Chapter Text
The sound of electric guitar strings pierced the silence of the room, bouncing off the walls. Warm wind ruffled the already tousled ashen hair, caressing the skin.
Green branches brushed against the windowpane, producing a whining sound muffled by the roar of the musical instrument.
It was the height of spring, and finals were approaching a time Ivan, naturally, was diligently preparing for. The same couldn’t be said for his longtime friend, Gilbert. He sat pensively on one of the studio’s massive speakers, lazily smoking a cigarette, occasionally commenting on Ivan’s guitar playing.
The soft thud and muffled murmur behind the studio door created an atmosphere of detachment, of seclusion. As if the students bustling outside were merely background objects existing just to exist.
A new chord proved difficult, frustrating him enough to keep playing until his fingers bled. Another chuckle rang out, a spiral of smoke curling up toward the high ceiling, and the ash fell like small flakes onto the parquet floor.
«Haven’t played for two weeks and already forgot how to hit the notes?» - Prussia grinned, swinging his legs boyishly in the air. The tip of his cigarette flared up once more before he flicked the rest into a cluttered corner of the room.
Ivan sighed irritably, rolling his eyes.
«Oh, just shut up»
The tips of his fingers were red and sore from the pressure. A burning pain made him pause again, his attention caught by sudden noise from the hallway.
The door burst open, the handle slamming against the concrete wall with a bang, nearly knocking Gilbert off the speaker. He cursed out loud.
«Found you!» - a loud voice, belonging to the ball of energy in their group, hit their eardrums like a slap, causing a grimace.
Messy wheat-colored hair fell in disarray over his forehead, and in that chaos, there was something oddly magnetic. Tall, with a lean, wiry build, sun-kissed skin, and those unmistakable blue eyes: piercing, expressive, alive.
Ivan’s gaze lingered on the sweat glistening on his forehead, the trail that ran down his temple and jaw. His T-shirt was soaked through, and the heaving of his chest and ragged breath made it obvious: the guy had come straight from training.
«Yo»
He darted toward Gilbert and, as usual, enveloped him in a warm hug. Gilbert tried to push him away in disgust, muttering complaints while Alfred laughed brightly. The sound of it filled the studio, sending goosebumps across the skin.
Finally, his gaze flicked toward Ivan, who sat on the stairs with the electric guitar in his hands. That familiar spark lit up his eyes, and a slow smile spread across his flushed face.
«There you are», - he drew out the vowels, stepping close enough to throw an arm around Ivan’s shoulders, completely unbothered by his sweaty state.
And, most notably, Braginsky didn’t push him away, he just gave him a friendly pat on the back.
Somewhere in the background, Gilbert snorted. He’d already lit his second cigarette of the morning.
«Alf, for fuck’s sake, you could’ve at least showered, - he grumbled, taking a drag. - You reek of sweat»
Braginsky let out a low laugh while Jones kept bickering with Gilbert, only to suddenly turn back to Ivan.
As usual, it triggered an instant reaction: Ivan’s ears and cheeks flushed crimson. Alfred always had a habit of staring at people, like he was trying to read them. No matter how long they’d been friends, Ivan didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.
«How’s the melody going?» - Jones asked softly, beaming at him.
His eyes were slightly hooded, and his breathing had calmed. His gym shorts had ridden up a little, exposing half of a sculpted thigh, not that he cared in the slightest.
«Mmh... not great, honestly», - Braginsky muttered, concentrating as he searched for the right chord. He was doing his best to ignore the piercing blue gaze fixed on his profile.
No, there wasn’t any subtext here, of course... it just made his stomach flutter in a strange way.
Suddenly, a warm palm touched the top of his head, fingers sinking gently into his roots. A simple, absentminded gesture one Jones often reserved just for him. The touch stirred something. A memory.
Their friendship had started long ago, back when they were still kids. Around the age of eleven, maybe.
An international school in Europe, where Ivan had moved with his parents to get a good education and escape the ridicule he’d faced due to his family situation. Children don’t like those who stand out, right? The ones who are a little different.
A scratched-up, faded wooden bench stood in the middle of the schoolyard, its varnish peeling from years of use.
His mood was neutral, acceptable. A light breeze played with his hair, and the shouts of students and teachers rang from the sports field. It seemed like a game was underway. Ivan peeked at it from the corner of his eye.
He’d never had friends. Maybe because of his nationality, or maybe his personality. Who’d want to be friends with a quiet, forgettable oddball, a teacher’s pet? Only the most unhinged, right?
Footsteps and labored breathing sounded nearby, and then someone plopped down beside him. Ivan glanced quickly at the boy - probably around the same age. Blond hair gleamed in the sun, painfully bright.
«An unapologetically extroverted guy»
Ivan thought.
The boy’s brow was furrowed, and sticky sweat dripped down his face. Oh, he must’ve been on the red team - his jersey said so. They sat in silence.
Ivan tensed internally when the boy casually sprawled out on the bench, taking up more than half the space and stretching out his legs. Then, without warning, he began looking at his own shoes... then at Ivan’s. Ivan, meanwhile, was quietly sipping berry juice from a plastic bottle his mother had packed for school.
The sweet liquid was refreshing, cooling him under the blazing sun. It was late May, after all.
He nearly choked when a thin, boyish voice suddenly broke the silence:
«Your shoes suck. These, - the boy pointed to his sporty sneakers, - these are the real deal»
Yeah, that kind of sneaker was definitely trending at the time. But they were expensive, and Ivan’s parents couldn’t afford such things.
While little Braginsky struggled to process the comment, the strange American, judging by his accent, had already returned to the field.
Ivan stared daggers at the nimble boy playing on the grass.
«Well, congrats, I guess», - he muttered bitterly to himself, the sun beating down as he trudged back toward the school building. The bell would ring soon, probably.
That was the start of a long and, as it turned out, strong friendship.
It was the dead of winter, the kind that seemed to exist only in Russia. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, melting upon contact with skin. The school windows were frosted with delicate patterns of ice and frost that looked like intricate artwork.
Children and teens trudged through the cold toward the towering school building, the weather casting a heavy, melancholic mood.
It was the last period of the day, and the long-awaited bell snapped the boy out of his thoughts. Students hurried to gather their things, chatting among themselves, eager to head home. Of course, they had friends. Naturally.
«Ivan, could you come here for a moment?»
The gentle voice of the teacher caught his attention. Braginsky nodded meekly, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and walking up to the woman, she looked about thirty, as the rest of the class filed out.
Her warm brown eyes looked at him kindly, and her soft hand gently took his, giving it a light, soothing stroke.
«Your parents mentioned that you play guitar?»
He hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor, nervously tugging at the hem of his white shirt. He wondered if he should lie.
But after a moment’s thought, he replied softly:
«Yes, miss»
The teacher brightened, giving his hand a slight squeeze.
«Wonderful, Ivan. Would you mind playing a melody for the school festival? - she asked, gently placing a hand on his forearm. - You’ll be performing with a boy from the parallel class. He wrote the lyrics himself»
The proposal didn’t exactly light a fire in him, but a spark of interest ignited somewhere deep inside. And the thought of making his parents proud by playing on stage warmed his heart. Though, there was still the lingering anxiety... he wasn’t the most comfortable being in front of a crowd.
Ivan bit his lip, mulling it over, then quietly answered:
«All right, miss. I’ll try…»
And that, really, was where this warm, brotherly bond began.
Countless rehearsals at each other’s houses, sweet dry biscuits and sickeningly sugary soda; walks in the rain and sleepovers with hushed conversations lasting until dawn.
These memories rarely surfaced, but whenever they did, they were always a comfort. Back then, they were carefree kids, untouched by the world. It was just the two of them.
A familiar dark head peeked through the door, snapping Ivan back to reality. Alfred had been chatting animatedly with Gilbert, who was now wandering around the studio, picking up random instruments.
«We’ve got class, guys», - came the tired voice of another one of their friends, directed more at Ivan, they were in the same department. Philosophy.
Jones broke off his conversation, turning toward the boy who was lazily packing away his guitar.
«Good luck», - he winked, returning to his chat.
Ivan’s cheeks flamed again, and he just hummed in response before slipping out the door with his friend, disappearing into the corridor.
Already seated in the lecture hall, the professor’s voice reached Ivan’s ears like a distant echo, he was completely lost in thought.
Wang Yao diligently scribbled the professor’s words into his notebook, paying no mind to his friend who was clearly off somewhere in his own head.
An image of Alfred surfaced again. All those touches, the jokes, the smirks tossed his way, the lingering stares.
Braginsky didn’t like the way he reacted to it all. After all, they’d been friends for years, it wasn’t normal to focus so much on how his friend treated him.
Yes, undeniably, Jones was handsome. Ivan had always been surprised that, back in junior grades, the other kids used to tease him about his looks. It made no sense to him.
And now? He got plenty of female attention and not just female.
If it weren’t for the professor’s firm voice calling on him to answer a question, Ivan might’ve just sat there, lost in thoughts of his friend.
Thankfully, with a hint from China, he managed to snag a decent grade.
Compared to most, today was relatively light. Just three classes, which meant more time to rehearse in the music room and finally grab a proper lunch.
The hum of students echoed through the spacious cafeteria. The mix of smells made his head spin a little, and though the food didn’t look especially appetizing, the taste was surprisingly decent. The place was packed, and to his surprise, every table was taken.
Their group decided to squeeze into a corner by the window, which offered a view of the university grounds.
Hot pasta slightly burned the roof of his mouth, making him wince. The presence of a certain someone nearby only worsened the situation.
A tanned hand rested on the back of Ivan’s chair while the source of his discomfort chatted animatedly with Gilbert, occasionally brushing his leg against Ivan’s with his own.
It wasn’t anything new. Alfred had a habit of taking up space, probably a mix of boundless energy and confidence.
«Oh yeah! We did a great job and scored a prize!» - Jones laughed loudly, leaning back just a bit, brushing Ivan’s shoulder blades with his arm.
Even the slightest touch from his friend always felt like fire against Ivan’s skin.
He tried to distract himself, his friends laughing at their own jokes, students walking trays back and forth, random snippets of conversation. But ironically, Alfred’s voice always felt the closest.
China silently chewed what must have been cold rice, while Prussia shot Alfred a sideways look.
«You? With that busted leg? - he said, sipping his soda, - Maybe try healing it completely first?»
His tone was laced with the usual sarcasm, which earned a tired click of the tongue from Jones.
Ivan felt a hand shift to his shoulder, squeezing gently. A casual, friendly gesture - nothing more. But it still sent a small shiver down his spine.
«Oh, c’mon, - the blond drawled lazily, flashing Ivan a wide, innocent grin. - After Vanya helped patch me up, I’m back in action»
Fingers gently stroked his trapezius muscle, and Braginsky swallowed thickly, forcing a strained smile.
«Oh please, Jones», - he chuckled, trying to sound casual as he turned back to his food.
The hand stayed on his shoulder, occasionally giving a light massage. His fingertips tingled, and the ticklish sensation sent sparks down his spine.
No one seemed to notice Ivan’s awkwardness at their friend’s antics. The conversation continued uninterrupted - mostly between Alfred and Gilbert.
No one was surprised by Alfred’s constant need for physical contact. Truth be told, pretty much everyone had fallen victim to his spontaneous hugs and even kisses.
Braginsky couldn’t remember exactly when it all started. The memory of the first time just kind of surfaced sometimes.
It was summer again, how often it featured in his memories. A season full of love, tenderness, and sweet detachment.
Sunlight filtered through heavy curtains. A record from their favorite British band «Blur» was spinning on the console.
Their music had shaped part of Ivan’s world since childhood, rekindling his love for sound and his desire to play various instruments, especially the guitar.
Fifteen-year-old Jones was rummaging curiously in a dark corner of his friend’s room, where clothes, CDs, and vinyls lay scattered.
The boys practically spent every day at each other’s houses talking for hours, playing games, listening to music. Sometimes, Ivan would play a cover or an original melody on his acoustic guitar.
«Ooh! Vanya, - Alfred exclaimed, eyes wide, turning toward the boy sprawled across the bed. - Play this one for me»
Braginsky looked up at the album in his friend’s hands, filled with song titles and sheet music from some old band.
Requests like these were becoming more frequent, and they always embarrassed the Russian boy. He wasn’t used to anyone taking interest in his hobby. He never expected anyone to actually listen, let alone ask him to play.
«Well… I don’t know if I can—»
«Oh, don’t give me that, - the blond interrupted, mock-irritated. He got up from the floor, stopped the record, and flopped down beside Braginsky. - You’ve got this. You’re amazing, man»
That odd laugh of his brought a small, shy smile to Ivan’s lips. He picked up the guitar, settled into a playing position, and glanced at the sheet music out of the corner of his eye.
The way Alfred watched him so intently only deepened his blush. But the encouraging words gave him the confidence he needed.
The hesitant strumming slowly transformed into a complete melody, much to Ivan’s own delight. In the past two years, he’d gotten a lot better, and his unique playing style had truly started to form.
When he finished, he awkwardly set the guitar down beside the bed and lifted his violet eyes to his friend - only to flinch slightly at the open admiration on the other boy’s face.
«He’s so easy to impress…»
«Dude, that was genius, - Jones grinned, clapping enthusiastically and shaking Ivan by the shoulders. - I never doubted you!»
Braginsky finally burst out laughing, trying to calm down the blond by grabbing his wrists.
«You’re just too easily impressed», - he joked, turning his face away as Alfred suddenly hugged him.
The scent of lilac and some kind of kid’s shampoo filled his lungs. It was odd how such a combo could make someone even more attractive.
«Hey, I’m serious! - Alfred huffed, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. - You really sell yourself short, and I hate that»
His brows furrowed, forming a cute crease on his forehead. Then his gaze shifted, taking in every detail of Ivan’s face with quiet curiosity, tilting his head slightly.
It flustered Ivan deeply, so he tried to laugh again, masking his unease.
«Yeah, yeah, thanks. I knew you’d like it»
But no reply came. The boy just kept looking at him with surprising seriousness, studying every part of him.
And then, Ivan’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a quiet mutter:
«May I kiss you?»
The lump in his throat made it impossible to breathe. Braginsky shifted nervously, feeling the heat creep up his neck and ears.
Alfred, seeing his friend’s shock and confusion, gave a strained little laugh and clarified:
«I mean, uh, like… on the cheek? No tongue, or maybe on the lips or something…»
The words tumbled out, quick and clumsy, like he was scared he’d chicken out. His cheeks were pink, but his eyes stayed fixed on Ivan nervous, but sincere.
For some reason, it didn’t sound so bad. In fact, Ivan wanted it. And before he could stop himself, he mumbled:
«Yeah… yeah, if you want to»
He took a shaky breath and shut his eyes, heart fluttering with anticipation.
There was a rustle, and teen - warm fingers cupped his flushed cheek, and hot breath brushed against his skin. Lips followed soon after.
It was clumsy, inexperienced, a little rough.
Ivan froze, unsure what to do, as the tanned hand gently caressed his cheekbone and soft lips pressed against his own.
The euphoria of that moment still lived in his body, as if it was happening not just in the past, but right now.
An innocent kiss, childish in a way. Affectionate, full of tenderness and emotion.
Before pulling back, Jones gently bit Ivan’s lower lip, ending the kiss.
It was awkward.
It was embarrassing.
It was sweet and thrilling.
They stared at each other, breathless and stunned.
Ivan cleared his throat, lowering his burning red face. Alfred, meanwhile, hid the lower half of his face behind his sleeve, giggling.
«Oh, that was… uh…, - his voice was muffled by fabric, shy undertones peeking through, - that was pretty cool, yeah»
He ruffled his hair, maybe trying to shake off the tension, then stood up with a casual air. The console had stopped playing a while ago, and now he was rummaging through their pile of CDs.
«Should I put on another band?» - he asked, as if nothing had happened.
His hands trembled slightly as he shuffled through the cardboard covers with a kind of frantic energy. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who got nervous. Kissing your best friend wasn’t exactly a smart idea, was it?
Ivan sniffled quietly, licking his lips. His mouth felt full of saliva, which he quickly swallowed as he turned to his wardrobe.
«No problem»
His voice didn’t shake, thanks to pure force of will. A song by an American singer from the ’70s started playing.
It was unforgettable.
And eventually… it became routine.