By the time Yao arrived at Moscow, it was already midnight. The airport was empty, only a handful of people could be seen scurrying around to their destinations. Yao rubbed his cold hands together and pulled his coat tighter around his body. He looked around for any familiar faces but found none.

One minute passed.

Five minutes passed.

Half an hour passed.

He stood alone in the half deserted airport, anxiousness creeping into his mind. The warmth in his chest gradually cooled down until he was nothing but a puddle of cold water. The cold breeze pierced into his mind and started to wash away his confidence. Yao started to doubt if he was really meant to be here. He fretted uneasily. Maybe Braginsky did not welcome him at all. Maybe he was still upset about Yao leaving him to wait alone at the world conference.

Yao gripped onto his suitcase, still mentally stressing out.

What would he do now? Go home? Find a hotel first? He stared at his feet with endless hesitation.

Yao Wang, you are an idiot. A complete fool. Completely.

He forcefully dragged his suitcase behind him as he stomped towards the exit of the waiting room, reproaching himself for flying all the way to Moscow when his people still needed him to help deal with all the problems at hand back home. He was a fool. He angrily yelled at himself in his head, Ivan was a jerk for inviting him over just to leave him hanging. All of the people in Russia were imbeciles too, see—there was a man waiting for his flight, all sprawled out on a long bench, asleep! How rude!

Yao's mood was down in the pits. He couldn't help it, when he was felt irritated, he was annoyed by everyone and everything.

"Excuse me, mister," he said brusquely, obviously irked, "could you please get up? You're blocking my way."

No response.

Yao took a deep breath and raised his voice.

"Mister, can you please get up?"

The man seemed to be fighting a battle with the blinding lights of the waiting room, eyes fluttering in attempt to blink away the brightness. He slapped a newspaper article onto his face. Yao did not see clearly the visage of him, but as the man crossly opened his eyes, Yao froze at the sight of the crystal pools of violet.

"…Braginsky…" he managed to choke out after what seemed like forever.

Ivan jolted in surprise as well, mouth hanging open. He looked like a complete idiot.

"…Why are you sleeping here," Yao's mind was racings a thousand miles per minute, but all he managed to get out was a stupid question. Ivan sat up on the bench, looking like a child being scolded. He rubbed his soft blond hair and mumbled.

"…I've been waiting since the afternoon, but you hadn't showed up…" he trailed off, "Natalie said you wouldn't come, but I wanted to wait just a while more."

Yao noticed how rattled Ivan looked. His pale hair had grown longer than it had been the last time they met. His scarf was wrinkled and hastily thrown on. Yao felt a squeeze at his throat. Perhaps Ivan was just cold and tired from all the waiting, he reassured himself.

They stepped out of the airport.

The two men walked shoulder to shoulder in the snow-covered streets, both buried deep in their thoughts as they treaded through the frosty night. They both were too afraid to talk.

The creamy white snow crunched satisfyingly under their feet. Ivan carried Yao's suitcase in one hand, and held the umbrella for both of them in the other. His breath formed puffs of white clouds.

"…"

"…"

"Um…I received the medicine herbs you sent me." Ivan couldn't stand it anymore and stammered to Yao.

Yao hummed in response.

"…I got your pen."

"…I got your tea…"

Their conversation must have seemed quite bizarre to anyone else, but Ivan's hands just shivered. The umbrella tilted more towards Yao, leaving Ivan's shoulder peeking out. By now it was covered with speckles of snow flakes. Yao quickly snapped his head towards Ivan.

"And uh, your sunflowers were beautiful.

"Thank you."

The conversation of gratitude came to an end. The men fell into silence again.

Ivan then tilted his head up to glance at the dark, charcoal sky.

"…We should take a cab back. The snow seems to be getting worse."

Yao nodded.

They stood beside a lamp post waiting for the taxi. Soft flakes of snow fell gently like pieces into place. Yao snuck a glance at Ivan, noticing how unwell he looked. He had dull circles around his eyes, his hair was long and ruffled as it dangled lifelessly beside his ears. His face had become bonier as his cheekbones protruded.

Yao hesitated for a moment before softly touching the other's elbow.

"…Um…Let me hold the umbrella."

Ivan was surprised and touched as the same time, but he shook his head.

"I'll hold it, it's fine."

Yao ignored him and stretched his arm out to take hold of the umbrella. He shook it slightly, letting all the fluffy snow sprinkle down to the ground.

The muted light above them melted into the cold air. The two men beneath the umbrella smiled under the darkness.

Ivan stared at Yao, wanting to thank him. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

"…You should know better than to only wear two layers. To think that you'd know the—"

Yao was in the middle of his sentence when he abruptly broke off. For Ivan had suddenly, without warning, pulled him into a tight and unforgiving embrace. He held on to Yao in a bone crushing grip. He couldn't hold in his emotions anymore, for he had suppressed them for the longest time already. All the pain and all the misery.

Yao did not feel his fingers loosen, but the umbrella soon ended up on the ground, plunged into the snow.

The dim light reflected in Yao's eyes. Amidst the flurry of snow, he held him.

At the end of the long trail of footprints in the snow lingered the history down the path that they had treaded on together. Each step was imprinted, deep into the countries' memoirs.

Ivan rested his head in the crook of the other's shoulder. Yao couldn't make out his expression, but he could feel Ivan slightly trembling, and he could hear his deep rumbly voice.

"They all said that I was going mad. They said that you weren't going to come, they said that you didn't even care about me anymore—like that time at the world conference, where I waited alone…for someone that I did not even have a chance with…."

The words pierced into Yao's heart. Filled with sadness and guilt.

"Yao…now that my leader is gone, I don't know who to rely on anymore. I don't know anyone except for you that I'd want to attend the funeral with." he took a sharp breath in, trying to conceal the waver of tears in his voice.

Yao closed his eyes, lifting his arms to wrap them gently around Ivan's waist. The big man was crying like a little child.

"Ivan…" Yao said, "Please don't cry…"

They stood in the snowy night, engulfed in each other's embraces for the longest time. The snow fell silently and kissed their hair and their coats. It was so cold, yet so warm. The wind lifted the corners of their clothes, floating in the night.

Ivan's hand ran though Yao's hair and over his back. He repeated the man's name again and again, his voice filled with sincerity and cherish.

Yao.

Little Bolshevik.

"…The day that I left you in the plaza…how long did you stay to wait?" Yao asked tentatively, his face half buried in the soft scarf.

"The whole afternoon, until Toris came crying to me, telling me to go home." Ivan replied.

"Do you know why I didn't come?"

"…"

"I burnt the old pair of shoes you gave me." Yao continued, "But I saw that you still had the Bolshevik badge on your chest. Ivan, I wasn't ready to face you, I didn't know what to do. I felt so burdened for some reason. And I am guilty of that to this day."

"Ivan." Yao said again after a moment of pause. He ran his fingers over the cold surface of Ivan's badge, "…On the day I burnt the shoes, I chugged down all your vodkas. I was drunk, but still so clearly focused. Yet, I still burnt them. I thought that I could burn away all the bad memories as well."

Ivan stayed silent.

"If you had asked about it, what would I have answered? I couldn't think of an excuse, Ivan. I wanted to keep it a secret from you." Yao took a breath, "I thought that you might be angry."

"…No. How could I?" Ivan said, "It is your possession. You can burnt it all you want, you can sell it, do whatever to it. Why would I be angry?"

Yao took a few steps back and lifted his chin to meet the taller's eyes.

"….Ivan."

"Don't say anything…Yao, I won't interfere with your affairs anymore. If you have your own path to pursue, I will not stop you. I've decided."

Yao contemplated Ivan's words, then softly spoke.

"Thank you."

Ivan shot a tear-stained smile at Yao and bent over to gently kiss his cold lips. He warmed them with his patience and his understanding. Yao welcomed the touch and unconsciously wrapped his arms around the man's neck and pulled him closer.

That night, Ivan did not take Yao to the hotel. Instead, he took him directly back to the Kremlin Palace.

"At one point, you kicked over a basket of unripened apples here," the polar bear-like man pointed at the snowy clearing outside the palace doors.

Yao humphed and retorted, "At one point, you complained to me that my apples were too small and too sour."

They stared each other down for a moment, then burst out in laughter. The lively sound filling the quiet, winter air.

"…I had thought that I'd lost everything we had between us, Comrade Ivan." he said to him.

"I'd thought that you would never come back, Comrade Yao."

"…I never forgot the times we spend together." Yao took a deep breath and said calmly, "Battling in the wars together, planning our foreign affairs together. Debts, trade, war…no matter the bad or the good, I never forgot anything that we had together. But every time I think of all the things we had, I feel as though I can't live a day without you anymore."

"And…it just feels so empty here." Ivan pressed a hand on his chest, directly above his heart. He then extended his arms to hold Yao again, "Yao, I'm aware of how messed up and confused I am, and I know that you do too."

He paused, as if he was sorting through his thoughts right then and there.

"Not long after, I heard of the news that both you and Honda Kiku had started to meet up with Jones. I just felt that something was being stolen from me. It felt terrible. All this time…I felt terrible. And left alone."

"I know you haven't been eating properly as well." he couldn't tell if Yao sounded concerned or reproachful, "Torturing yourself like that, Braginsky, you really are an idiot."

The second day, Ivan and Yao woke early in the morning.

Clean up. Get dressed.

Ivan's boss's funeral was momentous, yet simple. Just like the former president himself.

He was gone forever, yet the badges still remained, the money was still there. The disappointment never left. Perhaps life was footprints on the sand. Nothing belonged to an individual except for the marks left behind. Yet even the marks will get washed away as time goes on.

Ivan stepped forward to gently rest a bouquet of radiant sunflowers beside the peaceful-looking old man. During the whole duration of the funeral, Yao stayed standing behind Ivan, silently watching him.

Has he gotten used to this yet?

Even the greatest leaders of a nation will pass someday. None of them could stop that from happening. The choice left for them was to get used to it.

They'd gotten so accustomed that they themselves have transformed into daunting beings. Not even the deaths of their leaders could bring tears to their eyes.

Ivan accepted the scarlet red flag from the general and unfolded it with great skill. He then gracefully laid it over the old man's body. It somehow fit perfectly.

"Long live, the Bolsheviks."

The words rang out clear and sharp. Ivan's voice echoed throughout the empty snowfield until it was completely swept away into the hungry winds' stomach.

He turnt to Yao, "That red flag over there—it is the most esteemed award of all. As long as one wears it, he is the hero of the Soviet, with courage and pride. It is tinted red by the boiling blood of my workers. It holds my very soul. Only those who are acknowledged by me may wear it. Yao, do you understand?"

Yao nodded solemnly. He gazed at the former president resting beneath the brilliant red flag of the hammer and sickle.

Perhaps…I do understand.

The grand national anthem sounded. White doves fluttered over their heads.

Gun shots.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

The Soviet's bravery, pride, and determination.

The red flag—the most esteemed award of all.

Yao suddenly realized, even with his own new shoes, as he was walking through the snowy plaza, he started to feel cold.

When evening came, Yao tagged along to the kitchen to help Toris out in preparing dinner. The green-eyed man was so grateful that he had tears threatening to fall out of his eyes when he saw Yao coming to help. He had clung to Yao, pleading him to teach him how to make dumplings, complaining that Ivan always gives him a hard time only because he didn't know how to make dumplings.

Yao didn't know how he should feel about that—although he was quite amused.

After their meal together, Yao took a shower and returned to the bedroom. He saw Ivan sitting on the bed, eyes glued to the television. The channel was running on a news report as Ivan sat frozen with the remote control still in his hand. On the screen was Alfred's forever-grinning face, reporting on some new scientific discovery, all while not forgetting to add his infamous "'Cause I'm the Hero!", he then proceeded to give the camera a wink. The interviewer sounded a bit exasperated as he carried on to the next question. It could have just been Yao's imagination, though.

Someone ought to teach this boy some formal public speaking skills.

Yao still had his towel draping over his still dripping wet hair. He occasionally gave his long hair a rub as the droplets rolled down onto his shoulders. He sat beside Ivan, and the soft mattress dipped a bit from the weight. Yao glanced at the television for a moment, then glanced back at Ivan. He wore a quite amusing expression. Ivan looked like he was forced to swallow a bug.

"If he annoys you, then don't watch him. Just switch the channel." Yao's lips tugged upward.

Ivan just replied with an 'oh', then pressed the button.

The channel switched to a music program. They watched in silence as classical orchestral music filled the room. Yao's hands brushed against the badge on Ivan's coat lying on the bed. He turned to stare at it.

"This…" he traced the star shaped badge with his fingers, "Why didn't you throw it away?"

"Just because you burnt your shoes doesn't mean that I have to give up my badge too." Ivan smiled curiously. Then after pausing, he added, "Comrade Yao, I do not act upon choices that I will regret in the future."

Yao had nothing to say about that.

Instead, he simply continued to dry his hair on the towel resting on his shoulders.

"Whenever you see this badge…won't you be reminded of hating me?"

"About what?"

"…Burning your sunflowers, your posters…betraying you."

Ivan smiled again, propping his hands on the bedside and leaned in close to Yao.

"No matter who, everyone will look at history with a prejudiced perspective. But I think I'd have to reverse our conversation ask you: weren't you reminded of your hate towards whenever you saw the pair of shoes?"

"Yes, I was." Yao admitted, he could feel Ivan's soft breath tickling his chest. "I hated you so much."

"…How come you didn't lie to me this time?"

"There's no need to. Ivan, you were the only one to reach out to me during the Second World War. I had no choice but to take your hand." he looked straight into Ivan's eyes, he saw his own reflection staring back, "But now, I know I have the power to stand up for myself, not like before. I know I cannot keep relying on you."

As Ivan did not speak, he continued, "But you are not alone anymore, Ivan."

Ivan continued to hold his silence before nodding his head in a surprisingly calm manner.

"I understand, Comrade Yao. We are two different nations at the end of the day, we cannot seek to stay as one forever."

Yao nodded.

"But Ivan, please know this, if I wasn't a nation…I really would love you unconditionally no matter what."

Ivan smiled painfully, his handsome face was written with woe.

"I was so fearless before, I killed, conquered, and took advantage of all the others. Before I met you, I really was a different person. I've been blinded by you, haven't I?"

"Yes." Yao replied.

Ivan scoffed, "You've become so honest, it's getting on my nerves."

Yao teasingly pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose and said, "Then move out of the way, I'm sleeping with Toris tonight."

Ivan, being the rogue he was, straight out locked Yao in his strong grip and held him like a teddy bear.

"No. You're not getting away from me." He then suddenly leaned in a whispered vaguely, "You're going to cry for me tonight."

Yao chewed on his cheek and swallowed. His lip twitched as he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right words, so he compliantly closed his mouth instead. Ivan tugged on his wrist, urging him to lie down next to him. The lights went out for the night.

That's it for chapter 11 :D

The rest is up to your imagination!

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To be continued...