A (not so) quick author's note: These characters are based on Hetalia; the names, appearances, and most of the personalities (Gilbert is completely different, but the rest of them are pretty similar) are replicated. If you don't know the countries' human names, here's a quick list, if you know already, enjoy the story ^-^ I hope you like it (and if you have no idea what I'm talking about, minimize this window, open a new one, look up Hetalia, and WATCH! IT'S AMAZING!)

Gilbert-Prussia; Ivan-Russia; Ludwig-Germany; Veneziano-North Italy; Romano (I know his real name is Lovino, but I like Romano more :p)-South Italy; Antonio-Spain; Honda Kiku-Japan; Francis-France (duh) Natalia-Belarus; Katyusha-Ukraine and that's it so far. Enjoy!

I

The walk home was always a long and stressful process. Gil glanced nervously over his shoulder and quickened his pace as the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears. Just as he turned back to the grassy road-side he was traversing, an arm sprang out of the bushes beside him, latching onto Gil's coat-collar and spinning him violently around.

"Gah! What the hell?! Francis, get off of me!" the boy attached to the fist gripping Gil's shirt was a handsome one. Long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail to keep the wavy strands out of piercing blue eyes which were, as usual, filled with malice and deviance. A sneer adorned Francis's features as he tightened his hold on Gil, succeeding in his attempt to intimidate his classmate.

Gil himself, with his fierce, blood-red eyes, had an almost demonic edge to his features; the irony in which being that his body held none of the power his eyes seemed to convey to others around him, his constant poor health keeping his body frail and weak. Yet another feature that set him apart from his peers was Gil's odd hair. Wispy, silver strands fell in a messy frame around his slender face, and no matter how hard he tried; he never seemed to be able to get the stubborn spikes to lie flat. With an appearance like this, of course Gil stood out like a sore thumb; gaining much attention from the students around him; mostly in the form of ridicules.

"Can't do much without Lud here to fight your battles, huh?" Francis said, shaking Gil as he spoke. His younger brother, Ludwig, was the exact opposite of Gil in every way. Brawnier and more muscular, he was one of the biggest boys in the junior class. He also shared none of the odd traits that made Gil stand out; with his blond hair always slicked back and pale blue eyes, he was naturally accepted. Up until this year, Ludwig had always been there to walk Gil home, keeping the bullies away with his superior strength; but as his build became the pride of his class, he was quickly recruited for football *Author's note: this is the rest of the world's definition of "football". Not America's.*, leaving Gil to fend for himself as his younger sibling's life was consumed with after-school training and practice. Wishing more than ever that his brother was by his side, Gil struggled vainly against Francis as two more thugs stepped out of the bushes behind their leader. Gil did not even have to look to know who they were.

Antonio and Romano; now theirs was a relationship that always produced confusion in Gil. Antonio, a senior like Gil and Francis, was the typical "class clown" stereotype. Light brown hair shrouding his aqua eyes, he almost looked like a relation to the slightly shorter freshman who was constantly by his side. Romano, the tallest first year in the school, though he still only came up to the senior's necks, had an unbelievably dirty mouth and horrible attitude; most of which was directed at Antonio. That was what made them so interesting. With no one to sit with at lunch, Gil would just find a quiet corner and people-watch. What he saw was very befuddling. There was a pattern: Antonio would latch himself onto Romano and get oddly clingy, Romano would shout a string of curses and act angry with the violation of his personal space, but then they would spend the entire lunch hour just like that; leaning on one another and seeming to relish the contact. If Romano was always angry and annoyed with Antonio, why would he not push him away? It did not seem right to Gil; they were just too affectionate for two guy-friends (he could have sworn he had seen them holding hands once).

But although they were benevolent enough by themselves, Antonio and Romano became completely different people around Francis; the trio wreaked havoc all over the school, though Gil noticed that the youngest member only seemed to stick around because Antonio was there. But awkward relationships was the last thing on Gil's mind as the three boys crowded in on him, backing up any further would land him in the middle of the busy street. Francis's pompous French accent sounded over the roar of the engines speeding by.

"C'mon, freak. How much do you have on you today?" Antonio and Francis then began ripping Gil's book-bag off his back; Romano, as usual, just sitting back and watching, an emotionless scowl on his face.

"I don't have anything today, I swear." Gil heard his own German accent waver as he felt the weight of the backpack leave him, to be replaced by Antonio who had him in a bear-hug; while Francis began riffling through his things.

"Gum…I'll be taking that…God Gil, don't you have anything in here but schoolwork?" Sheets of paper littered the ground as Francis released them from their binders and threw them into the air.

"Stop! I need those; I already told you I don't have anything!" Gil struggled against Antonio as the wind created by the passing cars blew his notes and homework down the road. Finally he managed to slip one arm out of his assailant's firm grip, quickly thrusting the elbow behind him; hearing a satisfying 'crack' as it connected with Antonio's face. The arms around him fell away as Antonio's pained cry rang out and Gil quickly scurried away before he could be captured again. Romano immediately raced over to where Antonio crouched holding the lower half of his face, nearly bowling Gil over in his rush. Kneeling beside the Spaniard, Romano's Italian syllables rang loudly, concern mixing with the ever-present anger in his tone.

"Tony! Are you okay?" Using the distraction to pull himself together, Gil bent over, trying to gather what was left of his school work. A knee came into his line of vision, colliding with his chest before Gil had a chance to react. Gil was sent sprawling in the grass, gasping for the air that had been pummeled out of him. Looking up, he saw Francis looming over him, glancing up just in time to see the sole of his boot before it came crashing down on his nose. Gil cried out as his head whiplashed forcefully, feeling blood starting to trickle form his cheek and seeing droplets of the crimson liquid splatter on the grass. Gil turned back around to find the same foot coming down on his throat, cutting off the air he was still having trouble consuming due to the last blow. His hands come up to clutch and claw at the ankle connected to the foot that was slowly strangling him, managing a single choked word,

"Uhn…St…op…ugh…" Gil felt consciousness slipping away and almost felt glad; if the darkness consumed him, maybe there would not be so much pain. But as his eyes began rolling back into his head, the weight on Gil's windpipe suddenly vanished, leaving him coughing sporadically and gasping for breath. Above him now loomed, not Francis, but some different character in a tan jacket and purple scarf. Gil recognized the short sandy-blond hair and prominent nose as yet another classmate, though he knew little about him. His leg was lifted off the ground as if he had just kicked something and Gil figured that limb was what had kept Francis from killing him. The stranger's eyes came down to bore into his and Gil marveled at the odd hue; a deep lavender color. 'He's almost as weird-looking as I am…' Bringing his foot back down to earth, Gil watched as a pleasant smile grew on the peculiar kid's face as he observed something behind Gil; as if he was watching an amusing TV show. Managing to lift himself into a sitting position, Gil rotated to see what was so entertaining. 'Holy shit!'

Francis had been kicked clear into the middle of the street, causing a major pileup as cars swerved and came to sudden stops to avoid his flailing body. Car horns blared angrily as he slowly made his way to his feet, looking around in utter confusion as if he had absolutely no idea where he was. Recollection dawning in his terrified eyes, Francis began limping frantically back to the grassy portion he had been ejected from; all the other kids watching with different levels of shock and fear. Romano turned towards where the purple-eyed stranger stood, screaming,

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! You coulda killed him, you bastard! We're gonna beat that fucking smile right off your slimy litt-LMMF!" Antonio had run up behind Romano, clamping a hand over his cursing, screaming mouth and silencing the rude little freshman, yelling in a rushed Spanglish.

"No, Roma! El no puedes hablar como esto! Don't scream at him!" Romano brought his hands up to his face, struggling to remove the hand from his mouth, but Antonio just slipped his other arm around his companion's slim waist, backing slowly away from the still-smiling stranger; his eyes trained on him like he was watching a rabid dog that may attack at any moment. Francis had finally caught his breath; his hands leaning on his knees, his head in between them like people always say to do if you think you might pass out. Looking up from his hunched posture, Francis glared at the boy that had almost been the end of him. Although terror was etched into every one of his features, his voice was unnaturally calm when he spoke, addressing his two lackeys but his eyes never leaving the stranger.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." And with a few backwards glances, the trio ran off down the road, diving quickly into another clump of bushes and disappearing from Gil's view. Gil looked from where he sat on the ground at the mess of papers and binders that lay in disarray on the grass. Gathering what little schoolwork that the wind had not managed to blow away, Gil hastily stuffed the disorganized bundle back into his now rough-looking backpack. Violet eyes followed his every movement and Gil glanced up at the kid who had yet to say a single word, worry clouding his eyes. 'No matter how creepy he is, he did save me…'

"Thank you." The two words were spoken wearily and Gil highly doubted that an answer would follow. As lavender eyes met blood-red, the stranger knelt down in front of where Gil still sat, a hand reaching across and wiping tears and blood from his face. Gil could not suppress a shiver as their skin made contact; the stranger's flesh was a few degrees lower than normal. 'So cold…' When he did finally grace the world with his voice, Gil could barely understand him through the thick Russian accent.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah…I've had worse." Gil shuffled uneasily as the hand lingered on his face, the cool hand warming to their combined body heat. The pause lapsed into awkward silence as they sat there, the Russian kid never taking his eyes off of Gil's.

"What a pretty shade of red…" Gil shivered with revulsion as the stranger's thumb rubbed in a small circular motion around his cheek; his whisper barely heard over the car engines passing beside them.

"Okaaaaaay!" Gil scrambled away from the weirdo's touch and got hastily to his feet, picking up his nearly empty book-bag and throwing the worn and tattered fabric over his shoulder.

"Thanks again for the help, but I gotta go." Gil then set off down the road again, trying his hardest to disregard the odd feeling that he was being followed. Sandy hair and tan jacket flittered in Gil's peripheral vision and he whipped back around, annoyance evident on his face. Finding the Russian much too close – their faces inches apart – Gil flinched back, a cry of alarm escaping his lips.

"Woah! What the-?! Stop following me!"

"But what if you get jumped again? You barely look well enough to stand, let alone defend yourself; I think I'll walk you home." Gil bristled at the superior tone directed at him and turned angrily back around, shouting over his shoulder as he speed-walked away,

"I don't need your help; leave me alone!" But no matter how quickly he walked , the taller, more heavily built Russian matched his pace easily; stubborn and silent in his pursuit. Gil decided that the best course of action was to remain silent himself and he ignored his stalker completely; fixing his eyes on the grass in front of him.

Gil's house finally came into view and he made his way to the side door, eager to get inside, lie down, and forget this hell of a day. Hidden from the street by a line of large pines, Gil stood in the doorway, fumbling in his pocket for his keys.

"Damn…They must have fallen out when I was thrown on the ground…" Gil grumbled to himself, searching every pocket he had just in case and finding nothing. A hand was placed gently on his shoulder, making Gil yelp, jumping back at the unexpected touch. 'How the hell could I forget about him?!" Turning slowly to face his new creeper, pushing the large hand away, Gil glared into those violet eyes, anger prominent in his furrowed brow.

"What. Do. You. Want?!"

"Are you locked out?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. Lud will be home from practice in an hour or so, and I'm hidden here; no possibility for another "jumping", as you call it. You can go home now." Gil's obvious hint was completely ignored as the Russian stared; his next words giving no inclination that he had heard Gil at all.

"Ivan." Gil raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Pardon?"

"That's my name. Ivan."

"Great. Go home, Ivan."

"It's common courtesy that when a name is given, you exchange one as well."

"…My names Gil."

"Short for Gilbert?" 'What is with this idiot?!' A deep sigh accompanied the begrudging answer.

"Yes."

"Well, Gilbert, I have received no payment for my service to you."

"Huh? I said thank you; what more do you want? If I had any money, Francis would have-Hey! Back off; you're too close!" Ivan had taken a few steps forward, backing Gil up until he was cornered against the locked door; one of Ivan's hands coming to lean on the wall next to his head. Bringing their faces very close together, Ivan whispered; his warm breath blowing in Gil's face.

"You."

"Huh?!" Gil's eyes searched around frantically for a means of escape but found none.

"I want you." The trees hiding them from anyone who could be of any assistance; Gil was forced to rely on his own meager stores of power.

"Get…Off…Of…Me…You're so weird!" Each word was accented by a push to Ivan's chest as Gil tried in vain to put some distance between their bodies. Ivan took a hold of one of Gil's wrists, snapping it back to hit the wall behind them forcefully; pinning it to the sturdy surface. His other hand wrapped around Gil's neck, his thumb running lightly up a tensed muscle to the tip of his chin and back. Even though the pressure on his throat was not constricting this time, a pang of terror still ran down Gil's spine and he noticed Ivan's eyes had hardened slightly, though he was still smiling sweetly.

"I am quite accustomed to taking what I want, Gilbert."

"I don't know what you want! You're making no sense-what the hell are you-Nfh!" Gil's eyes widened as Ivan's face got closer and closer, their lips meeting in Ivan's forceful embrace. After a few shocked and confused seconds Gil began struggling with renewed force as Ivan's lips worked against his. When he was finally allowed some air he, gasping for breath, brought his free hand up, hitting Ivan as hard as he could across the face. His fist made almost no impact, however; if anything it made Ivan's grip on his wrist and neck tighten. His face coming back around from where it had been snapped to the side, Ivan's grin was shockingly still in place, blood trickling out of one side. His violet eyes, however, contained all the fury of Hell. Gil could not suppress the shiver that convulsed through him at the sight.

"Like I said; I get what I want. And you are so very frail and weak…"

"Yeah, I'm sickly, but not gay. So…GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!"

"You don't have to be." And with that, the intrusive lips reattached themselves to Gil's, forcing his words of protest into muffled moans. After a few minutes of struggling, Ivan pushed his tongue into Gil's mouth, the copper taste of his blood mixing with their combined saliva. Desperate to get free, Gil clamped his jaw shut, catching Ivan's tongue between his teeth. A pained grunt escaped the mouth that had been smothering his own, the contact breaking as Ivan leaned away; becoming the one desperate to escape himself. But instead of letting go of Gil like he expected, the hand at his throat tightened with alarming force. Gil's mouth gaped open as he attempted to get his rattling breaths past the obstruction, freeing Ivan in the process. Ivan backed away, his smile now accented by rivulets of red running down his chin from the punch and bite Gil had delivered; making him look borderline satanic. With a light chuckle he leaned forward again, whispering in Gil's ear as his gurgled breathing became more labored.

"Being choked can have its pleasures. Would you like to find out?" All that could be made in Gil's voice box was the grunting gasps as the grip on his windpipe tightened even further. He was utterly confused by Ivan's statement, 'How could this possibly be pleasurable?!' but knew that he did not want it; whatever Ivan was about to do. Gil jumped as a hand slid down his stomach to his pants, attempting to undo the button holding them closed.

"Nnh…N-No!...Guh…" Lips were now running kisses along his jaw line, the hand strangling him loosening just enough to keep his from passing out. Fingers were finding their way under his boxers, inching slowly to their final destination. Unable to breath, unable to think, unable to fight, Gil froze; locking himself away and separating his consciousness from the situation.

"Gil?!" All movement stopped as the familiar voice sounded across the lawn. Gil opened his eyes, looking over Ivan's shoulder at his brother's shocked face.