Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

шесть - a knock on the door

"Is he... trying to learn Russian?"

The Baltics (charming lot that Valentina's learned them to be) are in quite the precarious position, all three peeking round the corner, mouths agape, watching a frustrated Alfred busy himself with the hefty tome spread open in front of him. With every flip of a page, dust shoots up into the air, inducing coughs and manic hand-flapping alike in an effort to dispel the debris from his personal space (and sensitive lungs).

When not choking on the evidence of colossal disuse, strange, rough noises escape the American's lips, usually followed quickly by a muffled curse as he acknowledges he's only decimating the complex language.

"But... why would he--"

"Well, Valentina's making an effort to speak English around us - especially Mr. Arthur and Mr. Alfred. Maybe he's trying to meet her halfway?"

Toris blinks, comprehension gradually seeping through his hesitant thoughts. Ah. Yes. That would explain away any discrepancies. "If that's the case, m-maybe one of us should--"

"If you're thinking of helping the bloke, don't."

The three Baltic brothers simultaneously jump - all six feet completely leaving contact with the well-kept wooden floors - as Arthur speaks over Eduard's shoulder, his massive brows scrunched together in a furry V, his emerald eyes tracking the American's movements while he tirelessly picks his way through the basics of the unfamiliar language (he's putting up a front, honestly, as tireless he is not - he would drop any moment if not for the thought of someone accidentally happening on the hero's unconscious body).

Pushing aside the matter of his flagrant discomfort (and notable shock), Toris swallows back his distasteful thoughts and asks, "But Mr. A-Arthur, wouldn't it be better if we were to teach him ourselves? It's much easier to learn a language when you have a... n-native speaker to help you..."

The Englishman waves a dismissive hand. "That idiot's too lazy; it's good to make him do a few things himself. Plus I enjoy watching him struggle."

"Y-You sound like Mr. I-Ivan..."

His head cocks, blonde hair falling away from his forehead, as he considers this notion. Me? Like Ivan...? He shrugs. "Can't be helped," he mutters at last, to the absolute horror of one quivering blonde, who - true to form - balks from the perceived threat and scurries off down the hall, his footsteps too light to make a scene even in the breathlessly silent home. Mumuring to himself, Arthur shakes his head, then, raising his voice, adds, "The bloody twit deserves it, anyway. All he does here is sit on his fat arse and rely on Toris to do what he asks. A little effort won't kill him."

"Probably," the remaining Baltics chorus beneath their breath.

"Ah." Toris breathes out a wondrous gasp, shifting his gaze from the weathered floor to the Brit's inquisitive face. He absently wrings out his hands, wearing the overworked skin a nasty red that Eduard knows he'll be scolded for later (Valentina worries constantly for the Lithuanian's health and dislikes whenever she finds him in such a state). "Mr. Arthur, would you like to learn as well?"

The incredulous blonde raises a singular brow, inviting curious stares. "Me? Why should I want to learn Russian?"

"It's bothersome, isn't it?" Toris presses, keeping his earnest stare on the seemingly near-flustered Brit. "Having to have one of us here as a translator? And Valentina's making the effort to learn English for both of you, not just Mr. Alfred, so I thought it might be nice if you..." His lips pull into a shaky smile, covering for his lapse in speech. As it were, he's not quite sure how to finish the sentence without it sounding... whiny.

While Toris' forest-green gaze descends to his custom loafers once more, Eduard's dispassionate eyes don't fail to witness the flush of red scrawled across Arthur's fair cheeks. Silently, he's amused. He doesn't get the sense that the Englishman is harboring any unrequited love for the amnesiac beauty, but it's clear he isn't used to having anyone - be it a man or a woman - be so considerate of him. Not even - and maybe even especially - the child he raised for all those forgotten years.

Speaking of...

"Gah! Dammit! This sucks! How the hell do you say this?!"

"Help him," is all the blonde manages to bite out before he shoves past a bewildered Toris and disappears. The distant sound of his door slamming reverberates through the house, though it does little to stifle Alfred's impromptu tantrum. 

Eduard can't help a chuckle. "I'll do it," he offers, cutting off what he invisions to be Toris' similar announcement. "I'll be harder on him than you," he adds as way of an explanation, "considering you still revere him for all the help he gave you before." A rather sadistic gleam glitters behind the Estonian's thin lenses. "I'll be sure to beat all the necessary information into him."

And with that alarming promise, he pats Toris' shoulder and breaks past him, calling out a customary greeting to the cussing American still slaving away in the next room. The conversation soon drifts to that of one belonging to a student-teacher relationship, and Toris graciously decides to give them space (in truth, he's more frightened of Eduard's unorthodox teaching methods and doesn't wish to become a witness).

However, just as he's flitting through the halls, intent on searching for Valentina (lately she's taken to straying from Ivan's room and discovering undesirable rooms among the home), he comes upon quite the unexpected sound for the Russian household:

A knock on the front door.

Uncertain, he swerves into the front room and cautiously wraps slender fingers around the frosty doorknob, a heartbeat from tugging it open. He begins to do so, only to have it implode, bursting nearly off its hinges as it slams into the wall directly behind it, missing Toris by a hairsbreadth in the process. A swirl of wintry air coils into the house, and any of its residents (besides Valentina, ignorant guest that she is) would claim it was due more to the arrival of the ashen-haired girl than the dismil weather conditions outside.

A voice - shrill and demanding in the lingering silence - exclaims, "Brother~! Are you ready to marry me yet?!"

Ah, Toris thinks admist his cowering, this could be bad....