Russian Roulette [Russialove]

[China]

Russian Roulette

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The sky was dreary and overcast, looking like rain was about to come soon. Not one single ray of friendly sunshine shone in to alleviate the darkness in Yao's office. The sky was dark, the house was dark, and the time period was dark. He hadn't laughed, or joked, or even lifted his lips in a simple smile these past few months. There was nothing to laugh, smile, or joke about.

Everything was falling apart. They were falling apart.

Ivan.

In the early 1950s, he had allied himself with the Russian, due to similar ideologies. Their bosses back then were similar as similar could be, and they shared the same goals and aspirations. He, however, could not say the same thing; there was something about the other nation that always terrified him, that made him apprehensive; there was something about the aura of the other that he didn't like, and there was something with his disposition; whether it was his creepy smile, or the fact that he seemed too... too much of a stalker figure, he didn't know. All he knew that this was an alliance of convenience, and if his boss ordered him to, then he had to do it. After all, it was his duty as a nation to obey whatever his boss commands him to do.

However, as he grew to spend more time with the man... to have him come over to his house almost everyday to discuss about business matters and other things, to see him practically every minute; to spend all of his time, energy, and whatnot with him, to be able to cook for him whenever he visits, or to even exchange a few simple words of triviality that could entertain them for but a second... through all this, he had learned to actually like the Russian, to actually feel as if he had entered not into an alliance for comfort, but a true alliance, that of comradeship, of confidence in each other.

All of that was threatening to be for nothing this second. In the past month, Ivan had changed bosses; clashing ideologies and aspirations, conflicting goals, and recent events have deteriorated their relationship. Now, Ivan came over less, and when he did come over, it was only to deliver a short, curt, and blunt message. He couldn't even cook for him anymore. He couldn't even converse with him anymore; sure, they talked, but exchanging a few polite words and business terms was hardly much for conversation. He had not talked with him as a human, as himself, as Wang Yao and not China.

And now, here he was, sitting stiffly in his office chair, staring at a piece of red paper with writing on it. Red. The symbol of communism. Their symbol. The color they share. And yet... red could have so many meanings. The color of blood, a symbol for fire...

And even love.

He didn't even come to drop the letter personally; he had opened his door to a Russian messenger who was bearing the message. Had the conflict between them come to the point that they can't even interact with each other as themselves, and not as nations? Had Ivan's boss forbidden him to visit, to see him?

His hand clenched into a tight fist as the sound of crumpling paper filled his ears. Ivan had never invited him over for a meeting before. Sure, there were a few occasions where he himself had to run to Ivan's house, but that was only for a select, important few things. Ivan had always been the one who came to his house; this house was almost like the Russian's second home, where he had always been welcome.

And yet here he was, being invited to go over to his house. Something was wrong, definitely wrong.

Wasting no more time, Yao rose from his seat behind the desk, grabbing his thick coat from the coat rack just beside his door. He knew he was going to need it; it was the height of the harsh and bitterly cold Russian winter. Slipping it on his shoulders and tightening his hair tie, he set out for Russian territory, a worried scowl on his face. He didn't know what to expect, as he knocked on the door as soon as he arrived, clutching his coat tightly around him as the door was opened for him by Russia's maid. Stepping inside, he politely removed his shoes and handed the maid his coat as he was led to Russia's office, where he knocked twice before trying the doorknob. Unlocked. Twisting it in one swift move, he bit his lower lip as he carefully pushed the door open and entered.

Wide, shocked eyes scanned the room as he surveyed the even drearier surroundings. The only thing in the office was Ivan's desk, and two chairs that were facing each other. His eyes had also picked up a gun on the desk, and nothing illuminated the room but two lit candles. He blinked at Ivan, warily, as he stood by the door rigidly, all trace of friendliness in his voice gone.

"Iv--Russia... what is all this, aru...?[/blockquote]

[Russia]

Take a breath, take it deep
"Calm yourself," he says to me
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"Think of war as a game of Russian roulette. It is a game of chance with your life as the grand prize."
~Ramman Kenoun

November 12, 1961

A dark overcast sky, the rain pounding against the roof and the windows...How drearily appropriate. All that was needed was for the deafening thunder and the crack of the lightning to come and strike him down. Ivan knew there was a storm coming, it had been coming for a long time. Not just the literal storm, but the storm that had brewing amongst himself and his comrade...His best friend.

Falling apart. All was falling apart. Their hopes, their dreams, their plans, they were falling apart.

There was nothing they could do to stop the split between their leaders and their governments, but something was swelling deep inside of the Russian. The deep pitfall in the pit of his stomach felt as though it were deeping every day, every hour, every minute, every second. He was standing on the edge of the cliff, the itch of the rope around his neck. All he had to do was step off the edge...

No. He couldn't do that...Despite how much he wanted too. He had to keep his wits about him, he knew exactly what he had to do...Had to do. What had to be done.

His mind began to drift back, back to the days when the two held true comradeship. Those days...Were the best days of his life. The days spent in Ch- No...Yao's house were never long enough. He knew how tense and nervous that Yao was at first around him, but he however felt something...Different about the other. No matter what he did, it didn't affect him like it did the others. He couldn't, for lack of better words, touch him. It soon became an alliance, a true comradeship. He soon grew to crave the Asian's presence. His voice. Everything. Everything about Yao was like a drug to him, he had become addicted.

The change in bosses...Was one of the worst things that could have happened. They butt heads over ideals, beliefs, goals and aspirations. What his boss wanted wasn't what Ivan wanted. Despite their conflicting views...He was forced to see Yao less and less. He couldn't talk to him like they had in the past, all he was allowed to do was deliver short, curt messages. When in reality, he just wanted to ask if if he wanted to run away. Run away so they would have not a care in the world.

Impossible. It was all impossible. No matter how much he wanted it, no matter how much he craved it...Even then, it would never be. It was forbidden.

Forbidden.

Forbidden.

The very thought made him want to take the gun from his desk, put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger and just end it all. He felt hopeless, useless, dirtied with the blood on his hands that could never be washed off. He would be doing the world a favor, he was useless. Completely useless. Useless was all he ever was and will be, forever stained with red, dried blood of fallen comrades from years past, present, and future.

Red. The symbol. Their symbol. The symbol for their beliefs and ideals. The symbol for blood spilt. The symbol for burning fire.

The symbol for love.

He had to call him to his home...The letter that he sent, written on paper of the color of spilt blood. How appropriate it was for what he had planned for him.

China, we need to have a talk. Be at my home this Sunday at 7:00 pm sharp.

-Ivan Braginsky

It was time. It was time. Something was going to be done...Had to be done. Moving everything from his office out into a storage room save for his desk and two chairs, Ivan turned it to the side with the two chairs being on either side of the long desk. Feeling as though something had lodged in his throat, he opened the desk drawer and removed a revolver from within its wooden enclave. Opening the revolving chamber, he removed all but two bullets, both seperated from eachother before flicking it shut. As if moving on autopilot, he took two candles and lit them on either side of the desk. The game...Was about to begin.

Hearing footsteps coming from down the hallway, his eyes drifted upward toward the door before sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the gun, fingers intertwining with themselves. When he heard the door open, his glazed, tired eyes fell onto China's. Bile trying to force itself into his throat, he swallowed before he spoke in a quiet, yet still desperate voice.

"What is this China? Isn't it obvious what is happening? We are going to play a little game of roulette. A little game involving you, me, and this gun right here. You forced my hand China...You...You tried to leave me...Just like all the others. I thought...I thought you were different. But you aren't. You're just like all the others who have given up on me, trying to abandon me and leave me to freeze in the snow! But not anymore...This game...This game, will make sure that one of us won't be able to leave the other. So...Shall we begin?"

Giving the revolver a spin, the lightning cracked behind the Russian, giving his face an eerie, but sad glow...Mixed with his tired, and sad smile.

If you play, you play for keeps
Take the gun, and count to three
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[China]

Watching me, wanting me
I can feel you pull me down

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It was as if his heart stopped beating. He thought he would drop dead. He couldn't hear anything for a second, couldn't move for a second, as all he could do was stare at the Russian in front of him, after hearing the words that came out of his lips.

So it has come to this. A game of chance, of survival.

And at that instant, his past flashed before his eyes. All the mundane chatterings he had shared with the other. The time when he threw a snowball at him when they were walking home. The time when he warmed himself up in the other's home, back then so lively, now so cold and dreary. The times when he would lie in bed at night, looking forward to the next day, to be able to meet the other again. The good times they shared. The petty arguments. And finally, the bad times. The beginning of the bad times. The worsening situation. And finally... he was brought back to reality.

It was said that when one was about to die, their whole life flashes before their eyes. Either way, Yao didn't mind dying. He had lived long enough; he was, though he didn't look like it, a thousand or so times older than the other. He raised Russia. And instantly, his mind wandered back to the past, what happened, and what could have been if he would have been allowed to go back and do things differently. Alas, he knew everything was too late.

He knew he had to keep a face and heart of stone. Feelings were useless; he would be the loser. He was not about to be the loser. He was not about to appear weak. He was the great and mighty China, the powerhouse, the world-class power of Asia. The Asian who was certainly not only following, but keeping up with, and even surpassing the footsteps of the Western Superpowers. He was not about to appear weak.

Feelings are for the weak. And he wasn't.

Keeping a stone cold face, he cooly stepped into the room and took the opposite seat in front of Russia, a very slight twitch at the corner of his eye that is only noticeable to the very observant. Opting to set his hands neatly on his lap, he looked straight at the other, his heart pounding so fast he could hear it in his ears. But his face was not showing any of his agitation.

And... in one unexpected move, he laughed. Not an amused laugh. Not a fake laugh. But a laugh... that almost had an evil ring to it. A laugh that clearly hid something that he did not want anyone to see or notice.

"Tried to leave you? Tried to abandon you? Gave up on you? Who are you joking, Russia?" His tone was that of sarcastic amusement, of seriousness, the "aru" gone. "You make it sound like as if I came to save your life or get you out of some emotional predicament that your crazed self obviously cannot handle. Don't you understand? Everything that we've been through was simply and purely business." His voice caught in his throat a bit, tears threatening to flow out. But they didn't; to this day, he still couldn't figure out how he had managed to keep a straight face at that moment. "And now that we've both found more desirable comrades, now that we both think that our business relationship is purely a bad strategy, it's time to forget everything that happened between us and move on. Isn't that what it is? We live in such a world, Russia. And if you can't handle it, then yes, you might as well just fire a fully loaded gun to your temple and splatter your brains all over the floor."

He gasped, almost inaudibly. His mind had completely detached from his mouth, and before he could think of what he was saying, he just blurted out everything that he never wanted to say, everything he never meant. He meant to be a little bit harsh, to push Russia away from himself to protect him.

...But he feared he might have pushed him too far back.

Unease and tension was written all over him now as he still tried to keep a stoic face. Tears were threatening to fall; he never wanted any of this to happen. He was almost tempted to just screw it all and take Russia's hand, scream "Let's run away!", and take him out of that house to a far, distant land where their bosses or anyone would never find them, and they could live out the rest of their lives as a happy, normal couple.

To this day, he still regrets why he didn't do it.

Closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, he swallowed hard. As he opened his eyes again, brown eyes full of hidden emotion stared straight at violet orbs, almost as if he was trying to reach his soul and tell him what he was really feeling.

But... there was no turning back now. He is here, Russia is here, the gun is here, right between them. ...I'll shoot my own head first, if that means saving him... 我爱你，俄罗斯.*

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Fearing you, loving you
I won't let you pull me down

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*"I love you, Russia."

[Russia]

Just gonna stand there
And watch me burn
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Ivan could only stand there, just listening to that laugh. That laugh that held the maliciously cold ring. That was all he could really do at the moment, that dark chuckle that took his words away. At Ya--China's words, Ivan's heart felt as though it stopped beating completely, taking away his breath. His chest began to feel tight as he struggled to keep his breathing even, violet eyes falling closed.

So that was how it was going to be. To settle their issue with cruel words with a gun barrel pressed to the sides of their own heads.

He had played this game before, many times before with different individuals over the course of the years. Each time he came out victorious in the end, though this time...He wasn't sure if he wanted too. The one standing in front of him. The one who said all of those vicious things. The one he cared so much about, the one who he had fallen for the day when China had first learned that he could play the piano. The moment when those thin fingers brushed against his as he played, that moment when he felt his heart skip a beat and his breath was taken away.

However, here they were now.

They were here. The gun was here. The emotions were here. Everything was here.

It was now too late to turn back.

No matter with how many good times they had, with all of the times they laughed and talked about meaningless frivolity as well as more serious subjects only to turn around and laugh and make jokes about them later. However, the joking turned into petty, senseless arguments. Then full arguments. Scathing words. The bad and worsening times. The shift in superiors, shift in comrades and views. They had drifted. They had fallen apart.

A small smile began to cross on his lips, an odd flicker rising in violet eyes as he let out a soft, yet cruel chuckle of his own. Words were powerful weapons, at times much more so than a bullet or a blade. Words were what he knew he would have, despite China's words cutting deep his would do the same.

"Ah, is that truly what you think China?" He asked with a faint tilt of his head, the smile remaining. Before he could even stop himself, the cruel words began to spill from his mouth. "I do believe that it is you who are trying to run from me, da? After all isn't it you who is trying to run like a dog with its tail in between it's legs? Is it possibly because you believe that I will remove a knife from my coat and plunge the blade into your chest and carve out your heart? Or is it that you believe that I will attempt to overtake your pitiful little country? Ah, that's what you believe, isn't it? How...Quaint. You're right, we live in such a world where you can't even trust your dear comrades. Father was correct about you. You are nothing more than a mere loose end in my perfect plan. So China...I will allow you the honor of testing fate first."

Ivan kept his eyes on the other man, his face keeping that same smile on his face though...His eyes told another story. They were flickering with unbridled hurt, and even more hurt. He could see something behind those brown eyes, however it was something that he couldn't see himself. The words spoken between them stung, the bullet would pierce the skull but no matter who lost, they would unfortunately return to life.

His words were all lies. All just lies. Lies to try and push him away, to in a vain effort try and wash himself from the man in front of him even if he must do so in blood. It was alright though, hurt was his Master as well as his comfort. Hurt was what made him bathe in blood over and over again, it would seem as though he would soon have to do it again. Only this time...With the blood of someone who meant much more to him than himself. He felt the urge to reach forward, grab the gun and put the barrel in his mouth, and pull the trigger. Anything to try and save him, to save China from himself. However...He knew it wasn't possible. The game had to push forward. Hopefully...He would be the one to take the bullet.

He didn't know what he would do if he saw China laying dead on the table...His red and brown flowers scattering about the table. He...Didn't want to see it, he couldn't. He would take it, if it meant saving him from this cruel twist of fate.

But that's alright
Because I like
The way it hurts

But that's alright
Because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie...
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