Feliciano, who was the first to surrender, was let out of captive and escorted out by Arthur. As soon as Ludwig caught a glimpse of the Italian man, he broke away from the grasps of Ivan's soldiers with all his might and rushed over to lock his arms around Feliciano with a firm embrace. After long days of utter silence and impassiveness, he wept like a child, face buried in the other man's shoulder. Feliciano stared blankly for a second before tearing a bit in his eyes as well. He then wrapped his arms around Ludwig, returning the hug.

"Don't cry, Ludwig, please don't cry anymore…"

Yao suddenly thought that they were perfect just like that.

After the war, Yao was sick in bed for a long period of time with Ivan hovering around in care of him. Yao smiled under the thick duvet, gaze trailing after the busy Russian.

"Yao, do you still bear a grudge towards Honda?" Ivan asked Yao one day while clumsily shaving the apple peel off the fruit.

Yao felt the scar on his back throb faintly.

"As I said before, I won't forgive him."

Ivan accidentally cut off a big chuck of apple again.

"But that day, you seemed like you didn't hate him at all…Yao, aren't you perhaps a little too good at lying? Or faking?"

"Perhaps both." Yao smiled calmly.

Ivan stopped the work at his hands and lifted his head, his lavender irises gazing at Yao's face.

"Then do you hate me?" he asked.

"Why are you asking me this again?"

"For real, do you hate me?" the polar bear didn't give up easily.

Yao took the apple from Ivan's hands and started peeling it with the fruit knife himself.

"If you won't peel it for me, then I'll do it myself."

"Do you hate me."

Yao finished cutting the fruit just in a few moments and he took a big bite out of it.

Ivan put his hands against the rim of the bed and continued relentlessly with his question.

"Do you hate me?"

"I don't."

"Do you believe me?" Yao smiled as he chewed his apple, "….You see, even if I do answer you, you won't believe it. Why bother asking?"

"…I believe you." Ivan felt good about himself and patted his paw on Yao, "I'll believe you this time."

Yao narrowed his eyes playfully and stuffed the remaining pieces of apple into Ivan's mouth.

"The apples from your home always taste the best."

When Yao had recovered from the sickness, his new boss had permitted him to go along with Ivan to explore the path they'd never walked before. Ivan was greatly pleased at the news.

"You have a daring leader."

"He's an adventurer." Yao smiled back.

Ivan said that he would organize an honor ceremony for Yao.

"I want to announce to the whole world that you are my little Bolshevik." He said to Yao, the badge on his chest reflected a light that shone a bit unrealistically under the sunlight.

"The world will know sooner or later." Yao took his hospital papers from the doctor, "I don't need some ceremony. You have a lot of money, why not just donate some to me?"

Ivan didn't have a lot of money.

But the ceremony was thrown nevertheless. It was located in a sunflower garden in Ivan's home. The mischievous polar bear had found some fireworks for who-knows-where, and where ever the fireworks were set off, the place would automatically become a danger zone.

"What do you think you're doing?" Yao crinkled his nose in confusion.

Ivan was excitedly fondling with a firework using his pipe.

"I heard that in your home, whenever there's a celebration, you guys would light fireworks!"

"Those are called firecrackers." Yao corrected him with amusement.

Natalia had carried a whole load of food ingredients and rum, Yao stared at those fresh vegetable leaves and was suddenly stricken that he hadn't sat down had enjoyed a meal in such a long time.

On the new year's eve, Yao was busily cleaning his house all day. He hadn't even had time to prepare his meal. When night fell, he hurriedly went to his new garden and harvested his vegetables and threw them in a pot to cook. He helped himself to a bowl of leftover rice and randomly ate the food that he could prepare. The bamboo firecrackers sounded through the cracks of his window, along with the carefree laughter of little children. Yao stabbed harshly at his rice, the hot steam from the vegetable stew blurred his vision, and the carrot had been too hot when he had put it him his mouth. He rubbed at his teary eyes.

"How did you forget to add salt? Idiot." he mumbled to himself.

He gulped his steaming stew down, the hot liquid burning its way down to his stomach, just like white spirit.

In the euphoria of the holiday, loneliness can give you a frostbite. Yao had unconsciously reminisced back to a long long time ago. When the little Mei, Hong, Yong Soo, and Kiku had noisily ran across the jade tiles in the ancient palace. Ducking under the long wooden tables, the golden poles, and the silk sash screens. The mouth-watering desserts would be stacked in plates, filling the whole table. Yong Soo would get anxious and climb onto the table and sneakily grab a handful of almond biscuits and stuff them into his pocket, thinking in satisfaction, the New Year's holiday originated in me anyways! Hahaha!

Mei would come storming angrily after him when she saw.

In those times, Yao would still be wearing the long, complicated robes decorated with golden silk. He would sit cross-legged on the dragon mat seat, holding a painted bowl. He would blow on a rice ball until it was cool enough to eat and transferred it into Kiku's mouth.

"How does it taste?"

The child had blinked contentedly at him and a smile had blossomed adorably on his face, "It's delicious!"

The candlelight swayed.

Yao blinked away some tears hanging in his eyes, and turned his head to ask Ivan, "Do you want to eat rice balls?"

The other nation eagerly nodded his head. Yao smiled and rolled up his sleeves and hoisted a big bag of flour into his arms, following Natalia into the kitchen.

"What is this, dirt?"

"No, Comrade Natalia, this is sesame paste."

"Do you need salt?"

"No, just sugar."

"How many spoons?"

Yao looked at Natalia, a bit exasperated, and wiped off some flour sticking to his hands.

"Comrade Natalia, that is corn starch." Yao smiled weakly.

The young lady, without anything to do, shrugged and walked out.

The door opened and closed again, this time, a violet-eyed polar bear walked in.

"What's this, dirt?"

"No, Comrade Ivan, this is sesame paste."

"Do you need salt?"

Yao mixed a spoon of water in the flour and continued kneading.

"No, but you can help me roll my sleeves up again, they're starting to fall."

Ivan walked over and saw that Yao's hands were covered with white flour, the tip of his nose was white as well. Ivan couldn't stop himself from laughing a bit at the sight, but quickly silenced himself when Yao gave him a warning glare. He quietly complied and carefully rolled Yao's sleeves up.

"The recipes from your house are so complicated." Ivan commented.

Yao humphed.

The sleeves of the clothes that his boss had prepared for him were very loose. When Ivan had folded the sleeve a few times up, he revealed an arm with a few old, piercing scars still remaining. Ivan softly caressed the scars with his finger tips and asked, "When did you get these?"

"When from the drug treatments."

"Does it still hurt?"

Yao kneaded harshly at the dough and said, "How about you try?"

Ivan didn't reply and stood silently behind Yao, enveloping him into his arms. Yao bit his lips and continued to beat at the dough bitterly. Ivan rested his chin at the crook of Yao's neck, still stroking at the scars. Yao felt Ivan's soft pale-blond hair fall through his collar and graze against his neck, it felt kind of ticklish.

"So heavy." he complained half-heartedly.

During the war, Yao would receive hand guns mailed by Ivan from time to time. They would often come with foodstuff and a letter, neatly packaged in kraft paper. The mailman had told him that Ivan sent word of "You should change your shoes if the one that I gave you still don't fit."

Yao smiled at that, but continued wearing those military boots that were a few sizes too big for him.

He didn't know why he felt so excited.

The howling wind was so strong, to a point where it hurt his eardrums. He crash down to the battle trench, gasping for air in huge breaths. North Korea was sprawled out behind him, injured and un-moving. When Yao had finished taking care of his wounds, he had clung to Yao's sleeve, not saying a word with tears silently streaming down. The tears made stains along the ash covered face, the blistered hands trembling.

"It's alright, North," Yao comforted weakly to him, "You'll be fine, I'll be here with you." He said as he stroked the hair matted with blood, one stroke after another, as if trying to send hope straight into North's heart. But North just shook his head, chapped lips parted to say in a very, very soft voice.

"Hyeong….I miss Yong Soo…I miss him so much…"

Yao bit harshly on his lip, innerly willing himself not to let his tears fall. But the effort was fruitless, warm tears came streaming down out of his control. He tightly embraced the young fighter, it was as if he was embracing his younger self. Yao whispered continuously to North, "Don't you fret. Yong Soo will be back in no time, he'll definitely come back. You're his brother, North, how can he leave you?"

You're his brother.

…How can he leave you?

Those memories tinted with a fragrance of blossoms. Untouchable now, as it evaporated in the swirling smoke. It was as if it was only a moment ago, South was still holding hands with his brother and was saying in his cheerful voice, "The Mooncake Festival originated in me! North and I won't ever be separated! Let's go home, okay?"

The next moment, South was standing behind America shouting with a grim voice, "Everyone, fire!"

We were once living under the same roof.

You and I.

Us. Dressed in long robes reaching our feet, sleeves floating in the ocean breeze. We thought it would be forever. The happiness in the olden days now washed upon a desert shore.

North.

Yao glanced back to look at the dark eyes of his fellow brother and thought to himself, You've did all you can, now leave the rest to me.

"That's enough now! I won't let you guys take a step forward anymore!" Yao flung himself out of the trench and threw a grenade into the enemy front lines.

Boom!

The sky was instantly filled with ash and dust. The tiny pebbles showered like sand into his collar. He should have worn a scarf to the battle like Ivan always did.

Suddenly, a grey-coloured aircraft came into sight, gliding across the the sky. It spiralled a few times before landing beside the trench on Yao's side. The strong force of the wind swept the debris on the ground into the air. Yao raised his arms to shield himself from getting hit, his uniform flapping against the wind.

"Comrade Yao!" out the cockpit came the familiar Russian man with pale blonde hair, smiling as bright as the sun, "How are my flying skills?"

Yao had almost fell right over from shock.

The people from America's home hadn't even been fighting at their best efforts, despite that, North was still badly wounded. He had finally caught a glimpse of Yong Soo but his Southern brother was immediately shielded behind America. Ivan had came to the battlefield as soon as he could after he'd settled down the situation at his home.

One night, he had stayed with Yao and North Korea.

"Does he kick at the quilt in his sleep?" Ivan asked as he watched Yao put North to bed.

"Yeah, but still better than you. You kick at people."

Ivan sheepishly rubbed at his nose and answered, "Say, Comrade Yao, have you thought of a time where we won't have to be forced into battle?"

"…No, it won't be of use thinking about those things. All the countries that are innocent and those who deserve to be punished all are dragged into the cruel wars. This is a messy world."

Ivan arranged the firewood with a twig, the orange flames flickering about on their bodies, casting long shadows. The both of them remained silent for a while, only the sound of the crackling fire filling the room. The quietness lasted a few seconds before Ivan's voice cut through.

"Comrade Yao, let us bring the flame of hope of the Bolsheviks to the world. When we do that, we won't have to be bullied in unjust ever again. I promise." he said as he patted his hand to his Bolshevik's badge on his chest.

Yao smiled and gazed at the campfire while hugging his legs.

"Of course." the east asian nation replied softly but determinedly.

The warm colours of the flame flickered from dim to light again and again in the small den, reflecting the most glorious dreams in the fighter's eyes. That is, Ivan's carefully planned map, a strong sense of purpose. Such an illuminating light.

Yeah, North is N. Korea...too lazy to find a name for him