The World's Stage

An Asian's Save, and A British's Comfort

Chapter Four

Ivan was upset. Simply put, upset. And most of the time when he was upset it was led to the feeling of emptiness; loneliness. A deep abyss of darkness that momentarily blinds him from sanity. It was the world, him, and his fright to be alone; abandoned. He remembers the cold days in a small wooden house barely able to contain his sisters and him. He remembers how they all slowly drifted away from him, no matter what the promises they have vowed to him. They swore their lives to be together, but right now he could feel nothing but the cold harsh memory of a bittersweet farewell.

Ivan swallows back a growl before rushingly looping small black buttons into finely sewn cuts of his dark tan trench-coat. A simple, pale white shirt is underneath and Ivan narrows his eyes in displeasure. He had no fancier garb that suited his tastes, and he knew that out of his comrades he was definitely the one who had a high sense of fashion. He admired the Britain for that to. They both had similar individual styles that both intrigued the other.

Snow flashes in his eyes, and for a moment he can almost see glittering clumps of white flash in the peripheral of his vision. At the very last of his buttons, he walks to a seemingly long mirror. Deep purple stare back at his own, penetrating so hard, so carefully, so suspicious of his own existence. He didn't know why he felt that way. After all, he was a fine looking man, young and tall. With hair that seemed bleached with the snow that once permanently sat on his head. He was as cold as he looked, as frigid, and frightening he knew he could be. But no one has bothered to see past that, no one seemed to see past this exterior of ice carved features. That's what he thought in the very least, It was like that in mother Russia. A sunflower field painting by his bed seems to carry him back into the past. He remembers how people feared him, cursed him, loathed him. He remembers sunflowers stained red, the thirst for survival and recognition. He remembers it all, and he never forgets. How could he?

But in reality it was the opposite. Spotlight made him bright. Spotlight hid his flaws. Spotlight made people see him as he wished he saw himself. He smiles kindly as he gently places his hand on the mirror, covering his eyes and the forbidding look that comes with it. He loved it. And he never understood Arthur for not adoring it like he did. The spotlight was his greatest prank, his greatest fools game.

"Da, now what scarf should I wear today?" Ivan pushes the long piece of glass aside, it reveals silk, velvets, and satin. He indulges himself into his personal collection of seasonal clothes. All out of season, and he grimaces in distaste. The closet is hollow, to hollow, the dull echo is what proves it so. It travels far, shelves of shoes, polished and shined, belts made of the finest leather, and a small tiny drawer that held his small tiny collection of scarfs. They were the scarfs he loved, the scarves that held all his shortcomings and tears. Essentially, they were his friends. The invisible bonds that didn't keep him safe, but went through the same misery he once did. That was even more important to him then protection. He desired loyalty.

Ivan's hand gently picks at his favorite scarf. The one that's been with him longer than his sisters, his family, the cold. But at the same time it held memories, bad memories of doubt and insecurities. Hidden under the white fluff are unidentifiable blotches of pink. Paint through the years, surely.

His hand hovers over to a darker, scarf, one that would look great on a villain. One that would compliment his pale skin, and violet eyes, including the pale blond strands of ivory hair. He picks this one for today because right now he's not supposed to be himself but good looking Ivan Braginski. And he was good looking Ivan Braginski, he didn't need any mask to tell him that.

He wraps it around his neck delicately before smiling contently. Letting the longer sides fall unequally by his sides, it's exactly as he thought. The ink black look compliments him, and for some reason he feels flattered. With the smooth motion of his hand, the mirror slides back to place, reflection and all staring back at him. The echo of soft padded heels hit wood as he passes through the corridor that travels past every member of the 'ALLIES''s room. He whistles a joyful tune, a melody about birds trapped in a diamond bird cage with an exciting plan of escape. Whether they will succeed is still undecided.

Fleeting glances of bright red and black make Ivan stop. Slowing his pace to a unrecognizable speed. The tune slowly dissolves into a deep hum of contemplation. Surely it wouldn't hurt to look? Yao was still a faraway dream to Ivan. A person who was a perfect enigma, a brain that worked for numbers and success. While a heart that sat useless, hurt, and in the process of healing. From what? Ivan didn't know, and his heart pounds in his chest in anticipation. It's a funny thing anticipation. It stems to other emotions, negative emotions such as nervousness, and fright. The ones that once controlled Ivan's life. The feeling of coldness and hatred are not that far behind.

Anticipating something made your heart pound, and for Ivan, he wasn't sure if it was out of excitement or dread. However he was certain that he was curious. But curiosity did kill the cat.

From his view Ivan can barely make out the large ink words hung up around the walls. An elegant foreign language painted in black taints but brings the walls to life. He's not entirely certain what they say, but he's sure they are beautiful. The slow dip of the curves and the practiced sharpness of the lines is all the proof he needs. He wanted to know. He wanted to help. But he couldn't. He came to that conclusion a long time ago when he first met the Asian beauty. He could only sooth the pain within a set distance, and if that pleased Yao then he was fine with it to. It was always like that. If Yao was happy, then so was he. That's what he told himself to believe on the nights he heard whimpering across the thin walls. That's what he wished he felt. But he was greedy, and he wanted more. He wanted to be the hero the public thought he was.

With a final glance of red, Ivan leaves the empty room. A slow pace transforming into a heavy dash for the door. He couldn't look back, he was afraid of the curiosity and the unwavering greed that seemed to eat at his heart. Grabbing the only keys he finds on the kitchen counter, he yanks the main door open. Slamming it with such vigour, he could hear an echo bounce off the walls of an empty duplex. He struts away, standing straight with his head held high. He pretends that his feelings for the Asian man is as locked as the door itself. Cold steel around heartfelt emotions. Because right now he had to be happy, because right now he was Ivan Braginski, representative of the 'ALLIES'. Because right now, at that instant, he realized how hard it was to force a smile...

(To our long awaited punch of the day!)

The swing was hard, it was the kind of punch that would leave the opponent staggering back. It was the kind of punch that you would use if you wanted to kill someone, and Arthur was sure that the enemy knew it to. His fist was fast, and steady, aimed directly at the gaping Japanese male. And when it hit, he relished in the feeling of the softness of the skin, the sharp bone that hid underneath, and the loud hiss of pain. But that's what he felt, skin to skin contact, the burning sensation of his fingertips as they went white with fury. Arthur's eyes remained on the ground, half lidded in blind rage, even now he was a coward. He couldn't even look at his victim as he struck, so he relied on his ears and his sense of touch instead. But that's when he noticed the subtle differences between the Japanese man and what he felt. Skin too soft and too smooth to be the Japanese's who now seems to stand further than his outstretched arm. Only then did he dare look up to see the truth of his punch. Red and ebony blinding him entirely.

Yao stood there, both intimidating and wild. A growing red stain fighting a war against the clean white fibers of his dress shirt. It stains a beautiful shade of red, complementing the golden pupils that spark the worst kind of fear in the Brit. His golden eyes dilate in anger, catching the sun in it's own burning gleam.

"Aiyaa…" he hears Yao groan.

So striking so mesmerizing, Arthur had to hold his breath to stop his own shock. Blood trails from Yao's cheekbone to the slender curve of his neck, it was impossible to see the bruising through the red that hides the ivory colour of his skin. He was gorgeous. In the way that suddenly he felt untouchable, out of his reach.

"你不知道如何去做任何事，但你肯定知道如何收拾一拳...*" The Asian mutters under his breath, and Arthur breaks from his momentarily daze. His concern grows as quickly as the rage in his heart. A quiet subconscious voice screams at Yao for interfering, a small voice that questions Yao's loyalty to the 'ALLIES', and the small voice that screams at himself for caring. His fist is still in the air, although it sags slightly, he could see the hurt that it's done. The purple bruises that slowly start to mark it's way on his knuckles, and the sharp pain that follows. The red that doesn't belong to him, and the horrible scent of iron and metal. Sun coloured irises quietly watch the Brit. Watching carefully as his fist lowers to his side, and Arthur is certain that Yao sees the trembling that follows. The British turns his head to the side, staring silently at broken burgundy bricks. Warm gold has never appeared so cold to him before. They were like frozen overed suns, the only heat that radiated from them was the fear that it ignited. The humiliation, and embarrassment.

"You should really watch wild dogs like him, Yao" The Japanese man's voice startles the Brit, and the fire in his heart grows. His words were the oil to his own inner flare. Burning slowly like a slow tipping candle. Arthur stares at Yao's face, watching as the blood starts to dye his white shirt red. It's clear the crimson is winning the war. The two of them hold a long stare, both of them unwilling to look away in shame. It's a game of who's wrong, and the British man wouldn't admit defeat. After all, he was defending Yao, his friend. A small voice in his mind says otherwise, whispering nightmares about reputation and pride. Since when was he so skeptical about everything? Since when has he gotten this suspicious?

"I really should, Kiku. I'm terribly sorry for my comrades rash…" Yao speaks fluently, not an ounce of terror in his voice. It's unusually strong and strangely intimidating. "Behaviour."

The Chinese man keeps his back to the 'AXIS', his eyes are narrowed with resentment, and his lips are pressed in thin lines, preventing any blood to enter. Arthur's cheeks flush in shame and embarrassment, it was like his blood harboured toxins of all kind. Hatred being one of them. Hatred was a terrible thing. It made you lose sight of what was right and wrong, good and bad. But worst of all, it made you lose composure. And Arthur Kirkland never lost his composure in front of others, so why did he have to now? Since when was he so incapable of controlling logic and emotions? The perfect balance starts to tilt in his mind, letting loose chaos and madness. Logic and emotion were two mediums in the entertainment industry. Two different and very separate ideals.

"Ve!~ Anger issues!~" the missing Italian pops up behind the German. Feliciano carries a small smile on his lips. Taunting the British to retort, and Arthur growls in misery. Ludwig nods, remaining monotone despite the commotion. After all, Ludwig was reserved but none better than the rest. They were after all, all rotten to the core.

"How amusing it is to taunt this savage." Kiku pauses before grinning. It's the kind of grin that makes you shiver in disgust rather than excitement. The Japanese man's words make Yao tense, and to Arthur's surprise, the Chinese man finally turns to the opposing team. To Arthur, Yao was a simple yet complex being. He was a man of simple traditions, tea in the morning, and tea during the sleepless nights. However, his lengthy history in the dark made Arthur question this simplicity. Made him wonder if Yao was a liar with as many secrets he held, as many fears he had, and as many restrictions he harboured. Because he himself, was definitely not a simple being.

Arthur stares at the Asian man's back. It was so slender so small and frail. Like a small porcelain doll that looked like it could shatter with the slightest touch, but Arthur knew he stands corrected, because Yao wasn't anything like that. Yao was strong and capable, with a mind set only born leaders had, he was a strong man confined in a elegant feminine body- the kind that wouldn't bother taking a punch for the enemy. The British man frowns in disbelief, struggling to put the puzzle pieces together. It was an impossible puzzle, the kind that had millions of pieces with tens of thousands missing. He desired to finish it, to expose the lies and truths that wrung them all together. He felt like it was his duty, a self proclaimed mission of justice that had consequences. After all, some things were best left hidden in the dark. Images of dark alleys and green makes him swallow.

The sudden sound of a loud growl makes his head snap up, his eyes on the ebony strands of hair that sway in hypnotizing directions. Yao leaves his side, and slowly saunters to the Japanese man who spares a glance with the German who watches from the shadows. He wasn't the only coward in the crowd. Yao's hands are clenched as he rashly wipes the blood that trails to the tip of his chin. His steps are heavy and slow, almost at a leisure pace.

"Don't you dare…" Yao pauses before squaring his own shoulders, suddenly looking taller and stronger. Arthur's never seen him act this way before, he looks bolder and older. Like the small age gap they all shared heightened to terrifying intervals.

"If you hurt him. Any of my team's members, I won't hesitate to inform your producers about what you were discussing in the dark. You do know you are openly admitting to the public your winning streak is stained with cheats and trickery do you? Completely capable of sue and jail time, staining your career with a nasty reminder of your.."

Yao pause's, Arthur can see the stiff shoulders and the hesitation. This is the Yao he knew, the man who bended laws, the man who knew real trickery and has used it in his own life. The man who controlled the success of the 'ALLIES', the hidden ring leader beneath the circus curtains.

"Failures.." Yao ends before turning his back against the Japanese man who remains neutral. The moment Yao turns his back Kiku's eyebrows etch into a deep frown. That was more than enough confirmation to know that he understands the message. He understands the threat, he knows the power and danger of the words. But most of all, he knew that it was the truth. Yao wouldn't hesitate if it meant to eliminate a strong opponent.

"Arthur." Yao voice says sharply, and his head tilts the side. Smooth strands of hair contouring his slim face.

The British man snaps his head up, straightening is back as the Asian man gestures for him to follow. Tow coloured eyes shift forward to the sun that covers half of his face. Emitting pretty shadows to cross over his forehead. Arthur quickly follows, following the swaying of a loose ponytail. They barely make it further then a couple steps before the Japanese man speaks. His voice is low and taunting, mimicking exactly what Yao did seconds before.

"Just like old times, hm Yao-Senpai?" Yao doesn't stop. A growing frown graces his shadow covered eyes. His lips create a scowl that makes Arthur's shiver. Arthur is sure that the remark hits a nerve and he's equally certain that Yao's hit Kiku's. It was a war of control and composure, something that he should probably learn. A battle between two masterminds of equal power, both trying to tie down the other on an intimidating and dangerous platform. It was repulsing to watch, and Arthur tries to focus on the sound of laughter and the scent of sweat that reeks from the nearing pub. The walk back to the duplex is quiet and entirely disturbing. The life in Yao's eyes return slowly, and the permanent sneer fades into a grim line. His back loosens from it's stiff demeanor, and to Arthur's relief he looks like himself again. Lost, but still himself.

"I'm sorry." The British man says hoarsely, he's met with a long silence, and he cracks one of his own smug smile. He look's at the blue sky, the sun getting covered by dark ominous clouds of rain and thunder. Suddenly, the Asian man stops and Arthur almost bumps head first into his shoulders. He stumbles backward, avoiding the collision between the Asian, worried that it might trigger another conflict. He didn't want to see his comrade like that again, it was to different. To wild and crazed for him to ever imagine. He couldn't even recognize him through the deep golden eyes that stared at him so coldly.

"Thank you." he hears a faint whisper. The crackle of thunder comes next, and the feeling of cold droplets sink into his clothes. A small smile reaches his lips, barely visible but still there as he watches the Chinese man slowly continue his pace. Although it is slower now, no longer as agitated even with the crash of lightning. Arthur spares a glance at liquid gold eyes, and he's surprised to see small tears slowly making there way on his wet cheeks. Salt mixing in with semi- dried blood. It was surprising to see someone who showed such ferocity to become so weak and frail, but everyone had their weak times. It was all one cruel emotional cycle. Exactly like life. A slow cycle of defeats and fake rewards.

Arthur wasn't the best with handling situations like these. On nights like this he often drowned himself with distractions, woman and cheap beer that numbs the bitter pain. But he knew that wasn't what suited Yao.

So instead, he cracks his own sad smiles before nodding his head.

"No, Thank you."

You don't know how to do anything, but you sure know how to pack a punch ... ...*

It's a really trashy chapter I apologize. Probably worse than all of them so far, I'm really ashamed. However, thank you for the reviews! They really mean a lot, and I hope you guys continue giving me your support!

I update in every two weeks (or at least I try) So Please don't give up on me!

I'm just trying to zoom on everyone's secrets and friendships between the characters! Can you guess everyone's worst secret?