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?"

Alfred meekly smiled. "You look as great as ever, buddy."

Japan muttered something that made Italy laugh, but Russia took no notice. What had happened that year was not the end of it. He was relieved that the entry was from 1989 and not 1991, that's for sure. He thanked Alfred. He took a deep breath. He smiled.

"I'm sure it would've happened at some point." he said. Everyone assumed it was in reference to the end of the USSR. "People had been restless for decades. After a while, I realised it was the right thing to do. To let them leave. No one likes a dictator, after all."

"I second that." Germany stated.

"I third it." Romano scoffed. He didn't want to even think about those years. Italy agreed with him on that one.

"I fourth it, but sometimes, the worst parts of our history help define us." Spain said. "Don't they?"

It was true. Everyone knew it. The American Independence War defined a family. The entire twentieth century defined most of Europe. The countless wars and battles that all of the nations had endured, won and lost were all fundamental to their being. Without them, they wouldn't be who they were today. It was an important sentimentality.

"Right. Time for the next one?" England said. He was never one to reminisce, especially if it meant heading to before the nineteenth century. "Do you still want to read, Russia?"

Ivan glanced at the name that headed the next page of the journal and shook his head. "I think that Antonio should."

"Oh? Should I be worried?" the Spaniard asked.

"Mmm... I will let you decide that." Ivan said, passing the diary to China, who then passed it onto Spain. "It is not a big one, but that does not always mean good things."

"Sí, I see what you mean." Antonio commented as he studied the page. He looked at the name and wondered why Ivan had given him the journal, but he didn't question it. "This entry is Romano's. You still want me to read it?" he asked the room.

"Ahh, just fucking get on with it..." Lovino huffed. Like Arthur had said earlier, it was going to happen eventually, right? He just hoped is wasn't anything embarrassing.

"Romano. July 17th, 1952. I wonder what would happen if I dyed my hair and could change the colour of my eyes. If I looked like him, would they still treat me the same way, or would they actually ask me to change back? Only one person gives a damn about me. I wonder how he'd feel if I changed. Bastard..."

Antonio frowned at the page. He had a feeling he knew who Lovino had been referring to at the start of the entry, but he wasn't sure if he should feel hurt by what he'd just read. Did Romano really think only one person cared? That he was unimportant and unloved? He needed to know that that was the furthest from the truth as possible.

"That was it? Maybe I was drunk when I wrote that. I've written far worse." Lovino sighed. He looked at Antonio, and coughed when he noticed how he was still staring at the page. "Hey, earth to Antonio! Wake up, you bas-"

"Would you mind if we had a quick talk?" Antonio suddenly said, glancing up at the older Italian, his eyes reflecting a slight anger that concerned Lovino.

"Is that a question?"

"No."

"Perfect." Lovino said, rising from his seat. "See all of you in Hell."

No one said anything as Antonio and Lovino left the room and ventured further down the hall, away from greedy ears. When they were sure that they were both far away enough, conversation sparked up again. Sort of.

"How much do you want to bet that they start snogging out there?" America said, shaking his head and smiling. They all had suspicions about the absent duo, but no one dared speak it.

"Al!" Matthew scolded, elbowing his brother. Hard.

"Whaaaat? Mattie, you can't seriously tell me that none of you are thinking the same." America defended, rubbing his sore arm.

"He is right, Mathieu. Even if Lovino does not feel the same, I know that he has a special place in Toni's heart." Francis said. When asked how he knew, by simply smirked. "He talks in his sleep."

"Bloody hell, I knew that you and your damn friends were close, but I didn't think it was that serious!" Arthur remarked, stifling a laugh along with a few other nations.

Francis rolled his eyes and tutted. He, Antonio and Gilbert were as close as it could get, and they'd certainly participated in a wide variety of shenanigans that were easily questionable. That list was not limited to the drunken deeds of kisses in the dark and other fruitful adventures, and none of them cared one bit. It was an escape. And at the the end of the day, the infamous Trio knew that they could rely on, depend on and have fun with each other without a question asked. It was special.

Before France could make a comeback of any description, the doors into the meeting room flung open, and both Lovino and Antonio re-entered. They sat down in their seats. They didn't talk. They didn't even look at each other. An awkward silence filled the room as the other countries started to imagine what had happened outside in the hallway. Spain let out a slow, bored breath as he flicked the page of the book.

"Alright. The next entry is about Prussia." he said, looking at nothing but the words in front of him. "This will be interesting... It's not a diary entry, so maybe it won't be so vain."

His tone had been blunt, and France could tell something was bothering his friend, but he chose to lighten the mood and speak to Antonio later on when there was more privacy. He knew it wasn't vanity with Prussia, it was pride. They all knew that. What had made the usually happy Spaniard so tense and... Serious?

"Toni!" he dramatically gasped, "Gilbert, vain?! Why, I never heard something so outrageous!"

"Yes, well, welcome to the real world." Ludwig joked.

Antonio let silence fall again, and proceeded. "Prussia. The reason he is still around is because he has responsibilities. People he must look after and out for. Germany, whom he must protect and watch over. Spain and France, whom he must keep entertaining and united. America and Denmark, whom he must keep happy and immature. Canada, whom he will always remember. These things, and many more, are what allow him to walk, breathe and live."

"Ah, good ol' Gil..." Alfred sighed contently. His close friend was always the life of the party, no matter how much alcohol he'd consumed. It was the best. He was the best. "I wish he were here to hear all this... If I could see his face right now..."

Of course, little did he know that Gilbert was able to hear every word, and could see everything that was happening. And he was watching with a smile on his face. Prussia had always told himself that so long as those close to him were happy, he'd be happy. That philosophy would never change.

"Da, while he can be very, very annoying, Prussia is still quite fun to be around." Ivan agreed with a quick nod.

"He always listens, he always helps, and he always smiles." Matthew continued. He'd've been lying if he said he didn't care about the Prussian, whether Gil knew and liked it or not.

"The life and soul of every party," Francis said, "right, Toni?"

Spain gave a smile to his French friend. "Forever and always. He never stops!"

Yes. Several miles away from that meeting room, Gilbert was sat watching the screen of his laptop intently. As he listened to what everyone was saying about him, and how positive it all was, he humbly smiled. They weren't going to get rid of him easily. Prussia was there to stay. He'd be there when the apocalypse came and the world ended. And it'd be awesome!