'ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏʙᴀʟ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

3

Edit: Just had to fix an error that was really bugging me — next chapter to come soon!

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It had taken a few minutes for things to calm down again. Spain had to intervene and hold off both Romano and he had barely managed to calm him down. Older brothers, am I right? Once everything had settled again, France placed the book down on the table again, and asked who wanted to read next.

"I will, if no one else wants to." Ivan smiled.

"If you're sure, mon ami." Francis said, sliding the book the short distance towards the Russian. "Just be wary of how delicate some of the things are. I think I just got lucky."

"Da, I understand."

People tensed in their seats as Ivan carefully turned to the next page, almost as nervous as he was about whose entry was next. He looked at the name, and went mute. On either side of him sat Yao and Alfred, and they gave each other a glance, before simultaneously looking at the top of the page.

"Oh... Do you still wanna read it?" Alfred asked. There was a lot of writing, so he figured it was a personal entry. "If you don't, I can take over."

"Nyet... It's fine." Ivan said. "I'd rather it was me who read it. It is mine, after all."

"Just take your time, aru. There's no hurry." Yao added, giving him a weak smile as Ivan started to read.

"Russia. December 28th, 1989."

"Ah, shit..." Alfred mumbled, loud enough for no one to hear. He knew instantly what this entry was about. He leant back in his seat and let Ivan continue, silently apologising and passing condolences to the Russian.

"Everyone is leaving. One by one, everyone that I have tried to protect is running from me. I see their people trying to flee west, and I see them among the crowds. Am I that bad?"

The Cold War. 1989 was nicknamed the 'Year of Freedom'. That year, countries in East Europe started to break away from the hold of the USSR. The Iron Curtain had started to fall.

"I don't think we can survive this. I can't survive this. For so long, I've been seen as the Evil Empire by the West. Is that why they are leaving? Because I am a bad person? Do they all hate me that much? Why can't they understand that I was just trying to protect them?"

Ivan didn't seem to be struggling to read. He wasn't becoming visibly emotional, his voice never changed volume or continuity. Had he already gotten over this? Had Ivan been able to break away from that pain? Or was all of that hidden in a different journal, safe from the prying hands of whoever had composed that book? Or... Was Ivan just good at acting?

"Maybe I was just born to be the bad guy, like everyone sees me. I have become one with the cold. My heart, my soul, my skin. Ice. Can nobody see that underneath all of that ice, there is a person? Someone who just wants to feel the warmth of company. Family. If I keep waiting, maybe it will happen. I hope there is an end to this blizzard before it is too late."

As if it were made of glass, Ivan let the book rest on the table. He stared at his name for a moment, and then looked around the room, the smallest smile on his face. The others were baffled. He seemed completely unaffected by what he'd read. Why was that? Was he alright?

"Ivan?"

"Da?"

"Are you OK?"

"I think so. Do I not look OK?"