I've finally decided to try and venture into another fandom... Hetalia is such an awesome series, I'm so happy I stumbled across it! :)

In any case, since this is my first Hetalia story, please be nice, okay? I do hope this won't be considered a complete waste of your time, but you never know until you try, right? Oh, and please keep in mind that while I may have grown up bilingual, my English certainly has been strongly influenced by my daily use of Swiss German, so if you think that something sounds really strange or even wrong, do notify me (nicely) about that - I love improving my vocabulary. The same goes for punctuation issues.

Warnings: I fail at keeping everyone IC all the time, so I hope you don't mind a bit of OOC-ness. Also, not everything might be historically accurate, but this is just harmless fiction, after all.

Disclaimer (oops, forgot this when I actually published the chapter, but better late than never, ne?): Hetalia and all its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, of course.

Note: Interrobangs have been used to emphasize astonishment or protest because the exclamation mark gets removed if it's written directly after a question mark...

Two years had passed since the Soviet Union had dissolved, and Ivan Braginski was sometimes still tempted to call out for his ex-subordinates, particularly the ever-helpful Toris. The first few times that had happened, he had felt a surge of anger rush through him – What was taking Toris so long‽ – but then he had remembered that he was all alone in this big house now. The loneliness was nearly suffocating, especially on bitterly cold winter nights. And in Russia, his home, winter always seemed to last much longer than in other countries, even if it was just the winter within his heart.

Today was the day of the year that Ivan disliked the most: his birthday. He already was lonely enough; he didn't need a birthday where no parties were celebrated and no more guests showed up anymore to remind him of his solitude, thank you very much. His trusty vodka seemed to be his only friend in those moments, but vodka couldn't talk to him or hold him. All it could do was make him forget the pain for a blissful while before it would return as strong as ever when the hangover set in.

Listlessly, Ivan got out of bed, contemplating what he should have for breakfast. Sadly enough, his first idea was vodka. Sighing, he tried to push that idea aside: he would really be better off if he had coffee (like Alfred would recommend him to) or perhaps tea (courtesy of Arthur, although he didn't really like the man). He had heard some of what the other nations said about him behind his back, and that was exactly why he tried not to give in to the vodka's temptation, for apparently no one was keen on being friends with a drunkard.

He had just started to make himself a cup of coffee (he would use some of the Nescafe he had pinched a few meetings ago) when the doorbell rang. Puzzled and surprised by this sudden indication of a visitor, Ivan went to the door and opened it to find the mailman at his doorstep.

"Delivery for Mr. Braginski," the man said, bravely trying not to let on how cold he was and being barely able to stop his teeth from chattering. "Sign here, please." A gloved yet still trembling hand held out a form and a pen.

Ivan gave the man his autograph, only to receive a rather large package in return. It had wrapping paper and a ribbon around it. A present.

"Good day to you, sir," the by now nearly-forgotten mailman said before hurrying off, eager to complete his rounds and get out of the icy cold. Ivan was so surprised that he only managed to mutter a thank-you which went unheard. Then, to stop the cold from invading his house, he quickly closed the door and retreated to the kitchen to properly inspect the present.

It was a rectangular box wrapped in paper that immediately gave away who had sent it: stars and stripes. Lots of them. Lots of Star-Spangled-Banners on a light-blue background. It was a pretty blue… but not as pretty as the blue in Alfred's eyes, Ivan thought, and the faintest tinge of pink arose on his cheeks. Yes, to him, Alfred did have fascinating eyes, and if he wanted to, the American could communicate mostly just with them. But if course – being Alfred – he chose to use his voice most of the time as well. Sometimes Ivan wondered if Alfred even knew how much he could be saying without using any words at all.

So now he had received a present. From Alfred. Ivan tried to tell himself not to read too much into this ('He gives many people presents, he gives many people presents… you're just one of many…'), but it was no use: he felt special. Something told him that he had a right to feel this way, even though he deemed himself somewhat selfish for preferring Alfred's personal company over a present and wishing it were so just then. However, in his situation, one couldn't afford to be picky.

Ivan retrieved his now finished cup of coffee before sitting down at the table, staring at the present as if wondering what he was supposed to do now. There was no cake, not even a cupcake. Why go through the trouble of preparing such a thing when he couldn't share it with anybody? And no matter how he had treated the Baltics when they had still lived under the same roof with him, he had always offered them a piece of cake on his birthday (though why they had always denied the offer unless one of them had been responsible for making the cake was beyond him, even to this day). But now there was no candle or anything for him to blow out… and yet, there was something he could do. He grabbed his coffee cup and clinked it with a nearby, empty bottle of vodka from yesterday. Or maybe the day before, he couldn't remember anymore.

"Happy birthday to me," he said softly.

One sip of coffee later – he had had better coffee before, but he supposed it could be worse – the big moment was due, and he began to carefully unwrap the present. The paper was rather nice-looking, so he didn't want to rip it… but as if on cue, it ripped a bit, eliciting a small noise of disappointment from him. Well, he could always blame it on the strips of tape that held the paper together, because he was being extra-careful. He only bothered opening one end for now, then he gently shook the contents out of the paper.

The box started to slide out onto the table, and the first thing Ivan saw of it was a big blue number. Instinctively, he paused and frowned, recognizing the present for what it was: a puzzle. A 1,000-pieces puzzle. Ivan couldn't say that he was particularly fond of puzzles, mainly because he found the whole well-let's-just-see-if-these-pieces-fit-together principle rather boring. Chess was much more interesting, for example. But he told himself to stop being so negative, reminding himself that this was not just any puzzle, but a puzzle from Alfred. Good God, the way he kept recalling that name, which in turn always made him a little bit excited… it was as if he had a crush on the man! Now wouldn't that be ironic, given their rather difficult relationship during the recently ended Cold War. Then again – as the saying went – anything was possible.

While he was at it, he might as well find out what kind of puzzle the other nation had sent him. A brief moment of shaking later, the box fully escaped the wrapping paper, and Ivan held his breath. The motif featured an intensely blue sky with puffs of white clouds, and a field of beautiful sunflowers beneath it. Some larger, some smaller, but all with those same intriguing yellow petals. So beautiful… In all honesty, Ivan would have been perfectly happy with nothing more than the motif, but now he wasn't feeling quite so apprehensive about working on the puzzle anymore; after all, although it was far from the real thing, in a way he would be able to create his own field of sunflowers. He loved sunflowers more than anything. (Or at least, so he thought.)

Just then, he noticed that the box was missing the plastic wrapping that was typical for unopened products. So it had already been opened before… and given the intactness of the wrapping paper, the only one who could be responsible for this was Alfred. But why did he open it? Ivan removed the lid from the box and found a plastic bag with all the pieces inside, plus an envelope.

Feeling as excited as he had seldom felt on his birthday ever before, Ivan opened the envelope and pulled out a flashy birthday card. Big bright letters seemed to scream "Happy birthday!" at him, and a bunch of cartoon characters, none of which he knew or recognized, seemed to be having themselves a merry celebration. The inside was much more interesting for the Russian:

"Dear Ivan,

Happy birthday, big guy! You probably got most of your presents on Christmas already, huh? Have another one! A present, I mean, not Christmas. Christmas is only once a year. Anyways, here's a present from yours truly – have fun with them sunflowers! They're your favorite, right? Hopefully this got to you in time. I wish you all the best and hope you'll have a great day!

Love, Alfred

P.S: Instructions will follow soon ;)"

Ivan stared at his card, transfixed. Words failed him to describe exactly how he felt just then. He supposed that "wonderful" was a rather mild way of putting it. The present itself was quite something, but this card just topped it off. He reread it again, then again. His eyes kept darting back to those parts – "Dear Ivan", "Love, Alfred" – taking careful notice of how his heartbeat sped up. Perhaps the notion of him having a crush on Alfred wasn't such a wild guess after all. And besides, Alfred had never addressed him in such a way before, not to mention signed his letters like this… Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, and a happy smile played on his lips as he tried to picture Alfred fiddling with his present. He found himself wondering what the younger nation would look like in a Santa suit instead.

Since there wasn't much else to do because there were no guests present to whom he should be tending, Ivan figured that he might as well get started on the puzzle. But first he had to do something else… He went to his office and supplied himself with a pen and paper, then proceeded to write a short letter of his own. He didn't know if it had been difficult or anything for Alfred to find the right words, but he himself was struggling with them just then, for he feared that he might choose the wrong thing to say and destroy… destroy… well, whatever it was that he and Alfred shared. What they might be sharing, his voice of reason reminded him warningly; for all he knew, he might just have the wrong perception on this whole ordeal. And besides, even if Alfred didn't harbor similar feelings, perhaps they were finally be able to begin a decent friendship, which the world would certainly be happy about.

On December 31st (while somewhat bitterly remembering the dissolution of his Union), Ivan dropped off an express letter at the post office. The vast majority of cards he owned had some communist motif or phrase on them (that certainly wouldn't please Alfred), and none of the others had struck him as appropriate either, so he had settled for writing "Thank you" in big Cyrillic letters on the front of a plain card with a few lines in his neat handwriting on the inside.

"Dear Alfred,

Thank you very much for your thoughtfulness. I cannot help but wonder if you were aware that sunflowers are indeed my favorite flower or if you merely guessed. But I guess it doesn't matter all that much, right? By the way, your remark about instructions that shall follow confused me somewhat. Would you mind elaborating on that? I daresay I am familiar with the concept of how to solve a puzzle… On another note, we celebrate Christmas on January 7th. You make it sound as if I receive many presents, but truth to be told, as of recently, I have made a habit of buying presents for myself. Nevertheless, I trust you enjoyed the holiday with your usual enthusiasm.

I wish you a Happy New Year and thank you once more for your present.

Love, Ivan"

On his way home, hurrying a bit in order to avoid getting caught in an impending blizzard, Ivan prayed that he hadn't gone too far. Alfred had no idea how often he had crossed out the closing and how often "love" had fallen victim to that until he had finally let it be – and he wasn't apt to tell him anytime soon, if ever. In the end, he had figured that despite how he felt about the American, he could let it be because Alfred had used it as well, and if he had used it in a sense of mere friendship, perhaps he would interpret Ivan's closing in the same fashion.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was in times like these when Ivan wished that sending a letter overseas wouldn't take so long, but at the same time, he figured that just a couple of decades ago, it would have been even slower, so it was only fitting to be grateful for the improvement so far and for what most likely would come to be in the future. A week after he had sent the letter to Alfred, it was Christmas in Russia. Ivan liked Russian Christmases with their traditional Ded Moroz dolls and songs – not to mention that this was a time when people didn't seem quite as affected by General Winter than otherwise during this season – but he would have gladly escaped his loneliness to attend a different sort of Christmas celebration, like the flashy ones in America, for example. But it was too late for that now; all the others had finished celebrating, and unless he misinterpreted particularly Arthur's occasional (though lengthy) griping about troublesome relatives and friends, some might even still be recovering from it, so why should he go bother them? It wasn't as if anyone would stop by anyway…

But this year, he was mistaken. Without him having sent out any invitations, the ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of a visitor, and like on his birthday, Ivan was surprised. As he went to the door, he kept wishing that it was an actual visitor who might stay for a while instead of the mailman. But who –

Not only did a gust of icy wind greet him when he opened the door, but a shivering brunet as well, despite the fact that he was wearing a thick winter coat. Ivan's eyes widened in his inability to hide his surprise.

"H-Hello, I-Ivan."

"…"

"I-Ivan?"

"…Toris," the tall Russian finally replied, his voice a mere murmur.

So, what do you think? If you can spare the time, please leave a review. And if you'd like me to continue, keep in mind that it might be a while before I update again because I've got important exams at the end of this month. But the next chapter is technically nearly finished, so I would be able to update again before that. It all depends on you.

Thanks for reading! ^^

~dd