Ivan sat back down in his old chair in the large, lonely room. He turned his head to the side, leaning his face on his still bare hand and watched the unmoving, satin curtains hanging from the window's bar. His house seemed less full than ever as he took notice of his lack of company. Ivan sighed, his hand falling down to his lap with a soft 'thud'; his stomach had been feeling twisted and bloodless when Ludwig was over. He had only been to focused to notice the fluttering feeling in till now. As Ivan pushed himself up to a standing position, he walked slowly to his private sitting room. As Ivan entered the large library-like room from the oaken door, He looked around the room as a small smile appeared on his face.
The heavy oak door stood ajar to the large room. The walls held long bookshelves that covered every inch of the room's grooved walls. The Russian man's favorite books and ones none so much loved adorned the walls of the room. In the far right end of the room stood a large wooden desk in the corner, on the left edge held a small pillar of books while the rest was occupied with scattered papers. An ample chair stood behind the desk with black leather cushions sewn atop the frame. Near the middle of the room stood four chairs. Between each was a small, worn, wooden table. Each held a glass vase holding a sunflower in the smooth rim. Each chair was slightly curved to form a semi-circle. On the right most chair's table held a small lamp for light in night time reading sessions. he books each held a thin layer of dust that had found it's way there since the last time Ivan had thought to dust in the old room. In the central wall stood a large fireplace, atop it's mantel place stood old pictures of Ivan, Natalya, Yekaterina, Toris, Eduard and Ravis took their place among a vase of small sunflowers. On the left wall was the another break in the book ridden walls. There was a sizeable window that showed out to his back yard. Underneath the window's ledge was a small sit in bench. Dark brown curtains covered the view of the outside world as light shone through the fibers.
Ivan walked slowly over to the window and opened up the curtains. The light shone dimly in the semi-dark room. He breathed in the musty smell of old paper and leather backed books before he opened up the windows, swinging them inwards by the small latching handles on the frame. The fresh air broke it's way in to the cold room, bringing new breath to the old things in the ancient room. Ivan smiled lightly to himself. His rough hands gripped the frame of the window for a second before he left to go sit. As he ran his finger tip across the spines of the old books along the wall before picking up one. As he gingerly sat down in the far right chair, he opened the book to examine the yellowed pages. The broken spine of the very much loved book groaned lightly as he searched the brittle pages for his favorite part of the long story. There he sat for hours, reading the aged book.
Ludwig made his way to the air port. The seemingly long day had only amounted to hours in the prodigious Russian home. The German had thought that talking with Ivan would allow his mind rest from very topic of him. But it only seemed to do the opposite. All the while he boarded yet another plane and went on his way well above the Earth, his mind still wondered back to the Russian. He tried desperately to keep him off his mind even after he returned home. Cleaning, cooking and training did nothing for the troubled German man. His mind would become side tracked while working out business and filling out papers and reports.
Ludwig paced in his room once more, the carpet beginning to show signs of ware in the place he would walk endlessly back and forth in middle of the night. His mind was riddled with thoughts, on prominent one seemed to be the question of 'why?'. Why was his mind so persistent in keeping him up at night with the thoughts of Ivan? Why would nothing else be so ever present in his thoughts like Ivan? Why was this man having such an effect on him? Running a hand through his messy, blond hair he repeated the word.
"Why? Why? Why?" His voice stayed barely above a whisper as he racked his brain for an answer to the question. He couldn't find the answer. With a soft sigh he returned to sitting on the edge of the large bed in his room. The air felt cold and still as he sat there in his aphotic room. He pulled off his old and warn boots from his feet leaned back. As Ludwig gazed at the ceiling he began to do nothing more than think.
The Russian man seemed to be having such a strange affect on him. He didn't understand it. All the German could think of the way his stomach seemed to feel when Ivan had touched his shoulder, The sudden warmth of Ivan had seemed to spread to him and he didn't feel lonesome any more. His pulse quickened slightly at the thought of being near him again. Ludwig turned over again in his bed and on to his stomach. His lips held themselves in a hard line as his brow furrowed slightly. He pushed himself back up into a standing position as he rubbed his temples.
Ludwig finally went to bed hours later. He curled up on one side of the massive bed. The cold sheets covered the large German man as he laid there on his side. All his thoughts still trained on the Russian as much as he wished them not to. The other end of the bed stood untouched and cold. The ample spring bed was only half full, as it seemed to stand for a long time now.
The soft morning sun peaked it's way through the finely woven fibers of the dark crimson curtains the next morning. The aphotic room where Ludwig slept seemed to start to glow as golden yellow filtered in from the dim light cascaded down onto the wooden bed frame that held a tangled German, lost in the sea of sheets and to hot blankets. A pillow or two would be found on the floor, as Ludwig had seemed to twist and turn from his dreams that night. One of his legs laid hap-hazardously over the edge of the bed while the opposite arm was sprawled out to the right of him. Half of his warm body covered in blankets and sheets while a few limbs and half of his left chest peeked out from them. His hair was messy and hazardously thrown across his head.
As Ludwig opened his clear blue eye's, the state of his bed and himself included dawned on him as he sat up and rubbed his eyes of sleep. He slowly stretched as he arose from the strange waves of dark red that were his blankets. As Ludwig seemed to believe, he had woken and fallen asleep several times during the night, each time finding a new way to lay down to find comfort. A yawn tumbled from his opened jaw as he carefully stretched each tight muscle in his back. Looking over to find his small digital clock sitting on the small wooden night stand next to the large bed the clock read '8:43 AM' in bright, glowing, green numbers and letters. A groan left the German's throat as he slumped off to get ready for an uneventful day in the life of an uneventful person. After sitting down in a stiff chair in his dining room, a large, steaming mug filled with black coffee before him, he thought of maybe talking to Russia over the phone again.
Only after thinking it did he actually begin to question himself again. Why would he want to talk to such a scary person, let alone voluntarily? Then it occurred to him, that that was all he had dome with the Russian the last month or so. Ludwig drummed his fingertips across the top of the table before him in thought in till he had made up his mind.
