Ion scribbles words on the page hastily, taking down diligent notes to the meeting, though somehow making it look effortless. His mind processes the logistics easy, like breathing, it comes naturally to him to understand what is going on. He's spent years and decades studying and learning. Whatever they are talking about he knows solutions and answer to all the problems, at least involving himself.

Even if the other countries did ask him, they probably wouldn't listen, opting to fight amongst themselves for different problems, a past time he will absolutely refuse to be involved in. He is not a fighter and will avoid doing so for as long as he can stand to. Maybe the others think him odd for being a pacifist in the world they came from, but he doesn't care. He's sure the expression on his face portrays that message.

It's not his fault he has what Al has rightfully dubbed 'resting bitch face'. He's not entirely too sure on how to react to that description, all he knows is that he can't properly convey his emotions through facial expressions to disprove the American. It doesn't work like that for him. So he takes rigorous notes with a deadpan scowl on his face because that's the only look he has. The only item ruining the picture perfect image of him being a studious scholar in his rightful serious element is the pen in his hand.

Bold green with a flowery end at the top makes his otherwise sharp writing looking somewhat highschoolish with the dark green ink. Truthfully, he really likes the pen, but most would never guess that from the look on his face. It writes well enough and doesn't smudge when his hand passes over it, a rarity amongst pens. It's also sturdy enough to withstand his forceful pressing on the paper. Really, one of the better presents he has received from Ivan over the years.

Ion has an idea what kind of expression is on his counterpart's face but he glances over just to be sure he is right. Ivan is resting his elbows on the table in front of them, his chin in his hands and smile on his face. How real that smile is Ion can barely tell, on the smallest twitch in Ivan's face tips him off that this one is just a little forced.

He's been studying Ivan since they first met. When the otherworldly England made the flub of creating a connection between the two worlds, Ion's cuiosity took hold and he very nearly felt excited to meet his counterpart. He lost his ability to speak properly when he caught sight of Ivan's easy smiling face. It struck him odd how naturally Ivan could smile with no reason to, or at all for that matter. His own facial range very dull it made sense Ivan could have such carefree ability to do just the opposite.

He won't deny that Ivan talking to him openly made him somewhat happy. Most tended to stay away from him because of his outward cold exterior, but Ivan conversed nicely with him despite the odd threat, seemingly enjoying his presence, something new on it's own. Frankly Ion enjoyed Ivan's company as well. The only time he ever feels anger at his counterpart is when Ivan expresses his cruelty almost as easy as the smile on his face. Something about the way Ivan talks about control and inflicting pain is a surge of a reminder that they are opposites, though it has been some time since he's heard such threats come from the other.

Ion is momentarily distracted from the meeting when Ivan notices him staring, turning his head and giggling softly. Ion plainly turns back to the speakers, not at all embarrassed by being caught. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last either. He's oddly fascinated by Ivan's smile, always wondering which one is the true one and which one hides the dark thoughts his counterpart possess.

Of course at first he thought them all to be real and true. He eventually picked up on the signals from the other nations near Ivan that the smile didn't always mean good things. He started watching more carefully, noticing the small twitch Ivan gives out when he's not entirely pleased and faking just a little too much. The day he saw a true smile come to his counterpart's face had been one of the most intriguing days of his long life.

It had been an accident he saw it in the first place. He forgot his old pen in the meeting room and went to retrieve it. When he came back into the hall he saw Ivan talking with the France and America from his own world. Those other two didn't seem to be bothered by Ivan's somewhat intimidating nature or his possible snapping tendencies. They joked around and got Ivan to laugh gently into his hand, a different sound from the typical giggle he lets out.

The differences to Ion stood startling clear as he stood there and stared until they left the hall without ever even noticing him. The smile on his counterpart's face didn't twitch in that subtle annoyance kind of way, but also didn't reach as high as the fake one he usually wears. It's gentler, softer, as is his true laugh, if him covering his face is anything to go by he's shy about. Ion felt his heart pumping in his chest, hoping it wouldn't fall out and make a mess.

He made a point to notice the differences in Ivan's true and fake expressions. At first he did feel embarrassed by being caught when Ivan saw him looking, but as time went on, it became almost natural to just take a moment to examine his counterpart. It helps that the gentle smile Ivan gives to him is one of the few real ones. Ion feels oddly blessed to be on the receiving end of those more often than not.

When the meeting finally ends, Ion puts his things away meticulously, every paper in it's proper spot. He pauses momentarily at the gentle tug on his dark suit sleeve. He peers down at Ivan who blinks up at him. Ion puts his briefcase back on the table and waits patiently. Ivan giggles softly and puts his work away much slower. When he stands ready to leave, Ion walks right next to him quietly on the way back to the hotel.

Ion isn't one for saying much, or anything at all really. He doesn't feel the need to speak unless it is important. He says nothing as Ivan follows him back to his own hotel room and takes a seat in one of the chairs inside. He places two mugs in the microwave, tea leaves set aside for when the water is warmed. He puts his briefcase away and removes his suit coat to not get it winkled, taking Ivan's from his too. When the water is heated, he carefully makes the tea for the proper time, handing Ivan a mug on his way to take a seat outside on the tiny hotel balcony.

Ivan hums to himself and follows, tracing his finger's over the intricate floral pattern on the mug, and placing his chair right next to Ion's. Ion watches him for a second. The mugs they are using came from Ivan in the first place, another one of the gifts he received over the years.

While he might not be one for displays of affection, Ivan has no such boundary. The gifts started appearing on his doorstep just a decade or two ago. Small trinkets and treasures at first, all with a small note in Ivan's handwriting saying 'made me think of you'. Sparse and small, they made him sit and stare for minutes as to why. The reason eluded him, but made him unbearably happy. When the items began to grow in number, he bought a special box, one with a flower painted on top to fit the theme to his collection.

When Ivan sent him actual sunflowers, he shook taking them from the delivery person. He hadn't received actual flowers in years, and with the knowledge they are Ivan's favorite kind made them seem more special in their giving. He's never asked why Ivan sends him tiny trifles, most flower patterned, but he's nearly sure he knows why.

There's something relaxing about sitting with his counterpart in silence. Ion holds his mug in his lap, watching Ivan hold his mug to his face to take in the warmth of the tea inside. There's a small smile on his face, a natural one this time and it makes him proud to know he can put that smile there. Without a second thought he holds out his hand. Ivan laughs gently and takes it softly. It's not a serious hold, just lightly grasped together, but it feels nice. Ivan's hands are cold and it cools down his heated skin.

Though Ion hasn't put too much thought into it, not actually knowing how to go about thinking of such a thing, he feels connected to his counterpart in a different kind of way than just them being of the same nation. This interaction between them has been going on for many years, even before any other nation started to admit to themselves other feelings for their counterparts. Maybe it is a kind of love he feels, but he doesn't know enough to say for sure. Maybe Ivan doesn't either.

When it starts to get dark Ion takes their mugs to the bathroom sink to wash them out so the tea doesn't stain the bottom. Ivan stands by the doorway waiting for him to let him out in a spoiled child kind of way. Ion would never kick him out, but it is Ivan that decides when he leaves. He comes closer and places a hand on the door handle only to stop when Ivan drops his head to his shoulder. He nuzzles softly into his neck and Ion lets his hand fall from the handle to interlace his fingers with Ivan's in the gentlest way.

He has to remember to breathe in a controlled manner. Affection is not his strong suit and he swears a small shade of pink reaches his cheeks. Ivan pulls back and smiles at him, giggling gently, and exits the room. The door clicks shut and Ion is left staring at the beige color with a deadpan look on his face though his thoughts are cluttered and jumbled.

Sure he and Ivan had small romantic styled interactions but nothing resembling cuddling before. He runs a hand through his hair, walking backwards to fall onto the bed provided for him. He doesn't sleep. Instead he takes a book out his bag, admittedly one Ivan gave him, and pries it open to the page he left off on. He won't sleep for another few hours, not with his mind buzzing.

AN: The Russia story in the Infatuation series. Hope you enjoy