Moscow, February 14th 1950

Hunting dogs barked and yelped in the distance – following the running, crunching footsteps in the snow and the shot of a fresh kill. Russia watched as the men scrambled through dense forest, shouting and laughing to each other's crude jokes. Only hours ago, they had been stiff puppets in suits, politicians who always claimed to know better what was good for their nation, to instruct Russia on what must be done next. More steel. More coal. More factories. More crops – Now burn them.

But of the many decisions imposed on Russia, the one taken today intrigued him.

China stood over merely footsteps away, shoulders shivering and hands stuffed into his coat pockets as he watched the hunters disappear into the woods. They had been allies in the war, yes, but to be here together now as comrades… It was a bond resembling partnership, friendship maybe, though Russia hardly considered himself qualified to know either.

'You're shaking, comrade,' Russia said, watching China turn his head – carefully, warily. 'Do the gunshots unsettle you?'

China's delicate brow rose, a small puff of breath billowing out into the frosty air. 'We've both had more than our fair share of them. Don't they sicken you?'

Russia swallowed. His mouth had gone a little dry, and this conversation had not turned out as friendly as he thought it would. 'The war has been over for a while, China. That's why we can shoot for fun now.'

China chuckled, his dark-eyed gaze shifting back to the forest. 'Only your sadistic kind would say something like that.'

'Sadistic?' Russia's brows pinched in hurt. 'We're comrades now. How can you say such a thing?'

China tensed, crossing his arms. 'Ah – well. You know. I meant it… not in a bad way. More like… kind of like…' China clacked his tongue and turned towards Russia. 'You know what? Forget it. I'm not sugar-coating my words for you. You are sadistic, aru. And I don't trust for a second that this treaty of ours is going to last for long. Our nations are coming together out of convenience. You watch my back and I watch yours. Nothing more than that.'

Russia giggled, not sure if this was a joke or not. They were friends now, weren't they? 'China… What are you saying?'

'Don't misunderstand me. We're allies. But I won't stand for any toe-stepping, or debt-binding, or promise-breaking. I want us both to be clear on that.'

These were not the words of a friend, Russia realized, with sinking, gut wrenching disappointment. They were words of a businessman.

'Da…' he croaked out, still wearing the smile, now threadbare and fading. 'Da, I understand…'

China sighed, the silence after it long enough to hear the hunters returning back from their kill. 'Good,' he said, with finality. He shifted his balance, snow crushing beneath winter boots as he glanced up at Russia with hesitance. There was the slight pinch of those delicate brows, the pursing of his lips like he was worried, and Russia had to pretend to find something interesting about a nearby crow, just to escape that sympathetic look that made him feel like a pouting child.

'Aiyah – d-don't do that.'

'Do what?'

'You're not allowed to make me feel guilty about setting down rules,' China snapped. 'They were perfectly reasonable.'

'I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty…'

'You were! Making a face like that.'

Russia braved a glance back at China, unable to help a tiny smile. 'What face?'

'Like you're about to cry. I've seen you do it before. I know these tricks.'

Russia stepped back. 'You haven't seen me cry before.'

'I have.'

'Da, well – I've seen you cry before.'

China scoffed. 'When?'

Russia parted his lips to blurt out, only to hesitate. No, that memory was private – too private to even speak of to China, though they both could remember it very clearly. Tears and bandages, bloodstains seeping through the back of China's shirt with fresh betrayal. Russia's hand on his shoulder – tentative, unsure, though his heart went out for China, who was then, just like him, truly alone.

China's delicate features softened. 'So you saw me like that once. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm the oldest, out of all of us.' His lips tugged up into a careful curve, eyes smouldering with arrogance. 'You're practically a child to me, aru.'

Russia furrowed his brows. 'Is that really how you see me?'

China hummed in agreement, his posture straighter and taller, like one of worshipped emperors and deities. Russia thought it was cute; he had seen this before in a growing America, in pre-war Germany, in Prussia before he fell. It was the mark of pride, and pride – oh, it was just about the most beautiful sight when shattered.

China was perhaps not willing to be his friend. But that did not mean Russia could not make him his toy.

He took a step forward in the snow, the frost making a quiet groan beneath his boot, and smiled. 'I can make you think differently, Kitai.'

'Oh?'

'I… could make you afraid of me if I wanted to.'

China's gaze faltered, the proud smile fading for a moment, before picking itself back up again. 'Those are brave words.'

'I'm not the one who needs to be brave here,' Russia chuckled, taking another step forward and watching China take one step back. 'But is China willing to play with me?'

China scoffed, amusement in his eyes though his steps drew away from Russia. 'If only to put your money where your mouth is… You are only making empty threats, aru.'

'Then let me prove them to you.'

China bolted as soon as the words were out of Russia's mouth, running for the thickly wooded area of the forest. Russia followed, unable to help his own laughter at this game they were playing of cat and mouse. His boots slipped and skidded on ice, his heart pounding as he chased China further and further into the woods, until the forest was quiet, only disturbed by the pounding of their feet on the ground and the panting of their breaths.

Russia reached his hand out, close enough to brush against China's flailing ponytail, and then close enough to grab his collar. China turned his head to look behind, and Russia had to wonder, if he would see fear in those ink-dark eyes, if he would find dread.

China tripped over, feet slipping down a sharp icy slope in the ground. Russia grabbed him, only for the two of them to stumble off the slope, rolling down against the graze of icy flecks and frozen branches.

'Caught you –' Russia panted, hot puffs of breath against China's throat as he chuckled. China groaned and shifted beneath him, though Russia refused to let him get away that easily. He took hold of China's wrists, pinning them to the ground on either side of his head. Leaning in, Russia watched dark eyes watch him closely, breaths heaving in and out heavily through China's parted lips.

'Are you afraid of me now?' Russia asked.

'No.'

'Not even a little bit?'

'Not even.'

Russia furrowed his brows, taking in a deep inhale as he fidgeted with the delicate wrists in his hands. They were limp, passive – yet why was it that he felt like the caught one here? China was looking at him so strangely, dark depths in his eyes that he couldn't quite read. Was he still just a child to him? An annoyance? Or something to be pitied, pitied enough for China to have indulged him in this game to begin with, to lend this measly moment of closeness, of intimacy Russia could only wish for.

A slender wrist slipped out of Russia's grip, palm pressing against his chest.

'Do you feel that?' China asked quietly. His palm pressed harder against Russia's chest, against where his heart was starting to beat faster, louder. The force was hard enough to bruise, to push Russia away. 'A few years ago, it took all my strength just to lift my arms up. I was so weak, from these wars… I thought I was going to disappear.'

Russia glanced down at the hand firmly pressed up against him, wanting to revel in the warmth of the touch, though it was aching, though it was pushing him away. 'A lot of us did –'

China threw him off, Russia's back thudding against the cold ground.

'I'm not going to let it get to that again,' China said, leaning over him. 'I'll regain my strength. And when I do, I won't need anyone. Not America, not England or France. Not even you. I'd like you to remember that.'

Russia parted his lips to speak, to say something though he didn't know what. China got up and left before he could muster up words, leaving hurried footprints in the snow. Russia turned his head to watch China's figure disappear in the forest, his cheek stinging against the snow.

He was born here, in the snow and beneath frosted branches of dead trees. Always cold and always truly alone. So when he felt the snow melt against his cheek in memory of that firm, gentle touch – of China's desperate pride – he thought that perhaps for once, this would change.