So chapter two went in a different direction than I had originally planned... I hope it's not too terrible overall. Things are going to get interesting for Ivan! Sort of. xD Anyway, let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions, I'm always open to listen.

The flight was the longest of Ivan's life. Aside from all the in-flight announcements being in English, much to Ivan's dismay, the young American couple he was sitting next to talked the entire flight about something that was probably of little to no importance. He was glad that he couldn't understand a word that was spoken, but at the same time, some insight into just why they wouldn't stop talking would have been nice too. Luckily he had a window seat and after about an hour, he was able to stare at the sky and space out, effectively drowning out the incessant jabbering.

Ivan stood against one of the many large New York City buildings, pulling out his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. Eduard had sent him a message, which Ivan was more than thankful for that it was in Russian. Something familiar was just what he needed to keep him afloat in this sea of unfamiliarity. He kept the phone close to him, making sure nobody could look over and spot the Cyrillic characters on his screen. He wasn't expecting to have any more contact with his home country now that he left, so the message also came as a pleasant surprise.

"Hello, Ivan. If you're reading this, I take it you've arrived and the flight went well. No red flags have been raised on this end from what I can tell; just thought I'd leave you with that peace of mind. I managed to find you a place to stay, so you're not going to have to worry about that. Everything else, like I said, is in your hands; I've done just about all I can do for you. The address of your flat is written at the very end of this message. The door will be open. I've also attached a map of sorts; it's a map of Manhattan translated into Russian. But as the streets are numerical and follow a grid pattern, I don't expect you to get lost.

So is New York everything you were hoping for? Don't forget to start learning English as soon as possible. Get a job, stay under the radar, and become American."

Ivan chuckled at the message, scrolling down to find the address right where Eduard said it would be. He was in New York for only a few hours—most of them were spent in the airport as it was—but he already missed the familiarity that was Moscow.

The buildings here were so much bigger than the ones in Moscow, each fighting with the one beside it to see who could reach farther into the sky. There were so many people here, yet Ivan couldn't help but feel incredibly small and alone among the crowd and the skyscrapers.

All the people around him were conversing in English, driving home just how much he didn't belong. After he got settled in his new flat and started getting a feel for where certain things were in this city—food and new clothes were essential; Eduard made sure he had funds transferred over—he could focus on learning this strange, difficult sounding language.

The one thing that he was thankful for was that all the street signs had numerical values instead of actual names. Since numbers were a universal thing except for the pronunciation, Ivan figured he might actually have a shot. He had to figure it out on his own; asking for help was completely out of the question. Eduard mentioned in his message that this city followed a grid pattern; that meant going one way would make the numbers increase, and the opposite way would cause them to decrease. It was simple enough in theory…

"West 35th and 8th" read the address, followed by the numbers which must have been for his specific room. Ivan looked up at the nearby street sign, then looked around at the people walking beside him before turning back to the sign. So from what he could gather from the sign, he was somewhere on W23rd. There wasn't too much further he had to go.

He took a couple blocks, nearly cursing aloud in Russian when he realised he was going in the wrong direction. Several people cast him a sideways glance, the smallest girl of the group giggling to herself. Ivan just blinked and tilted his head, unsure just what that was about. He didn't look that out of place, did he?

Ivan took a minute to compare what he was wearing to what the others around him were. He was still clad in his favourite beige coat, a simple white shirt and dark pants, and a scarf. In his mind, he was casually dressed; no cause for alarm there. But standing side-by-side to the people around him, he stuck out like a sore thumb. The men of New York wore professional yet casual clothes. There were many a black suit and long, dark jacket. Many of the men were dressed as if they had just come from work or they were going to a fancy event; it was impossible to tell just by looking and from what he knew, anything could happen in New York. Ivan made a mental note of the fashion here and would have to get himself new clothes as soon as possible.

In hopes to blend in more with the crowd, Ivan removed his jacket, quickly stuffing it into the bag he carried with him. Some young men were dressed in simple T-shirts and pants, so it brought him a little more comfort knowing he wouldn't have to drastically change his style. But there was also the problem with his hair…

Ivan was only in his early twenties; a rather young man, yet he and his two sisters all had silvery-white hair despite their youthful ages. His hair colour was uncommon back home, and here it seemed that it was the same way; only men much older than him had grey or even white hair. That made the Russian feel slightly better—changing his hair colour was something he refused to do.

He smiled as he glanced up from his phone, checking the number on the sign. W29th. Just a few more blocks and he would finally get to see what his new flat looked like. Thoughts of America and New York, a new job, and a new flat filled his mind the entire flight; those eight hours flew by as he watched the sky longingly, eager to arrive. Even now in this big city, seeing all these incredible buildings, New York was the only thing he could think about. The flat he lived in in Moscow was fairly small. While it was bigger than many of the others that full-families lived in, looking around at these incredibly large American buildings made it seem that much smaller.

Swept up in his own thoughts, he walked right into a young boy, blinking and stumbling backwards. The boy yelped and quickly righted himself, giving Ivan a surprised look. Before Ivan could even fix his scarf, the kid let loose a barrage of excited words, completely losing him. He spoke so fast and all the words jumbled together; could native English speakers even understand the kid? What was he so excited about, anyway?

He pretended to listen as the kid went on and on, taking in the young boy's appearance. His blue eyes were as bright as his personality, full of life and energy just like the kid seemed to be even if Ivan couldn't understand a single word he said. His golden hair was just as bright as the rest of him—it reminded Ivan of sunflowers, one of his favourite things—reflecting the sunlight. Even that one strand of hair that stuck up out of place seemed to work for him; it was just as strange as he was. He was dressed like many of the other men he saw; a black suit from head to toe that looked rather sharp on him, serving to make his blond hair even brighter in comparison.

Suddenly a hand was thrust out toward him and Ivan tensed slightly, blinking down at the blond. Just his luck, Ivan thought, staring at his hand. The blond wanted something of him and he had no idea what it was. Just breathe, he figured. Relax. There was a way to get himself out of this one; if he could play along long enough to get the kid to lose interest, then all wasn't lost just yet.

Those blue eyes were staring at him expectedly, his hand still outstretched. He kept repeating something to him, Ivan tilting his head slightly as he tried to make sense of it. "I'm Alfred," the boy said, and suddenly it clicked. Alfred was a name; he was telling him his name! Handshakes were also a form of introduction back home, so Ivan reached out tentatively to shake his hand.

"Iv—ah!" Ivan blinked and cleared his throat, immediately trying to cover up his mistake. He nearly gave away his name! Alex, not Ivan. Making stupid mistakes like that was exactly what he had to watch out for. He caught himself this time, just barely, but what was to say he would be so lucky the next time?

Alfred tilted his head, keeping his hand closed around Ivan's. "You okay, dude? Are you sick?!"

"Alex," Ivan said simply, trying his best to mimic Alfred's accent.

"Alex, huh?" Alfred repeated, looking him over. Ivan nodded and stood perfectly still, letting the strange blond do whatever it was that he doing. Suddenly that large grin spread out over his face again and he shook his hand excitedly. "Nice to meet you, Alex! So do you live around here or what? Where you headed?" Ivan blinked and shrugged, figuring it was an appropriate response to whatever Alfred might have been asking him.

Ivan quickly pulled his hand back when Alfred let it go, watching as the young blond pouted. He acted an awful lot like a child for somebody who looked to be so close in age to Ivan. Was this the effect of living here for so long or was it just his personality? The other people Ivan saw walking by didn't seem to be quite as eccentric as this kid; it must have just been him after all. But listening to the kid go on and on sent a wave of relief through the Russian; somehow he managed to fool this kid—how, he wasn't quite sure because Ivan figured his accent would have given him away in an instant—and they were having a what would be normal if Ivan could speak English conversation.

Ivan was secretly proud of himself. If he could do it with one person, he could do it with another and that meant there was hope for him yet. He could definitely learn to blend in; it would just take a little time, a lot of practise, and dedication. Hopefully it wasn't just the kid's seemingly short attention span and not so keen eye for detail that was the reason for his so far smooth sailing… No, that definitely wasn't it. He didn't want that to be it.

He didn't realise that Alfred had suddenly gone silent, staring intently at his watch. The Russian tilted his head slightly, throwing a quizzical look the blond's way. Did he forget something? Was he late? Just what was going on?

Ocean orbs widened as he continued to stare at the clock. "Fuck!" he suddenly exclaimed, making Ivan jump slightly. He didn't need to know the meaning of that word to know that something was wrong.

"Hm…?" Ivan was more than curious to hear what would come out of Alfred's mouth next even if he wouldn't understand a single word. He couldn't help it; he just found the kid so unexplainably fascinating.

Alfred shook his head, looking rather upset with himself. He bounced on his heels anxiously, glancing up from Ivan to his watch and back again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, getting more and more flustered. "I'm sorry Alex, but I didn't even realise the time! Sorry to just run off on you; maybe we can meet up again sometime? But I've got to go; I'm super late! My boss is going to kill me…"

Ivan just blinked as the blond waved and took off, clutching his small bag protectively. The thought that maybe this could have been an extremely well-planned trick by his people was always present in the back of his mind, controlling to an extent Ivan's actions. And if the kid was tasked with stealing the file he was trying so hard to protect…? That was it; it was all over. Whatever just happened was strange to say the least, but Ivan didn't feel like dwelling on it too much, especially when he still had his new flat to find and move into. Nobody touched his bag, which meant the file was still safely hidden inside. His excitement was already causing him to forget about the strange boy he just encountered. New York was probably full of people like this. And in such a big city, who was to say he would ever even meet him again? The chances were incredibly slim.

Not that Ivan would mind terribly another encounter with the strange American.

After another ten or so minutes of walking—and greatly appreciating this grid system that Manhattan had—he found his flat, double-checking the numbers on his phone and on the building just to be sure.

Ivan looked up at it in awe. The flat stood at least seven stories high and was in slightly better condition than the one he was used to living in. The white paint on the outside of the building started fading and chipping in some areas and the heavy wooden door had appeared to have seen better days. But despite that, it was a home and it looked to be in one piece, so there wasn't much more Ivan could ask for.

When he was finally tired of looking at it, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and hurried inside, eager to get off the street and see what awaited him behind the doors. He was looking for apartment 6-F and for better or for worse, that would be Ivan's place to stay.

The flat, much to his surprise, had a lift that accessed all floors. His flat back in Moscow, despite having several floors but still not being as large as this one, had only one flight of stairs that led to the top floor. He walked slowly up to the lift, examining it curiously. It wasn't the first Ivan had seen, but the fact that it was so readily accessible in the place where he would be living was amazing. He half wanted to try it out, but figured he would save that for a later date. If he took the lift now, he wouldn't get to see the other floors on his way up and possibly would miss out on catching glimpses of the other residents.

Were they foreigners too? Ivan wondered as he started slowly up the staircase, staring at the light coloured wallpaper. It faded and peeled in some spots, mostly close to the floor or around the doorframe of a good portion of the rooms. Already it seemed nicer than the flat he lived in; his was much smaller and in worse condition, the walls broken and crumbling, hoping somebody would come around to fix them. But nobody ever did.

One of the residents on the third floor had their door open and Ivan couldn't help but peer inside, hoping to catch sight of the people who lived there. A girl walked into view, stepping into the kitchen to toss a small bowl into the sink, pausing and locking eyes with Ivan when she noticed him looking in. Ivan blinked, violet eyes widening as he felt his cheeks heating up slightly with embarrassment. He was hoping to see the person there, not to get caught himself. What would people think about that here? Would they think he was weird or creepy for looking into somebody's residence?

Much to Ivan's surprise, the girl—who didn't look to be a day over fifteen years old—smiled and giggled, waving at him. He hid part of his face in his scarf as he could feel her eyes examining him, waving back shyly when he summoned the courage to do so. Ivan didn't know why he was getting so flustered; as long as she didn't try to talk to him, he would be fine.

"Hi!" she chirped, the smile still on her face. "I don't think I've seen you before… Do you live here now?"

So much for that, Ivan thought sullenly, blinking in surprise. What had she said…? It sounded like a question: best to just smile and nod and hopefully she wouldn't ask him anything else. Ivan nodded, tilting his head when the girl gave him a thumbs-up, smiling.

"Welcome!"

That must have been the right thing to do, Ivan figured, just smiling again at the girl. When the girl giggled and disappeared deeper into the room, he sighed in relief and quickly hurried up the next flight of stairs, hoping nobody else would try to talk to him.

Were there any Russian speaking people here? he found himself wondering as he reached the fifth floor. How many other people had come here like he did?

A rather tall, dark-haired man was leaning over the railing on the fifth floor, taking a drag of a cigarette and filling the hall with smoke. Ivan glanced at him curiously as he puffed out his smoke in rings, watching them disappear over the stairway. He grunted a simple 'Hello' and nothing more as Ivan passed by, to which the Russian returned with a nod before heading up to his floor.

The staircase extended up for some time, but Ivan paused to take in the sight of the floor he would be calling home, not wanting to miss a single detail. There were eight rooms in total on this floor, he noticed: four on each side of the hall. About halfway down the hall, one of the several wall lights flickered lightly, giving Ivan the impression of a shady motel room scene. The wallpaper, like he noticed on his way up, was also tearing in certain areas, but Ivan didn't care. It was all perfect, from the ceiling that could certainly benefit from a new paint job down to the scuffed up wooden floors.

His room was the third one down on the right. Sunlight filtered through the cloudy window, the small silver handle practically glowing before him. The door was open, just like Eduard had said it would be. The man didn't look like much, but Eduard was one you could count on; always stayed true to his word. His reach extended all the way out to America… Ivan was glad to have somebody like him on his side.

The door swung open with a slight creak—an easy fix if Ivan could find where to get the tools to do so—and he stepped into a small living room. The room had just the bare minimum, yet everything he needed. There stood a couch, a chair, and a small table sitting in the centre of the small room. There were two small windows side by side on the left wall, giving him a halfway decent view until one of the many other buildings obscured the view.

Ivan momentarily forgot about the rest of the flat as he wandered over to the window, taking in the sight of the city from the sixth floor. The view was breathtaking. This city prided itself on being huge and loud, announcing its presence to the world. New York had a way of making everyone feel so small in comparison yet so big all at the same time. All Ivan would have to do was find his place in this huge city.

He could stare out that window for hours and probably would if he hadn't remember that he had the rest of his new living quarters to scope out. A small folded up slip of paper on the table caught Ivan's eye and he walked over to it, delicately unfurling it. A small copper key fell into his palm and Ivan turned it over in his hand, examining it. It was the key to his flat, he realised, stuffing it into his pants pocket for safekeeping. Ivan's eyes widened as for the second time today, he found himself staring at the familiarity that was the Cyrillic alphabet.

«Привет, Иван. Здесь ключ квартиры. Тебе понравились? Тебе нужно искать работу. Очень, очень важно. Я советую гулять по городу. Узнать улиц, магазинов... Книжный магазин рядом с тобой. Там продают книг по-английскому.»

New York and Eduard just continued to surprise the Russian. How did he get this into the flat? It had to be somebody he trusted very well for him to just hand over a paper written in Russian. If anybody were to open it and discover its contents, Ivan would probably have found himself in cuffs before he could even have opened it. This letter made him incredibly happy even if he knew he would have to dispose of it properly.

Stuffing that in his other pocket, he continued into the other rooms. There was the one small living room he entered through, a kitchen that could just barely fit him—he would have to do plenty of shopping once he acquired a stable means of income—a small bedroom with a closet, much to Ivan's surprise—he was used to having a wardrobe in which hung he all his clothes—and the bathroom, which shocked him most of all. Bathrooms in America had the shower and the toilet in one room? Back in Russia, they had been in separate rooms for as long as Ivan could remember. He wasn't quite sure how he liked the idea yet; it was convenient in theory, yet strange all at the same time. The Russian was sure he would get used to it, however, and probably even like it better than what he was used to.

The flat was small, yet quiet and comfortable, Ivan decided after his second walk-through of the place. He couldn't yet get over the fact that this entire living space was his and his alone. He was expecting to see so many families living together in these small rooms. But as far as he could see, he was the only one in here. Just another amazing thing to add to the rapidly growing list.

Meeting with his neighbours was something he would save for a later date, though he was looking forward to trying to make friends with them. For a brief second, that strange boy from earlier—Alfred or something like that—popped into Ivan's mind and the Russian could only hope that once he learned English, he could meet the boy again.

Ivan ran his fingers over the crumpled letter in his pocket, deciding to take Eduard's advice. While he had all the time in the world to learn the layout of New York, he wanted to do it right now. The jetlag hadn't quite kicked in yet and Ivan was eager to make the most of his first day in America. He found himself quickly locking the door and heading back downstairs, the man he caught smoking earlier no longer standing around.

Taking a deep breath of the city air, he looked around, trying to figure out just which way to go next. Eduard had said there was a bookstore near him, but where exactly was a whole different story. And what did «книжный магазин» translate to in English? Ivan could clearly picture a bookstore filled with books in his head, but he had no idea what shapes or letters to be looking for on the signs he passed by. He would just have to settle for looking in the shop windows until he saw what he was looking for. It couldn't be that hard to find in this…huge city…right?

He picked a random direction and started walking, sure he would come across a bookstore somewhere around here. The walk was exactly what Ivan needed: fresh air, lots of people to watch and silently question in his head, and many different food stores. Ivan was amazed at just how many different kinds of places there were to eat from. He would have to try them all someday. Ivan loved the friendly atmosphere of those little coffee shop bakeries he passed by. While Ivan wasn't coffee's biggest fan, he could drink it—especially during long nights of work—with no problems. Was American coffee any different from Russian? He paused to look through the window again. There were so many people inside sitting and talking, enjoying their steaming drinks. Maybe that was a good place to start meeting people and making friends? He would also try with the people that lived in his flat. Surely they were all nice people and if he had to see them often in his building, it made sense to be friendly with them, right?

Finally, after nearly an hour of wandering around New York and ending up a considerable distance away from his flat, he found himself looking into the window of a local bookstore, smiling triumphantly. He had found it! Whether or not this was the one that Eduard was referring to in his note, it was still a bookstore. And it was incredible! This particular store had two floors and books that Ivan was dying to read someday.

It would be so easy to get lost in this store—Ivan had a love for reading and could get lost in it—but he was on a mission. He had to find where they kept the books on English language and grammar. Ivan had seen the words "English" and "language" before back home on various documents, so he knew what the books had to say on their front cover. Outside from those words and perhaps one or two others, he had the rest of the language to learn.

Ivan headed to the cashier with his arms full of English language books in all difficulty levels. There were books on grammar, usage, colloquial terms, and everything in-between. Whatever he found, he grabbed. He had enough money changed over from when he arrived that he could afford these books, but was surprised at the exchange rate.

He had a plan in mind: take the next few weeks and study these books day and night. If he could figure out where to buy it from, he would settle down in his living room with as much tea as he could get and study until he could have some semblance of a conversation. Then once he did that, he could get a job. Or was it possible to get a job without knowing English…? Money wouldn't last forever, after all.

Surely he could get a job despite how demeaning it might be. He made the choice to leave his position as a weapons engineer and would have to deal with the consequences. But America was the land of opportunity! Ivan was sure he could work his way back up to a respectable position.

Ivan set the books down on the counter and pulled money out of his pocket, not noticing the strange look the cashier was giving him. The small boy eyed his purchase carefully before giving Ivan a puzzled look, the Russian watching the cash register intently to figure out just how much he would have to pay for all of this.

"A lot of books… You working on a paper?" he tried in a soft voice, making friendly conversation.

Ivan didn't register the brunet's words, studying the screen carefully.

"It must be a really tough paper." Emerald eyes watched the Russian for any kind of response, more than curious to see what his reaction would be. Ivan blinked, looking at the boy for the first time. He hummed in agreement, nodding in what he hoped was the right answer and would end this line of questioning. Ivan was getting nervous. Nodding could only get him so far…

"So what are you writing about?" Ivan just stared at the small brunet.

Emerald eyes focused on the counter and the boy spoke his next sentence in a voice so soft, Ivan had to strain his ears to hear it. But as soon as he heard the first word, Ivan's eyes widened in shock and he had to fight back the urge to flee or attack the small boy.

«Вы русский...да?»

Ah! I forgot the translations on my first upload! Простите меня...

Привет, Иван. Здесь ключ квартиры. Тебе понравились? Тебе нужно искать работу. Очень, очень важно. Я советую гулять по городу. Узнать улиц, магазинов... Книжный магазин рядом с тобой. Там продают книг по-английскому. : Hello, Ivan. Here is the key to the apartment. Do you like it? You need to find work. It's very, very important. I advise walking around the city. Learn streets, stores... There's a bookstore near you. They sell books on English.