This was written for the Rochu-squad's steampunk contest a while ago...and somehow I always manage to forget that I wrote it -.-"

Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I do not own Hetalia

…

At night he liked to sit outside and count the stars scattered across the night sky.

He still liked to do this, but now the stars were different. Fake. Artificial. And they didn't shine in the sky anymore.

At night he liked to sit on the edge of the balcony and look down. He couldn't see the ground below; he was too far above the world. Nothing could touch him here… and in return, he could touch nothing.

Sometimes he contemplated jumping down, but what good was that? Besides, there was someone he couldn't bear to leave.

Sometimes at night, he could just make out a distant melody from a piano. It was familiar and reminiscent, but maybe that was just his memory, his imagination, playing a trick.

It was never quite dark at night, not like it used to be, and he missed the old stars, the old sky. These new ones were, in their own way, comforting and gave him a false sense of comfort. But they also filled him with a feeling of emptiness and longing. Longing for the old days, longing to actually see the night sky.

If he squinted hard enough, would he able to see the sky through the clouds of smoke that billowed up, up, up.

This night, as per usual, he sat outside and started to count the stars.

From behind, he could hear the white curtains being drawn to the side and heavy quick footsteps filled his ears. The large man settled down behind him and pulled him into his lap.

"Yao," the man greeted, as usual.

"Russia," the other replied.

"Nyet, I am that no longer. Call me by my real name," he said, harshly, and pushed his finger against Yao's lips.

"Ivan." A small smile lifted the corners of Yao's mouth. He turned to look down. "Look at all the stars."

Ivan frowned at this, but said nothing, instead turning to rummage through the sack he had taken to carrying with him. He plastered a smile on his face once he found what he was looking for. Yao jumped slightly when Ivan placed something cold in his hands.

"What's this?" Yao questioned, turning the object over in his hands.

Ivan smiled serenely at Yao, running his hands through Yao's hair before answering. "A spy glass."

"It's so small," Yao muttered, holding it up to his eye. He flinched away from its cool metal before looking through it.

"I thought it would help," Ivan whispered, burying his face into Yao's warm hair.

"With what?" Ivan didn't answer, instead leaning away and pulling his goggles over his eyes.

"I only see smoke through it," Yao said in disappointment a moment later.

"Time for bed," Ivan decided and pulled Yao up with him. He spared a quick glance towards the city below their tower before pulling Yao through the white curtains into their room.

Their room was big and white, colors a bare minimum. A small table with two chairs was situated near a large window and a large bed was placed in the center of the room. If they were to look up, they wouldn't see a ceiling, instead they would view an intricate connection of pipes and gears that were slowly revolving- these were placed high enough that their noise did not make it to the inhabitants below. But it was only ever Ivan who would glance up, this serving as a reminder to what had become of their world.

Yao let Ivan change him, something that Ivan demanded. It irked Yao that he was the one being taken care of now- contrary to how things used to be so many years ago. (It was with shame that Yao couldn't even remember how long ago). But he said nothing, instead choosing to indulge Ivan. Ivan took his time, running his hands over the slender body that he often claimed as his.

And then Ivan led him into bed, tucking them both deep under the covers. Ivan fell asleep quickly, his arms wrapped tightly around the smaller body next to his, quietly snoring into Yao's ears.

From his spot, Yao could see out the window. Sometimes he saw past his own reflection and saw the stars from below. Sometimes he thought he could see things flying outside. Once he had asked Ivan what they were and Ivan had answered that they were airships. Yao had only tilted his head in confusion, not quite understanding what they were.

"They aren't airplanes," Yao had stated, trying to understand.

"That's right," Ivan had responded, looking weary, and Yao didn't push the question anymore.

A soft melody broke through the quiet night, piano notes weaving their way to Yao's ears. Sleepily, Yao thought if he tried hard enough, he could remember who was playing the piano. It sounded so familiar.

…

He had no idea when he woke. It could have been day or night- the world outside his room was always dark and who knew what had happened to the sun. Ivan was gone, gone for a while it seemed, seeing as his side of the bed was cold.

The clock on the wall (the one with all the gears adorning it-he didn't quite understand the design) could have told Yao the time had it been able to work. Instead the hands were frozen at 12 o'clock. Yao often wondered why they had a clock that didn't work, but Ivan had said something about Yao always stopping the clocks- but Yao had no recollection of that, so what was Ivan talking about?

On a whim, Yao crossed over to a shelf that was hidden behind the flowing white curtains. It was mostly books and other stuff that was boring, but finally Yao found what he was looking for. It had once been a present, from whom he did not know, and it had stopped at a certain time. It was an old watch, suspended by a thin chain- flimsy, weak, rusted- and its hands were frozen at 12. The time (he was sure of this) held some meaning. Something to do with the end of things, the end of a certain way of things, but he couldn't quite remember. It always lingered just out of reach.

He didn't hear Ivan step out from the curtains, didn't notice him until Ivan took the watch out of hands. He watched in slight shock as Ivan crossed over to edge of the balcony and threw the watch high into the air. Eventually it started to fall back down and it disappeared. It was then that Yao turned back to look at Ivan. He flinched, seeing the angered look on Ivan's face. Upon seeing Yao's reaction, Ivan quickly tried to smooth his face into a semblance of something friendly.

He looked tired, Yao noted as they moved to take a seat at the edge of the balcony, Yao curling up in Ivan's lap. Yao played with Ivan's hands, tracing meaningless shapes into his palms.

Eventually, after some time, Ivan spoke up, "Yao, Yao, what do you see?" This was something he repeated every so often, always hoping for a different answer than the one he received.

Lazily, Yao took out the spyglass and raised it to his eyes. "Smoke…it's grey and red," Yao answered. "There are lots of stars, though."

Ivan sighed. "That's not what Alfred says this is," he muttered.

"Alfred?" Yao repeated in confusion.

Ivan regarded Yao with cold amethyst eyes before answering. "America."

"Ah!" Understanding dawned. "He was so annoying! Always asking me for money!"

Ivan chuckled and smiled, but neither seemed genuine. "That's all the past now, da? I think it is time to sleep now."

…

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night, trapped in Ivan's embrace, his heart beating wildly and he would remember the old days. Days when there was earth, good strong, solid earth beneath his feet. And this would make him angry because there was only metal, metal everywhere and he had no idea how long ago it was when he had last touched the earth.

But then Ivan would shift and tighten his hold around Yao and Yao would calm. He would slowly slip back into sleep, holding Ivan for support.

…

This morning, Ivan was still around when he woke.

"Let's check your injuries," Ivan said, helping pull off Yao's shirt.

He was mostly healed, but there were still scratches and cuts running across his body and Ivan pursed his lips at this.

"It's getting better," Yao murmured, self-conscious. He gasped, feeling Ivan's lips brushing across his injuries. He shivered; Ivan's touch sending chills down his spine. His skin seemed to burn slightly where Ivan's lips touched.

"Iva-" He was cut off as he was roughly turned around and Ivan caught his lips in a kiss. When they broke apart, Yao's face was a dark shade of red and Ivan's was only slightly better. A thin thread of saliva glistened, connecting the two of them. Ivan smirked at this. His eyes widened as Yao gripped his scarf tightly and pulled him down for another kiss. Ivan obliged, ravaging the smaller's mouth. Eventually, he pulled away and planted a gentle kiss on Yao's head.

He smiled and, wordlessly, left.

…

As usual, Yao was sitting on the edge of the balcony when Ivan came back. Ivan's scarf fluttered around them as Ivan settled down. Yao's eyes focused on the scarf, but he pointedly ignored the red splotches on the otherwise beige scarf.

"Yao," Ivan greeted.

"Rus… Ivan," Yao replied, paying attention to the arms that tightened around him.

"Look. I brought something for you," Ivan grinned, childishly, delighted with himself as he placed some goggles- not unlike his own- into Yao's hands. Once Yao had put them on, Ivan declared, "You look so cute." Yao grimaced.

"It's weird," Yao said, tapping the goggles. "I've never seen ones like these before."

Ivan gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He shifted Yao in his lap, hugging him closer, but gently. There was once a time when he didn't have to worry much about being gentle with Yao, but now they were all fragile, mortal…

To both their surprise, there was a sudden burst of fireworks lighting up the sky. The brief flashes illuminated the city and Ivan looked down excitedly to see if Yao had noticed, but Yao only bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the fireworks.

The fireworks were beautiful, but they were strange and foreign, very different from the ones that Yao had found familiar. In a way, he didn't like them.

Ivan knit his eyebrows together and leaned forward to look down at the city. The tower that they lived in was so high up that he found it hard to see the city below. He was beginning to think he had imagined something, when, sure enough, one of the buildings exploded.

Ivan flinched, but Yao seemed not to notice. Without realizing, he had drawn both of them back into the room and locked the door to the balcony. He left Yao on the bed as he drew the curtains shut.

He didn't want to admit it, but his body felt weird. He gasped and sank to the floor, pain flooding through his body. Instantly, Yao was at his side, pulling him up from the floor and over to the bed, holding his head and murmuring words of love over and over again.

He wanted to yell, to destroy something. It was so frustrating, he had- they all had- lost their status as countries at the end of the previous war. They weren't humans, so they continued to live, but they had become more vulnerable, and all their people had become a new race. A race that belonged to cities made up of metal and steam. He wasn't supposed to feel any connection to his people anymore; there was no Russia anymore, no Russians.

Supposed to be, but reality was different. Yao was proof of that. The "Chinese" refused to submit and continued to rebel against the new world. So many of them had been broken as a result, and so had a little bit of Yao along with them.

Yao, who was stuck somewhere between the present and the past, who couldn't understand this new world. Ivan had judged that it would be safer to keep him locked up far away from the world; the Chinese rebels would never give up if they were to regain China.

Ivan ground his teeth together. He could feel rebels dying- people calling themselves "Russians". Didn't they know that reason the countries were no more was for their sake?

(Secretly, he still wanted to be Russia, but things weren't like that anymore.)

As he drifted to sleep, he could faintly hear the piano that Yao liked to talk of.

…

Sometimes Yao remembered things that were stuck deep in his memory.

There were peaceful days, he remembered, filled with cool breezes that ruffled the glades of grass. There was bamboo and pandas, and small children. Happiness.

There were sad days too, he remembered. Something about meaningless dreams and people leaving and a bloody katana.

There were confusing days where people fought amongst themselves and everything was blurred.

And there was Ivan- who was still here, despite the anger that was evident in his violet eyes when Ivan caught him remembering the past.

"Forget the past," Ivan was fond of saying. "We're not China and Russia anymore."

But he had been China for so long, why wasn't he China anymore?

(He wanted to understand, wanted to go down to the surface. He didn't know how much longer he could stay trapped like a prisoner.)

…

The arrival of the airship woke both of them up.

"America, aru! England, ahen!" Yao exclaimed, the sight of the two awakening old memories, an old Yao.

Alfred grinned his old stupid grin at the mention of his old name while Arthur's smile was bittersweet.

"What are you doing here?" Ivan glared at the two and tried to push Yao behind him.

"Relax," Arthur told Ivan. "We're here for you. There are certain things that need to be discussed."

Ivan let out a sigh and turned to Yao. "Stay here," he commanded as if Yao could actually leave. "I'll be back soon." He kissed Yao, savoring his taste, before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Yao called. "I…want to go too. I don't want to stay here anymore!" (I want to go wherever you go, he wants to shout.)

He made to follow Ivan, but was pushed back on to the bed.

"Stay," Ivan grunted. "For now…just stay." He took on a pleading tone. His resolve wavered as Yao brushed his hair behind his ear.

"But-"

"Stay. I need to think… Just wait for me." And Ivan looked so lost, so hopelessly childlike that Yao instantly agreed.

Yao watched from the balcony as Ivan left in the (strange) airship. Once they were gone, he looked down towards the ground. Still, all he could see was smoke.

One day he would know what had happened to the world, understand it and wouldn't shy away from it.

But until then, he would stay here and count the stars.

(And maybe one day he will be China again.)

And really, as long as he always has Ivan with him, it is all he needs.