Wish from the Heart: Memories pt 4

December 23, 1992

Nervousness, anticipation-those were not emotions Russia felt as the car rumbled down the narrow streets of China. A full year has passed since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, but this would be the first time he would meet China face to face. He didn't know what to expect from this, yet if he had to name what he was feeling, he would call it mild curiosity.

He's been told his relations with his Chinese neighbor have been...rocky to say the least, but he was not deaf. He heard the rumors. Before the fall out between their leaders, the two nations were on friendly terms that went beyond the accepted boundaries of mere allies. It left him with nagging questions that throbbed in the back of his mind.

"Natalya," he said as endless bikes whizzed and weaved pass their car, "can you tell me more about China? What was his exact relationship with the old Ivan?"

Belarus slid him a glance from her seat next to him. "Why?" she asked guardedly.

He shrugged. "The President wants me to improve the relationship between Russia and China. It'll help if I knew what it was like before and after the Split."  

Scowling, Belarus crossed her arms over her chest. "It doesn't matter," she snorted, "You're not my brother and that's that. Just leave it and deal with China like you do with the other nations."

Russia quirked up an eyebrow, but otherwise did not comment on her apparent dislike of the Chinese man.  In the short year that he knew her, he found that she didn't like a lot of people. The only exceptions to the rule seems to be her brother, him, and on occasion Ukraine. He smiled, somehow happy to know he made it onto her short list of "People Not to Stab".

After a few more scenic minutes of the busy streets, Tiananmen Square finally came into view. Quickly, they made their way to the Great Hall of the People, though there was no real reason to hurry. Negotiations have already been made, the terms hashed out by their leaders the day before. All that was left for him to do was smile and shake hands with China in front of the cameras.

The double door they were led to, opened up to a spacious room. In the middle, stood a sturdy mahogany table that could easily seat twenty or more. The Chinese delegation sat at the far end of the table, away from the door. As they approached, President Yang Shangkun stood up and smiled. Like a play they all knew the script to, the Presidents hugged and laughed as if they were old friends reuniting after years apart. Niceties were exchanged and vague answers with no real meaning were given. Russia could almost guess the words the Presidents would say to each other. It was a political dance they all had to perform for the sake of the public eye.

A gunshot like sound reverberated throughout the room, causing the orchestrated act to a halt to a screeching stop. The quiet murmurs dwindled to nothing and in the silence, the soft rocking of the fallen chair was deafening. No one moved, no one spoke.

Accusing eyes fell onto the man of medium height who knocked his chair over in his haste to stand. The man, however, didn't utter a word of apology. He didn't even seem to be aware that he disrupted an important meeting that could rekindle the ties between the two nations. His unwavering amber eyes saw only Russia; his sole attention was for him alone. A sad wistful smile trembled on his lips and he whispered, not an apology, but a name, "Ivan..."

Baffled, Russia blinked. He thought the relationship between China and Russia were only a bit better than the relationship between Russia and America. The one word the man whispered, it was packed with meaning, but none of it reflected hate.

Every possible emotion that could describe happiness: desire, longing, elation, hope- it was encompassed by the utterance of his name. Even if he heard wrong- misinterpreted the meaning- there was no mistaking the pure joy radiating off the slender man. The intensity in his eyes seemed to burn Russia to his very soul...

No. It wasn't hate at all. It was something different altogether. It made him nervous. Uneasy.

Russia swallowed with a loud gulp

---

"Yao."

In the distant part of his mind, China heard his boss speak his name with displeasure, but chose to ignore it. Everything dwindled into the background and nothing mattered. He waited for a year. A whole damn year, choking down every impatience, every ache in his heart for this moment.

Finally, he could see with his own eyes that man that haunted his dreams. Standing in front of him was flesh and blood, not a delusion or a fragment of a memory. Alive. Russia was alive. Tears of relief and happiness threatened to fall, but China brushed them back with his hand. The pleasure he felt was almost akin to pain. Breath came short and stuttered. Blood pulsated in his ears and his vision tunneled. Viciously, his heart pounded against his ribcage until it was like his heart would leap straight into Russia's hands.  

It hurt. It was agony. But through it all, China was undeniably overjoyed. He didn't care if he acted like a fool in front of everyone. To be judged and living in denial, he had enough. He made that mistake once, but never again. "You haven't changed," China said with fondness, "Not one bit." He reached for Russia, unable to hide the shaking of his hands.

Russia jerked back from his touch, flashing him a look of annoyance. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

China's smile dimmed at the blatant reject, but it was just like Russia to fool around. He was never serious even when it was called for. China shook his head in amusement and tried to reach for him again. "Ivan, stop playing. It's me."

Russia snatched his wrist and held it in an iron grip. He tightened his hold in warning. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not him. I. Don't. Know. You." Cold, violet eyes gazed at him with an emotion China could only call 'disgust' before Russia flung his hand away from him. "If you'd please, let us go back to discussing the negotiations."

Just like that, Russia turned his back on him without a second glance.

Time flowed once again and the meeting continued as if nothing happened. Conversation flew over the table, but everyone tacitly ignored the silent, lifeless doll that was China.

Numbly, China acknowledged this was not what he imagined. Every scenario, he played in his head, nothing could compare to the nightmarish reality he was in. He knew, perhaps even expected, Russia to be angry with him. Hate him even. But hate was closer to love than people realize. They both take the same amount of effort to obsessive to long or loathe a person.

He daydreamed about their reunion, counting down the days until they met again. In his dreams, Russia smiled at him in that usual cocky way of his that he found endearingly irritating. Like days gone by, Russia would tease and harass him until he threw his arms up in feigned exasperation. He wouldn't admit it, but he adored the way Russia's sapphire eyes would light up and gaze at him tenderly.  

China glanced to his side and his heart clenched as Russia pointedly looked away from him. He bit his lips, the metallic bitterness of his blood filling his mouth.

Indifference was the antonym of love. Not hate.