Yeah, yeah, yeah! Here's the repost of chapter three~! Not much change~!
Matthew woke aware of a steady pounding under his ear, loud, persistent and determinedly even. He moaned a little, delirious, and unaware of his surroundings, only of the warmth, the dark and the comforting presence of that beat. That seemed to call quietly:
I'm here… I'm here… I'm here…
He shifted, seeking to press as close as he could to that warm presence. And fell into a sleep born if exhaustion.
::::
They were all gone, Francis, Arthur, Alfred…all of them were gone. All that was left was the darkness, the silence, the loneliness. Far worse than being forgotten and unnoticed. This solitude hurt too much, they were not dead, but they had left him, he was alone. No one cared, he was finally remembered, but they didn't want him. He could already feel the shadows converging to feast on his bones, and this time he would not return…
Something silky was pressed to Matthew's cheek when next he woke; he was hot, though not uncomfortably so. Groaning, he turned over and sat up, instantly regretting the motion. It had shed layers of down comforter, leaving skin that had previously been covered and warm exposed to frigidly cold air.
His head buzzed like a nest of angry hornets for several moments as waves of dizzy vertigo and confusion washed over him in waves. Where am I? He wondered briefly before it all came rushing back, along with the dreams of the night before. A single tear trickled down his cheek silently.
Matthew wiped the trail of the tear away, obliterating all trace of its existence.
The wooden floor was wickedly cold on his feet as he swung his legs out of the bed, making him hiss in discomfort and pull the blankets up around his bare shoulders. There were a pair of blue velour slippers on the floor and as Matthew reached for them eagerly he noticed that someone had placed a stack of clothing on the foot of the bed. He slid towards it, pulling his feet back onto the bed—worming them back under the covers in an attempt to regain a bit of the lost warmth— taking the slippers with him.
After a brief inspection Matthew began to don them. Light indigo Flannel pajamas that fit strangely well, and a black velvet smoking jacket. He put the slippers on, sliding his feet back out of the bed, and stood uncertainly, tying the sash of the smoking jacket around his waist.
He headed for the door; it opened to a dark, subtly warmer hallway. Matthew looked in both directions, and seeing light at one end, slid out of the room and began to make his way hesitantly towards it.
"…You'll never know dear, how much I love you…. please don't take my sunshine away…I'll always love you…" the song continued quietly until Matthew stepped into the doorway from which the light came. Then it stopped with a jerk "кто-нибудь там?" Matthew didn't understand the words, but the tone said it all. He stepped into a wine colored living room.
"I-I'm sorry…" he said, timidly, afraid that Russia would be angry over the intrusion. Said country was sprawled on a couch upholstered in rich burgundy velvet, with a half empty vodka bottle in one hand, a dried sunflower pressed to his chest in the other, and a creepy expression on his face, though it was hard to tell in which way it was creepy, a little to blank, maybe.
"Ah… its little Matvey then…would you like to join me, da. Or are you to afraid of me?" he said his tone like softly frayed and brittle parchment around the edges. Matthew took it as the kind of question you had to agree to, and moved to sit in a chair across from Ivan, feeling the warmth from the flickering fire on the hearth.
"Here. Take the edge off the cold with a little of this. Da." Ivan said, extending the half empty bottle, Matthew grasped it gingerly—he didn't usually drink much—and put it to his lips taking a frugal sip. It burned down his throat, not entirely unpleasant; he coughed twice at the fiery sensation, and tried again. This time he didn't cough.
"You like it, da?" He took another—bigger—sip and nodded; now enjoying the heat scorching through his veins.
Russia giggled inwardly as Canada's cheeks quickly turned a charming pink. My, my what a light drinker he was. Ivan had already drunk another bottle to himself, and could feel that he was only slipping up a little, what with the singing and such… speaking of which:
"You sing, нет?"
Matthew gave a little hiccup, took a no longer sparing swig, and replied.
"O-oui, a little, in French…"
"Sing me something, Da?"
"S-sure, let me think…" he went silent. Russia watched the other country as he thought his face finally brightening as he began to hum out a tune. Then his humming bled flawlessly into flowing French, and Russia suddenly found himself immobile, unable—and afraid—to make a sound for fear that Matthew may have stopped.
"*Des yeux qui font baisser les miens,
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche—
Voilà le portrait sans retouche
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens.
Quand il me prend dans ses bras,
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose…*"
Russia was frozen, inarticulate and burning inside as Canada continued, trailing off to a finish the song on a gentle note. This beautiful thing did not belong here, he could not stay, and Ivan refused to make him. Ivan broke the silence with a deep intake of breath and stood, ridged, staring at the sunflower still in his hand. He glared silently for barely a second, making Matthew blanch and turn pale in fear.
He took one more long breath:
"Make yourself at home, da. I will inform the council of your whereabouts…da." The last word seemed more like it was directed towards himself, as if he was fighting to convince himself that he would indeed do as he had said. With that final statement he swiftly swept out of the room, leaving Matthew frozen, like a mouse under the gaze of an owl that just might spot it and swoop down to put an end to its luck.
Here's where the chapter order become hell in a hand basket! .
Matthew is falling off a cliff. A review will help Ivan get there in time to catch him…
Let him fall and Russia will claim your vital regions. NOT in a good way either.
-Sai