A/N: According to the Hetalia wiki, one of Ukraine's possible human names is Irina. I'm not sure how reliable that is, but I liked it, so that's what I'm going with.

Chapter 2

Triumphantly, Tino placed the last board. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he surveyed his accomplishment. The bookshelf was just a cheap assemble-it-yourself model he'd brought home from the store that afternoon. Still, with the directions making the kind of sense that didn't, he couldn't help but be filled with pride that he'd managed to put it together on his own.

He smiled to himself as he began placing books and movies in their respective spots. It had only been a day, but he thought he was managing this self-sufficiency thing just fine. So far it had mostly just involved settling into his new place and remembering to eat. Still, Tino rather enjoyed situating everything just so and knowing no one would tamper with it, and he had yet to set anything on fire in the kitchen. He slotted the last book into place with a nod and stepped back. Yes, living on his own was going to suit him.

Or maybe he had decided that too soon. Dismayed, Tino stared at the fully loaded bookcase smack dab in the middle of his living room.

He bit his lip as he thought. Probably he could scoot it over to the wall as it was—and it would be such a bother to take everything out and put it back again. If he tipped it at the right angle, nothing would even fall out.

With his plan of action decided, there was nothing left but to do it. Carefully, Tino gripped the edges of the bookcase and tipped it back just slightly. Then he tried a tentative step. The bottom of the case scuffed against the carpet and the wood bit into the joints of his fingerse. Determinedly he took another step. It was much heavier than he'd thought, but he didn't need to drag it far.

Three things happened in quick succession: there was a cracking noise from the bookshelf; Tino stumbled and lost his grasp; and his books and movies and shelf all avalanched to the ground. Caught off-balance, Tino himself wasn't far behind—he sat abruptly on the wiry-textured carpet.

Maybe it had only been a matter of time, he thought numbly. He had always been a little scatterbrained. It was something he tried to avoid, but even so he got distracted or caught up in other thoughts and forgot about mundane things like putting bookshelves in the right place before using them. How had he expected that wouldn't follow him to this new apartment?

The empty apartment didn't answer his question. Stillness pressed in on him. For the first time, Tino really realized how quiet this place was without three emotionally charged cousins to fill it with chaos. At least with them around there was someone to help with the worst of his forgetfulness.

A knock at the door disrupted both the quiet and Tino's thoughts. He scrambled to answer it, not certain who it could be but grateful all the same.

The door opened on a tall, bespectacled man, staring solemnly down at Tino. Tino had to fight not to take an instinctive step back.

"Uh—Mr. Oxenstierna, right? Can I do something for you?"

"Heard a crash."

"Oh," said Tino, flinching. He felt his face heat. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, it was an accident. I was being a little foolish and misjudged things, you see, and my bookshelf just fell right over and, uh…" He swallowed, regretting his inability to stop talking when he was uncomfortable. "I promise it won't happen again."

If anything, the big man's frown deepened. This time Tino did take a step back.

"Y' okay?"

Tino blinked in surprise. He'd been sure Mr. Oxenstierna was here to reprimand him for the noise. "Oh, I'm fine, the bookshelf completely missed me."

This time he managed to clamp his mouth shut, for all the good that did him. Without him talking, neither of them did, leaving them to look at each other in silence. Mr. Oxenstierna made no move to leave.

"Would you like to come in for tea?"

The words just popped out—Tino had no idea where they had come from. Immediately his eyes widened in horror. That stare was already getting to him. How was he going to deal with that—and make conversation with a man who wouldn't talk—over tea? Maybe he wouldn't accept—

But already the tall man was nodding. Tino stepped aside to let him in and set about putting the kettle on.

"Excuse the mess, I'm still busy unpacking, but the kitchen is mostly good, at least." He gave up on trying to rein in his chatter. His neighbor certainly wasn't talking, and Tino couldn't stand the silence. "Why don't you have a seat? I'm so glad the apartment came mostly furnished, can you imagine how awful it would have been to move furniture up here? Just my boxes were bad enough! Thanks again for helping, by the way."

When Tino glanced at him, Mr. Oxenstierna gave the slightest shrug. Keeping up a steady stream of talk, Tino turned to get out the rest of the tea things.

"Mostly I just have herbal tea, I don't really do well with caffeine. Does peppermint sound all right? Great! I love the way it just clears your mind, and it reminds me of Christmas…"

And so it went, until the shrilling of the kettle interrupted him. He gave his mouth a break as he poured steaming water into the mugs. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe the man sitting at his kitchen table.

Berwald Oxenstierna's face gave away nothing. Though his eyes followed Tino's hands, his expression was impassive. His back and shoulders were rigid, posture bespeaking either formality or tension despite the last ten minutes of pleasantries.

Halfway through picking up the mugs, Tino paused. In spite of how awkward and slightly terrifying Mr. Oxenstierna was, he didn't seem like a bad guy. It kind of made him wonder what was behind that impenetrable gaze. Maybe if he could calm down for a few minutes he could find out.

Sitting down, Tino peered across the table at his strange guest.

"What about you?"

In the midst of picking up his tea, Mr. Oxenstierna's head shot up to regard Tino. His only response was a disgruntled grunt.

Picking up on the idea that more context might be required, Tino flushed slightly and fidgeted. "I mean, what do you do?" When his companion's expression remained stony, he stammered, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course, but I've been talking your ear off this whole time, so I thought I'd give you a turn."

"Don't mind th' talk."

"Oh," said Tino, momentarily speechless. To cover his lapse, he took a huge gulp of tea. It was just a little too hot: he had to beat back the impulse to spit it back out again, and instead felt its burn all the way down.

"Construction," mumbled Mr. Oxenstierna suddenly, his low voice muted.

"What?" It took a moment to place the comment. "Oh, you're in construction? That sounds wonderful. It must be incredible to spend every day building things. Something that really matters, not like paperwork and memos and answering phones. That's what I do."

The deep blue eyes narrowed behind their spectacles, and Tino got the feeling they were seeing right through him.

"Why?"

Again Tino was caught off guard. To buy time to think, he blew gently on his tea.

"My cousin found me the job," he explained slowly. "And I didn't have any other options, so I couldn't complain. Now that I'm on my own I need the stability. Besides, it's really not so bad."

"But y' don't like it."

He shrugged carelessly. "It's what I have. It could be worse."

Mr. Oxenstierna gazed steadily at him, then abruptly stood and walked to the living room. Hastily Tino moved to follow, glancing at Mr. Oxenstierna's cup on the way. It was empty.

Tino found the tall man standing over the disastrous bookshelf. Having righted it once more, Mr. Oxenstierna seemed to be inspecting it. With the books and movies in an unceremonious heap on the floor, the problem didn't take much inspection to determine. One of the supports keeping the top shelf in place had snapped—that was the cracking noise Tino had heard. Still, Mr. Oxenstierna seemed to be finding plenty to look at.

Without warning, the bespectacled blonde seized the bookcase and carried it to the door as if it weighed nothing.

"Wait, what are you doing?" All of the alarm over his neighbor that Tino had been trying to press down came flooding back.

"'S shoddy." The man with the bookcase didn't even pause as he breezed through the apartment door. Tino followed at his heels.

"Okay, maybe I'm not an interior designer, but that doesn't mean you can take—" As they reached another apartment door—probably Mr. Oxenstierna's, Tino realized—the furniture thief turned his full stare on the shorter man. Tino froze in panic. If a person would steal furniture straight out of his apartment while he was watching, what else was he capable of? Tino wasn't going to get shanked over a bookcase.

"I mean, of course you can have it, if you want it that much," he squeaked, his voice unnaturally high. Mr. Oxenstierna nodded once.

"Thanks for th' tea." And that was it. The door closed between him and his bookcase.

Tino returned to his apartment with shaking hands. The pile of media in the center of his living room was like an accusation of his inadequacy. He wasn't cut out for this. He was a scatterbrained pushover, the kind of person who wasn't meant to be on their own taking care of themself. It had only taken him one day to thoroughly prove his mistake.

Clutching a pillow to his chest, Tino sat in the silence of his bedroom for a long time.

# # #

Tino heaved a sigh as he let the heavy wooden door to the orphanage swing shut behind him. The tension ebbed from his shoulders almost immediately. This was exactly what he needed; there was something about being in this place that settled him, no matter what else was going on with his life.

Striding down the hall, he did his best to push the source of his stress out of his mind. It had been a long few days, but he would not ruin his evening by thinking about why that was. He would not muse for a second about the strange emptiness of his new apartment, nor the various messages on his phone that he deleted without opening, only to be promptly flooded with guilt; he would not fret about how meaningless his job was; and he most certainly was not going to obsess over his terrifying, furniture-thieving neighbor.

Tino paused, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Trying not to think about it was only making him think about it more. This would not do. Tonight was about the kids, not his problems. With a smile stubbornly fixed on his face, Tino strode into the large common area.

He was greeted by a cacophony of cheers and flocked by a small herd of children. The smile suddenly became less difficult to keep. This truly was the highlight of his week. The orphanage's regular staff was often overworked. To remedy this, carefully vetted volunteers would supervise a few hours of playtime and dinner before returning the children to their full-time guardians. Of course Irina, who ran the orphanage, was always there in case of emergency, but she swore that the respite was life-saving.

Tino usually ended up playing with the younger children. Looking over the heads of his gaggle, he exchanged an amused glance with the tanned and tousled man ensconced at a table with one of the teenaged students. Antonio tutored for any kids that needed it three nights a week, and was just as dependably enthusiastic about being there as Tino.

"Tino!" The tug on his arm recalled his attention to the children more than the repetition of his name. He looked down into the eager eyes of a young boy with sandy hair and eyebrows that had yet to be grown into.

"Gallactus is about to destroy the lunar village! We have to launch a rescue mission, stat!"

Wondering where Peter kept all of those extra exclamation points, Tino allowed himself to be dragged off to a corner of the room where he could still keep an eye on the kids who didn't' join them. The travails of the lunar village (a number of disgruntled stuffed animals on a pilfered couch cushion) in the face of the dastardly Gallactus (a robot toy with an arm that tended to fall off) were disrupted by the invasion of a herd of Space Ponies, against which threat the enemies were forced to unite. By the time the Space Ponies were safely corralled in the Inescapable Fortress of School (represented by an enclosure of textbooks thoughtfully provided by one of the older kids), it was time to wash up for dinner and Tino was feeling far better.

There were a little less than forty children to gather in the vast dining room. Tino's job was to look after those that were elementary-school aged; Antonio kept on eye on the fourteen that were older, and the younger ones mostly stayed in the nursery area with their own attendants. As they assembled at the long tables, Irina was already seated and serene-looking. Of course Tino had to make sure his kids were properly served before he joined her, but without too much ado he was able to retreat to his own seat.

"We missed you this weekend," Irina commented after some small talk.

"It must have been something really big," Antonio added blithely, "if it kept you of all people away from here."

"Oh." Tino looked down guiltily at his plate. He truly felt awful for having to cancel his shift on Saturday, but there was really no way he could have managed it in addition to his move. "I was just moving into a new apartment."

"No 'just' about it!" the other man protested. "Congratulations."

"I don't know if it's worth congratulations—"

"Of course it is," Irina interrupted with such earnestness that it was impossible to argue with her. "How—I saw that, young man! Leave her alone—how do you like it there?"

Tino was unfazed by her aside to one of the more rambunctious children. "It's fantastic!" He plastered optimism across his face, determined that he would like his new place—or at least that his friends wouldn't to worry about him. Maybe if he acted hard enough, he'd start to believe it himself. "It's such a nice area, and it's so much closer to where I work. Really, I don't know why I stayed at my old place so long."

Antonio's eyebrows shot up. "That bad?" At Tino's incredulous look, he added "I know some very good liars, my friend, but you are not one of them."

"You miss your cousins," Irina said knowingly. "I felt the same way when my sister and I moved away from each other."

"I moved so I could be independent from them," Tino tried explaining, giving the more pleasant excuse for his departure. He sighed, conceding the point. "It's just…this new place is so quiet."

"Cheer up," Irina suggested, brushing short, silvery hair out of her eyes. "We had an interested benefactor stop by today to look at the orphanage."

Antonio sat forward. "De veras? What were they like?"

"Oh, he was very nice. And very rich," she added with a tiny smile, answering the question that Antonio was clearly bursting to ask.

"Did he seem like he was going to invest?" Tino inquired. This really was good news—they were squeaking by, but with about fifty children to care for there was always room for more funding. There were a few things he could name off the top of his head that could definitely do with replacement or repairs, and the kids all desperately needed new toys to call their own.

Irina nodded excitedly. "He said he's been getting involved in a lot of philanthropy lately, and that we're just the kind of place he wants to help out."

Suddenly, Tino felt sick. He carefully set down his fork. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but he suspected not.

"His name wasn't Ivan Braginski, was it?"

"How did you know?"

"Irina," Antonio began slowly, with an expression to match the way Tino was feeling, "maybe you'd better think carefully before you take any money from him."

Irina's wide-eyed bafflement proved just how out of touch she was with current events. "But why? We need the help."

"He's—Michelle, put the potatoes down!—He's not known for being a very nice person," Tino explained, trying to sound calm with dubious success.

"He was perfectly friendly when we talked today. I don't understand what the problem is."

The heavy, sick feeling in Tino's stomach was threatening to claw its way up his throat. This place was supposed to be his refuge, somewhere untouched by his everyday troubles. Maybe things weren't always perfect here, but it was his sanctuary nonetheless. If Eduard's stories were true, that wouldn't last long after Braginski took over.

"I'm sure he was, but…" he trailed off at the steely glint in Irina's blue eyes. She wasn't going to give any ground on this, not when she thought she was doing the best thing for the children.

"Just read the fine print before you sign anything, yes?" Antonio finished for him. Tino flashed him a grateful smile in return.

"Of course I will," the orphanage's proprietor exclaimed, sounding affronted. "And that's quite enough of that. Tell us Antonio, is there anyone special in your life these days?"

Of course, Antonio turned red and insisted that they were being ridiculous, of course he wasn't seeing anyone—which told them the exact opposite. The rest of the meal was spent trying to coax a name—or any details at all—out of the unusually reticent Spaniard. He managed to wrap himself in good cheer all the way through clean-up, but it was with a heavy heart that Tino departed for the apartment that was now his home.

# # #

Tino did his best to keep himself occupied when he returned to his new flat. If he was busy, then he wouldn't have time to think.

He started out by cleaning up the kitchen, already cluttered by dirty dishes. The few pots and pans he owned rattled satisfyingly as he shoved them into place, filling up the hollowness of the apartment around him. From there, he moved on to carefully tending the potted herbs he had growing on the windowsill, comforting in the fact that there was something else alive in his apartment. Before long though, all that was left was the sizable pile of books and movies that had remained untouched for all of Monday and now most of Tuesday.

For a few minutes Tino stood in the silence, the open and empty apartment yawning around him.

He couldn't just leave it there as a testament to his failure. And there was nowhere to put any of it. Besides which, he wasn't just going to give up on his independence after less than four days.

It took every ounce of bravery to walk down the hall and knock on that door. No one answered at first, and he felt relief begin to swell inside his chest. At least he could say he made the effort, and he wouldn't have to deal with black market furniture dealers or whatever this guy's deal was.

Except then the door opened.

Faced with the intensity of that stare, Tino had to close his eyes to squeak out even one sentence. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Oxenstierna, I know it's been two days but I would really appreciate it if you would please give me my bookcase back."

"'S Berwald."

Tino's eyes popped open. "Uh, sorry. Then can I please have my bookcase back, Berwald? I wouldn't ask, but I really can't afford another one and I need somewhere to put all my books."

"No."

With a flat refusal like that, there was no way Tino was going to push his luck any further. He began to back away and tried to keep his breathing level. "Ah, sorry to bother you then, I guess I'll just—"

"Wait." Well, there went that idea. As Berwald disappeared back into his apartment, there was no way not to wonder what he was planning. Some kind of intimidation tactic? As if he needed it. Maybe he would try to press Tino into becoming a black market furniture dealer alongside him, or maybe he'd decided that Tino was too much of a liability after all and had gone back to get a—

A bookcase. A bookcase that was completely different from the one that Tino had been deprived of that weekend.

Tino wasn't entirely sure what kind of shocked exclamations he made as he followed Berwald down the hallway back to his apartment in a strange parallel to what had happened two nights before. The tall man seemed to have no trouble maneuvering the furniture, though Tino jumped to open his own apartment door when it became obvious that was where they were heading.

"I'm not sure I understand what's going on," Tino confessed as, without asking, Berwald situated the bookshelves exactly where Tino had wanted them.

The taller man straightened and gave a slight, one-shouldered shrug. "Y'r old one was shoddy. Made y' a better one."

"You made this?" Tino turned to take a closer look at what he was slowly realizing was a gift. It was solid and simple, but elegant. There weren't really too many different ways to vary the design of a bookcase, but… "Berwald, this is beautiful. I don't know how to thank you."

"No problem."

"Really, you didn't have to do this. Not that I don't appreciate it of course," he amended quickly, realizing how his protestation might sound. "Really, it's amazing, I just wasn't expecting anything like this from you. Not that I really know you well enough to expect anything, but… Thank you."

"Don't mention it." There was an awkward pause, and then Berwald added. "See y'."

Tino watched Berwald leave with a mixture of emotions. His neighbor was still huge and imposing and intense, and could paralyze a man (or at least Tino) with just his eyes. Still…

Still, it was a lot harder to be afraid of a Berwald who was blushing.