This chapter is going to be a collection of times. I will explain better at the end, however, you need to know that the first part is the time Ivan arrived in America (on his birthday). It still winters on the northern hemisphere of the Earth so in Kazakhstan, Russia, China and America the winter is still happening.
* •
America
December 30th
1958
His brother was spending the time there in split ways and that was almost annoying and mysterious. Matthew was present in a moment and evaporation in another. Alfred was beginning to wonder what that new job was about to make his brother disappear for hours after midnight and come back the next morning with strawberry ice cream and new glasses. He didn't want to disturb Matthew with his curiosities, but he was annoyed by that unpredictable behaviour when the bell was ringing and there was nobody to answer.
He was feeling lousy that day, so he didn't want to get out of the sheets or do anything besides eating the rest of the cereal under his bed. However, he wondered if it wasn't Arthur and he was going to complain till the next century about punctuality and consideration. He was out of his bed before he was able to consider other options. The birds were singing in his window and that fact made him more optimistic about that particular day during the repulsive winter; although he ran down the stairs with mistful sentiments.
Alfred knew it wasn't Matthew on the door because his brother had the key and the Canadian was hard to forget anything. Arthur wasn't the most likely to appear since he was in Japan, but he does a lot of weird things when he is drunk. Additionally, it could be Mathias Køhler with his impulsive surprises, but the Danish was spending all his time travelling around the world following Hans Christian Andersen's philosophy. He wouldn't come somewhere he already been to. Kiku would ask at least nine times if he is welcome and even so he would suggest a different way to meet with the American; his social anxiety was difficult to endure new places similar to Alfred's seasonal depression harden every move. So he was hoping it would be him.
When he opened and saw Ivan, he smiled. It has been a few days since he smiled at something different from his TV.
"Hey." Alfred greeted since he didn't know what else to say. He felt like he should say more, nonetheless, he was tired and he wanted to come back to bed badly. The warmth was a missing piece in his skin. "Merry Christmas."
The British had the same appearance, scarf and neutral clothes, but there was something slightly different in his appearance. Perhaps it was Alfred's sad perception of the day because he saw something changed in his Amethyst eyes and dark circles under them. The background was grey and the cold wind presented him in a more intimidating manner, but he still lights up the way somehow.
"I'm sorry." He apologized with a beautiful British accent and hands in pockets. Alfred was a little envious of his height since he was always taller than most people, but he seemed short next to Ivan. "I can come back later if this is a bad time."
Alfred forgot the fact he was wearing pyjamas displaying comic books, his hair wasn't brushed in three days and he wasn't prepared to leave his bed for anything but eating and watching stupid cartoons in TV all week. He screamed internally when he realized it has been two days since he was armed enough to take a shower. He was living to eat, sleep and try to feel warmness in that horrible season because he was too anxious to go to work or live normally. The American hated his condition for a glimpse of a moment and he hated himself for it.
Anytime people were mocking him about his disease or saying things that shouldn't be said, Alfred tried to defend the fact that the condition was real to him. So he found tons of different ways to put the feeling into words. At that moment he could say the anxious sentiment on his chest was the same as someone who lost something. The difference was he didn't know what was lost or even if this thing exists; he just knows he requires that mysterious thing in extreme urgency. Nonetheless, he tortures himself trying to understand what is the shape and colour of this thing. He abuses his brain trying to understand if the thing he lost really exists or if he really needs and, if he does, why did he relinquished in the first place? He wants to forget that thing, but his chest feels empty without it; he dreams about it clearly, but he can't remember in the morning and he almost twists his brain trying to revive. He tries to don't put the blame on himself for not being able to find that lost thing and he tries to think about anything else. It is all useless.
Why am I doing this to myself? Who should I blame? Where it is? Does it exist?
And when he asks people about it or he asks to help him look for it, he only receives sentences like 'Forget about it', 'It's just something on your head', 'I can't help you with unclear things', etc. But it's real for him and it's the only thing he can think about. Alfred defends the existence of this condition with descriptions like that. He feels like he was a superhero to deal with it every year and he thinks people who endure it every day are heroes bigger than him.
"It's not a bad time. Please, just stay." He affirmed and tried to fix his hair. "You don't have to come in if you don't want to."
"I want to. It's just..."
The Russian became rosy with embarrassment simply because Alfred was inviting him in. He hid in his scarf before stepping on the floor.
The American felt his head heavier than it should be. He was really lousy on that particular day.
"I need to lie down. Do you want to listen to the radio with me in the living room?"
"That would be lovely."
They placed themselves there. Ivan was sitting on the chair in front of the photos Alfred's mother used to make collages with after she took them. He was sitting with his body in a polite manner and he seemed comfortable in that perfect strategy. Alfred was spilt on the sofa like a liquid with a blanket, a bag of chips, his stretch book and a sharp pencil. They put on a radio station from Europe. A speaker said a weird Austrian or German name of a new musician on the piano as Ivan translated everything to Alfred and the music began. The American was going to say he prefers Jazz or Swing, but he liked the way the Russian seemed peaceful with the music playing ruthlessly and kind in his ears. The American always get nervous talking with people because he needs to find subjects to talk to. He searches through his brain merely to find a single excuse to stay talking, nonetheless, he doesn't search for anything when he is next to Ivan. He was one of the few people he was able to enjoy the peaceful silence without discomfort. They started awkwardly trying to not look at each other while The Vienna Philharmonic was playing on the radio. He used to catch glimpses coming from Ivan whilst he was reading Les Miserables and he used to look straight to the British when a violin was playing. It felt right with his appearance. If Alfred wasn't feeling like communicating would be hurtful he would have told Ivan how a violin matches his appearance in a philosophical way. Nonetheless, they didn't have to talk and that was beautifully unspoken.
Ivan was just reading the last pages of the book while Alfred was drawing. The American watched as he grabbed another book when he finished.
Okay. That was hella sexy. Almost better than his accent. His accent is better than Arthur's. He sounds like an old man and Ivan sounds like Jack the ripper before he kisses me... What am I thinking?
The words were in German in that book and Alfred doesn't have a big skill with that language as much as he can read French - Matthew always shouts in French when he is angry, so he learned a few things.
The time passed and the night was falling. The American was trying to sleep, but he was only crawling into numbness from time to time when his drawings were too ugly for him. He was throwing tons of wrinkled paper on the ground when he finally gave up the drawing, closed his notebook and sighed. He gazed at Ivan and noticed the look on his face on him.
"Why is your arm broken?"
Ivan laughed honestly, closed the book carefully and placed it on his lap. He reminded Alfred of David reading books about flowers around the world after a long day at the fabric. Virginia would show him the pictures she took that particular day and he would tell the news to Matthew and Alfred. After that glimpse of a family, they would fight about small things, always whispering, until the glimpses became more remotes and Alfred is sad at the airport and Matthew is afraid at the plane to Canada.
"I was too excited when I was playing football with my father." Ivan answered with a deep smile. "I lost."
Alfred smirked a little.
"I'm sorry about your arm."
The look on the British's eyes was similar to if Alfred was speaking another language. He realized he only apologized to Ivan when he was kidding or drunk.
"I'm sorry I'm like this."
"It's not your fault." He replied with his voice in a low tone. "Don't worry about my feelings."
Ivan looked at the ground.
"What is it like? Living with it?"
Alfred felt the feeling he was dealing with now - or the lack of it. He translated the feeling. He was good at that.
"Imagine one day everything you eat tastes like something you get sick of easily." The American commenced and sat on the sofa holding his ankles. "Say something you get easily sick of."
"Gilbert."
"I mean food."
"Everything is food if you are hungry enough."
Alfred chuckled. It's been a few weeks since the last time he was laughing slightly.
"I swear I'm kidding." Ivan affirmed sincerely. "Even though it would be a great way to make him quiet."
Another chuckle.
"Okay. Imagine one day everything you eat tastes like Gilbert. You try to eat every now and then to see if it changes, but it's the same taste until you are really exhausted from it. You are nauseated only to think about eating something and taste Gilbert. However, you also get hungry really fast and you feel completely empty if you don't eat anything. You need to eat. But there is the taste... Then you start to try new things. Add some sauces. Spices. Cook everything using another manner. You try to eat in other places; with other people; different quantities. You change your perspective and mind, but it still tastes like Gilbert and you can't get enough to satisfy your hunger. And people look at you and listen to your problem, but the only help you receive is sentences like 'Why don't you try to eat your favourite food?' or 'Have you tried to eat from familiar recipes?' or 'Just eat and don't think too much about it.' But everything tastes strongly like Gilbert."
Ivan gave attention to every word quietly and the light in his eyes was making circles like comets. After Alfred was finished, the British sighed deeply.
"I kind of feel something similar. But I don't know how to describe it." He said shyly and hid in his scarf. "Something like drinking poison."
"You don't have to describe things to me. If they are real to you, they are real to me." He answered feeling the words no one said to him in his tongue with bitterness. "I'm sorry I can't be happier that you are here. After so long I don't see you, I should be celebrating. I don't want to make things awkward, but I was really hoping I would hug you. I don't want to make things awkward and I don't want to kiss you and taste the same feeling."
Ivan's expression was stunned. He used to balance the amount of expression on his face, nonetheless, now they were only a stamp in his face without any masks.
Things were awkward, but Alfred was too empty to care completely. He wanted to kiss Ivan. So what? He was sad about existing.
"You want to kiss me?"
"Oh, definitely!"
Ivan tried to hide in his scarf, however, his hands were shaking too much. Alfred saw him blushing aggressively.
"Why?"
"I'm in love with you." The American replied seriously and the atmosphere got weirdly nervous around him. He was never good at flirting or things about romance. "I tried to stop. I just can't."
Ivan just gazed at his book.
"Oh."
Alfred was regretting saying something. They were having a nice time and he whirled things to awkwardness. He wanted to fix things and apologize, nonetheless, he felt it was worthless. He lifted his body until he was standing - a sad spectrum of who he is - and he walked towards Ivan's chair. He kneeled on the ground next to his legs. The British allowed when he laid his head on his knees. Alfred didn't want to kiss him, especially since he seemed so nervous about it.
"This is awkward, isn't?"
"Oh, definitely!"
Alfred chuckled.
He sensed Ivan's hand on his hair and he smiled slightly. He had the awkwardness of someone who never knew love and now it's forced to improvise. Alfred wondered if his father is a caring person and if he makes tea when Ivan comes home. He wondered if his mother tells him stories, sing lullabies or just cover his body tenderly when he is ready to sleep. But how can he taste so war-torn if he had parents the same way Alfred had his mother?
"I appreciate our time together." Ivan whispered in a fast way as if he was afraid of losing the words. "You are gentle and I like you."
"But..."
"There is no 'but'. I don't know how to demonstrate more than this.". He answered in a low tone. "Let me consider this, okay? I still feel like this is more than I can deal with."
For a moment, Alfred closed his eyes and allowed one feeling to fill his chest. He was laying on Ivan's lap. The same mercilessly distant Englishman; same person deep in the emptiness of a frown mixed with a smile; someone so unreachable Alfred wondered about him as he does with stars. And this person liked him. Maybe not in the intense way he liked him, however, he liked him.
"I can wait. I don't feel what I feel towards you in anyone else. But just tell me now if there is the slightest chance someday you will feel something towards me as I fell towards and I will never give up this feeling." Alfred clarified sensing his spine dancing with shivers. Ivan's lap was warm and his hands were heavy and gentle. He could sense the British blushing, even if he didn't saw it. "But if you don't want things like that, I am asking you to forget this and continue to be my friend. You are unique and irreplaceable. I would like you to stay in my life however you want to."
"You want me to stay."
He agreed and sensed the British tensing his muscles under his head.
"Any way you want."
"You think I'm...?"
He stopped as if he couldn't continue.
"Yes."
"What do you gain by liking me?"
He spoke as Alfred was gaining money to stay next to him.
"I can tell you what I lose. I lose the fear to leave my bed to answer the door because it might be you. I lose hours thinking about you and me. I lose the fear to dream higher than my reality because you are my goal. And to be honest, I don't think those are an immense loss. I like to lose them. In the end, those fantasies are more time with you."
Alfred felt his skin blaming his brain for its shivers when Ivan caressed his cheek with his finger. He noticed his fingers were wet. The tears in his fingers were warm and Alfred resisted the curiosity to look to his face while he was crying. He heard a sob and soon he tensed as if he was trying to resist anything.
"What happened?"
"I don't know either." He replied with a steady voice as if he wasn't crying profoundly or he was skilled in controlling his emotions. "Merely an inconvenience."
"Will you be okay?"
"I'm fine."
Ivan was obviously lying.
"Poison?"
"Yes." He replied and sobbed. "I feel the same, but give me time, alright?"
"Of course."
•
America
March 4th
1960
Their first kiss was in the cemetery on a warm morning. Ivan held Alfred's cheek for a small second, however, the British was tasting his lips in a glimpse. His mouth tasted like vodka. After a year merely being friends staring at each other for too long and holding hands when nobody was looking, Ivan finally kissed him. The kiss was fast; they were both afraid of people seeing them. It was gentle and soft as if he was only touching his mouth with his. Just like that and Alfred tasted something so warm inside of him he imagined if Ivan felt something similar when he saw the sunflowers' field. Or if his mother felt the same thing seeing the world through a camera for the first time. Or if Matthew felt the same thing by holding a hockey stick for the first time. He wondered how much happiness a simple touch can bring. He felt a beautiful part of his life began at that kiss.
At the end of it, they stayed with their foreheads touching to regain their breaths. The patience on both their breathing felt comfortable enough to stay close like that for a long time. In the real end, they stayed together on the bench only touching their hands. Alfred drawing on his sketchbook and Ivan reading his book. Their fingers were caressing each other's hand.
•
Ivan kissed other people before, however, that was the first time he did it with a feeling in his chest instead of a requirement for his duty. The first time the person didn't accelerate things until Ivan is nauseous under someone. He felt the same feeling of warm sheets embracing him after a day in the cold instead of dirty sheets behind his sweaty carcass.
After some time in which Ivan's book was slightly boring, he glanced at Alfred's sketchbook. Ivan could see it was a plane in a mechanical and technical way. But he couldn't understand why there was a frame made of tiny calculus.
"What are you drawing?"
"Airplanes." He responded hitting the page with the edge of the pencil. "I found a book about airline engineer in the museum and I liked the idea. I have been working on these for a year now."
He pressed Ivan's hand under his and sighed staring at the paper. The Russian thought about Boris saying Alfred wanted to be a pilot, but things didn't work because of his farsightedness.
"You like aeroplanes."
The American chuckled.
"I can't be a pilot because of my farsightedness, but planes are everything I love. They are complete freedom and it's the closest I can get to space because being an astronaut is cool but it's the abnormal quantity of work. What do you think?"
"I like planes too. I always had a dream in which I was jumping from one." He affirmed thinking he would scream "Vodka" while jumping and Alfred grinned. Ivan watched the way Alfred calculated even the meter a wing and a cabin should have. He calculated its height and its weight on the side of the paper. He was very economical in space since there wasn't a single space that wasn't filled with vestiges of math. But the aeroplane in the middle, a Supermarine Spitfire - Ivan only knew that information because that was a British aeroplane -, was perfectly clean with the American flag at its tail. It was drawn with quintessence and discretion. "You should invest in that. It's truly a talent. Why don't you search for a college that can teach Airline engineering?"
Alfred smiled sadly with the idea.
"Not now, I think." He responded lifting his shoulders. He sounded insecure and it was very different from his normal mood. "I have an extremely disappointing career life to explore a new thing by now."
Ivan felt something scratching on his stomach annoyingly and he clenched his fists. The next thing he noticed he was holding Alfred's hands in his with strength. His hands were always warm and they were a thin surface in which lines made a horizon like scars. His fingers were adorably fat.
"Ouch! You don't perceive your own strength, do you?"
"Alfred, you can do this. I can help you."
The American seemed tempted for a glimpse of a moment, however, it faded quickly. He sighed.
"I don't have sufficient money to study something like that. My job at the museum is scarcely enough to keep my mother's house and myself. There are months I can't pay all of my bills and I'm always avoiding asking money from my father. Furthermore, the museum allows me to take a vacation in winter. I don't think there is a place where I can receive the same thing, do you?" He interrogated and Ivan felt the crack in his eyes. Sometimes the Russian forgets Alfred is not perfectly happy, which makes him even more perfect because Ivan wasn't slightly happy. He would hate to inhabit with someone that pretends to be delighted all the time. Alfred is hopeless under the sheets. "I like working at the museum. Since I can only work during summer and other seasons, I can see every kind of people. I hate the ones from summer because they are mostly children who don't want to be there. I like the ones from spring because they are always wondering. I love the ones from fall because they are serious and extremely weird."
Ivan noticed he was avoiding the subject, but he thought about all the times he avoided the subject and Alfred didn't put pressure. He wanted to do the same for him. He wanted to be better for him, even if he didn't understand how and he was always afraid to try. Nevertheless, Alfred made him happy so perhaps he just has to try to be a little like him to make him happy too. At least, this was something Ivan knew very well how to handle since a relationship was a remote idea.
"I'm in love with you too."
Alfred chocked with his own saliva, scratched his nape and grinned nervously in a single second. Ivan smiled at his nervousness. He wouldn't expect those words coming easily. But he was trying. He has to.
"Just let me consider this better, alright?"
Alfred smiled brightly. Ivan was always going to remember the sun shining through his glasses.
"You have all the time in the world."
•
America
August 17th
1961
The rain was strong that day. They were spending time in public places for so long that staying merely talking about astronomy on the ground was sufficiently for them to get real close and Ivan felt the urge to kiss him like every other day. They were laying on each other's chests and basically sharing the position after some time. They were holding hands and the air was warm like every other time.
At first, Ivan was just talking about Jupiter gazing at the starry night and he was trying not to gaze at Alfred's mouth when he raised from his chest. He wanted to have hair with a neutral tone instead of something unusual as a pale blonde. Being dark-headed would be perfect for his duty as a spy. He couldn't appreciate his eye colour because they were rather different to blend in. If he was like Alfred with light brown hair, almost blonde, and blue eyes he could blend in. His lips were the same tone of his upper lip lift and his nose made a beautiful match with it. The Russian has always wanted to have a better nose than he had.
When he noticed his surroundings he was gazing at Alfred's mouth for a while with a shiver on his chest. And his body was completely frozen when the American gave him a small kiss. He pulled away right after with his face rosy because, usually, Ivan is the one that starts the kisses. The Russian felt his body gathering heat and confusion, but he has been dealing with this feeling since last year and he already gave in. It wasn't going to last forever. Alfred was going to forget him, anyway, and he would be back in Russia after his mission. With this thought in mind, Ivan pulled him close and devoured his mouth like he has been afraid to do for two years now. Alfred was reciprocal about the kiss and he seemed brightly happy in his arms for a moment before he pulled away from the Russian.
"Are you sure we..."
Ivan kissed him as an answer.
He spent several days dealing with that feeling growing in his chest. He spent several nights awake thinking he was being delusional about a man. However, he couldn't avoid the American since he was also the only thing that made him happy. Ivan was so tempted he started to see Alfred as a warning sign. Then he started to use him as a focal point so he wouldn't lose sign of what he wanted in Russia after everything is over. Still, if he found a man or a woman with the same appearance and personality, they wouldn't be him. Ivan gave up after he saw himself imagining their life together on the basis. He decided to use Alfred as a makeshift gauge to see how much he can lose himself in someone before he is gone. He expected to have a "self" to lose, afterwards.
Anything was an excuse to kiss him more.
When he raised from the ground and pushed Alfred to his bed, the American groaned nervously. He started to chuckle and look worried. He was sitting on the bed while Ivan was standing and the Pub was completely silent because it was a Thursday, it was raining and Gilbert left an hour ago.
"Oh, my god! Bed. I am in your bed. I mean I have already slept here a few times, but I don't think..." He glanced at Ivan and he noticed the certainty in his face. "Are you sure? I mean how are you so calm and quiet about this? I feel like my chest is trying to explode. Wait! Are we really doing this or am I just overreacting?"
Ivan answered by pulling his own shirt. Soon he did this, he was hiding his face on his scarf because he didn't like the way his body looked. He didn't know what to mumble any words and Alfred had too much to say when he started to chuckle nervously.
"Oh, my god! Okay. Okay. Fine. How do I..." He stuttered while he looked at Ivan's abdomen. "Is there a manual or something? I have never been with a man. I mean what do I do?"
Ivan laughed at his nervousness because he has always wondered what that moment would feel like. It felt bright and peaceful like every other moment with the American. He grabbed Alfred's shirt and removed it with a little violence because his glasses were on his forehead while he was staring at him with widened eyes.
"Ow, okay!" He replied with a playful voice. He adjusted his glasses. "First of all, rude. Second of all, are you sure?"
"Alfred, take your pants off."
His cheeks were rosy and he made a weird face. Alfred was paralyzed staring at Ivan.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Fuck, no!" He spat and became more flustered. "Oh, I mean... Please, resume it if you prefer."
Ivan laid him on the bed using his hands on his shoulders with a little strength, however, Alfred didn't seem bothered by it. He was wearing only his underwear after he threw his pants on the door with too much anxiety. The Russian chuckled at his clumsiness and Alfred closed his eyes as if he was sensing everything or he was too embarrassed to look at the other. The Russian smiled at him because he felt free to take his scarf off and show his scar. The room was dark, after all. He placed the scarf next to Alfred's head and he almost lost his posture when the American brought the piece of clothing to his nose and smelled it.
"Sorry." He smiled brightly; the same piece of shine Ivan would search in his nightmares. The same sun he would think it wasn't his. But it was. "I really wanted to do this."
He smiled before he placed the scarf under the bed like Ivan's habit. Alfred pulled him with a playful certainty after this.
The Russian started to kiss him on the lips like they were doing before, however, now he was exploring his body with the point of his fingers. Alfred laughed between the kisses whenever Ivan touched somewhere under or somewhere it tickles. He sensed he had all the freedom to do as he pleases when Alfred raised his muscles to his touch and placed his hands on his body as well. Ivan stopped kissing him on his lips and started to explore his body the same way with his mouth. The Russian held his hands and he noticed he was doing this so he wouldn't be touched too.
He can't win his fears all the time.
Ivan saw himself whispering while passing his mouth on his abdomen only to breathe next to his skin and sense him shivering.
"я тебя люблю."
He whispered silently and slowly on the other's chest. He still looked at Alfred to see if he was going to scream for the Soviet to leave his house, nevertheless, the American was smiling with his eyes closed and waiting for him to continue.
He trusted a weapon.
"You are going to provoke me until I cry, aren't you?"
Ivan didn't want to do anything somebody else taught him so he was improvising. No duty has ever been gentle like this with him. With this thought in mind, he allowed Alfred to explore his boy with the palm of his hands as well. Ivan chuckled when messed his white hair and raised his body until he was facing Alfred. They hugged each other on the mattress feeling warmth and something deep as desire, but purer.
"I don't mind doing only this."
When the Russian touched his lips, he kissed his finger and Ivan felt shivers through his body.
"Do whatever you please. I am yours."
Ivan thought to himself. His body never belonged to him. Since he was a child, he was the empty glass they would fill with a fake life and techniques that would make him a weapon. His body wasn't his to rip or cut. His death wasn't available in any way by his hand since he learned after his scar on the neck. His life wasn't available in any way by his choices since he learned after every other scar he didn't have. Regardless he felt the freedom to touch Alfred anywhere at that moment. He could brush his hair, hug his waist and kiss his neck. There was a minute Ivan just wanted to kiss Alfred's collar bones that were visible in him even if he was chubby. He could also hear him reacting with chuckles and moans when he did something else. He didn't mind the pain or the struggle because there was a pleasure at the end of it. And he was strong the same way Ivan has always imagined the right one for himself. He could perpetrate whatever comes to his mind at the moment and the American would receive it gladly.
Before Ivan had himself, he had Alfred.
•
America
December 11th
1961
When Ivan entered the room he felt the smell first and then he noticed Alfred under the bed. His socks displaying flowers were the only thing the Russian saw. When the tiny daylight was entering the room, he noticed the silent atmosphere and he wondered what happened. Alfred is never quiet. Even when he is quiet, he always moves too much, breathes loudly and makes sounds with his mouth displaying his mind's direction. He would fight and agree with himself with small groans and expressions as if he was watching a movie in his head.
At that moment, there was just silence.
Ivan was unusually anxious when he closed the room's door behind him. He walked making the ground crackle with his weight and he wondered how intense can a low sound be in total silence. He kneeled on the ground next to the American's bed. The Russian prayed to an unknown force he would see Alfred alive. He was scared when he laid on the ground to see him. It wasn't going to be the first time according to Matthew and Arthur. He would have tried it two times when he was younger and one when he was an adult. That was one of the main reasons Ivan started to check on him at least once a day. Since Arthur was in Japan now, Matthew was working who-knows-where and Gilbert didn't care about any human besides his brother, Ivan was the only one that could check on him in the afternoon. The pub was empty that hour and he would spend the time talking to Gilbert. The German would be there most of the times speaking about his amazing brother, the amazing Italian boyfriend of his brother and his amazing self. The Russian obviously preferred to go check on Alfred.
He found the American laying on an improvised bed made with sheets, blankets and a pillow. Ivan thought about the bed he had on the basis as a kid and smiled.
"Hey."
Alfred opened his eyes. Ivan was striving to be accustomed to how empty his happy eyes are on those days. A pale shade of blue stared at him and he thought about the stories Arthur told him.
Winter has always been a time where I hide everything that he could use to hurt himself.
Ivan saw the sheets curled together and something made him more anxious, but he didn't know what to say.
"I know you, Matthew and Arthur always try to take me outside and eat and take a shower and stuff, but not today. It was impossible for me to find anywhere in this house I don't feel uncomfortable and I'm not leaving it now." He asserted with a hoarse voice as if he was screaming all day. He was laying on the side of his body without glasses wearing a pyjama imitating a bear. Alfred placed his hand on his side and hugged himself as if the snow outside could attack him through the window. "I want to stay here. I think you will understand this. Arthur and Matthew wouldn't, but you might. You understand, don't you? I don't want to be animated today. I just want to be still and let the time pass. Please, tell me you understand."
He spent days in his bed after the torture he suffered on Yao's house merely because he felt like leaving that place would make everything real. The pillow and the mattress on the ground were comfortable and he would forget the pain sometimes. That place was something from his home in a dream. Maybe those men destroying every shred of skin he has was a nightmare. He would wake up, meet Maxim, knit with Raivis, help Eduard with his bed, conversate more with Toris, hug Tiên Huệ and analyze Basch. He could talk more with Gupta about Taalay and compete with Sadik just to see him being irritated. If he stayed that way, the scars were going to fade and everything was going to be his imagination. The pain would be over because the red men always avoid longtime scars. But it didn't happen. The pain was never over and the shame was a fire in his pores he couldn't face. He still hears the sounds from that day in his nightmares. The screaming he couldn't control coming out of his mouth and the words. The noises the wall and the floor made. All the bruises. When that man spanked him just to prove he could do anything with Ivan as if he wasn't anything. He was worth a thousand for his country and he was being treated as nothing by Russians.
He tried to avoid thinking about that because thinking about that would make him revive the Gulag. And reviving one thing rises everything from the depths of his mind.
Ivan laid next to Alfred under the bed and grabbed his hand above his empty belly. He thought about Taalay and how they slept on the same tiny spot for a month. He felt a profound sadness in him. They were supposed to be friends today. He almost cried next to Alfred in the darkroom, although he closed his eyes. Tears can't fall when your eyes are closed and this was the only thing avoiding him to sob.
"Sun all the time makes a desert."
Ivan didn't look at Alfred, but he could say his muscles were more relaxed. The Russian felt the warmth under that bed when he closed his eyes. He felt safe there. Ivan wondered if someday he would be able to sleep with him on the same place without considering being caught by authorities. He imagined staying with him without picturing Alfred's horror when he discovers Ivan is a Soviet spy.
"Can we stay like this?"
"That would be good."
•
America
July 4th
1962
He was having fun.
What happened?
The day ended up in Alfred's house with an orange twilight and a warm air around them. Ivan was delighted that every friend Alfred merely talked about was there and he saw faces he only imagined. Matthias had a weirder hair than Alfred described and he was very loud all the time. It was funny because he didn't know when he was speaking English or Danish. Kiku was very quiet and gazed at Ivan as if he was seeing a monster or something. However, Arthur calmed things down with his husband and they talked a little. Ivan asked Kiku about Yao and the Japanese merely said he was his father's friend. He doesn't know how much Yao dedicated the rest of his life in him and the Russian didn't know how to explain it. He also talked with Matthew about some things even if they don't have a lot of topics to talk about. There was a minute where Ivan sat on the Canadian because he didn't see him on the chair and they all laughed at that. Matthew didn't even stay at the end of Alfred's birthday party because he had something on his job. Gilbert showed up late, obviously, but he brought Francis, which was a surprise because he was leaving America in three days to study in Milan. He apologised because Antonio couldn't come because he came back to Spain some while ago to take care of his parents.
They were eating cake when night arrived and the fireworks came. It wasn't the first time Ivan heard fireworks in the forth of July. He spent four years in America, so he was rather accustomed to them, however, it was the first time he wasn't locked in his room completely alone. And he was in front of a candle with dancing fire around a lot of other people in a place he was still learning how to handle. So when Ivan noticed his surroundings he was back at that dead place. He couldn't discern if it was the Gulag or the basis. He couldn't define who was attacking, but he saw something reaching for him and that something was dangerous. He was back at the days he would eat nothing and he would see blood everywhere.
Something unlocked in his memory. He noticed his surroundings and he was in a green field. The air was warm. There was a river next to him smiling. He could see the heavy moment where his finger was on something specific he was holding and when he looked down he saw a gun aimed at a man. He recognized the feeling of holding a gun and the weight that invention had on humanity. He felt afraid, howbeit he didn't know why he was afraid. He only sensed an intuition he was seeing something he shouldn't.
He heard a small and gentle voice next to him.
"You just need to press a button. Do this for us, alright, kid?"
He pressed. They gave him candy. He only realized at that moment in Alfred's kitchen floor he killed someone. He was a child. He never noticed what he has done until he heard the fireworks and the dancing fire making him remember the bullet he placed in someone's brain. He has never thought much about that day and now he understood those men hurting him when he was sixteen weren't the first people he killed. He killed someone who wasn't attacking him before he even understood death. Not for duty. Not for his life. Only because someone asked. He killed someone before he lost everything and became cold. He took a life when he was still a dreamer.
This destroyed him like a bomb inside his brain. How could he forget this?
"Ivan, are you okay?"
Ivan gazed at Alfred's voice and noticed his surroundings. He saw people looking worried at him. He noticed pieces of glass and food on the floor as if someone pulled the towel from the kitchen's table.
"Did I do that?" He inquired to the destroyed cake on the floor. "I did, didn't I?"
"Forget that, mon ami." Francis replied and touched Ivan's shoulder. The Russian gazed at his friend. "Are you alright?"
The fireworks were still exploding.
He didn't want to worry people. He shouldn't lose control. He shouldn't mislay his emotions. The silence was heavy when Francis helped Ivan raise from the floor. Alfred was looking at him as if he was going to break, Kiku seemed comprehensive and Gilbert crossed his arms apathetic. Matthias seemed tempted to eat the cake from the floor, but at least he wasn't staring at Ivan too.
"Sorry I ruined everything."
Alfred smiled comprehensive.
"You ruined nothing. It's okay."
"I don't like fireworks neither." Arthur spoke trying to console him in an angry way. "Is that why you lost it, right? You were in England during the Great War so you remember. I still feel sick every time I hear a siren."
Ivan didn't respond. Arthur was in London; he must have seen houses being destroyed and the sirens being echoed for people to hide at least for twenty nights. The British sighed and looked at the ground. He was standing next to Kiku.
"Before the bombs, I had three brothers. After them, I only had one."
The silence after that sentence was a little sad. Francis and Gilbert seemed to try to amend the mood when they chuckled at Arthur. The German held Ivan's shoulder.
"What he means is that we can relate." Francis asserted. "Don't worry, mon ami."
"Oi, I was trying to help!"
"Of course, you were." Gilbert replied mocking his accent. He spoke as if he was some kind of nanny to Arthur and he was trying to console a child. "You deserve candy. Matthias, do you want to share the cake you are almost eating from the floor, dear?"
Matthias smiled brightly with chantilly on his face.
"Of course!"
Francis laughed at that loudly.
"Oh, shut up, wine sucker!"
"Arthur!" Kiku censored his husband and spoke something in Japanese. He curved his body to Francis. "I apologise."
"Don't worry, mon amour." He replied and analysed Kiku from head to toe. "I think it's true that they say opposites attract each other."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Somehow Francis and Gilbert transformed the atmosphere to a better perspective after a while. Even Arthur appeared to give up the discussion. They sat on the kitchen's table like they were before as if nothing happened while Arthur was complaining about cleaning the mess the Russian made even if nobody implored him to do it. Kiku and Alfred supported him with cleaning and both of them appeared comfortable about helping Arthur. The fireworks proceeded and Ivan was still nauseous and motionless around them on the table after everybody was sitting. He felt his blood leaving his body after remembering what he did.
Ivan sensed something under his sleeve that seemed like a bug touching the clothing. However, when he looked down, he saw Alfred's hand reaching for his under the table. The American was laughing at something Matthias said and he wasn't looking at Ivan, however, he was asking for his hand. The Russian grabbed the hand he came to know well in a slow movement. He felt slightly better with that assurance and closed his eyes feeling the bright atmosphere his friends created.
He could manage it.
* •
This all happened in four years since 1958 a.k.a. the year Ivan went to Kazakhstan, China and Russia. I want to make sure everybody understands the process of Alfred and Ivan getting together was long and difficult. Besides the pressure of being a gay couple in the 60s, Ivan had to deal with tons of things to accomplish even to kiss Alfred. Imagine all his defeating fear of being discovered and the feeling he belongs to his duty crawling inside him along with the loneliness and his desire to have something truly meaningful. It was truly a war inside his mind when he thought he would have to leave America after he is finished and go to live the rest of his life in the basis. Imagine Alfred's joy every day because there is always something deep and new to know about Ivan. And imagine him being completely delighted and telling all his friends he found love and it's British and:
Arthur: "Nobody can resist Britain power"
Russia laughs in the distance.
Kiku: "I'm happy for you, Alfred. My cats are happy for you too. My dog is happy for you too."
Mathias: "FUCK YEAH! HE FOUND HIS MERMAID."
Matthew: "NOT FUCKING ARTHUR!"
Visualize Gilbert. Just do it. I want your own interpretation of him as a character right now.
Well, I wanted to make every little detail from their relationship as growing into a pair. Truly would do that. You probably know by now I certainly like to write a lot about everything. Nonetheless, since I wanted a different kind of interaction in this story I'm showing them as a couple. Instead of the beginning of Romance, I'm showing you the aftertaste. When they are basically together. Since you might find it weird in the next part when Ivan is basically living with Alfred, I'm explaining things.
Thanks for reading until now.
He used to catch glimpses coming from Ivan whilst he was reading Les Miserables and he used to look straight to the British when a violin was playing.
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo is probably one of the best books I have read in a matter of characters. The characters are very real. Very well developed and virtually different. The story goes years before the French Revolution. As someone who enjoys the French culture, I would say Ivan appreciates Victor Hugo's works very deeply and Francis lend his books - Actually Claire's (Monaco) - he has at home to Ivan.
But the aeroplane in the middle, a Supermarine Spitfire, was perfectly clean with the American flag at its tail.
The Spitfire was the only British fighter in continuous production throughout the entire Second World War. It became the backbone of the Royal Air Force Fighter Command and was most noted for beating back the German Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain. The distinct elliptical wings were designed to have the thinnest possible cross-section, which resulted in higher speeds than many other fighters of the day.
I should know this. I'm aspiring to be a pilot :) wish me luck.
Also, you may have noticed Alfred speaks "airplane" and Ivan speaks "aeroplane". This is because "aeroplane" is the British variant of "airplane".