a/n: sofia is ukraine.
Natalya waits patiently beside the door to Ivan's last class, fully aware she's being just as creepy as people point out, but she just really can't help herself. Her and Ivan are the perfect match, and if no one else can see that, then more pity to them.
She settles on straightening out her bow while she waits, stepping back just a little as the doors open and students start coming out. Her eyes scan them as they walk by, looking for the tall shock of platinum blond, and she reaches out to grab Ivan's arm before he can head down the hall without her. He freezes up almost immediately, and she doesn't even hesitate to drag him off to the side, pressing him to the wall so that she can talk to him before he inevitably tries to go running off.
He's so still he might as well be a statue, barely even daring to breathe, and she sighs, leaning her head against his chest. His heart is beating as fast as hers is, although she's fully aware it's for an entirely different reason, even if she likes to pretend sometimes.
"Ivan," she starts, hating that he flinches. She's not even being scary right now! "Do you, uh, want to get lunch?" she asks, trying to keep her voice quiet, nonthreatening. She doesn't mean to scare him, it's just that she's got to keep him in line, dammit. Especially considering the way one of the students that passes them jerks away and hides his face like maybe Ivan won't attack if the kid isn't seen.
There's silence for a second, and then his hands are coming up to gently push her away, shaking a little as he waves them in front of himself with the most fake smile she's ever seen. It kind of really hurts, a lot more than she lets on. "I-I already had lunch today, Natalya. S-Sorry. You should just go home, da?"
The fact that he's trying to be nice about it stings more, almost, than if he'd just turned around and nearly ran from her, although she isn't sure why. Maybe it's the look of pity she can see in his eyes—as if she's the crazy one.
She isn't sure what expression is on her face, but it's something that makes him pause his movements to leave, a frown on his face. She takes advantage of this, fingers curling in the scarf hanging from around his neck. The scarf from Sofia, that Ivan just loves. The scarf that he'll wear while he throws away anything Natalya's made him, and her blood boils briefly before she swallows it down, trying not to look pitiful as she glances up at him.
"Hot chocolate?" she tries, voice lighter than she feels. "It's starting to get kind of cold outside, and I know you hate the cold, so we could get something warm—"
"Natalya I don't want to," he says, Russian flowing easily off his tongue, as if switching languages will somehow hide the fact that they're quickly on their way to fighting. American kids might not know any other languages, on average, but most of them aren't stupid. Most.
"Please, Ivan," she murmurs, hands clenching in the pale pink material of his scarf so hard that her knuckles go white. He can't leave, he can't leave! "It's just hot chocolate, just for a little while. I won't bring up marriage or love or anything! I promise!"
He seems torn for a second, before he sighs, and she hates the way it sounds like a man accepting death, or something equally as bad as their fate. She's honestly not that bad! It was one time she threatened him with a knife, and that was only because it was a really bad day.
"Fine," he relents, tugging his scarf from her grip as gently as he can. It's still kind of a struggle because she's afraid he'll turn tail and run as soon as she lets go. "We can get hot chocolate, but after that I want you going home, da?"
"Fine," she concedes, pouting and crossing her arms as he takes a step back. There's an awkward pause before he moves to leave, and she rushes to follow him, too close to his side to be comfortable, but she needs to be. Because in the same way that she kind of keeps him from hurting others, his presence at her side unintentionally protects her, and she needs him.
It's a short, but silence-filled walk that finds them at the café across from campus, and they don't speak until they're both seated at a table, hot chocolates in hand.
Well, they don't speak even then either, and it takes a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence before Natalya speaks up, pasting a smile onto her face. It's so fake it hurts, and she's not even sure Ivan notices. "I made it onto the cheerleading team," she starts, actual excitement beginning to bubble up inside. "At the tryouts yesterday. I'm going to be a flyer, they say, because I'm small."
Ivan actually smiles, and it's much less fake than earlier, his fingers curling around the cup in his grasp. "That's great," he says, and the praise washes over her with more intensity than she expects. It has her flushing nearly to her toes, her smile turning shy. "You're so beautiful that I bet you'll do great. A flyer is the one that they throw, da?"
"Mhm," she agrees, nodding and hiding her smile behind the rim of her cup. It's the most attention he's given her in weeks, and she's not sure what to do when he isn't edging away from her, or telling her to leave. "Maybe…you could come see me at practice, or a game," she suggests, quietly, half terrified that he'll reject her.
Surprisingly, he doesn't. He smiles so wide that his eyes nearly disappear. The action has her flushing down to her toes. "Maybe I will," he murmurs, nodding. "'Talya will look so pretty, I'm sure!"
She flushes hard again, face hot as she focuses on the table, bangs hiding her flaming cheeks from view. If he doesn't like her like that, and doesn't want to give her the wrong impressions, then why does he say things like this? "I'll try!" she says, instead of voicing her thoughts. It's hard though, with the atmosphere, the fact that there's no undercurrent of upset anywhere, and the way he's smiling, the light spilling in from the window highlighting his hair—she really wants to kiss him. And it'd be so easy really, to just lean across the small space of the table between them—
Ivan is out of his seat before she can realize she's even moved, scarf hastily pulled up to cover part of the lower half of his face. He's standing rigidly, hands at his sides and balled into fists, and Natalya knows she's blown it before he even pastes on that fake smile she hates so much, nodding his head toward her. "Well my drink is gone, now, so I think I will take my leave," he says, waving at her even as he gives her a wide berth as he edges around the table.
"Ivan, wait—!" she calls, scrambling to get up from the table without stepping on her dress or knocking anything over.
"Please go home," he says, glancing at her from over his shoulder as he walks toward the door. "Please just go home 'Talya. And be careful."
She wants to scream at him that he can't do things like this—can't give her cute nicknames, can't tell her to be careful, say she's pretty—without repercussions, without her falling even harder for him. It's his fault that she's in love with him, and if he wasn't so perfect—
"Ivan, please," she begs, voice low so they don't wind up having a shouting match in the café, trying to slide between guests and tables to meet him at the door. He leaves before she can get to him, and she's almost at a run when she makes it outside. He's halfway across the street already, the light set to change before she can chase after him, and she stomps in frustration, hands clenching hard at her sides.
She had behaved. She hadn't been obsessive, or creepy, she hadn't brought up the fact that she loved him with every fiber in her being, or the fact that she wanted to marry him and be with him for life. She hadn't mentioned the way she'd kept herself in line when he got touchy with Raivis, or the way he was friendly with Tino, or the female teacher that had been way too close after the one class. She had been good, and still…
And still he ran from her. And really, she thinks, tugging at her sleeve to keep the small knife there hidden, if he's not going to notice her through legitimate means, it's going to stop her from getting what she wants.
They're perfect for each other, and she's going to make him see that, dammit.
a/n: thanks for reading! ;u; hope you enjoyed! /hearts
