted it to be the end of the world, so that he could save Yao from harm. Ivan wanted Yao with every fiber of his being, and he could never figure out why.
But he could not bring himself to ever do anything about it. He could not tell anyone about it. Ivan wasn't supposed to feel that way. It was not the way he was raised. He was not supposed to feel fluttery and light and giddy about anyone. And certainly not a boy.
He disregarded this 'love' word. He ignored the meaning, the ideas, the reasons why it was there. It was just a word. Love did not exist.
But Yao did.