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Ivan dropped his pen onto his desk and rubbed his exhausted eyes. How many hours had he been working—four? Five? He glanced down at the pages of the report he had been writing. Five hours and he still hadn't completed the first draft. The report was due in tomorrow. His boss was going to go absolutely mental.
The Russian glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, which was just about to strike 3 a.m. Shoot. He had to be up on time for that meeting tomorrow morning.
With one last despairing look at the incomplete report, Ivan extinguished the oil lamp on his desk and made his way to the door, closing it silently behind him. As quiet as he tried to be, his heavy footsteps still echoed through the huge corridors. He shivered wrapped his scarf more securely around his neck. Big houses got so cold in the winter.
The hallways were nearly dark, save for the pale, frosty moonlight, so naturally the warm shaft of light coming from the room on his left caught his eye. Ivan peered into the room. It was unlike him to leave a light on.
Then he remembered, this was the door to the Baltic brothers' bedroom.
Ivan paused outside the door. The light was dim, and he could hear only silence from within. He waited a moment more, then, unable to resist the temptation any longer, inched the door open and looked inside.
The Russian gasped softly. He didn't know what he had expected to see, but it certainly wasn't this. To him, the Baltics had often seemed quite distant from one another—perhaps because the work he gave them kept them apart. Now, however, they were anything but distant.
All three of them were crammed into Estonia's narrow bed, which was in the centre of the room. Estonia and Lithuania had been shoved aside by little Latvia, who had snuggled in between them. The smallest Baltic was murmuring something in his native language while he slept. Without waking up, Lithuania ran his hand through the boy's curly hair until he fell silent, then his hand moved back to its previous position, firmly gripping Estonia's.
Only when Ivan dared to take a step closer did he realise that it wasn't just Lithuania and Estonia; all of the Baltics were holding hands.
Without warning, Ivan felt his eyes well up with tears at this subconscious display of unity. He backed out of the room and strode away briskly, batting the tears from his face. Were the Baltics even related, or had he driven them to seek solace in each other?
He finally reached his bedroom. Ivan kicked his boots off, before grabbing the nearest bottle of vodka. There was only a little bit left, and he downed it all in one go. Then he reached for another.
~~~~~~~~~~
Half an hour later, the Russian could barely stand due to the amount of alcohol in his system. He flopped down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Screw the meeting, they probably didn't need him anyway.
He glared at the half-empty bottle. " 'S all your fault," he slurred. "If I didn't drink so much they wouldn't be afraid of me." He sat up, gripping the bottle by its neck. "What do you make me do to Liet and the others, hmm? Do you make me hurt them? Do you?" Ivan closed his eyes and sighed. He was talking to a bottle of vodka.
"It is you who makes me do that," he growled at the beverage. "I would never hurt them!" he yelled, hurling the bottle at the wall. It shattered, the clear liquid tricking down the wall like a tear.
"I wouldn't do that to them," he whispered, burying his face in his pillow and letting the tears flow. "I wouldn't."
Would I?
The Russian glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, which was just about to strike 3 a.m. Shoot. He had to be up on time for that meeting tomorrow morning.
With one last despairing look at the incomplete report, Ivan extinguished the oil lamp on his desk and made his way to the door, closing it silently behind him. As quiet as he tried to be, his heavy footsteps still echoed through the huge corridors. He shivered wrapped his scarf more securely around his neck. Big houses got so cold in the winter.
The hallways were nearly dark, save for the pale, frosty moonlight, so naturally the warm shaft of light coming from the room on his left caught his eye. Ivan peered into the room. It was unlike him to leave a light on.
Then he remembered, this was the door to the Baltic brothers' bedroom.
Ivan paused outside the door. The light was dim, and he could hear only silence from within. He waited a moment more, then, unable to resist the temptation any longer, inched the door open and looked inside.
The Russian gasped softly. He didn't know what he had expected to see, but it certainly wasn't this. To him, the Baltics had often seemed quite distant from one another—perhaps because the work he gave them kept them apart. Now, however, they were anything but distant.
All three of them were crammed into Estonia's narrow bed, which was in the centre of the room. Estonia and Lithuania had been shoved aside by little Latvia, who had snuggled in between them. The smallest Baltic was murmuring something in his native language while he slept. Without waking up, Lithuania ran his hand through the boy's curly hair until he fell silent, then his hand moved back to its previous position, firmly gripping Estonia's.
Only when Ivan dared to take a step closer did he realise that it wasn't just Lithuania and Estonia; all of the Baltics were holding hands.
Without warning, Ivan felt his eyes well up with tears at this subconscious display of unity. He backed out of the room and strode away briskly, batting the tears from his face. Were the Baltics even related, or had he driven them to seek solace in each other?
He finally reached his bedroom. Ivan kicked his boots off, before grabbing the nearest bottle of vodka. There was only a little bit left, and he downed it all in one go. Then he reached for another.
~~~~~~~~~~
Half an hour later, the Russian could barely stand due to the amount of alcohol in his system. He flopped down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Screw the meeting, they probably didn't need him anyway.
He glared at the half-empty bottle. " 'S all your fault," he slurred. "If I didn't drink so much they wouldn't be afraid of me." He sat up, gripping the bottle by its neck. "What do you make me do to Liet and the others, hmm? Do you make me hurt them? Do you?" Ivan closed his eyes and sighed. He was talking to a bottle of vodka.
"It is you who makes me do that," he growled at the beverage. "I would never hurt them!" he yelled, hurling the bottle at the wall. It shattered, the clear liquid tricking down the wall like a tear.
"I wouldn't do that to them," he whispered, burying his face in his pillow and letting the tears flow. "I wouldn't."
Would I?
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I don't know why, but I have this weird little headcanon that Ivan sometimes watches the Baltics sleep. Not in a stalkerish way, but he just likes to see them being a family and stuff, because he's so lonely. I mean, can you imagine if he tried to cuddle Belarus? And then he feels all guilty and goes and drinks. Yeah.
Hetalia ©
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*sniff* So...cute..~!