His eyes settled on the loosely folded scarf that balanced precariously on the edge of the sink. He could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest and his fingers twitch at his sides. Could he do it? Could he really go through with it? His blue eyes settled on the Russian's mutilated back, eyeing him nervously. Could he actually get away with it? What would the ramifications be if he got caught? …Would it really be worth it?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

His hand shot out, snatching the neatly folded handmade-scarf off of the counter. In the bat of an eye he had turned, darted out of the bathroom and took off running down the stairs. Ivan's attention immediately snapped from the bathtub he was filling, to the open door. Without a moment's hesitation he had darted off after the fleeing man, gaining on him quickly.

Alfred wasn't stopped until he reached the door, a large hand reaching out and taking a painful hold of the nation's upper arm, forcing him to turn around- But Alfred was prepared, he immediately ripped his limb from the other's grasp and held up the scarf threateningly, grasping at the sides of a small tear already beginning to form on the edge. "I will rip it in fucking half, I swear. Just let me leave and I'll give it back." And, as if to prove his point, he gave a small tug, a few threads tearing free and a small, but audible rip being heard.

The lavender eyes that belonged to Ivan flashed dangerously, before an unsettlingly sweet smile spread along his lips. "Okay."

"…w-what?" Alfred hadn't expected him to go along with it so easily.

"You can go. I will very much like to have scarf back now."

Alfred continued to stare at the Russian, his jaw unhinged and his eyes flickering back and forth, trying to figure out just what Ivan's plan was. "You're…You're probably just gonna grab me right when I give it back! You think I'm stupid, huh? No way are you gonna get me that easy!"

"Nooo~" Ivan's voice had regressed to that annoyingly childish tone that just made Alfred cringe. "Just give me back scarf… Then you are free to leave…"

Still, Alfred clutched the scarf to his chest and stared at Ivan, as if looking hard enough would allow him to peer into the man and see his true intentions. He was silent, just staring hard-eyed at the other, an inward battle going on in his head as he debated what his next move would be.

Slowly he began to walk backwards, awkwardly struggling to keep his balance and not fall. The scarf was held in front of him, hands still shakily gripping at the weak end, eyes focused on Ivan. "St-Stay there." He demanded, quickly glancing behind him so he could see the door, before returning his attention almost immediately to the smiling Russian. He blindly reached behind him, groping around for the handle. Once long fingers found the cool brass, they awkwardly twisted it and pulled the door open.

It was a standoff now.
Alfred stood in the doorway, cold wind licking at his exposed backside, and Ivan standing inside the house, just waiting for Alfred's next move.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them so much as blinked.
For several minutes they seemed frozen in time, a glare meeting a smile and the only noise being heard was the gentle whistle of the wind, blowing through the trees and creeping into the house, taking it over and making sure the home shared its cold.

Finally a movement was made; the scarf was balled up, thrown over Ivan's head and Alfred was gone- running faster than Ivan had ever seen. The only trace of the young nation was the trail of footsteps left behind, which were quickly erased by the unceasing wind.

Ivan calmly picked up his scarf, fingers wrapping around the soft material and eyes surveying the rip. He loosely wrapped it around his neck and walked over to the frost-tinted window, looking out into the white tundra that was Ivan, lips drawn into a frown.

Alfred had been running a good twenty minutes until he finally stopped. He was freezing- literally. He'd lost feeling in his legs and hands and it felt like an icy hand was inside of his chest, squeezing his heart. Nation or not, the cold was overwhelming, he couldn't fight it off and soon he found himself sinking to h is knees, then collapsing fully into the blanket of snow that covered the ground.

It felt like someone were literally holding him down to the ground, cold fingers digging into his skin, pinning him down. He struggled to sit up, but his body couldn't fight off the cold. He'd never felt conditions like this- even in his coldest days he'd never had to face something quite this…powerful, this strong.

Alfred collected enough strength to roll onto his back, immediately met by a million cold needles pressing up against his skin, eliciting a loud hiss from the other. He could feel the cold travel up his body, along his stomach, against his chest, then around his throat. It tightened, constricting his air ways. Every labored breath hurt, freezing his body from the inside out. His throat was dry and his lips chapped, a hint of blue beginning to form around the edges.

For the first time in his life he felt like he was going to die.

The thought repeated again and against in his head.

I'm going to die.
I'm going to die.

His vision was fading in and out and his fingers, which had previously been clutching the dead, frozen grass, relaxed, now laying splayed out on the ground, slowly dusting over with the snow.

Alfred's eyes felt frozen and every time he blinked, it was like shards of glass were ripping the sensitive skin under his lids. His vision was blurring, no matter how many times he blinked, it remained foggy.

He watched the snowflakes dance in the sky over him. They whipped around, back and forth, pulled to and fro by the wind.

Except for just above him.

The snowflakes were still, calmly hanging in the air, despite the angry wind. Slowly they began to move again, though deliberately, contrasting the erratic motions of the snowflakes around him. They drifted towards him, slowly, carefully, they formed a shape- a body- a person.

It was as if the snowflakes were encased in a glass tomb, they hung in the air, drifting to and fro whenever the 'body' moved, like a snowglobe. He watched as long fingers reached out, gently pressing to his bottom lip.
The touch burned.
The head came down next, there were no features on the face, only a swirling mess of white specs. But he could feel it, he could feel the thing looking into his eyes.
Gently the frozen person pressed it's lips to Alfred's.

There was a sudden, sharp pain in Alfred's chest- then a brilliant bright flash of light, then darkness.