Alfred sat grumpily before the long conference table and signed the armistice agreement. It was the first time he'd tasted such a frustration in misfire. He glared daggers the whole time at Ivan and Yao, puffing his cheeks childishly. The Soviet nation maintained an innocent smile while sitting beside the window, fondling with his water pipe and softly singing to himself. He used a voice that Alfred could just hear from the distance he was in.

"Stalin's party, Stalin's party, the brilliant Bolsheviks…"

Alfred was on edge of crying with rage while Yao sighed at Ivan's silly antics.

North and South Korea were seated on the other side of the table. Between the two nations was a military demarcation line. A line that neither had accomplished to step over.

It hid the greying affections, and buried the old history.

The Korean War had come to an end.

"This world is pretty fake, isn't it, Comrade Braginski?" Yao rested his head on Ivan's shoulder and smiled mysteriously.

The autumn wind swept the dry leaves from the ground and they fluttered around the plaza with faint swooshing sounds.

Ivan unfurled his scarf and wrapped it around Yao's neck too, and together they shared the warmth of the soft woollen material. It was so comfortable, pray that it could keep the lovers together until the end of history.

Ever since the Korean war had ended, Yao had been going through quite a few hardships. Ivan couldn't stand it anymore, so he decided to help Yao renovate his home. Hence, on a Saturday afternoon, Ivan came to find Yao working on a sunflower patch, hands covered in dirt.

"Comrade Yao!" He shouted and waved. At his voice, Yao straightened up and gazed back at him.

"Slow down, don't trip yourself." he replied mildly.

Ivan reached him with just a few bounds and clasped his hand on Yao's shoulder, "My boss agreed. Starting from tomorrow, my people will come and help you create airplanes and railroads. I will help you build up your home."

Yao's eyes widened as he stared in surprise. The dirt fell off his hand with plunks into the earth.

"Don't worry about it, leave everything to me." Ivan smiled at Yao, "As long as I'm here, everything will be alright. No one will bully you again. Even that American."

Warmth and gratefulness filled the dark eyes of the asian nation. He reach out and took the soldier into an embrace. They held each other with trust and faithfulness among the sunflowers. The sun shone comfortably on them.

That year, the sunflowers had just been planted in the soil.

"You must put the gear in this way, Comrade Yao."

"I'm hungry, make me some rice balls, Comrade Yao."

"Do not trust anymore apart from me, Comrade Yao. They will never help you as sincerely, do you understand?"

"Comrade Yao." the Slavic nation called to him among the maidenhair forest. The lavender eyes smiled so gently. He stood in the middle of the dancing golden leaves with his arms extended towards Yao. His scarf flowed in the wind.

"Come here."

Yao 'tsk'-ed but did as the younger nation requested. He stopped before Ivan and let him envelope him into a hug.

"Comrade Yao, let's execute the likes of Jones and Kirkland together. That way we can live at ease and at peace. No one can pose a threat to us again."

Yao blanched and stared at Ivan. It took him a moment to recover and find his words.

"Comrade Ivan, have you gotten high? Perhaps drank a little too much?"

Execute.

To do something as horrifying as those deeds done in the Second World War?

Ivan shook his head and said bitterly, "No, Comrade Yao, you don't understand how much they despise me. America would be happy to send me up to his beloved God anytime. Before the Second world war, Kirkland and Bonnefoy were praying for Beilschmidt to come crush my throat, ha, but in the end? In the end France was the first one to get mauled to the ground."

His smile was a tad unsettling, it gave off a malicious vibe.

Looking at Ivan's face, Yao was reminded of the dark past he'd rather not remember. He couldn't but shiver at the chill sent up his spine. He wanted to back away, but Ivan's hand remained hook on his waist. He had a strong grip and Yao could not break free.

"Let me go, Ivan." he said softly.

"No," Ivan tightened his grip, "You are mine, Yao, I won't let go. Unless you agree to stay with me, stay with me to fight against Jones."

"Russia," Yao was starting to feel distressed, "I will not get involved in these things. I am not yours either. I am different from Toris or Natalia. Please don't force me on anything."

Ivan didn't reply.

The asian sighed, shooting a look at Ivan, "Let go, now."

His gaze was strict and clear-cut on his gaunt face. He reminded Ivan of the time long ago where the Celestial Empire was still standing, and he would have to tilt his head to meet the eyes of the almighty China. The China that was still untouched by the sharp blades of katanas, no scars marred across his body, no rotting of governments was dressed proudly in black and golden silk robes, waist long hair fluttering around him. They stood in the endless grass prairie covered in a thick layer of snow.

"Stand up, Ivan Braginski, I shall bestow the Lake Baikal upon you!"

Puffs of clouds floated with every syllable announced, his gaze every so sharp. That day with the swirling snow would never fade from his memory.

Ivan suddenly felt a pang of unease.

He thought that if this continues on, his southern neighbour would grow too strong. So strong as to grow out of his protection. He would never have the chance to spread warmth to those slim, cold fingers. He would never have the chance to share his scarf with his lover again. And never again, would he be able to feel the sweet touch of those soft lips on his own. He had worked so hard to pull the man into his arms and have him willingly stay beside him. Was that going to be taken away so easily?

The fragile love broken by the cold stares of society…?

He didn't want that.

An untamed bear could easily ruin everything.

Ivan threw open the door to find Yao resting on a bamboo mat playing with a Chinese chess piece. He mercilessly yanked him from his sitting position, the chess piece fell to the floor with a clunk.

"Someone came?" he asked, frustrated.

Yao hummed.

Ivan leaned in close with spectating eyes and asked childishly but cruelly, "Comrade Yao, am I a nuisance?"

"Perhaps," Yao replied carelessly, "Sometimes, sometimes not."

"And now?"

"The worst nuisance."

Ivan closed his eyes and dipped his head to capture Yao's lips in his own. It tasted bittersweet, was it Chrysanthemum tea?

"….Yao."

"Hm?"

"I want to tell you something."

"Go on."

"I truly love you."

"I know."

But nations were nations, all bonds were eventually severed because of politics and social complications, they both were very well aware of that. But he still managed to whisper out the sentence he came to regret so much years later.

"I love you, Yao. So become mine?"

It is a nightmare to me that you'd become someone else's.

My Bolsheviks, I have already failed, haven't I?

I've become addicted to a certain kind of feeling.

I love you, Yao. So become mine?
Braginski, I've told you before. That's not possible.

The tea set was flipped over, the sepia-colored liquid dripped down the wooden table with pitter and pattering drops, wetting Yao's clothes. The dark stains were like toxic liquid.

The black and white chess pieces scattered on the floor as well.

The well planned formation fell apart helter-skelter. It pierced all over his heart.

The Russian hadn't came to visit ever since the dispute with Yao. The next time they met was at the Bucharest venue, it was a cloudy and dreary day, the clouds were floating gloomily over their heads like a glass of foam knocked over.

They both sat on opposite end of the long conference table, the atmosphere hanging heavily upon the air. Yao didn't spare a single glance at Ivan, but he knew that Ivan wasn't doing well either because Toris, who was sitting next to him, had snapped several pens out of nervousness throughout the meeting and was constantly asking Natalia for handkerchiefs to wipe at his cold sweat.

The time crawled silently away.

It was Ivan's turn to present his speech. The chair creaked as it was pushed along the floor. The Russian man stood up with an unsettling smile, "It's good to see that everyone is still healthily breathing and living."

Yao noticed as Toris again was patting nervously at his forehead with the handkerchief, emerald eyes filled with anxiety.

"Although there isn't anything too important that I need to pronounce, but concerning Mr. Yao Wang's actions lately, I have to say that I am deeply concerned and in disagreement." Ivan continued.

Up until now, Yao was insouciantly flicking and turning his pen but at Ivan's words he instantly snapped his head up, staring at him in disbelief. But Ivan would not meet his gaze. The somewhat grey rays of light illuminated dimly from the continental glass windows, kissing at Ivan's pale blonde hair. His face was partially hidden by the shadows cast by the light, making his expression rather unreadable.

A flock of white doves fluttered across outside the window, the colors of sunset seemed like it was shattering the glass.

"Mr. Yao Wang and his comrades' actions have been extremely offensive towards my own national missions and purposes. As a country with a more advanced awareness, I…."

The sounds soon faded into static silence, but it still bombarded against Yao mercilessly. The fellow countries were all staring at Ivan and Yao with cold, piercing gazes. Some were full of surprise, some with mockery, some confused, and some with pure schadenfreude. There was a sick buzzing in Yao's ears making him feel nauseous, disgusted, and repulsive.

Yao didn't know how long Ivan continued to talk, he noticed only the opening and shutting motions of his mouth. He carried on for a long, long time.

The meeting had ended.

The nations flowed out of the conference room like fishes in a stream, un-orderly footsteps sounding from all the nations passing by. Yet Yao still remained seated, leaning back on the chair while harshly rubbing at his temples. Ivan gathered up all his files into a plastic folder then walked past him, his long scarf flailing into a curl behind him.

I don't want you to become anyone else's, Yao.

I will blind you and severe your paths, I will deprive you and throw you into starvation, I will rob you of your allies, leaving you to suffer alone.

…All because this is the only way you would come to me for support. The only way you would willingly rely on me. To cry to me, beg me. So…

I'm sorry, Yao.

Ivan left quietly with his head bowed down, no one could see what sadness, pain, and stubborn love he'd been concealing in his eyes. This love that was so real it shredded his heart into pieces. Ivan had grown up in loneliness and had learnt to fight and crawl for his life in the cold, harsh snow. Hence, losing what precious warmth he found right through his finger tips was his greatest fear. Selfishness and glutton for gentleness and warmth had become a bad habit of his.

Yao irritably combed his fingers through his hair, his other hand slamming harshly on the long, wooden table. He reached to grab his cup for a sip of tea to quench his dry throat.

He felt his hand being stopped with a gentle touch.

"Yao-san, the tea is already cold."

Yao raised his head to see Kiku's personable face, his long lashes lowering as he said cooly, "Do you mind if I refill some for you?"

His voice was so calm and mild, it was as if there hadn't been any smoke risen from battles, any blood spilled between them, any dark plots or murder. But what was keeping them from going back to what they once were was the withdrawn and faraway tone in Japan's voice.

Yao was first confused as to why Japan was even here, but he then realized that he'd forgotten that Kiku had an appointment to conference with Alfred and the bunch today in the room just next this one.

The old scar on his back throbbed slightly.

"No, but thank you."

Kiku moved his lips, but no sound came out.

Yao closed his eyes wearily and sipped his tea, his brows knitted together for a split second.
"

You've finished your meeting with Alfred?"

"…Yes." Kiku paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but the words somehow came out as, "Is the tea cold?"

Yao shook his head. He just felt cold in his heart.

The blood felt like tides gushing in his chest, running over his many old, faded scars. Spotted specks of light melted into a single tear sliding down the blade of a samurai's katana. At this moment, Yao suddenly was hit with a pang of thought that their relationships with fellow nations were just like a game. When the game ended, knives cloaked in blinding lights would pierce through their flags, ripping them apart. All so familiarly.

It was like trying to touch the moon by reaching for the reflection in a pond.

Him, Ivan, Kiku—their only links of association were the self-regarding benefits and profits they seek in each other.

There was never such a thing as "forever".

"I need to go." Yao said tiredly, "It would be bad if our bosses or anyone saw us talking."

As he tidied up his papers, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Kiku was staring at him with every move he made. The loneliness in his gaze was so similar to Ivan's.

Kiku's voice was full of hesitation as he said uncertainly, "Yao-san….from now on, I….I'm going to walk alongside America-san."

Yao's hands paused for a millisecond before carrying on with the work. He forced the corners of his lips up in a smile full of bitterness.

"Then I wish you guys a long and successful copartnership. I assume that you are held in a high position in Alfred's heart? He's came to realize how much he appreciates your company ever since the fight with North and Yong Soo."

Kiku remained quiet on his chair, biting his lip. Yao tossed the last pen in his bag and smiled at Kiku, "I hope your partnership can last forever."

After saying that, he felt a stuffy rise in his chest. The scar on his back, the harsh words of Ivan, they all carve their way painfully into his bones. It looks like he wouldn't be able to get rid of it even for the next 5000 years.

Yao turned and left.