Author's note: This is my first Hetalia fanfic. I became interested in the title about three months ago and I mostly enjoy its historical aspects as shown in several wonderful fanarts and writings.

Ivan and Heracles are at the top of my favourite characters list and together they form my favourite pairing [ By the way, I hail from Heracles' House ;) ].

Story setting: Chronologically set after the Battle of Navarino (1827) which concluded the Greek War of Independence. Heracles is currently hosting his Russian ally at his home.

Grip

POV of Ivan

You don't suspect it and maybe it won't even cross your mind until I depart, but the truth is I don't want to lose a single moment of our time together. Any hours filled with your presence are precious to me, streaming like the clear water of a current - beautifully and fast. As I gaze outside the window, I am thinking that this night belongs to us in a sense, it keeps us in an unseen cocoon from which I don't hurry to escape. Until the sun wakes again, my dreams and reflections that know how to hide themselves from the golden stare of morning, can now emerge safely, revealing their true forms, exact colours and sharpness...

Sometimes, it hurts to see and then I refuse to acknowledge what's in my soul besides the unfathomable darkness. Now, I can't help myself; I yearn to reach and discover something brighter within me... Tracings of you, Heracles Karpus.

It seems that the small movement I made to rearrange the long scarf that is always wrapped around my neck, proved enough to draw your attention from the book you have been reading, sitting on your favourite armchair across me. When our eyes locked for a few seconds, I felt no anxiety nor embarrassment. It's easy to guess what you are expecting to witness - me, removing this garment and finally freeing the covered skin. I assure you, that won't happen. No doubt, this particular habit gives you a strange impression although you have never commented it or ever demanded me to explain.

I wonder though, have you ever realised that this simple piece of cloth serves as something more than a protection from the coldness? It is a shield, a means to hide the scars of a tragic past, deep marks that I cannot pretend they don't exist on my body. They are a part of yesterday but insistently follow me in the present... Traumas that haunt my conscience and I don't want anyone to know that. I don't want you to know... Announcing the pained days of my life would feel like opening these wounds once more. They don't hurt, not physically, but neither they disappear. When I'm alone, I occasionally check the skin on my nape and back, as if I am about to witness a change. Nothing. The proof of my martyrdom shall remain there... [1]

I avoid your impressive emerald stare, fearing I might notice a sign of compassion or pity - I don't need this. Then I think how foolish that reaction was; It's not like you can read my thoughts. Still, I feel that you are capable of great understanding, your mind can sense my soul more than anyone else I have met in my life. You penetrate into the thick, complex foliage of my being, not with the effrontery and violence of a thief, but like a clear wind that cools and purges.

It has become evident to me that your existence compose all I ever missed and sought to find. Once, I had deserted hope, yielding to a medley of lament and disarray, dangerously standing on the edge of madness. It is thanks to you and the things you taught me that I know how to survive and be strong. This heart that beats inside my chest could never be broken easily... And reminds that I am much more than a tortured shadow.

You must have understood that I incessantly aspire to be a significant chapter of your history, not simply a passing dream or a nostalgic memory. Only with you, Heracles, I am able to experience a love as eminent as the sky, thick as blood and unsullied like the froth of Aegean sea's waves. I am warmed by a sun that pierces through the clouds - your presence.

Everything in this house -the rooms, the atmosphere - is simple and neat... Perfect to me. Because they consist parts of your own world, this corner of the earth that somehow awakens the realisation that there is another landscape apart and beyond the frost and shadows, inviting me to relish it...

Even for a few more moments, before I take my leave again.

XxX

[1] An implication of Russia's historical affliction caused by the Golden Horde and Tatar invasions. The reference to Ivan's scars is literal.