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Yao is standing, uninvited, in Ivan's house.
He doesn't know why. Hell, he doesn't even know if he likes Ivan very much. His feelings yo-yo all over the place on the topic. When he is sober, he feels mildly annoyed. The Europeans are a handful to begin with, and the guy is always invading his space! But when he is drunk, he tends to feel melancholier… if that is indeed a word.
Yao knows the loneliness that Ivan feels, or at least he thinks he does. He understands having raised so many people, seen so many others come and go that he wishes would be permanent but are simply not. He walks around the living area, looking at pictures of people that no longer live in Ivan's house anymore, and feels a small pang of sadness, numbed by baijiu and time. Yao runs his hand along the wooden frames and frowns. Ivan should clean more. He rubs the dust between his fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. Ick.
Minutes earlier, he was knocking on the big, metal door that separates Ivan's house from the surrounding forest. He was surprised to find it unlocked. He did not know if Russia usually left his door unlocked, but it seemed careless. He strode in with the intention of drunkenly telling his frenemy (?) off but found the house empty. Empty except for the pictures. He took off his shoes, leaving them at the entrance. He decided to sit around and wait so that if anyone broke in the house, he could defend Ivan's belongings.
Before Yao really understands what he's doing, he's standing in the doorway to Ivan's bedroom, leaning on the doorframe to support himself. He sighs without realizing it and slumps against the doorframe. His eyes close. He's tired, more than tired. He is tired that steeps into your bones and presses against your tendons. He is tired that happens when you have existed for thousands of years, stabbed in the back, beaten, and built up again only to be kicked back down.
Ivan is not in his room. The house is silent. Usually, it is the other way around. Ivan makes himself the uninvited houseguest and Yao plays host for him, cooking and huffing about how much work he must do all the time while simultaneously refusing Ivan's help.
He gently pulls himself up and enters the room. He sits down on Ivan's bed and smooths his hands over the sheets. They're a bit coarse, but he still feels the need to crawl under the sheets like this is his own home. He bites the inside of his cheek. This house... it feels like his own. It is large and empty and quiet.
The bed smells like Ivan, a little. He smells like... outside, there is no better word for it. He smells like the woods, like pine trees and the way currants smell when you crush them. And a bit like soil, but in a good way. Yao likes it.
His eyes flutter shut, and he lays down on top of the sheets. This is peaceful. It's still a big empty house, but it is not his big empty house. It is filled with the memory of Ivan, and that makes him... happy? Not quite happy. Melancholy, or bittersweet. It is better than sad, which is how he feels at home.
"Ah...!"
He hears the clang of something metal hitting the ground. "Oh! Yao! You should have told me it was just you. I was about to hit you with my pipe! I thought you were a stranger, or an animal, or one of my sisters!"
Yao may be drunk, but he's sober enough to register the exuberance in Ivan's voice, and the light in his blue eyes as he stands in the doorway. Ivan is happy that he's here, at least. Yao springs up, on his feet in an instant. He sways a little and points a finger at Ivan. "Stupid! You will not have this problem if you lock your doors! Why was that unlocked!"
Ivan giggles a little, and Yao crosses his arms indignantly. "It is not funny! Why are you laughing!"
"It's not a problem. If anyone does, I just beat them up. No need to fuss." His voice is not unkind, and he takes off his winter coat and hangs it on a hook attached to his door. "You aren't here to steal, right? I would hate to have to beat you up."
Yao rolls his eyes. "No, you have nothing to steal anyway! But..." He blinks, his mind blanking for a moment as he sits back down on the bed. "...Hmh. Fight me anyways," He says, mumbling. Ivan laughs, jovial. "I could snap you like a little twig, Yao. But that is cute though!"
The smaller nation raises his fists as Ivan approaches him, though it is clear the threat is empty. Ivan sits down next to him, and Yao hits him lightly on the arm once. Ivan just laughs again and grabs his wrists. "You have been drinking, yes?" His eyes are sparkling with amusement. "You are funny when you drink."
"Only a little," Yao says, huffing. "Not everyone is built like a brick shithouse! Some of us feel alcohol!" Ivan lets go of his wrists, and Yao's hands immediately fall to his sides. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His face is ruddy, but he can't help but smile. Part of him is happy to see Ivan.
And he likes to hear Ivan laugh. It has been a long time since someone was that excited to see him, to spend time with him. He bites the inside of his cheek again to keep tears from spilling over. Why is he crying!? He wipes at his face, aggravated. "Ugh. Sorry," he mumbles. Instead of saying anything, Ivan opts to wrap his arms around Yao in an attempt to be comforting. Almost immediately, Yao collapses onto him, resting his head on Ivan's chest. He didn't realize how tired he was until he was hugged, and now he feels like he's falling apart.
Ivan hums. "You are nice to come home to," he says offhandedly, combing his hands through Yao's hair, undoing his ponytail as he does so. He can feel Yao relax against him, and smiles. Yao mumbles something against his chest. "Hm? What was that?"
"Now you are the one being fussy," Yao says, pulling away just long enough to be heard before immediately pressing his head to Ivan's chest again. "Fuss? I am not fussy..." Ivan says, faking indignance. He smooths his hand over Yao's hair. "I am being your friend... What is wrong?"
Yao shakes his head. "Nothing is wrong. Just... past things. So many people I miss. People that used to care about me and let me care about them." He is not as bright as before, as feisty or exuberant as he usually is. "And I thought about doing things that I do not do anymore, for the first time in a while," he admits. "But... I could not bring myself to go through that. There is... It is years of recovery every time, and it hurts every time. And usually, there are people to support me, so if I fall in, I can get out. But now I don't! And that scares me. So... instead, I drank. It is less harmful." He says bitterly. "But what is the point of being safe if there is no one to be safe for? And- I know that is not great thinking Ivan, I don't wanna hear it! It is just what I am feeling."
He lets Ivan play with his hair. He does not like how quiet the other man is, it makes him uncomfortable. He does not want to have to talk to fill the silence, or he may speak more truths that he does not want to say. "But it is fine! It is okay, and I am okay. By tomorrow the feeling will have passed. I do not want to talk about it anymore. I just... I want to be here." He wraps his arms around Ivan as far as he can.
"I want you here too," Ivan says quietly. Yao slowly clambers on top of him, repositioning himself so that he can rest entirely on Ivan. He rests his head on Ivan's chest and reaches his hands up to tangle in his silver-blonde hair. He closes his eyes again. He can feel the other nation's chest rising and falling as he breathes. Ivan places a hand on the small of Yao's back and slowly moves upwards, as if nervous, before resting it firmly on his shoulder blade. "Is this...?"
"Shh," Yao interrupts him. "It's fine. if it wasn't I would say so. See? Fussy!" He raises his voice a little, and Ivan can't help but giggle. That sounds more like the Yao he knows. Even if it is a front, it's something. "Mhm, a little." He can feel Yao nod against his chest, and his heart blooms a little with affection. Ivan can feel him shift and looks down to see green eyes looking back up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks irritable. "What? I told you, I'm-"
He leans down and presses a small kiss to Yao's button nose. "Nothing. Usually, you are the one doing things for me... It is nice to take care of you a little. That is all." He takes a second to wipe a tear track from Yao’s cheekbone. "I am not planning to make a habit of it, Braginsky," Yao says sharply, almost as if a response to the touch. "But..." He stretches himself up to kiss the bottom of Ivan's chin, "once is not a habit." His voice softens again, though it sounds more accepting than defeated.
They stay like that for a while, simply enjoying the presence of each other. Yao slips in and out of sleep, he's so comfortable. Ivan is warm, and big, and solid, and safe.
He thinks he could care about Ivan like how he has cared about other people.