9 November 1989 was one of the most fearful days of his life.

It was all over, drifting away from him like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. Soon he would be alone and the fear was crushing him. Soon the noise of his home would fade to silence. So he had clung adamantly to the past, threatened, cajoled… bruised and battered.

Ivory hair shimmered in the light, soft steps dancing through his home. Gilbert was too perfect, too fragile, too breakable. So he had crushed him, snapped him, defiled him.

"I will open the gates."

And then you'll be gone. That brief flicker of luminance in his life would be extinguished. Once the stones he had carefully laid were broken down Gilbert would break free. Why would he want to stay with him once he could be unrestricted? The gilded cage with an open door. His little bird would be gone.

Ivan hadn't been able to return home.

Through the windowpane he had watched the news, the joy as GDR merged with Germany, people spilling together over the wall. Weeping, singing, praising the fact they would no longer be his. An emptiness swallowed him, how could they be so happy when he was so terrified, so consumed with grief?

Vodka had not been a comfort. Though bottles piled up he did not feel it. Every nerve in his body sang out in agony and nothing could dull it. When he returned home Gilbert would not be there anymore. Gilbert would escape. Gilbert hated him. Every bone he'd broken, every harsh word he'd spoken… but he'd done it out of fear. Fear that a day like this day would come. If he broke his ankles he couldn't walk away, that was how it worked.

As the sunlight spilled over the horizon he stood before his door. Even if he waited a century it would not change reality and so he pushed on, accepting his defeat.

A sweet scent welcomed him, shadows spinning before his eyes as a figure moved through the kitchen haloed in golden rays. Light steps, a wicked smile before a fist crashed into his shoulder.

"Mein gott you smell like a brewery… don't tell me you and Latvia went drinking again?"

Prussia? He didn't understand, he didn't understand at all. Why was he here? Shouldn't he have left? A hand lifted, pressing to his countenance as he wondered whether in some alcohol induced stupor he had begun to hallucinate.

"Oi, Ivan."

A pause.

"Ivan?"

Silence.

"The fuck? Don't tell me you're so drunk you've lost the power of speech? Fucking Latvia, I knew he liked a drink but this… Does that mean I get to top today? Kesesesese…"

Relief swept through him, hot and heady, a little giggle parting his lips as he seized the former nation and crushed him to his chest.

"Don't ever leave my little bunny."

Crimson eyes blinked, clearly thinking the Russian had lost his marbles somewhere between the snow and the vodka.

"Alright, whatever you say… Just get to bed before you fall down. I'm not carrying you there."

Because home wasn't home without Gilbert.