Re: Frostbitten 4/?
anonymous
May 2 2011, 05:55:37 UTC
Please excuse the fail! double post. Anon is new at this. But loves RusCan and so wants to try.
“Were you waiting up for me?” Russia asked, keeping his voice soft. It was hard, but to not destroy this sleepy moment he would try. “Da. Me and Kumajirou-“ “Kumajirou and I.” Canada rolled his eyes. “Kumajirou and I waited all day, and then fell asleep. We didn’t mean too.” Russia looked at him, still a lax line on the rug, head propped up with one tiny fist. He himself had to brush up on his English, because he wanted this boy to speak it perfectly. The closest land to him was being colonized by England, and having trade contacts you could understand was important when you did not farm much. Canada’s English would be perfect, even if Russia’s never would be. “I am sorry. It took me longer to get here than I had thought. I brought you something.” The boy was up like a flash, startling the polar bear underneath him, who rolled over sleepily. His long white nightshirt hung almost to his feet, and the beautiful shaping of his face reminded him of Belarus, when she was still small. So small that she loved him only with the hero worship younger siblings had. He reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a small set of tiny carved men and horses. They were embossed in gold and cream, dressed in the livery of his own men. The horses each had tiny reigns, held in the tiny hands of the men they rode with which moved their legs along the floor. Canada flushed with excitement, touching each one with lingering fingers, petting the shiny lacquer and moving the delicate legs. “They’re amazing! How did-why?-“ “I brought them over for you. I know you have your own,” Russia gestured at the crude militia Canada had carved from the trees, “But I wanted you to have something-I wanted you to have these.” Canada smiled, rushing over to Kumajirou and babbling at him in a strange mix of Russian, English and remnants of the Indian dialects. He understood enough to know he appreciated the gift, but not much beyond that. Honestly, Russia could not afford such pretty little toys for a child to break. But England’s charge was living just across the way now, and he wanted Canada to not feel ashamed. England’s colony may have more resources, but his Canada was perfect, just as he was. Dirt under his nails, and imperfect English. After all, Russia had dirt under his nails. He turned, slipping off his coat, and placing the packages he was carrying on the table behind him. “I brought you other things, but they are not so important as that. Some food, some spices- a new set of clothes, as you are getting much taller-“ A small body rocketed into his own, small arms barely managing to wrap around his waist, even with the coat laying spread on the chair before him. “Спасибо. Я люблю тебя. Thank you, thank you Russia.” Russia startled, badly, hands bracing on the table in front of him. It had been a long time since contact meant something good, and the sweet weight made him nervous, and happy all at the same time. Canada’s face was pressed into his back, and Russia had to bend awkwardly to pick the boy up in his arms. “You are very welcome.” Canada laughed, and threw his arms around Russia’s neck, and though the boys voice was changing, his laughter still sounded like fresh sap, bursting through new leaves. Russia put him down, and he rushed back to the soldiers lining then up with his own men, engaging in mock warfare. “I love you too, da.” Russia murmured. Then he turned around, and finished unpacking what he had brought.
Re: Frostbitten 4/?
anonymous
May 4 2011, 00:10:12 UTC
this is so CUTE!!! i love it, i love how Russia doesn't want Canada to be left out even tho Russia does't have all to much (i think) and it's just so sweet i can't wait for the next chapter ^^
Frostbitten 5/?
anonymous
May 4 2011, 10:57:05 UTC
So, the name thing. I see Ivan as thinking more in country’s due to his age, and Matt as thinking more in names. So there will be some switching back and forth. I hope nobody minds. Also. Historical accuracy would be nice, but this story doesn’t have it. Sorry, haha.
The room they were standing in was huge, and empty. In the very center was a table, with several chairs arranged around it. A man, and a boy sat in two of them. This was what his Russia had been panicking over? Okay, not panicking. Russia didn’t really panic, per se. He just, became more focused. Canada’s shirt had been meticulously pressed and straightened, and even now Matt knew his Russia well enough to know he was resisting the urge to fix Matt’s collar. Russia himself was dressed immaculately. Matt had never seen him look so serious. But these people didn’t look that scary. Certainly not anything to scare Ivan, eh? Matt had never seen anything scare Ivan. And this wasn’t really fear. More like, intense anxiety. Ivan hadn’t smiled at him once all day, except when Matt had slipped his hand into Ivan’s (which swamped his own ungloved and gloved swallowed it whole), and even then it was brief. It had been enough to make Matt very nervous. The man whispered something to the boy, who stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly in the silent room, and Ivan squeezed his hand comfortingly, even though he hadn’t jumped. Russia just knew, like that. “Hi. I’m America. This is England.” Matt bowed politely, like Ivan had told him to do, though he kept his hand in Ivan’s. “I am Canada. It is a pleasure to meet you.” “Whoa! You can speak English! I mean, England said you probably could if you’d come here to trade, but I wasn’t sure. Can the big guy speak English too?” Canada felt Ivan’s hand tighten on his own, exactly as the other man snapped at the boy to sit down. The other boy sat down, and sulked quietly. Up close, Matt could see the fine weave of his clothes, plain though they were. His belt buckle was carefully crafted, and though his shoes were scuffed they were obviously new, just ill-cared for. Now he understood why Ivan wanted him dressed so carefully. Ivan was smiling now, but it wasn’t the smile he gave to matt, which was warm and small, or if he’d been drinking, huge and carefree. It was blank, and just watching it made Matt feel angry. “Da, I can speak English as well. The language is quite invasive.” Ivan pulled out a chair for Matt across from the boy, America, but remained standing behind him, and Matt knew Russia well enough to know that he was putting up with this for him. And Matt wished that he could get up and leave, leave these people he didn’t know, that he could take Ivan’s hand and pull him out the door, back into the carriage and they could go home. Ivan and him would cook dinner, Ivan would drink a little too much vodka, and his smile would be so wide and honest. But Ivan had wanted him to do this. So instead, Matt sat in the chair, pulling it up, and tucking his hands underneath the table, wishing he had Kumajirou to bury his hands in. Russia was talking to England, something about money. Matt knew he should be paying attention, that in fact Ivan would probably quiz him over this later, as this was his first time attending a meeting. But, Matt also knew his Russia would forgive him, and so chose to study the boy across from him instead. They were roughly of the same height, and build, but this boy was thick, easily thirty pounds on Matt and most of it muscle. His hair was short, cropped close to head, but what he had was beautiful a rich color like wheat or gold. Matt thought of his own tawny hair, and tried not make his mouth scrunch. God he hated his hair. Like dishwater. “Hey. What’s that?” Matt looked up from the strand of hair he had curled around one finger, and directly into shocking blue eyes. The boy was sitting upright and looking interestedly at him. “What?” “That.”
Frostbitten 6/?
anonymous
May 4 2011, 10:58:09 UTC
The boy pointed and Matt looked down confusedly, before realizing the boy meant the ring he was wearing. It was gold, and fitted to his small hand. It had small red stones, and a raised image of a maple leaf. Russia had given it to him only this morning, and the whole ride here Matt had been occupied with the brilliance and catch of the jewels. “It was a present.” “Well, isn’t it kind of girly? I mean, what guy wears stuff like that?” The other boy scoffed. Matt’s face tightened. “I do.” He folded his hands obviously on the table, placing the hand with the ring on top, letting it catch the light. “What does it matter to you, eh?” “Whatever. You want to look like a girl, I don’t care.” They lapsed back into silence. Russia and England were signing papers now, passing things back and forth, and talking in slow serious voices. The other man had a strange accent, his voice too high and sharp. The words seemed carved from his mouth, the same way they did from the boys, although the boy made it sound sloppy. “Hey.” Canada looked up sharply, his eyes focusing swiftly on the other boys. He didn’t look nosy this time, he looked. . . inquisitive. “Da?” The boy wrinkled his nose but pushed onward. “So. How often does Russia visit you?” Canada tilted his head. “Hmm. At least once a day. I mean, sometimes I go to his home but he stays at mine often. “ America looked confused. “Wait. Every day?” Canada nodded and knew he looked confused as well. “Yes. Sometimes one or the other of us will stay over, but Ivan likes to stay with me. Why, doesn’t England stay with you?” “Well, yeah, sometimes. I mean when he can get away. He lives really far away.” Canada nodded doubtfully. “So does Russia. And he just takes me with him, if he has to be at home for a long time.” America looked at him mutinously, rocking back the chair, bracing on one foot. “Well, England’s really important. It’s not like he can just drop everything and come running.” “Russia is very important.” Said Matt fiercely. “Maybe England just doesn’t care about your stupid colonies.” America let the chair slam back down, leaning across the table to swipe at Matt’s hand, looking at the ring. His eyes tightened cruelly, and Matt wished he just hadn’t said anything. Let this boy think whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter. But if he started a war-and in his first meeting. . . “I think he loves you too much . . . sissy.” “Shut up! You’re just jealous!” “Jealous of you? As if, you-you-shirt lifter!” Alfred said hotly. Matt let out a growl, one that he rather thought Kumajirou would be proud of and reached his hand across the table, slapping America soundly, the pretty ring leaving a harsh red mark on his cheek. The other boy cried out, and Matt realized suddenly that sometime during their exchange all other discussion at the table had ceased. Oh no.
Frostbitten 7/?
anonymous
May 4 2011, 10:59:15 UTC
Matt turned to look, to see if Ivan was mad, or if he just looked disappointed, and he didn’t even see the other boy’s fist before it hit him in the face. Matt whipped, intending to end this. “Control your savage!” The other man shouted, pulling America back by the collar, and examining his cheek as though it had any real damage. Ivan answered angrily in Russian, before turning Matt to face him, eyes taking in his face, large hands gentle as it checked the line of his nose. Matt tried not to sniffle, but didn’t really succeed. That had hurt, and Ivan smiled at him tightly and kissed his nose, as though to make the hurt go away. “See, you are a sissy! Sissy, sissy, SISSY!” Matt turned with another growl, a sharp flush rising in his cheek, and darted as though to leap at the other boy, but Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist holding him back. “Don’t you call me a sissy! You’re a sissy, and he STILL doesn’t like you!” The other boy squeaked in anger, flushing all the way up to his ears, and Matt hoped that hurt. He was no sissy, and damn the boy for saying so. “Alfred, that is quite enough! What happened?!” “Nothing!” Alfred said defensively. “He just got mad and hit me.” “Is that true?” Russia asked, and the look in his eyes said he knew it wasn’t true, but needed Matt to say it. Matt looked at the other boy, flushed and angry. He was stupid, yeah, but Matt remembered the first winter it had stormed too hard for Ivan to come very often, and when he did come he always had his sister trailing after him. It had bothered him, and he couldn’t explain it. He thought Russia understood though, because after that winter she never came again, and though he never apologized or anything, Canada got more presents that year than he really needed. And Matt looked at England’s expression, and how he hated it when he made Ivan mad. “I. . . yes. I started the argument.” The other boy stopped looking at the ground and looked at him surprised, then up at the other man, whose hand was still in his collar, and then back at him. Matt didn’t really notice. He was too busy watching the disappointment cloud in Ivan’s eyes and hating himself for it. “Well, I certainly don’t think there will be any trading now. I don’t want anything so uncivilized near-“ “No, wait. I mean. It wasn’t- I.” The other boy stopped and looked up at England stubbornly. “I still wanna trade with him. I don’t mind a little bit of a fight. We were just messing around, you know.” “Yeah,” said Matt, hurriedly. “Just rough-housing a little.” He wiggled loose of Russia’s grip, and reached out, clasping the other boy’s hand. “It won’t happen again.” “Yeah.” England looked confused, but humphed and reached over, straightening the papers that had become ruffled in the meantime. “Well, as long as you’re sure . . .” Matt didn’t look up, was afraid that Ivan would see right through him, and waited to glance over until they had already begun signing things, again. “Hey. . . uh. Thanks.” Matt looked at the boy next to him, surprised. “It is no problem. I just thought-“ “Yeah.” “Matt. Come, it is time to be leaving.” Matt let go of the other boy’s hand. “Goodbye America.” “Call me Alfred.” Matt nodded and then Ivan whisked him out the door, one hand on his elbow, guiding him. Ivan was so silent, so quiet and his steps so stiff. Matt felt terrible. He hated it when Ivan got quiet like that. It meant that he’d done something terrible. They stepped into the carriage, and Matt sat carefully across from Ivan looking at the floor, until a large hand tipped his chin up. “Are you all right?” Ivan’s face was blank, and Matt swallowed. “Da, I am fine. I am not hurt.”
Frostbitten 8/?
anonymous
May 4 2011, 11:00:12 UTC
Ivan tilted his head back and forth into the light, and Matt knew that wasn’t really true. He would have a bruise tomorrow, probably an ugly one. But he kinda thought Ivan knew that. “So what really happened?” “He called me and you sissies.” Matt said in a whisper, voice shaking a little. “I didn’t mean to slap him. I was just so mad. And he shouldn’t be allowed to say stuff like that about you. Just because England doesn’t care about him-“ Matt stopped abruptly, hearing a muffled sound, and looked up to see Ivan laughing. No not just laughing, but rocking with it, one gloved hand clapped over his mouth to try not to make noise. Matt knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. Russia was dying with laughter, at Matt. “Oh. If you are going to defend me, котенок I need to teach you how to fight. Ahahaha!” Matt slumped back into the seat, pouting. “Hey. I didn’t do so bad-“ Suddenly Ivan was reaching across the seat, pulling him into his lap, and hugging him firmly, laughter still rocking his body. Matt should protest, because it was stuff like this that made Alfred call him a sissy, but he didn’t. He bet if England were to hug him like this, America wouldn’t just pull away. “No, you did very well. You were magnificent. My kitten has claws. I did not know, you have never tried to swipe at me.” Matt buried his face into Ivan’s scarf. “I wouldn’t ever.” “I know. I know. But why did you lie?” “Because. . .” Matt pulled his face out of the scarf. “I hate it when you are mad at me. And if England only visits every once in a while, and he spent the whole time mad. . . Besides. You wanted me to make this trade, and it was a good way to calm things down.” “Da, it was. You are very smart.” Russia looked down at him. “You are also very kind.” Matt blushed, and shoved his face back into the scarf to hide it. When they got home, Ivan pulled out his vodka and poured him a shot, telling him he was old enough if he wanted it. It burned, but Matt didn’t mind. He could handle it.
Re: Frostbitten 8/?
anonymous
May 18 2011, 08:34:20 UTC
I like this a lot anon, such an interesting premise and introduction. The Canada and America interaction is great and I love his and Russia's relationship. Hope there will be more!
“Were you waiting up for me?” Russia asked, keeping his voice soft. It was hard, but to not destroy this sleepy moment he would try.
“Da. Me and Kumajirou-“
“Kumajirou and I.”
Canada rolled his eyes. “Kumajirou and I waited all day, and then fell asleep. We didn’t mean too.”
Russia looked at him, still a lax line on the rug, head propped up with one tiny fist. He himself had to brush up on his English, because he wanted this boy to speak it perfectly. The closest land to him was being colonized by England, and having trade contacts you could understand was important when you did not farm much. Canada’s English would be perfect, even if Russia’s never would be.
“I am sorry. It took me longer to get here than I had thought. I brought you something.”
The boy was up like a flash, startling the polar bear underneath him, who rolled over sleepily. His long white nightshirt hung almost to his feet, and the beautiful shaping of his face reminded him of Belarus, when she was still small. So small that she loved him only with the hero worship younger siblings had.
He reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a small set of tiny carved men and horses. They were embossed in gold and cream, dressed in the livery of his own men. The horses each had tiny reigns, held in the tiny hands of the men they rode with which moved their legs along the floor.
Canada flushed with excitement, touching each one with lingering fingers, petting the shiny lacquer and moving the delicate legs. “They’re amazing! How did-why?-“
“I brought them over for you. I know you have your own,” Russia gestured at the crude militia Canada had carved from the trees, “But I wanted you to have something-I wanted you to have these.”
Canada smiled, rushing over to Kumajirou and babbling at him in a strange mix of Russian, English and remnants of the Indian dialects. He understood enough to know he appreciated the gift, but not much beyond that.
Honestly, Russia could not afford such pretty little toys for a child to break. But England’s charge was living just across the way now, and he wanted Canada to not feel ashamed. England’s colony may have more resources, but his Canada was perfect, just as he was. Dirt under his nails, and imperfect English.
After all, Russia had dirt under his nails.
He turned, slipping off his coat, and placing the packages he was carrying on the table behind him. “I brought you other things, but they are not so important as that. Some food, some spices- a new set of clothes, as you are getting much taller-“
A small body rocketed into his own, small arms barely managing to wrap around his waist, even with the coat laying spread on the chair before him. “Спасибо. Я люблю тебя. Thank you, thank you Russia.”
Russia startled, badly, hands bracing on the table in front of him. It had been a long time since contact meant something good, and the sweet weight made him nervous, and happy all at the same time. Canada’s face was pressed into his back, and Russia had to bend awkwardly to pick the boy up in his arms. “You are very welcome.”
Canada laughed, and threw his arms around Russia’s neck, and though the boys voice was changing, his laughter still sounded like fresh sap, bursting through new leaves. Russia put him down, and he rushed back to the soldiers lining then up with his own men, engaging in mock warfare.
“I love you too, da.” Russia murmured.
Then he turned around, and finished unpacking what he had brought.
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I love this so much. Please continue. <3
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The room they were standing in was huge, and empty. In the very center was a table, with several chairs arranged around it. A man, and a boy sat in two of them.
This was what his Russia had been panicking over?
Okay, not panicking. Russia didn’t really panic, per se. He just, became more focused. Canada’s shirt had been meticulously pressed and straightened, and even now Matt knew his Russia well enough to know he was resisting the urge to fix Matt’s collar.
Russia himself was dressed immaculately. Matt had never seen him look so serious. But these people didn’t look that scary. Certainly not anything to scare Ivan, eh? Matt had never seen anything scare Ivan.
And this wasn’t really fear. More like, intense anxiety. Ivan hadn’t smiled at him once all day, except when Matt had slipped his hand into Ivan’s (which swamped his own ungloved and gloved swallowed it whole), and even then it was brief. It had been enough to make Matt very nervous.
The man whispered something to the boy, who stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly in the silent room, and Ivan squeezed his hand comfortingly, even though he hadn’t jumped. Russia just knew, like that.
“Hi. I’m America. This is England.”
Matt bowed politely, like Ivan had told him to do, though he kept his hand in Ivan’s. “I am Canada. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Whoa! You can speak English! I mean, England said you probably could if you’d come here to trade, but I wasn’t sure. Can the big guy speak English too?”
Canada felt Ivan’s hand tighten on his own, exactly as the other man snapped at the boy to sit down. The other boy sat down, and sulked quietly. Up close, Matt could see the fine weave of his clothes, plain though they were. His belt buckle was carefully crafted, and though his shoes were scuffed they were obviously new, just ill-cared for. Now he understood why Ivan wanted him dressed so carefully.
Ivan was smiling now, but it wasn’t the smile he gave to matt, which was warm and small, or if he’d been drinking, huge and carefree. It was blank, and just watching it made Matt feel angry.
“Da, I can speak English as well. The language is quite invasive.”
Ivan pulled out a chair for Matt across from the boy, America, but remained standing behind him, and Matt knew Russia well enough to know that he was putting up with this for him. And Matt wished that he could get up and leave, leave these people he didn’t know, that he could take Ivan’s hand and pull him out the door, back into the carriage and they could go home. Ivan and him would cook dinner, Ivan would drink a little too much vodka, and his smile would be so wide and honest.
But Ivan had wanted him to do this. So instead, Matt sat in the chair, pulling it up, and tucking his hands underneath the table, wishing he had Kumajirou to bury his hands in.
Russia was talking to England, something about money. Matt knew he should be paying attention, that in fact Ivan would probably quiz him over this later, as this was his first time attending a meeting. But, Matt also knew his Russia would forgive him, and so chose to study the boy across from him instead.
They were roughly of the same height, and build, but this boy was thick, easily thirty pounds on Matt and most of it muscle. His hair was short, cropped close to head, but what he had was beautiful a rich color like wheat or gold. Matt thought of his own tawny hair, and tried not make his mouth scrunch. God he hated his hair. Like dishwater.
“Hey. What’s that?”
Matt looked up from the strand of hair he had curled around one finger, and directly into shocking blue eyes. The boy was sitting upright and looking interestedly at him.
“What?”
“That.”
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“It was a present.”
“Well, isn’t it kind of girly? I mean, what guy wears stuff like that?” The other boy scoffed. Matt’s face tightened.
“I do.” He folded his hands obviously on the table, placing the hand with the ring on top, letting it catch the light. “What does it matter to you, eh?”
“Whatever. You want to look like a girl, I don’t care.”
They lapsed back into silence. Russia and England were signing papers now, passing things back and forth, and talking in slow serious voices. The other man had a strange accent, his voice too high and sharp. The words seemed carved from his mouth, the same way they did from the boys, although the boy made it sound sloppy.
“Hey.”
Canada looked up sharply, his eyes focusing swiftly on the other boys. He didn’t look nosy this time, he looked. . . inquisitive.
“Da?”
The boy wrinkled his nose but pushed onward.
“So. How often does Russia visit you?”
Canada tilted his head. “Hmm. At least once a day. I mean, sometimes I go to his home but he stays at mine often. “
America looked confused. “Wait. Every day?”
Canada nodded and knew he looked confused as well. “Yes. Sometimes one or the other of us will stay over, but Ivan likes to stay with me. Why, doesn’t England stay with you?”
“Well, yeah, sometimes. I mean when he can get away. He lives really far away.”
Canada nodded doubtfully. “So does Russia. And he just takes me with him, if he has to be at home for a long time.”
America looked at him mutinously, rocking back the chair, bracing on one foot. “Well, England’s really important. It’s not like he can just drop everything and come running.”
“Russia is very important.” Said Matt fiercely. “Maybe England just doesn’t care about your stupid colonies.”
America let the chair slam back down, leaning across the table to swipe at Matt’s hand, looking at the ring. His eyes tightened cruelly, and Matt wished he just hadn’t said anything. Let this boy think whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter. But if he started a war-and in his first meeting. . .
“I think he loves you too much . . . sissy.”
“Shut up! You’re just jealous!”
“Jealous of you? As if, you-you-shirt lifter!” Alfred said hotly.
Matt let out a growl, one that he rather thought Kumajirou would be proud of and reached his hand across the table, slapping America soundly, the pretty ring leaving a harsh red mark on his cheek. The other boy cried out, and Matt realized suddenly that sometime during their exchange all other discussion at the table had ceased. Oh no.
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“Control your savage!” The other man shouted, pulling America back by the collar, and examining his cheek as though it had any real damage. Ivan answered angrily in Russian, before turning Matt to face him, eyes taking in his face, large hands gentle as it checked the line of his nose. Matt tried not to sniffle, but didn’t really succeed. That had hurt, and Ivan smiled at him tightly and kissed his nose, as though to make the hurt go away.
“See, you are a sissy! Sissy, sissy, SISSY!”
Matt turned with another growl, a sharp flush rising in his cheek, and darted as though to leap at the other boy, but Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist holding him back.
“Don’t you call me a sissy! You’re a sissy, and he STILL doesn’t like you!” The other boy squeaked in anger, flushing all the way up to his ears, and Matt hoped that hurt. He was no sissy, and damn the boy for saying so.
“Alfred, that is quite enough! What happened?!”
“Nothing!” Alfred said defensively. “He just got mad and hit me.”
“Is that true?” Russia asked, and the look in his eyes said he knew it wasn’t true, but needed Matt to say it. Matt looked at the other boy, flushed and angry. He was stupid, yeah, but Matt remembered the first winter it had stormed too hard for Ivan to come very often, and when he did come he always had his sister trailing after him. It had bothered him, and he couldn’t explain it. He thought Russia understood though, because after that winter she never came again, and though he never apologized or anything, Canada got more presents that year than he really needed. And Matt looked at England’s expression, and how he hated it when he made Ivan mad.
“I. . . yes. I started the argument.” The other boy stopped looking at the ground and looked at him surprised, then up at the other man, whose hand was still in his collar, and then back at him. Matt didn’t really notice. He was too busy watching the disappointment cloud in Ivan’s eyes and hating himself for it.
“Well, I certainly don’t think there will be any trading now. I don’t want anything so uncivilized near-“
“No, wait. I mean. It wasn’t- I.” The other boy stopped and looked up at England stubbornly. “I still wanna trade with him. I don’t mind a little bit of a fight. We were just messing around, you know.”
“Yeah,” said Matt, hurriedly. “Just rough-housing a little.” He wiggled loose of Russia’s grip, and reached out, clasping the other boy’s hand.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Yeah.”
England looked confused, but humphed and reached over, straightening the papers that had become ruffled in the meantime. “Well, as long as you’re sure . . .”
Matt didn’t look up, was afraid that Ivan would see right through him, and waited to glance over until they had already begun signing things, again.
“Hey. . . uh. Thanks.”
Matt looked at the boy next to him, surprised. “It is no problem. I just thought-“
“Yeah.”
“Matt. Come, it is time to be leaving.” Matt let go of the other boy’s hand.
“Goodbye America.”
“Call me Alfred.”
Matt nodded and then Ivan whisked him out the door, one hand on his elbow, guiding him. Ivan was so silent, so quiet and his steps so stiff. Matt felt terrible. He hated it when Ivan got quiet like that. It meant that he’d done something terrible. They stepped into the carriage, and Matt sat carefully across from Ivan looking at the floor, until a large hand tipped his chin up.
“Are you all right?” Ivan’s face was blank, and Matt swallowed. “Da, I am fine. I am not hurt.”
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“So what really happened?”
“He called me and you sissies.” Matt said in a whisper, voice shaking a little. “I didn’t mean to slap him. I was just so mad. And he shouldn’t be allowed to say stuff like that about you. Just because England doesn’t care about him-“ Matt stopped abruptly, hearing a muffled sound, and looked up to see Ivan laughing. No not just laughing, but rocking with it, one gloved hand clapped over his mouth to try not to make noise.
Matt knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. Russia was dying with laughter, at Matt.
“Oh. If you are going to defend me, котенок I need to teach you how to fight. Ahahaha!”
Matt slumped back into the seat, pouting. “Hey. I didn’t do so bad-“
Suddenly Ivan was reaching across the seat, pulling him into his lap, and hugging him firmly, laughter still rocking his body. Matt should protest, because it was stuff like this that made Alfred call him a sissy, but he didn’t. He bet if England were to hug him like this, America wouldn’t just pull away. “No, you did very well. You were magnificent. My kitten has claws. I did not know, you have never tried to swipe at me.”
Matt buried his face into Ivan’s scarf. “I wouldn’t ever.”
“I know. I know. But why did you lie?”
“Because. . .” Matt pulled his face out of the scarf. “I hate it when you are mad at me. And if England only visits every once in a while, and he spent the whole time mad. . . Besides. You wanted me to make this trade, and it was a good way to calm things down.”
“Da, it was. You are very smart.” Russia looked down at him. “You are also very kind.”
Matt blushed, and shoved his face back into the scarf to hide it.
When they got home, Ivan pulled out his vodka and poured him a shot, telling him he was old enough if he wanted it. It burned, but Matt didn’t mind. He could handle it.
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