Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

семь - winter runaways

Belarus - in Toris' mind at least - can be likened to a tornado, always viciously tearing through her intended path (so long as Ivan himself is the destination), uncaring as to who she demolishes in her wake. And it's with that in mind that he - after witnessing the ashen-haired girl stalk through the entryway and prowl around the front room, nose upturned as though she were a bloodhound on the trail of an escaped convict - ducks from the room before he appears on her radar and slinks along the halls until he stumbles to a halt just in front of the library.

The door is slightly ajar, and, seeing as how Ivan's never been one to reminisce about his past and Eduard isn't fond of the Russian "propaganda", as he puts it, there's really only one person who could be occupying the room.

"Valentina!" he cries, a half-step from collapsing into the spacious room, brimming with the intoxicating aroma of old leather and cherished pages turned brittle with age. 

It's enough to make him lightheaded, but he tears through the hindering sensation as Valentina looks up from the book settled in her lap, raising her misty violet eyes to meet his startled green gaze. Amongst the towering shelves, she's tucked into a small nook, surrounded by books pulled down from places he's stunned she could reach on her own (he vaguely realizes she must have asked Ivan for assistance at some point, as no one else in the house is sufficiently tall enough). 

S-She's been crying, he notes with a wince, discreetly observing as she swipes the edge of her sleeve over her reddened eyes, whisking the bitter droplets from her clumped lashes. Her pale lips curve into a knowing smile as she gently places her book on the ground, a hastily scrounged up scrap of paper placed between the pages to hold her spot, and rises to her feet, completely unaware of the inevitable danger she'll soon be in.

"I'm sorry for my appearance." She dips into a dainty curtsy, to the Lithuanian's blatant surprise. "I found an... an old diary of Ivan's. I couldn't help myself..." 

"T-That doesn't matter!" 

Valentina's mouth uncurls into a pin-straight line at Toris' outburst, unaccustomed as she is to him raising his voice. But he doesn't find the time to apologize, and instead takes the young woman by the hand and hauls her from the library in one fluid motion that snatches her from her reverie and colors her cheeks a vibrant pink.

Ignorant to her volatile reaction, Toris makes sure to close the door with the softest of clicks before shuffling Valentina further down the hall, along a path she doesn't quite recognize. In response to her frantic look, he huffs an apologetic sigh and whispers, "We... we have an unexpected g-guest and I... Well, to be frank I don't think she'll take very kindly to you, Valentina. She is... extremely infatuated with Mr. Ivan..."

A soft silence ripples in the wake of Toris' explanation, one he has difficulty interpreting. One could take her refusal to respond as confirmation of certain feelings - this is the route a certain Estonian would certainly take. However, one could also assume she's every bit as confused by Toris' words as he is by her lack thereof - this is the safe answer, and the majority of the household would agree with it.

Not another word is exchanged while Toris bustles Valentina around the home, ears pricked in case Belarus might be lurking around a corner, still intent on sniffing out Ivan before long. Fortunately - a rare occurrence, recently - they don't encounter Natalya in any shape or form, be it physical or through evidence of her passing, such as overturned tables or doors nearly torn from their hinges.

Though - for one breathless moment - he believes to have heard a faint shriek of terror in an agonizingly American accent, accompanied by a gasp equally as recognizable from his brother.