Obsession

A Hetalia story.

Chapter Five: Alone

"How come nobody saw him?"

Toris couldn't find the answer written on his hands. "I have no clue… He was like a ghost…"

The policeman wonders if the heat is even running. He feels so frozen, he can hardly guide the pencil across the page. When the Lithuanian clutches his fists, the dried mud makes a distinctive crunch, which makes him cringe at the idea of a knife piercing a piece of bone.

"Did your brothers get a good look at him?"

The strange man's head moves in an indistinctive nod. "They still didn't understand… didn't know…"

A sudden flicker from the lights has the veteran launched to his feet, glancing around, expecting it to be the shadow of Ivan Braginsky. A strangled chuckle leaves his mouth. A story such as this late at night is beginning to take his toll.

"You see what I feel?" He looks back at Toris, who is fixated on the offended light. "Jumping at shadows. Unable to relax when you know he can be in the darkness."

Shivering a little, the cop lowers himself down into his seat. "Yeah… I understand some of it now…"

Toris plants his foot on the floor so he could push himself up from his slouch, to lean his forearms heavily on the table. "I thought coming face to face with him in a room full of people was the scariest."

"Then what was..?"

The Lithuanian's fingers trace the veins of the table with vague interest, searching for his words. "The next time I met him. And the time after that. He just got worse and worse…"

The officer glances down at his phone, the LED illuminating underneath the table. He could see the streams of blood and dirt caking the floor, and he nearly forgets to check the time. Three o'clock. This was defiantly a long story, but he would stick it out until the end: something compels him, the need to know he can't trust a stranger's face overriding the absurdity that kept him there.

"What happened the next time…?"

A broken smile, the muscles in his face straining harder to make it, surfaces on the manager's face. "Well first… we all had to go back to work…"

And Toris Laurinaitis, plus the entire team, were expecting the worse, when they step into the office of the coach and owner of the Rebels—better known as Toris's boss.

"What do you mean Mathias can't play for four to six weeks?!"

Toris cringes when he drops the stack of papers in his hands, gesturing dramatically to the cast around their goaltenders arm. He feels a hollow pang in his stomach, something along the lines of sympathy for Mathias, and guilt that he is responsible for the injury.

"That's what the doc said." Mathias gives the plastic covering a pat, like it is no biggy.

"Do you realize I won't be able to find another goaltender before our next game!"

"Dude we can just use the substitute." Alfred pipes up, but the Coach shakes his head violently at that.

Toris feels so horrible. It is all his fault. Why would his boss let him keep his job, after he successfully got their goaltender injured? He wishes he could do something, anything to fix it what he thinks he had caused, although he had no power over Ivan that night.

"We'll have to forfeit the next game…" The coach sighs, massaging his temples in his hand.

"You can't." Berwald says, before he's cut off by Mathias.

"Those are the Maple Leaves! We can't cancel that game!"

The coach snaps a glare in his direction. "Well if you weren't hurt, I wouldn't have to."

The Lithuanian is growing uncomfortable, and Alfred could tell. Tenderly, he rests a hand on his shoulder, but the manager doesn't look up at him.

"He didn't get hurt on purpose." Vash points out.

The coach crosses his arms. "Then what happened."

The team lapses into silence, not sure how to explain it, not exactly understanding what had happened in the first place. The American gives Toris's shoulder a soft squeeze; it is enough to make the manager snap beneath the weight of his emotion.

"It's my fault." His bottom lip trembles and his chest aches. He prays he would be wiped off the face of the planet. "I am responsible for Mathias getting hurt…"

His boss looks shocked. "Toris… You…?"

"Woah woah woah!" Gilbert intervenes, waving his arms. "It wasn't his fault!"

"It was Ivan Braginsky." Ludwig grabs the back of his shirt, to make sure his brother doesn't launch himself across the desk.

"He snuck into my party and threatened Toris. I went to defend him and he slammed me into the wall." Mathias explains, his sapphire eyes puncturing the Lithuanian's heart. "It was not Toris's fault at all."

Toris couldn't figure out why he is so elated and injured at the same time. He cracks a smile, but it fades when a dark look crosses over their coach's face. He is almost certain that he is going to get in trouble. His chest throbs harder at the thought of losing his job again, to the very person who got him a new beginnings in the first place.

Very softly, almost inaudibly, Toris speaks into Alfred's shoulder, with little hope that his words would save his job at this point. "Besides… Lars has played goaltender before… he could step in for Mathias…"

Lars perks up at the sound of his name, and when the manager looks up, the entire team is smiling softly at him. He quickly lowers them.

"Oh really?" The coach considers, eying the new Dutch player. "I didn't know that. Is this true?"

"Yes. Goaltender for long time." Lars scratches the back of his head.

"Toris is still an awesome manager am I right?" Mathias waggles his eyebrow at the coach, causing him to roll his eyes at the player. Toris almost dreads his response.

"Yes, you're right. For once!"

"HEY!"

Slowly, the manager raises his eyes again, and is almost shocked by the smile on his boss's face. He isn't angry. He isn't furious at Toris for messing up, like so many other bosses have been. A feeling of relief drowns him. He releases his hold on Alfred's jacket, and stands up a little straighter. The American smiles down at him. He can feel the gentle pats on his back, the soft reassurance that they are still happy that he was a part of the group. The Lithuanian has never felt so at home with anyone other than his brothers; and now these guys have become his family. It's almost enough to forget about the player who once wore the number 83.

Almost.

"You boys go get dressed for practice." When Toris turns to leave, his boss calls him by name. "But I would like to speak to Toris privately."

Any elation from before, quickly deflates. The team shuffles past him, sending him quiet encouragements and another round of pats before the door finally shutters shut, and it is only him and his boss. The last time Toris was in this situation, he was handed his termination papers and then kicked out the door quietly.

The manager swallows hard as the coach folds his hands on top of his desk, and fixes him with a firm gaze.

"Toris…" The Lithuanian squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, already reciting the apology he would give Eduard and Raivis when he got home. "Is Ivan Braginsky becoming a problem?

Toris's eyes open suddenly. He had not been expecting that. "I can get you a restraining order if you want. I don't want another incident to happen to my favorite manager."

It finally feels like the manager could breathe again, and as a result, a fluttery laugher escapes. He is becoming paranoid!

"That's alright sir. It wasn't anything really." The coach doesn't look convinced, but Toris doesn't want him to go out of his way. "This only happened once. I'm sure he won't do it again."

What he is saying, the Lithuanian isn't sure he is convinced of. The persistent texts, the sudden arrival, all of it didn't link to the fact that he would leave him alone. But after the party… why would he persist? The team obviously would try to protect the manager, so shouldn't that be enough of a warning to leave him alone or else?

"Well alright…" The coach finally says, before getting to his feet. "Stay safe then. And keep up the good work."

Toris smiles softly. "Yes, sir."

While his boss turns to head towards the rink, the manager starts to walk by his office. He notices in passing that Arthur is hard at work, his ear pressed to the phone, but before he could quietly sneak past him, the man waves him down.

"You have a call on line two." He says, pulling the phone away from his mouth briefly. "Says it's urgent."

Toris nods his head, but his mind is spinning elsewhere. It had to be Ivan. Who else would call him? Maybe he shouldn't have declined his boss's offer; he feels so vulnerable and exposed, especially when he still has to walk three yards to his office door.

The Lithuanian tries to coach himself, but each step feels like a thunk of a cinder block against the floor. His heart is beating faster than Alfred's car could ever hope to match, and it is drumming in his head and down to his toes. His hands feel so cold, that he has to rub them together, and still is unable improve the temperature. The hairs on his neck are erect, and when Toris reaches out to turn the door knob, his hand slips and squeaks. He takes a deep breath, but it doesn't help; reluctantly, and after a few trials, he manages to get the door open, and closes it softly with a click. Why is Ivan doing this?

"I don't want money… I want Tori…~!"

A blinking red light stares angrily at the manager, who couldn't pry his back away from the door. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to hear that heavy Russian voice taunt him with Raivis's nickname—but he has to.

His heartbeat doesn't steady as he moves to his seat, plopping down heavily, staring back at the light as if it is a contest. His arms are numb at this point—so numb in fact, that he couldn't even feel them as he lifts the phone from his cradle, presses the number two, and shakenly whispers a hello into the device.

"Toris!"

A sudden feeling crosses over him, and all he wants to do is cry. In relief. The voice on the phone is recognizable—and most defiantly not Ivan's.

"Feliks..?"

"I'm like, so sorry I have to call you at work, but I didn't get your phone number." Toris's cheeks warms at this. He had wanted his number? "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah I'm fine." A certain giddiness rises in his chest, and it overrides the sensation of fear. It makes his chest feel like it is lighter than air, and his limps are the only reason he is tethered to the ground.

"That's great! I can't believe what happened though…" He could almost imagine those lips puckering in distain. A shiver runs down Toris's spine. "Oh yeah, before I forget, I have a question for you. I'd hate to keep you from your work."

"What is it?" Toris asks, his eyes on the phone, writing down the number he saw on the caller ID.

"Would you like to, I dunno, go out for some coffee? Let's say tonight?"

His mind is screaming yes. How could he turn down the perfect blond he saw at the party? He never believed in love at first sight, but he has defiantly fallen head over heels on the idea of Feliks—and he didn't even know his last name. However, obligations bind the Lithuanian, and even as his heart sinks at the thought, he knows he has to honor them.

"I don't know if I can…" He admits. "I don't want to leave my little brother Raivis all alone…"

"Oh…"

Toris could hear something in Feliks's voice. Is it disappointment? Had he been really looking forward to it?

"I can see if my other brother is off work though." Toris quickly says. "And if he is, I can go."

Something perks up in Feliks's next words. "Great. Text me when you know. Hopefully I'll see you later. Peace!"

Toris never slammed the phone harder into the receiver, digging quickly in his desk for his cellphone. His thumbs moves with miraculously speed across the keyboard, hoping his urgency could be felt as he sends the text to Eduard. He sits the phone down and watches, waiting and hoping with bated breath, until it seems like an hour has lapsed before the phone buzzes again. He snatches it before it can fall off the table.

No, I don't have work today. Why.

Toris can't help but laugh. Could he finally say things are getting back on track without jinxing himself? This lightness reaches his head, making him feel as if he is on Cloud 9 as he responds to Feliks.

This is Toris. My brother isn't working. I can come.

His response comes within a few seconds.

It's a date then. Meet me at that coffee shop at the corner. Let's say, when you get off work.

Toris must have had an amusing expression on his face, because when he hurried to bid Arthur goodbye, the Brit nearly laughs and asks him what had happened to make him so rambunctious. Explaining what the phone call was about, the man grins all knowingly and wishes him good luck before he is nearly tackled by Alfred.

"Hey dude!" Alfred squeezes Arthur, causing him to smack his arm for him to release him. Alfred smiles and waves a hand at Toris, but the manager can't respond at the speed his legs are carrying him.

The weather seems to mirror the manager's ecstatic mood. Perhaps if someone is to ask him as he strolls down the sidewalks who Ivan Braginsky is, he probably couldn't recall. It has been quite a long time since he was able to go on a date. This would be a night to remember.

He stops in front of a building a short walk away from the coffee shop, checking his hair in the window. It is a little wild from this morning's burst of wind, and smoothing it down didn't help. Thicker swaps of black circles adorn his eyes, and he realizes he forgot to conceal them this morning. He hoped Feliks wouldn't be disgusted.

It takes more courage, Toris thinks, to walk into that coffee shop than it did his office door.

"Toris!" His eyes instantly catch the beautiful blond, sitting in a booth near a window, the luminescence haloing his presence in the room. He crosses the shop and sits across from him, receiving almost mischievous smile. "What took you so long? Got lost on the way?" He teases, his head perched in his hands.

"I'm sorry, it's kind of long walk."

"You walked?" Toris nods his head. He has to walk everywhere. It's practically second nature. "I bet that's hard work."

"Not really…?" Feliks eyes never leave him. They are searching for something, and Toris self-consciously wonders if he even has it, whatever it maybe. Finally, they settle on his neck.

"I ordered you a cappuccino is you don't mind." Feliks says, gently pushing the Styrofoam cup to the manager's side.

"I actually love cappuccinos. Thank you."

Is this what an accomplished life feels like?

"So tell me exactly what you do in that office all day…"

"So he just kept going? With a broken leg?"

"They don't call us champions for, like, nothing!"

Toris laughs at this, the night air seeping into his jacket. Feliks matches his pace beside him, looking extravagant as he's captured by the light of passing lamps.

"This was such a great night. It's been a long time since I was on a date." Toris admits sheepishly, causing the mischievous grin to surface on the blonde's face.

"Oh really?" He inquires, his arms latching onto Toris's. "So how was it? On a scale from 1 to 10."

"20."

Giving his arm a satisfied squeeze, Feliks lets go, but Toris already misses his warmth.

"I'm glad you had a good time. We should do it again."

"Defiantly..."

Toris feels an ache when he waves goodbye to Feliks, who returns the route they came. He had insisted that he would walk the Lithuanian home, but Toris would have rather it been the other way around. Looking in the window, he sees the lights to the living room still on. Eduard must still be up, but that isn't surprising.

Gently, he eases the key into the lock and turns, being careful not to wake Raivis. He steps inside, and shakes the chill from his clothes before shutting and relocking the door.

"Eduard…?" He softly calls, undoing the buttons to his jacket. There is no response.

Taking off his shoes and hanging his coat up, he pads to the living room. Too many good things are happening all at once, that he has to release some of this giddy tension from his throat.

"Eduard, can I talk to you about—"

He stops dead in the doorway, whatever he was going to say dying in his mouth, all the warmth from his entry rushing from his body to leave him stark and frozen.

Eduard isn't sitting on the couch. Eduard isn't in the room at all. No, sitting on the couch, smiling up at the Lithuanian, is Ivan Braginsky himself. He is in his home, where his brothers are supposed to be as well.

"You seemed to have been gone for a long time." Ivan notes, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's very irresponsible for you to leave your younger brothers all alone you know."

Toris's eyes are on the front door, cursing himself for locking it. How was he supposed to know? Feliks is probably out of yelling distance anyway.

"Where's… Where's my brothers…"

The man grin wide at Toris, causing a queasy feeling to stir in his stomach. He doesn't like this smile. It chills his very core.

"They are sound asleep." Ivan chuckles. "I'm almost a better brother than you. I have to watch out for them, something you should be doing."

Toris's stomach is knotted with fear, overlapped in worry and drenched in realization, an undesirable combination that makes him want to throw up.

"You watch my brothers…"

Ivan picks an invisible speck of dust from his clothes. "Almost as closely as you."

Toris senses his legs go out from underneath him before he can comprehend it, the will to flee running itself as the floor catches him. Why is he doing his?! Why couldn't he just leave them alone? Toris wants to voice these, but he can't. Not when Ivan's standing up. This time, he doesn't have anyone to call for; and if he could help it, he wouldn't get his brothers involved.

Ivan takes a step forward, and planting his arms behind him, Toris scoots away, his useless legs trying to propel him forward. Why did they stop working! It is probably the result of the lack of blood, all of it working to keep Toris's frantic heart pumping.

"Don't run away Tori~!" Another step, and Toris is running out of room to back up. Desperately, he shakes one his legs to get the circulation going, but it is like that smile had turned it to stone.

"Don't you want to thank your savior?" Toris's back bumps into the wall, and with Ivan blocking each direction, there is nowhere to go, no one to save him. He tries to breathe but it is caught in his lungs, his little gasps an indication that he is absolutely terrified.

This is much worse than the party, alone with this man. His hands instinctively reach up, and flinch when it makes contact with the bruise. That's what Feliks had been staring at the coffee shop.

"I was working… I couldn't help it…" The Lithuanian squeaks when Ivan gets close, the heavy sent of vodka on his breath. It causes him to wrinkle his nose, and turn his head away.

"Why do you keep lying to me Tori? I think you need a punishment." Ivan reaches into his pocket, but Toris didn't want to know what he brought.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He stutters, his hands on Ivan's arm. "Please don't hurt me…!"

He tries to make his voice soft, but as desperate as he feels, because although he doesn't want Ivan to do anything, he most defiantly doesn't want Raivis waking up to find them.

Ivan sighs wishfully. "I just want to take you out Tori. Why won't you let me? I just want you to become one with me. That's all I ask."

Something tells the manager that becoming one with him is something much darker than it sounded. But what choice does a defenseless Toris have?

"I—I'll go on a date with you!" Toris could hear a door creak down the hall—Raivis's. "How about tomorrow, 5 o-o'clock!"

Ivan's face lights up. "Sounds wonderful! I'll be waiting Tori!"

He leans forward, a places a bitter kiss on Toris's forehead, before making his satisfied exit. Footsteps sound near Toris, and he cringes, curling himself up tight, and his tears filling in his eyes when the full force of what just happens deteriorates him. His head throbs from the overdrive.

"Tori…?" At the sound of Raivis's, his little innocent voice, saying that name that is now so vile, Toris retches. Alarmed, the youngest brother runs to get Eduard. When he returns, Toris is paler than before, and shaking harder still.

"Raivis…" The manager breathes through his mouth, wiping what he could around it with his sleeve. "I need… I need you to call Alfred okay…"

Raivis scurries to do so. Eduard kneels by his brother side, and when Toris looks up at him, he appears as if he is scolding the Lithuanian.

"You made such a mess. Now I have to clean it up…"

No, Toris thinks, his mind weakening, I have to clean it up. Tomorrow. At 5 o'clock.

A victim doesn't want to be named so.

-Soul Spirit-