It was kindly brought to my attention that Poland's last line in the previous chapter is a little confusing. He is calling Russia crazy. I thought I would clear that up. It was also believed that Russia and Latvia are dating. I would like to clear it up that they are not. Latvia is just the only person who deals with Russia's crap. He is like a babysitter. This chapter should clear everything up, though.
So, here it is. Chapter Two. This chapter it also short. :( I think this story will be a bunch of mini-chapters. And I don't own anything, like always.
Chapter Two: A Little Bit
Either way, no one ever tried to befriend him, for fear he might ask that question, "Become one with Russia, da?" It was in vain, though, he'd occasionally ask them all the same.
His presence was much too threatening, despite the much-too-innocent and child-like smile always on
his face.
But if someone were to, for some unfathomable reason, wish to ask him, "What do you want?" the answer would surprise them.
After all, they expect him to say, "For everyone to become one with Mother Russia," in a cheerful tone, fake smile in place.
Which he will say.
The first time, at least.
If that same person were to not believe him, and pursue him again, repeating the question:
"What do you really want?"
His features would smooth over, the smile fading, and he would sigh, looking so very, very tired. He would look that person over, then look them in the eyes, almost as if determining whether it's worth the trouble to answer that person.
That person may falter under his scrutinizing gaze, or decide to say, "Never mind," and leave.
If that person stays, however, and he considers that person worth it, then:
"Just a little," he would reply softly, barely audible.
No doubt, that person would confusedly ask for clarification: "What?"
"Just a little bit," he would repeat, a small, sad, but genuine smile on his face. That person would be stunned, too busy wondering at his rare, new display of real emotion to actually listen to him.
Ivan would begin to speak again, drawing that person's attention back to him. He would speak gently, longingly, wistfully…
"A little warmth.
A little bit of sunflowers.
A little sunshine.
A little safe haven.
A little bit of compassion.
A little bit of friendship.
A little family.
A little unity.
A little house on a tropical island.
A little reprieve.
A little bit of smiling.
A little laughter.
A little happiness.
A little love.
A little peace.
Just a little."
He would conclude, give you that childish smile once more, with the faintest glimmers of sorrow hidden in the depths of his eyes, and walk away.
That person would certainly be in a state of shock, blankness for a moment, as they struggled to process his words.
Then, as the words sink in, that person would most definitely feel differently towards him. They would feel different, in one way or another.
But most importantly, they would understand.
As much as they may be in disbelief, they will know, no matter how hard they try to deny it or convince themselves otherwise, that he had just exposed his heart and soul to them, and he was being so painfully, painfully, honest.
Depending on the person, they may bolt after him. They may just stare after him. They may just decide to change the way they act towards them. They may just turn and walk away.
They may have to hide their tears. They may just let them flow freely. They may hide under a mask of indifference while they try to pick apart the situation in their mind.
They may go after him.
That person would run, find him wherever he'd gone, and desperately grab his arm and pull him to face them, ignoring the fear that they might startle him into attacking with the sudden contact. He will startle, but no violent feelings or actions would escape him.
Panting, perhaps doubling over to catch their breath and looking up at him, perhaps words will be tumbling out of their mouths without restraint, perhaps they will be silent, but never letting go of his sleeve, they will just look at him.
He will be surprised, and return the gaze, blinking expectantly.
That person may keep rambling, or perhaps, silently, just tug on his sleeve a few times with a watery smile. Or just let go, and after recovering, swallowing nervously, they may just pat him on the back or arm. A more emotional person may just throw themselves at him in a hug, disregarding their well-being. (He will not harm whomever decides to embrace him, however, and that fear should not be present in that person's mind.)
No matter what though, they would understand, and he would know. And he would smile.
A true smile.
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It was the next day and Lithuania and Estonia still had not returned from the bar. They had probably gone home with someone or were passed out somewhere. Latvia was sleeping in his own bed and gradually started to stir. A few minutes later, he sat up with his eyes still shut and yawned. Blinking a few times to get used to the light coming into through the window he was startled to see someone standing directly next to him. They were so close that they were leaning forward against the bed and towering over Latvia.
Jolting away from the figure with a small scream of surprise, Latvia fell of the bed only to sit up to see who it was while rubbing his now sore head.
"Russia-sama," he exclaimed, instantly recognizing the person, "Don't do things like that. You scared me. What do you want so early in the morning?"
"Become one with me, da?" the Russian asked, with a smile.
Latvia groaned and stood up, exasperated and tired of this question, "I can't Russia-sama. If I did you would have no one to babysit—err, I mean, talk to you."
"Fine," the other man grumbled, exiting the room calmly and not bothering to close the door.
A half an hour later, Latvia was eating breakfast in the kitchen when Russia walked in.
"Good morning, Lati," he greeted the shorter man with a brief smile, pulling out a chair to sit across from him at the table located in the middle of the room.
Giving the Russian a look that clearly conveyed that he was still annoyed about the event in his bedroom, Latvia stood up and dropped his now empty plate in the sink before turning towards the purple-eyed man and commenting, "Good morning. What do you want?"
"For you to become one with me, da," the Russian answered, not missing a beat.
Latvia sighed and clarified his question, "I meant for breakfast. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Oh," Russia said, "What were you eating?"
"I just finished pancakes. Someone taught America, who taught England, who taught Italy, who taught Lithuania, who taught me. They are kind of like thin circles of cake," Latvia explained, since they weren't a Russian food and he didn't know if Russia would know what they were.
"That sounds good," Russia decided. Having already put them away, Latvia began pulling out the ingredients to make pancakes.
Later in the afternoon, Latvia was leaving to go to the market to buy food when Russia appeared next to him.
"May I come with you?" he asked quietly, actually looking unsure—and… nervous?—about what Latvia's answer would be.
"Sure," Latvia shrugged, not really caring if someone was tagging along behind him.
Exiting the mansion they all lived I, they started the silent walk to the marketplace.
Halfway there, Latvia felt the Russian's stare in the back of his skull like the other man had heat vision.
"What?" he asked aggravatedly, spinning around to confront the taller man, something he had only recently gotten the courage to do.
"Become one with me, da?" Russia asked yet again, smiling his usual child-like grin.
"That is the third time today you have asked me that? What is your problem? You never ask that much. Don't you know the answer is always going to be no? What do you really want?" Latvia ranted, staring frustratedly at the Russian. The reaction his complaint got, though, wasn't the one he was expecting.
Russia closed his eyes and his smile vanished from his face. For the first time, he looked tired and, even more unexpected, sad. Suddenly he opened his eyes and looked straight at Latvia. He paused for a long time as if debating whether to answer or not.
"Just a little bit," he mumbled, his eyes almost pleading for the other man to understand.
"What?" Latvia asked, genuinely shocked having never known the Russian to have any other emotions besides anger, and evil (if that was even an emotion and not just a lifestyle.)
"Just a little bit," he said, louder now. And at this comment an almost wistful smile came over his face as if he were remembering a dream. Latvia could only stare, shocked.
"A little warmth," Russia began, his gaze drifting off as he stared at nothing, or perhaps a hope that he could see playing out in front of his eyes. Latvia found it impossible not to listen to the man who was perhaps not as crazy as everyone thought.
"A little bit of sunflowers," he continued, with the same longing expression on his face, "A little sunshine. A little safe haven. A little bit of compassion. A little bit of friendship. A little family. A little unity. A little house on a tropical island. A little reprieve. A little bit of smiling. A little laughter. A little happiness. A little love. A little peace. Just a little."
Latvia watched in his surprised stupor as the Russian smiled, but it wasn't a true smile. It didn't reach his eyes. In that same moment, he turned around and started walking back home with his hands in his pockets leaving Latvia behind, not sure how to react to what had just happened.
Frozen on the sidewalk for what seemed like hours, Latvia muddled over the situation. Almost without thought, he ran after the taller blond who was probably already back at the house now if that was truly where he was going.
Latvia finally turned the corner and stepped onto the road that Russia lived on. About twenty feet ahead of him, the Russian was walking in the same manner to the gate of the mansion.
"Russia," Latvia shouted, finally catching up to him.
Surprised, the taller man started to turn around, but the process was sped up by a hand which grabbed his arm and spun him around. Looking down, he saw Latvia hunched over with one hand on his knee, the other still clinging to his arm, the whole time trying to catch his breath.
Russia was startled by the sudden contact, but his normal feelings of violence were not present, only confusion. He barely noticed that the smaller man was rambling about something. Sometime during the muttering, Latvia paused and stood up, looking the purple-eyed man in the eyes. Russia was surprised by what he saw. He didn't expect Latvia to come after him and didn't expect Latvia to look so.. understanding. What really and truly shocked him, though, was when he felt two arms wrap around him in a warm embrace.
"What are you doing?" he asked, genuinely confused when he was finally able to speak.
Latvia released him from the hug and looked up, smiling, "There. That's the first thing on your list, right? A little bit of warmth."
Russia smiled at this statement. Unlike every other time he had smiled, though, this smile lit up his face. It was the first time he remembered smiling in a long time and it felt good.
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Chapter Two: Complete! :D
Review? Please? *inserts Italy begging here*
~Alexis