Yao Wang didn't know how to deal with his emotions anymore at this point. He was at a loss while facing all the confusions that were never this tangled before. He wanted more than anything to tell Ivan that he really did love him. Especially during the times of war and betrayal. He'd never forget the one and only who offered a hand to him—who was at the time, struggling to survive. How warm and tender the feeling of locking fingers were. He'd never forget the image of his smiling face darkened by the backlight, the sunset painting his hair a border of fuzzy gold.

He wanted to tell Ivan he had genuinely tried to forgive him. Right at the moment when Ivan had his long coat draped over his shoulders as he walked out of the military tent; when Yao was kneeling in the shooting range in tears, crying helplessly, Ivan fiercely embraced Yao into his warm arms. From that moment on, Yao was dead set on trying to forgive Ivan. He really did try! Yao wanted to tell Ivan!

Despite that, Yao had explained slowly, but firmly, "Braginski, the reason why I had relied so much on you is like the pair of shoes that you gave me when this all started—It didn't fit, but I could use it to step out of the pools of blood and towards the light."

But he didn't tell Ivan that his real intention was that he was willing to wear those shoes to continue walking towards the end of winter and into spring. To walk towards the budding flowers and the first signs of happiness. To walk towards end of time, the limits of the Earth—with Ivan. He didn't tell Ivan that if only he could be a little less stubborn, a little more respectful to his people, Yao would be more than happy to be with him. To sing on a little wooden boat on the river of Volga together with him, to look for sunflowers and peonies together with him…together.

But even if he had all the selfishness in the world, he could not bring himself to say anything of that sort. Because standing behind him were billions of his family, his people—all hopefully looking up to him.

He suddenly understood how Alfred at felt a long, long time ago when he earned his independence from Britain. The heartbreaking affliction he felt was so agonising, yet he could not say a word about it. Because everything was all for his people.

He seemed calm as he gazed into Ivan's eyes, just like how Ivan was wearing an ever so innocent smile. The clumsy display and poorly disguised emotions were so weak that it all could be broken through with just a tap of the finger. But they both continued to lie to each other, thinking that they can lie to themselves as well. Yao stumbled after and followed Ivan for more than ten years.

There are only interests of benefits between us, he said.

Ivan, you don't understand anything. I've lived for four-thousand years, and you are still too young, he said.

Goodbye, Ivan, he said.

Far away, the people from Yao's home were noisily moving the posters that were ripped off of the street sides and throwing them into the sunflower patches, pressing the flowers and snapping some of them in the process of doing so. Ivan didn't understand what they were doing. Then, Yao smiled, vaguely covering his true emotions.

"….This is payback for shredding all our contracts."

An angry flame of fire was thrown into the mess.

Orange and red spirits clouded the sky.

Ivan and Yao watched as the mountain of mess blinked bright and dim, like a coursing river of blood, burning and destroying. The posters of 'ever-lasting' Sino-Soviet friendships melted into ashes in mere seconds. Those tiny specks of ashes polluted the sky.

They watched as the proud sunflowers wilted and withered, silently screaming and wailing. It was like the love between them—fleeting, fragile, and can disappear at the slightest of mishap.

The scorching waves of air burnt at their eyes, reddening them. The farmers said that this was them abandoning their past.

Ivan turned and left, but he didn't forget to say, "Since the shoes don't fit, just throw them away."

Violet eyes were unreadable.

Yao turned away from the flowers and papers as well and made his way home, taking large strides at a time. Ivan turned north, Yao turned south, back to back.

Then, as soon as he turned the corner where Ivan couldn't see him, he broke down, unable to pretend anymore. He weeped as tears racked his body.

Yao became very ill.

All of Ivan's people followed after their nation and had left as well. All the constructions, roads, cultural establishments, and economics were all thrown aside and left behind. At this news, Yao was struggling through his illness, trying to finish the newly set constructions. He silently listened to a soldier report the situation to him. From time to time he covered his mouth and coughed painfully. Seeing their nation's teary and reddened eyes weary from exhaustion, the workers and farmers held their gaze with worry and discomposure. Noticing the discouraged expressions of his people, Yao forced upon a smile and quickly reassured, "It's no problem, we can do this even without relying on them."

He dragged his sickened body and shakily made his way to the corner to start transferring the construction bricks.

"….Apart from this…there's another urgent report." The messenger soldier continued nervously.

"Go on."

"…Braginski's got thousands of men at our borders, it seems like he's going to attack."

The brick fell from his hands to the ground with a heavy clunk. The only thing he heard was the hammering of his heart in his ears, and the only thing he felt was the pain searing through his head. He steadied himself with a hand on the nearest pillar and urged himself to keep standing, despite his vision swimming black and white and his ears fiercely buzzing. As bizarre as it seemed, Yao's thoughts drifted back to how warm and strong Ivan's embraces felt. How being in the man's arms was the safest feeling in the world. It hadn't even been a full month since their split, yet, he'd already started to feel decades away from Ivan. It had always been unconditional support and love that Ivan had given him, but now, is it destined for Ivan to become an enemy as well?

Electric purple eyes flashed in his mind, it clutched at his throat, suffocating him, drawing blood. He felt himself choking up, and with a jolt, a throbbing cough racked his whole body as he coughed out warm, red blood. So bitter, so repellent.

He removed his shaking hand from his mouth and as he stared at the pool of scarlet in his palm, he felt the ground rushing closer and closer.

"Help! Mr. Wang has fainted!"

"Quick, carry him into the room, loosen his collar."

"Water, somebody get some water!"

Yao felt himself being lifted meticulously and hurriedly by his family members, an ice pack being placed on his forehead, and the buttons on his collars being loosened. He gripped at one of their sleeves, wanting to tell them to go see what was going on with Ivan, but his pale and cracked lips wouldn't form anything. As consciousness was slipping away from him, he whispered the name desperately and silently, followed by clear and shining tears.

Braginski...

Braginski!

Ivan sat in his temporary office in one of the military tents at his camp. He had his head resting in his palm, and he let his thoughts wander. The begonia flowers at Yao's home must be in blooming season now, he thought. Yet, he would never be able see them from where he was at. Begonias were fragile beauties, they would never last in the harsh snow of his.

"You're not attacking?" Natalia asked him.

"No."

The maiden was severely confused, "Then why did you come all the way here? Are you expecting your "little Bolshevik" to come jumping into your arms and give you a hug? My dear, foolish brother, please wake up. You both are too stubborn. You've come to a stalemate with him before you've even realized what you were doing."

Ivan didn't want to respond. He continued to stare blankly at the half frozen lake before their site. The waves splashed again and again on the stone shore. On the other side of the lake was Yao's home, hidden by a gloomy waft of mist, Ivan couldn't quite see the scenery on the other shore, but he knew on the other side stood a defiant red flag. A flag of Yao and his people.

Ivan rubbed at his hair, he just couldn't quite understand. Why, why is it that even though he loved Yao with all his heart, he couldn't even keep him by his side?

That night, Ivan had a dream.

Endless floating snow was drifting in the sky in his dream, the whole world was covered in glacial and biting white. He was still just a young child wearing a bear fur hat, stumbling and tripping through the prairie of snow. His small face frozen red. Then, a horse-pulled carriage galloped across the crystal ice-frozen lake. He rubbed at his wind-blown teary eyes and tried to decipher through the piercing blizzard the figures that were approaching. The carriage was had a black painted base with red outlines. Tiny golden bells were dangling from the top four corners of the carriage. The chiming of the bells mixed with the stomping of hooves from the horses flowed with the furious wind, crimson manes of the stallions contrasted in the ivory snow. The mysterious carriage flied towards little Ivan.

The carriage gradually came to a halt with the raise of a golden whip.

Ivan narrowed his eyes, tiny flakes speckled his lashes. The silk curtain dressed in breads was lifted with the curl of a smooth and delicate hand. An unfamiliar sweet scent wafted towards Ivan that chased away all the chills in his bones. Then, Ivan saw the tip of the bottom of the eastern traditional dress. Ever so elegantly, a face peered out from the carriage, brows lifted in curiosity.

"…You are…?

The eastern man asked him, unlocking their fate for hundred of years to come.

"Ivan." The child answered without a waver in his voice, head up, and proudly, "My name is Ivan Braginski."

It's all gone in the past. The golden empires, the manipulative treaties…

They're all gone, aren't they?

It's been so many centuries, those old reminiscent memories.

As of now, he is strong and powerful. He'd long grown out of the lost little boy who searched aimlessly for the maroon horse pulled carriage in the snow with an Ushanka on his head. Now, he can destroy anything he loathed. Naturally, including the little Bolshevik that betrayed him.

"Natalia," the next morning, he ordered Belarus who stood outside of the tent, "Retreat."

Pure threats are impractical and futile. He'd made up his mind and toughened his thoughts. He was going to make Yao pay. He was going to chase after him until Yao haven't a penny left in his pockets.

Ivan was going to show him that Russia was the true empire, the true king.

He signed the letter with a flick of his wrist and sent it to China, demanding for massive sums of debts to be repaid.

"It was I that had helped you when you've fallen, now you must return the favour."

China's boss was very strong-willed, Yao was obstinate as well. Despite being impoverished and deprived to the core, they rigidly sent check after check to the far away Kremlin Palace. Only with a single layer of military outfit, the soldiers of Yao trembled at the freezing temperature, their lips frozen blue. But they held their heads high, and not once did they complain.

After going through all that one can imagine, Yao finally arrived at the Kremlin place. Gazing at the crimson walls, it gave him a feeling that all the tides of changed and nothing was the same except for this boldly standing palace. The pine trees were covered in a thick blanket of snow, all carefully designed and neatly trimmed by Ivan's people. Yao rubbed his cheeks in hopes of warming up and took off the basket of apples that he'd been carrying on his back.

These apples were picked right at the moment Autumn had arrived, they were still a bit green but these were the best Yao could manage. Natural disasters were plaguing his home already, he'd been struggling to keep his people alive, how could he possibly find more of the ruby-red fruit for Ivan?

Yao massaged his sore muscles has he waited for Ivan's people to collect his harvests, but even after quite a while, no one had came.

"Perhaps they've forgotten about this."

The empty, extravagant palace felt so lonely and abandoned. The winds outside the windows wailed and banged against the glass like homeless souls yearning for refuge. The shrieks echoed in the courtyard walls.

The sunflowers must have wilted in such an unforgiving climate.

No sunshine, no warmth to be found.

Yao curled up against the stairs, still waiting for collectors. The sky gradually darkened, the blurred flits of snow intensified. In the middle of the flurry formed a shadow. The newcomer wore a heavy winter coat, a fur hat, and was slowly approaching step by step.

As soon as Yao caught sight of the man's face, he choked a bit. Startling cold air pierced his throat. It stung like fire.

The arrival made his way up the stairs and took off his hat to reveal soft, pale blonde hair. He glanced down at Yao, who was wearing quite a stiff expression. He felt his heart clench at the sight. He'd become even skinner since the last time they'd met. Despite the down casting thought, he kept a stoic face and still did not speak. He merely patted away the snow that had layer on him and tidied himself up.

"I've come to bring you these," Yao said coolly, "And I've been waiting for your collectors to come. I didn't think it would be you, personally, Comrade Braginski."

Ivan walked up next to him and reached to inspect an apple from the basket.

"We're currently experiencing severe weather conditions, these are the best I can gather."

Ivan narrowed his eyes, smiling as caustically as ever, "Do you think it matters to me? I don't need these, I only want the best."

He uncurled his fingers and let the apple fall back into the basket with a dull 'plunk'.

Yao shut his eyes, brows knitted together as if in pain.

"How are you doing without my help, Comrade Yao? Can you even stand without stumbling?" Ivan queried.

Yao re-opened his eyes, but did not reply.

"I hope you realize the terrible mistake you've made." Ivan added venomously.

"What have you taken me for?" Yao let out a cold breath of laughter.

He then suddenly lifted his foot to knock over the basket of apples, causing the greenish red apples to tumble out like caramel candies on the floor. With the candy jar broken, fresh and sweet romance oozed out, turning grey.

The dark-haired man turned and left, his dark green military figure faded slowly from Ivan's sight. The snow kept falling, covering layer upon layer of disappearing footprints.

Crimson apples laid silently in the milky white snow, hiding themselves in the growing coat of flakes. The fruits as warm-colored as beads of fresh blood turned so quiet and still. A love growing cold was so unforgiving and merciless.

Ivan glared at Yao's vanishing figure, and finally couldn't help but rub his teary red eyes in frustration and misery. He rushed out into the snow without a care of getting wet again and lifted the basket upright. He then plucked each and every apple out of the snow, polishing his them off with his clothes and put them neatly back in the basket. Frozen drops of ice formed on his lashes just to be harshly wiped off again, his eyes stung, but Ivan didn't care.

You owe me Yao Wang, you owe me. I loath those who betray me, especially you.

Ivan sat in the snow and took a big bite out of a fruit. He chewed angrily, feeling the juice sliding down his throat. It stung more than any spirit and liquor.

Both of them clung to their worries in ignorance that their former lovers were doing the same. Yao still wore the pair of old shoes that Ivan has given him, sewing patches and holes again and again just to keep wearing it a while longer. One line after another, not wanting to give them up—the shoes that don't fit.

…The same shoes that had knocked over the fruit basket and their love.

The characters are portrayed in more serious personalities, after all, this is a more of a historical fic...more than anything else.

I hope they don't seem too OOC to some of you :)

...TO BE CONTINUED