Disclaimer: Toris and Ivan and anyone else is owned by the person who owns Hetalia. I don't remember how to spell his name, and I don't want to embarrass myself with trying.

Anyway, I wrote this story when I was drunk, and I didn't send it to my editor. So there are probably more than a few things wrong with it...

"I just don't love you anymore, Torysha. You are happy, da? I will give you your independence."

Toris wandered the streets of Russia aimlessly, a single piece of paper clutched between his shivering fingers. Dried up rivers of tears stained his cheeks, emerald eyes usually sparkling were bloodshot and dull. He didn't know how long he had been walking. He didn't now how long it had been. Hell, he wasn't even entirely sure he was still in Russia. He might have made it to China by now if he was lucky.

His shuffling walk came to a halt as he reached a fork in the road. Soulless eyes gazed at the two ways he could turn. Left or right… Two choices, two directions.

One fate.

For about the millionth time he looked down at the paper.

"I hearby grant the country of Lithuania independence from Russia…"

The rest was all legal stuff that the brunette didn't bother reading. That simple sentence ran through his mind and across his retinas, burning it to the backs of his eyes like some sort of spell. Again his feet was moving. Left… He didn't know where he was going, but he wasn't looking back. To be honest, he couldn't care less about where the right path had led… and he didn't care where the left one was taking him. The only thing that mattered was that he was walking, walking… somewhere. When he had first left the house, it felt like his chest was on fire.

No… it couldn't have happened…

Russia hadn't given him his independence. He had completely broken him. Lithuania trudged somberly through the unknown city, not bothering to look into shops or down at his watch. Maybe it was 10 at night, maybe it was 5 in the morning. He didn't care. It was dark.

Another wave of tears bubbled into his eyes and spilled over his cheeks.

"You are happy, da?"

"No…"

The word whispered past his lips as if it were the wind, which had since died down for the night. Just like he had thought his tears had.

All at once the burning sensation erupted in his chest once again and his walking faltered, his balance wavering as he attempted to remain upright. It didn't work and when he blinked next, he was on his knees. The fire throbbed at his ribs, tore into his heart. Tears flowed freely out of what he thought were empty eyes. Saltwater stained the paper that he still clutched, two groups of wetness beginning to appear on it as his watery vision attempted to focus on that solitary line.

"…independence…"

Another word for recapture… Whatever binds Russia had to the brunette tightened and he couldn't help the sob that escaped him. That wonderful word was a disguise for being thrown out. For being told to leave. For being abandoned.

It wasn't anything like he had imagined.

The fire died again as he felt the numbness slowly spread from his fingers back up into his arms, his shoulders, neck…

Finally he couldn't feel the soreness of his eyes or toes, and he stood. His balance returned and he stared at the paper, as he had done thousands of times. How easy it would be to run back to Russia, to beg him to take him back… and how angry his people would be for it…

How easy it would be… to look into those violet eyes and tell the man behind them that he loved him…

And how painful it would be, once again, to hear him speak in a tone too sane to be his…

"I'm sorry, Toris…"

So he kept walking. The sun began to rise behind him, but he didn't notice. Even when it rose, Toris walked in a blanket of darkness. The short stop in Vilnius, a town he hadn't even recognized, was just another bump in his quest for sanity.