There was something wrong with Yao.

He had come into the plainly set table with a wide, vacant smile, served dinner, and sat down not across from his guest, as was the custom, but right next to Ivan, as though they were the closest of friends. His earlier hostility was gone, replaced with a dazed sort of euphoria. For once, Ivan found that he was not the strangest person in the room, and he said as much to Yao.

"Strange? I'm not acting strange. I'm just happy that you're here, aru," he replied cheerfully with a mouth full of food. "Living alone is so lonely, aru. Kiku never visits anymore. That asshole Kirkland took Xiao Chun. Mei...well...she's struggling too, aru. She shouldn't have to see me like this." Yao said all this with a glassy smile, not quite looking at Ivan. "So it's nice, aru, not eating alone for once. I always say, there is no point in making good food if you have no one to share it with, aru."

The food was certainly good. As he listened to the Chinese man ramble on, he found himself popping the juicy pork-stuffed buns into his mouth almost involuntarily. As Yao's tangent grew more and more nonsensical, Ivan stopped listening and just stared.

When Russia was still young, he had seen China in person for the first time, though that had not been his name back then. Ivan remembered sitting in the snow after another lost battle, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering as silent sobs racked his body. He remembered the carriage that had come into view, carried on the shoulders of four men. He remembered how it had stopped in front of him...

The Celestial Empire drew back the curtains and peered out curiously at the tiny nation. Ivan stopped crying immediately and simply gaped at the foreign man. Garbed in golden robes that distinguished him as royalty, an ornate headpiece shielded his delicate features from the biting wind. Ivan could not stop staring at his eyes. They seemed to glow, like a flame reflected on the surface of a copper coin, and they held so much warmth in them, more warmth than Ivan had ever known.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brow slightly furrowed in concern. His voice was soft, but firm. "What is your name?"

Ivan realized that he was still sitting on the ground. The older nation extended a hand, and tentatively, Ivan took it. His body aching, he pulled himself to his feet, drawing himself to his full height. Even then, he must have looked laughably small—a trembling little nation wrapped in a scarf too big for him.

"Da, I am fine, and my name is Russia," he declared as confidently as he could. Yao smiled, and Ivan was at a loss for words again. He realized that he was still gripping onto the older nation's hand, trying to hold onto his warmth. Reluctantly, he let go.

"It is my honour to meet you, Russia. You may call me the Celestial Empire." Yao gave him a small nod in greeting. "I hope you are not badly hurt."

Mutely, Ivan started to shake his head before some unknown urge prompted him to blurt out, "I may have lost this fight, but I won't lose next time, or ever again! One day I'll see you again, Celestial Empire, and I'll be the strongest nation in the world, even stronger than you."

Stunned by his boldness, Yao stared at the tiny nation, lips slightly parted, and Ivan immediately flushed, ready to take back what he had said. But then Yao laughed, a musical sound springing from a crack in his mask of composure. "Well, little Russia, when that happens, I hope we can be friends."

The carriage moved towards the distance, fading into the blur of the snow. The Celestial Empire was gone as quickly as he had appeared, and Ivan was left alone, his frostbitten lips spread in the widest smile.

He would go on to fight more battles, and he would lose more than he won. He would get hurt and beaten time and time again, and through it all the winter would rage on. Sometimes his sisters would be with him, but more often they would vanish for years at a time.

But he would grow stronger. He would grow used to pain, and begin to embrace it. Though he still hated the cold with every fibre of his being, he learned to use it to his advantage. And though his mind was slowly broken over the years, though he was far from the naive little boy Yao had met centuries ago, Ivan never forgot the vow he had made.

And when he was sure that he was strong enough, he began to search for the Celestial Empire.

They didn't call him that anymore, Ivan learned. He was China now, and these days, he went by Wang Yao. So Ivan travelled south to see him, the man who had inspired him to fight all those years ago without saying much at all.

Yao wasn't hard to track down. Ivan first found him in a street side diner, complaining about the food to an uneasy looking waiter.

"This is too bland, aru," he was saying, gesturing dramatically at the bowl of soup in front of him. "Tell the chef it could use more ginger."

Ivan watched the Chinese man with growing intrigue. He had certainly changed, just as Ivan expected. He wore no elaborate robes and no headpiece, his hair falling to the small of his back in a simple but immaculate braid. There was no entourage of servants surrounding him—only a couple of pandas. When Yao stood to leave the restaurant, Ivan realized that the older nation stood several inches shorter than him. No longer was he the distant, untouchable giant Ivan once thought he was.

But that didn't make Ivan any less afraid to approach him.

Instead he followed the Asian nation as he made his way through town. As afraid as he was to get close to him, he couldn't bear to let him out of his sight, either.

But, seeming to sense that he was being followed, Yao turned around suddenly, his eyes meeting Ivan's.

Once again, Ivan was rendered speechless; from a distance, Wang Yao had born little resemblance to the Celestial Empire Ivan once idolized, but his eyes? His eyes hadn't changed a bit.

"Privyet," Ivan breathed.

His voice, tainted with an unfamiliar accent, caught Yao's attention. He studied the blond, violet-eyed foreigner, fascinated.

"Ni hao," he greeted, though his eyes betrayed confusion. "Have we met?"

Realization hit Ivan like an icy gust of wind, with a brutality that threatened to dislodge his heart from his chest. I'm a stranger to him.

"Nyet, I don't think so," he lied. Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his throat, Ivan slipped back into the crowd, leaving Yao in the middle of the road, alone and utterly mystified.