Pierogies and Sunflowers pt2

After the meeting and having to endure the embarrassment of his sibling's incessant ridicule, Matthew fled the meeting and the eyes of all the other nations, blindly running out into the snow to be alone with his frustration and shame. He huddled at the base of a large, leafless maple tree, hugging his knees desperately to his chest as the tears froze like crystals to his cheeks. Why did it always have to be that way? Nobody ever cared enough about him to notice his existence, but when they did it was nothing but teasing and mockery. Not even Kumajiro could remember who he was. Did they only bring him into the G8 because he was Alfred's brother? Was that all he was to other people? He was Canada, damn it. He was his own person, his own nation...why couldn't anyone else see it? The neglected and abused nation cried painful, icy tears into the silence of the night's blowing snow, and as the bitter cold of general winter took his shivering body in it's grasp, he was lulled to sleep by the comforting smell of sunflowers from his slowly fading memory.

When consciousness finally returned to the weary Canadian, his large blue eyes were swollen puffy from crying and he ached all over from the receding chill, but he still found himself safely tucked away in his own room, asleep on his own bed. He didn't remember making it back to the residences, but he was happy to be in his room nonetheless and snuggled happily against the soft fabric of his blanket with a thankful smile...only something seemed different. Matthew opened his eyes just a sliver to a view of pale, yellow fabric draped about his neck and body; the soft material of a long, hand knit scarf hugged snug and comforting  around him , bathing his soul in warmth, though it was not his familiar blanket at all. He reached over to his bedside table to grab the alarm clock in order to get a better look at the time, but something else greeted his hand entirely. He found his hand warm and covered in butter, only to discover that he had put his hand straight into a plate of pierogies. The plump, half moon shaped, bundles of dough and potato lay piled on the plate on his nightstand, still warm and delectable looking topped with tiny, yellow pats of butter. When did they get there? He didn't remember being hungry or asking anybody for help and yet he could not help but want to devour everything in front of him.

"What the.....?"  the bewildered Canadian mumbled as he stared alternately between his hand and the plate.

Searching through the distant memories of his childhood, Matthew recalled fondly the times he spent living with Ukraine back on the lonely prairies of his home when he was but a child. Every time he fell or was sad, the caring older nation would be there with kind words and homemade pierogies to comfort his wounded feelings. Those small, delectable pockets of warmth and love held some of the young nation's fondest memories and washed his tears away once again in a gentle feeling of comfort that made him forget the reason why he'd run out into the snow in the first place. He didn't recall Ukraine being there at the conference, yet somehow there were the same sort of lovingly crafted pierogies sitting there in front of him that took him back to those days on a soothing  wave of nostalgia. Bringing a buttery finger to his mouth to savor the taste, Matthew glanced over and noticed a folded piece of tan colored card tucked under the plate next to the green stem of a large sunflower. Why did that scent seem to follow him everywhere in this place? It comforted but confused the poor boy as he unfolded the card to look at the message contained within. Written in firm, solid script was a message that he could not decipher despite his knack for languages. The letters were unfamiliar to him, but as he stared at the single word in the middle of the card, the writer's intent slowly began to come clear in his mind. It read:

                  Огорченно.

An apology, simply worded and sincere...but why? He was the one that had fled, that had stranded himself in the cold and snow, so he should be the one saying sorry, right?  The apology was a mystery to him, but one he would not let go to waste as he picked up one of the pasty white gifts and bit into it tentatively. Oh, they were exactly everything he remembered them to be; soft, warm, savory treats that made a smile spread across his cheeks so wide that it felt like his face might split from the sheer pleasure of it all. The quiet nation sat there for a moment with the treat in his hand, giving a second of thought to who it was that may have sent him such a personal gift. The answer remained hazy and out of his reach, but his heart ached to grasp it and to know who finally cared enough about him to save him from his own recklessness. Matthew had nearly  forgotten just how hungry he was until he was roused from his reverie by a firm knock on the door. The half eaten pierogi dropped from Matthew's hand onto the plate at the sound, leaving the room in a still echo until the tired boy summoned enough courage to mutter a meek "H...h...hello?".

"I may speak to you, da?" A deep voice spoke from the other side of the dark wooden door.

Matthew was paralyzed by a confusing maelstrom of mixed emotions at the sound of the other nation's voice and found himself unable to respond as he merely stared blankly into the space ahead of him. After a few moments of silence, the door opened with a slight creak to reveal the darkened silhouette of Ivan standing just within his room, the solemn look on his face saying more in those moments than any words either of them could hope to form. Closing the door behind him, the Russian quietly stepped into the room, violet eyes watching the small Canadian and hoping that somehow he would be able to understand. The fear that Matthew might reject his apology made Ivan's hands tremble nervously and the words practically stumble out of his mouth. "M...Matvey. You are okay, right? I...I worry."

It hit Matthew like a freight train. Russia. Ivan. He remembered seeing the scarf trailing behind the tall man when he retreated from the conference room hours before; the same scarf that he now wore, keeping him comforted and warm. Was that how he was brought to his room from out of the snow? How could Ivan be such a terrible and frightening person and still be capable of showing such care and compassion? He'd rescued him from the frigid cold, gave him his own scarf, and had the sense to leave him a gift so close to his heart that it was impossible to believe his intentions were anything less than honorable. With a shy blush to his pale cheeks, Matthew reached over and turned the switch to his lamp, casting a soft golden light upon the two of them. "You. You found me out there, and...you brought these, didn't you? How did you know?" The Canadian's voice was hesitant and faltering, but his wide, blue eyes remained trained upon the large Russian who's face bore a hopeful smile.

"Big sister Ukraine said you liked them. I want little Matvey to know I am sorry I sat on him. I didn't mean to. You'll forgive me, da?" He looked over at Matthew, their eyes meeting in the middle in a swirling pool of emotion and color. "I notice you." The solemn man confessed in heartfelt whisper.

Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but the sound just wouldn't come out. He'd been so wrong about Ivan the entire time. That last statement brought a fresh flood of tears to his eyes, these ones not icy and painful like before, but warm and full of new found affection. Without knowing exactly where his mind was racing off to and without being able to control his own body, Matthew bolted up from the bed and ran headlong towards Ivan, throwing himself against the solid warmth of of the larger nation's body. Once again there was that clean scent of snow and sunflowers swirling about him as he desperately hugged the one person in the world who could notice him for the person he was and not as the pathetic, invisible nation who paled in comparison to his twin brother. How he could have even been afraid of Ivan in the first place was almost beyond him then as his arms wrapped tightly around the Russian's waist. "Thank you." He whispered into the comforting fabric of Ivan's coat. "You're not so scary at all, you know."

Ivan hugged Matthew's small body gently in return, resting his chin on the top of his head, taking in the warm maple scent of the smaller nation's soft blond hair and the simple joy of having someone so close. For once he could share the presence and feel of another human being without having them shy away at the very thought of his touch. He felt Matthew's quiet heartbeat against against his chest and smiled at finally being able to let him know just how sorry he was for what he'd done. He wouldn't hurt his little comrade Matvey anymore.