His eyes peeked curiously from behind the stone wall he used to conceal his presence. One gloved hand lay on the cool surface, fingers curled lightly in excitement. Puffs of breath escaped from his mouth, made their way through his silky scarf, and flew up to the snow-filled heavens above. His silvery bangs fell messily over his forehead, but he made no effort to swipe them away. Angelic amethysts were transfixed on the person standing at the other side of the playground, honed in on him like tracking devices.

Alfred F. Jones. Star player of their school's baseball team, popular with the boys and swooned over by the girls. His hair was golden, his nose (small, unlike Ivan's) was freckled, his teeth brilliant as he flashed others a dazzling and knee-weakening smile. No braces, no acne, no imperfections at all. He did wear glasses, but they just completed his features.

Alfred F. Jones. One hundred percent American, one hundred percent dream boy, and one hundred percent not interested in other guys.

Ivan knew. He knew all too well. Yet he couldn't stop himself from secretly watching the other, following after him and his friends just to hear that lovely energetic voice and laughter full of life. He couldn't stop himself from turning his head towards Alfred whenever he entered a classroom. He couldn't keep that sun-kissed skin out of his dreams, couldn't help but slip away in fantasies when the teacher droned on and on about unimportant facts.

Ivan yearned to touch those plump lips, ruffle a hand through smooth hair before pulling his head down roughly, crashing their mouths together in a passionate kiss. Or just hold him close. Let his fingers trace well-defined abs and follow dark veins, see those divine blue eyes overflow with a feeling so intense it hurt just to try and name it.

Oh, how Ivan yearned. Wanted. Needed. Desired. Pined.

English was a funny language, really. Connecting pine trees to emotions that cut straight through your heart, made your stomach squeeze together uncomfortably, sent a shot of both scalding warmth and icy coolness from the tip of your head all the way down to your toes.

Ivan had laughed the first time he read the description of this new word. Because it was laughable, really. Such a silly language.

Now he understood. Pine trees fit the picture quite perfectly.

Whenever he thought of pine trees, he thought of home. Not the house he and his sisters occupied here in America. His real home, back in Russia. And whenever he thought about home, a flutter of want shot through his veins, crawled over the surface of his skin. The want to be there once more, to see those forests and snow-covered fields, to let that distinct smell caress his rather sizeable nose (no one ever let the chance go by to tease him about that particular part of his body). Whenever he thought of home, he pined after it. Exactly like he pined after Alfred.

Alfred. The way that name rolled off his tongue made him blush. It sounded so foreign, so exotic, so unlike names he was familiar with. Alfred. He could say that name a thousand times without getting tired of it. Alfred. It was the name that haunted his dreams, suddenly appeared in his block notes, pursued him into the shower.

Ivan sighed. Three years. Three years of secretive stalking, years of being jealous of those the blond did pay attention to, of lying to his sisters, of praying he would look his way, even if just for a second. Yet, whenever he did, it was never the same look he gave others. The look Alfred sent him was different. Not happy, not filled with joy. There was something…something else. Curiosity? Disgust? Distrust perhaps? Maybe Alfred was one of those who held prejudices against anyone who was different. No, that couldn't be it. His Alfred would never be like that. What was it, then?

Another sigh, shaky and hesitant. Three years of waiting. Today it would all change.

Ivan held his breath when Alfred put his hands in his pockets. He closely studied the blond's face, watched as a light frown found its way to those expressive eyebrows. Alfred retracted his hand and opened it, confused to see a little piece of paper lying in his palm. Ivan subconsciously started biting his knuckles, nostrils flaring when Alfred squinted his eyes to read the text he had written on it. Just a few words.

Alfred, you mean the world to me. Meet me in the inner courtyard after school.

With love,

your sunflower.

Ivan had finally found the courage to leave him a message. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Alfred smile. The one he pined after had accepted his invitation. Now all he had to do was show up and confess. Yet, his confidence wavered ever-so-slightly when a girl asked for Alfred's attention and got it without hesitation.

What did she have that he had not? Well, besides the obvious (Ivan shuddered in dread at the memory of being confronted with his sister's "assets"). But she didn't get that special look from him. She was just one of the many admirers.

…Was she? If that were the case, then wasn't he as well?

Ivan's heart sank at the thought. Alfred would never choose him. He had so many to pick from. Ivan was just that weird Russian kid that came to all his baseball matches, who barely had any friends, who never took off his scarf and never got out a full sentence without stumbling over his words and excusing himself before hurrying away, cheeks red with embarrassment.

Alfred would never choose him.

~o~

He came. He really came.

Those perfect blue eyes glanced around expectantly, one hand keeping hold of the strap of his rucksack, a foot ticking restlessly against the ground.

Ivan's heart was beating so fast it felt like it could grow wings and fly away any moment now.

Now. Walk up to him, and tell him. Now.

His feet started moving, careful not to make any sound as he approached his target. Alfred's back was facing him, and he could see a little white label sticking out the back of his shirt. He fought the urge the reach out and tuck it in.

Alfred was texting someone, not taking notice of his presence. He could either clear his throat, or just put an arm around his waist and reel him in, place his thin lips at an ear and whisper sweet nothings into it. He would purr seductively, make Alfred shudder in anticipation as he finally took off his glove and caressed that well-defined jawline, making that pretty voice moan his name. And it would be perfection, it would be bliss.

Ivan's hand stopped. He had begun reaching out, but was now frozen to the spot. Alfred was still texting away furiously, not even noticing the guy standing mere inches behind him. Couldn't he feel the warmth of another body? Couldn't he hear the almost forced breath-intakes? Oh, there it was. He had earplugs in his ears.

Ivan took a step back and cradled his hand to his chest. What on earth was he doing? He couldn't just tell Alfred how he felt. He could never tell anyone how he felt.

Ivan's eyes saddened as he took another step back. Alfred was so close. So tantalizingly close. All he had to do was reach out and touch. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Alfred was so close, yet so very out of reach. He, the most popular kid of their year, loved by all and hated by none. He, who had everything handed to him on a silver plate. He who was without failure, without problems keeping him up at night.

Ivan could never be with him. Not that he didn't want to, oh no. Far from it. He would die before saying he didn't crave for the American. But they could never be together. Not only because Alfred was most likely not interested at all, but because Ivan was who he was.

His walls were too high. No matter how much he loved someone, he would never be able to tear those walls down. He would always keep secrets, always be on guard, never allow himself to be fully happy. Alfred didn't deserve that. He was a simple high school boy. Godlike in Ivan's eyes, but still a boy. He deserved more than someone, a guy nota bene, who would only end up hurting him.

Tears started filling his eyes as he took another step back, then another. He was so close. It was like holding forbidden fruit in your hand, mouth overflowing at the scent yet unable to take a bite. Tempting, oh so tempting.

Ivan shook his head, trying to keep the tears from spilling. His hand started trembling as he took another few steps back, away from his object of desire and towards the door leading to the main hallway.

It takes a lot of courage to leap into the darkness. Not only confessing your feelings and hoping with your entire being that they will be returned. But also crossing the distance between dream and reality. Watching that image of perfection you have created in your mind crumble away, to reveal the real thing. Sometimes it's better than what you'd always dreamt it would be. Something it's just a big disappointment.

Ivan was afraid. Afraid to get laughed at, afraid to open up to someone so unlike him. Afraid that Alfred, the one he had fantasized about for three full years, would not be able to live up to the image he had created of him. People in love don't usually doubt that, but Ivan was too distrusting to believe for one second that his dreams could be made reality.

No. He wasn't going to confess. He would just keep watching Alfred from the shadows, keep adding fuel to that perfect dream. Keep pining after the one he could never have, didn't deserve to have.

He would never reveal himself. Let Alfred find a girlfriend, someone who wasn't as troubled as him, someone whom he enjoyed being with. He would keep watching, close enough to touch, yet too far to possess. It was better that way.

After all, pining after had nothing to do with trees. Just like he would never see Moscow again, he would never see Alfred smile at him the way lovers do and be able to return it, unafraid and unashamed.

He would keep his heart locked away, and maybe the feelings would leave him be overtime. Who knows?

He would keep observing, never intruding.

He would keep the dream alive.

For Alfred deserved happiness.