The World's Stage
Where The Heart Lies
Chapter Five:
Before I continue with this chapter, I'd like to address that I've had a problem with uploading the previous chapter. Then again, it was my first time uploading from the mobile app, I had troubles for it to get notified of my changes. On the PC, the chapter never came up, so with hesitation I tried resubmitting the chapter. Thus leading to a very overdue chapter. Not only that, but I had troubles with watching the incline of views. Although I'm not one to write for views and reviews, it was fairly strange to see a updated chapter not have a spike of views. I received a review that claimed there was a problem and the admins are fixing it.
Either way, on with the chapter!
It was sudden. The rain was sudden. It hit the Russian in a mass of cloud and water. Lukewarm air entering the pores of his polyester coat. A thin layer of growing wetness coating his styled hair. He also adored the rain. It was a silent reminder that he inhabited in warmth. A place that was warm enough for the ice in his view to melt. A place with enough warmth for the coldness of his own glacier soul to melt in a frenzy. After all, sometimes his fear grew and grew like the coldness he was born from. A huge glacier holding bowls of freezing tears. Every tear just adding to the massive glass sculpture he was. Cold, untouchable, reflective of all the doubts he had.
He covers his eyes with a pair of glasses, round in style, a light vintage pink hues his violet eyes. It creates a darker shade. A pink that looks like it's been severed with blues and reds. A strong amount of pigment that contradicts the light heartiness of the shade. However, he was disappointed and irritated. After all, he was an impatient man, and keeping things on his to-do list was something that ran circles in his head. The lose of time was critical to the schedules he carefully weaved, a routine that had to be obeyed. A routine that demanded the world to follow. But today it didn't. Because it had rained.
He runs a hand through his hair, carefully ruining the combed back style he put time and effort in. Why should he waste his time on something that the world denied? Giving and taking had to be of mutual trust. Of mutual terms that if broken would never quite be the same. The laughter of thunder makes him shudder, a reminder that the rain around him does not come without threat. Nothing in this world was truly harmless, nothing. Even the most simple of things harboured secrets. Flowers had thorns, leaves had small sharp spikes, and smiles could be of mockery. Everything had a defense mechanism, and Ivan had his own.
Light flashes behind him, and the sound of electric currents pulse in his blood. It seems like the world was truly not on his side today.
He smiles grimly before taking off his glasses. A faulty disguise on a faulty day. The rain around him continues, soaking into his coat until he can barely feel the graze of growing wetness. He walks a little faster this time, a little deeper into the abyss of rain and lightning. After all, where would he go now? The distance between the duplex and him was rather grande and with the growing barrier of rain and light would mean treading not only a long road, but a dangerous one at that. Ivan considered himself living an already dangerous life, but death was something that even his own instincts would not allow. Death was for cowards who deserved it. Not powerful people who lived for the thrill of danger.
Ivan walks cautiously on the empty streets of Toronto, heading to the nearest destination he could think of. The studio. The place with mirrors that reflected all angles of the human anatomy. The place where the slightest slip of wonder could be seen from all four walls. Reflection of hidden glances, hidden mouthed words were all caught by the crystal mirrors that adorned every wall.
Ivan nears a large hotel, women and men smoke together forming clouds of smoke that absorb the rain. When he walks past, he pushes the small frames f his glasses closer to his face. Most women turn their heads to him eyeing him like the candy man he was. He nods his head, a tentative smile gracing his lips as the women giggle back, enjoying the attention. The men glare him, attempting to divert the crowd's attention from the now smirking Ivan. The scent of cigar and tobacco make him want to play the game they were playing. Flirting came so easy to him, and he winks to a woman who gives the same kind of inviting smile. The kind of smile that was useless but beautiful while it lasted. Because these kinds of affections didn't warm his heart like someone else's, because the sensual environment of smoke and laughter doesn't beat the arms of the person he loves. And that's why he does it. That's why he does it back, because no matter what, they don't reach his heart. He tilts his head to the side before walking past the hotel, hearing murmurs of awe and giggles fleet his ears. He had to come visit again, the woman were beautiful.
A wonderful distraction.
His hair sticks to his head, and he smiles. Letting the water drip on his long eyelashes before letting them cascade off onto his pale cheeks. They were like the tears he's never shed before and it makes his smile grow. He crosses a small intersection before making it in front of a large building. The building hoists many floors and the remaining open blinds leave small lights flickering into the night sky. They were like electrical stars that were brighter than any North Star that led the way home. Ivan enters the building, letting the water drip onto the plush red carpets that decorate the main lobby. Lightning crackles behind him and he smiles smugly.
"Mr.Braginski?" A sudden female voice says. Warm brown eyes meet his own, and he smiles. It was the Britain's request to hire her. Saying that she was organized and functional despite her short temper. He would love to see her angry, he has yet to see any other side of her other then a quiet woman counting off the hours of a high paid job. Her dark ash hair sways as she quickly recovers a towel from nowhere. Holding it in between her thin fingers.
"Ah yes..thank you," he nods his head and takes the towel, massaging it deeply into his hair. "To the studio please."
The Seychelle's girl nods. Gesturing him to an already open elevator shaft. He steps in and she steps in after, the door closes and she quickly presses a golden encrusted button. The lift is silent and Ivan silently counts the floors until it reaches the 37th. As much as the fluffy towel helps it doesn't stop with the drag that the water on his coat provides. His arms feel heavy in weight and he finds it troubling to breath with the moist humidity that seems to cover his neck. The beep of an opening elevator door, makes his breath hitch and he quickly leaves the small boxed lift. He wanted to run and strip himself of his suffocating coat, but he had to remain composed even with the heavy scarf that scraped against his skin. He turns back and forces himself to smile at the girl who only stares as the elevator door closes. He doesn't mind the distance. After all, he only saw her as dutiful elevator girl. A person who was under his own standing.
He walks carefully on the clean black carpets that lead to a thin glass door. There group name showers the wall in bold indifference. He was getting sick of seeing glass.
Gently pulling the door open, his wet fingers leave deranged fingerprints on the door handle. The cold metal feels even colder in his grasp and he quickly pulls away as if harmed.
He passes the stained glass walls that interconnect with four different rooms. Each carefully labelled with their surnames, he sees the calligraphic writing of Yao, the cursive that the Britain often signed autographs with, and his own name in a bold indifference. It's beautiful written, dark in colour, ending with a harsh line of uneven ink. It was just like his personality.
He pushes the handle less door to his own little space, and quickly strips himself of the suffocating coat. He expertly unbuttons the large amount of buttons that adorn his coat, half for decoration and the other half merely to keep him warm on cold nights. His fingers dig into his skin and he is grateful that the pale white shirt that peaks underneath the coat remains dry. That's how good his coat was. It was a thing of fine quality.
Taking off his leaking pants in the process, he searches the small open cabinets for extra dance wear. He was always prepared for these kinds of things and much to his own admiration he finds a pair of durable black running pants hidden underneath a spare towel. Without a second doubt he quickly dresses himself stretching sore muscles in the process. His skin felt cold underneath his touch and his sweating fingers created a much needed heat. Goosebumps hide underneath the black running pants that fit loosely on his legs.
Walking past a long mirror he stares deftly at himself. He looked good. And he meant it in a way that meant self-confidence. Self reassurance that supported him when he felt sad, he had confidence. He had to. Glass hearts were scorned and burned rapidly in the heat of the spotlight. He needed confidence, if not, at least a fake air that masked potential red lights that flashed his way. Because he knew he had insecurities. Because he knew that even to this day, he's been living a lie. A play that he controlled. He was both the writer and the actor, and the stage was simply the platform he performed on. The real judges of his work were the people in the audience, whether or not they liked the fake Ivan he's created from thin air.
And maybe that's what made him desire Yao with a burning passion. Because he was like a beautiful moth to the flame, bearing a glass heart himself. But what made him different was that he was still here. Still standing so strongly, so bravely in front of everyone no matter the scars of a realized truth. And that's what made him love Yao, desiring to mend all the wounds that truth had inflicted. Maybe that was why he chose to lie, because that way, he to could shield his own heart in an attempt to mend another.
The small room he was in was cramped, simply a small changing room for a regular dancer, nothing special. At the end of the boxed room was another door constructed out of bright birch that mixes in so well with the reflectiveness of the rooms. Everything was so bright, so horribly pale that it made him sick. He would consult the renovators.
Sparing one last glance at himself he decides to spend his time wisely in the practising room. He hasn't danced or done any means of exercise since there second place album, and one of his greatest fears was losing the shape he was in. Changing his defined muscles into ugly fat. He of course had muscles but it wasn't the kind that was so prominent it looked disgustingly inhuman. No, they were there, obvious but still looked like skin over flesh. They were proof of sweat and time, the proof of a mile run every single day.
Pulling the door with vigor he meets an already dancing figure. Shocked he watches as straw blond hair moves to an invisible beat. Alfred. The movements are fast, quick in tempo and require a high level stamina to continue moving. It takes a highly skilled dancer to move so quickly. The excitement is clear within the dance and it's proved within the small detailed way his fingers dance on his skin. It takes a while for the blond to notice the figure lurking in the shadows. The dance comes to a sudden halt, their eyes meeting in the mirror that stretches far too far.
"What are you doing here?" Alfred asks, slowly turning around to face the Russian. Ivan could see the beads of perspiration that slowly trail from his forehead to his light blue t-shirt. He looked exhausted but the gleam in the American's eyes said otherwise.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Ivan retorts lazily. Why else would he be here other than to dance and to wait the rain off? What was he going to do, talk to the mirror in front of him, asking for sweet condolences for a man that seemed so far out of reach?
Alfred speaks quickly as if offended, but in reality it's just the lingering adrenaline from his latest dance.
"Chill, I've been practicing and creating the dance for the audition. It's close to finished now actually." Alfred places a tentative hand in the air faking a mock innocence making the Russian clench his teeth together. "Care to watch?"
"I thought you were supposed to create the dance after you've received the lyrics and the rhythm?" Ivan retorts quickly, a layer of poison lacing his words. To his surprise, it comes out in mild annoyance, something like what a mother would say to a small child who has done something wrong.
Alfred shrugs, letting out a short huff. "No biggie, just contact Yao and Mattie, they can go figure something out."
Ivan frowns, a seeping look of cold murder shadowing his face. The way that Alfred speaks makes his blood go boiling. He spoke as if he didn't care about the world, he spoke as if the world revolved around his little broken American head. As if Yao and there own boss would restart everything for the sake of his dance. And they would, which made Alfred speak with all the more confidence. He was a spoiled brat. With talent for sure, but which one of them didn't?
Alfred slowly starts walking to the center of the room, all four mirrors catching his small smile of a undying ego. But maybe that's what made him special. Because his confidence was as real and as raw as Ivan's fake facade. He was a truthful man with a dangerous pride. That alone was something that Ivan admired.
"But that's not how the professionals work Alfred." folding his arms he leisurely walks closer to the center. He wanted to intimidate and conquer. He wanted to displease the American as much as he did to himself. To bring misery and humiliation. You knew you won the war when the loser knew it just as well.
The blond doesn't turn back, instead he watches through the mirror. Staring at Ivan like an eagle does to it's pray. But Ivan wasn't weak, wasn't something that he could best, wasn't something he could beat. However, he was just a man. A man with a horrible jealous and competitive nature. So he played on that. Because that was the only possible way to end the deadly stare that broke through the glass.
He smirks, "I'm not the professionals Ivan, I'm simply me."
And with that it started.
It was a flurry of dance moves. Something that would catch Ivan's attention and something that didn't. It was good that way, it made the audience anticipate to be impressed. The tempo is fast, almost to quick for Ivan to notice the little jagged breaths that Alfred realizes in struggle. Maybe he was simply tired? Much to Ivan's amusement the tempo doesn't die down. There were no ups and downs in this piece, simply magnificence. A grandeur of sharp and in sync leg twists and hand movements. There was no compromise and Ivan liked that.
It's a mixture of hip hop and dancing that doesn't fit any other category other then just Alfred. But he feels the pain, the Russian could see the struggle and after another sharp turn of Alfred's leg he could see how it hurts. How a piece that was simply magnificent did indeed have compromise. A self compromise of time, control, and sweat. Arthur would be perfect for this piece, he was quick and witty. Sharp with both his feet and tongue. Then he thinks of Yao. The older man who owned a good amount pain relievers, and sleeping pills. He thinks of the added stress that it would take for Yao to learn this piece. The amount of sweat that would be needed, the sheer amount of strength.
He gazes at the small thrusts of Alfred's hips and how they swing to a invisible rythme. Yes, Yao would have to change his lyrics. Yao loved slow songs, a song with soft lyrics and romantic lyrics. Much to his pleasure he remembers how that was one of his many weaknesses. He wasn't used to the need to please the crowd with dances that showcased muscles, and skin. He was to innocent and although Yao tried to hide it, he still was. He still fell for the spiders tricks. It was good if he was the only spider on the web, but he wasn't. There was always others.
By the time he's done worrying about the Eastern man, he hears the final steps of Alfred. The final wave of his sweating fingers, and the unending amount of gasps of oxegen. Beads of sweat fall on the ground as the blond seducingly runs a finger through his hair.
The American has a smirking face despite the sweat that covers him like a second skin. Ivan rolls his eyes before a small smile graces his features. God, he loved Alfred to. Although hate was there, a family love and admiration was there to. It mixed together so perfectly and he was certain that Alfred felt it to.
Alfred raises one eyebrow half expecting a praise, and to his greater pleasure he receives it.
"Not bad," Ivan says. His palm presses agasint the Americans shoulder and he smiles. It was a genuine smile that deserved an equal amount of praise. There was a difference between his cold, perfect and distant smiles compared to that of his genuine ones. Something magical and even more perfect.
"You mean extremely impressive, Yeah?" Alfred retorts quickly before getting sent a nasty looking glare. Any time Alfred could receive praises from the Russian was indeed a honour. After all, they were all friends and he wanted to have his friends admiration. He only had that much confidence, and maybe that was his weakness to. When you were at the top no one asked if you were okay.
The small tremor of the ground makes Alfred jump in surprise and Ivan snicker.
"I still haven't gotten an answer about why you're here," Alfred shakes his head in pure annoyance. Ivan always had that skill. To distract the person with smiles and praises wholesomeness making the other forget the real puprose. He was a sneaky predator in a sea of naïve people. Dangerous, horrible, but so uselful.
"It's raining," Ivan says. He pauses for a moment before sighing. "I was unable to do the meet and greets. How unfortunate Da?"
Alfred simply shrugs, not seeing the annoyance of having something incomplete. Mainly because he lived a life where everything was last minute. Where preparation was not something that came first in mind. He worked hard but played even harder, something he should teach Yao and Arthur.
Theres a moment of silence, a comfortable pause, and Alfred takes the time to slow his breathing, checking his pulse on his neck.
"While we're waiting for the rain, why don't you let the master teach the dance. Because we all know you hate wasting time." Alfred shrugs, looking at the ground nervously.
Truths behind the words, and as much as Ivan would love to retort, its true. There's no time to wait. They had less then a week now, time was slipping between there fingers and they needed to grasp it at all costs. They had to win, not to suffer from a second place, but to really and truly; conquer.
However he was wrong in one aspect, everything was a waste of his time if he wasn't with the person that truly made him feel at home. He couldn't waste time for the schedules, the unending lists of things that he had yet to cross off. The things that separated himself from work and play time. He wonders when was the last time he's swung at a round of vodka.
But if it came to himself, the raw emotions behind his success, then learning a dance for the sake of a reputation, was definately, without doubt,
-a waste of time.
Back at the duplex, Arthur drowns himself in liquor and cigerettes, staring hollowly at calligraphy in the form of a free verse poem.
Yao on the other hand is already in a pill deduced sleep.
An empty pill bottle at his side.
ATTENTION! I MEAN IT! ARE YOU READING THIS VERY LINE?
Well, here's a little chapter of Alfred and Ivan's interaction, a snippet of the hate- love relationship they have going on. Isn't it adorable?
Aside from that, I mean it when I say this. I have some questions for you guys, my wonderful supporters.
1.What ships should I add between the ALLIES and the AXIS? (Love interest)
2. What do you want to see more of as in interacation? (Characters)
3. (For my own amusement) is this fanfiction alright so far? (Be honest)
That's it! I would really love if you guys answer them (I aim to please after all!~)
WAIT THERES MORE! I WOULD WANT TO MAKE A SPECIAL REQUEST FOR A CERTAIN "GUEST" WHO ALWAYS COMMENTS SUCH GREAT, HEARTWARMING COMMENTS TO ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS, BECAUSE YOU GIVE ME SO MUCH FEEDBACK AND LOVE. I CANT EXPRESS MY WORDS OF THANKS.
I have BIG plans for this fanfiction, I mean it as in an amazing ending, and a HUGE amount of plot. I realized that I haven't really been making days as in real dates in the fanfiction such as night, Morning, the passing of days. So now we have our first day done!
Bye bye!~