Tokyo, December 2009
Whenever Greece came over to visit, he would take the train and get himself lost on the streets of Tokyo. Each time he picked a different station and by night he would arrive at Japan's house.
So, when he asked Japan to pick him up that day, Japan was concerned.
He's been waiting at the airport for half an hour when Greece arrives, luggage in hand. The first thing Japan notices is the shaking.
Usually this would be a happy moment, but Japan has read the NHK News and the BBC and The Washington Post.
Greece's hands are shaking, as well as his knees and the rest of his body. Japan knows that it must be in part because Tokyo is colder than Athens, yet he knows there's more to it than that.
"Welcome, Greece-san."
"Hey."
If he were any less polite, Japan would have mentioned that Greece sounded as deflated as a drunken England at a 4th of July party.
He offers Greece his pair of gloves and to take his luggage. Greece nods and takes nearly ten minutes to put on the gloves. They are warm with Japan's body heat.
The car ride is silent. One man is filled with worry while the other looks out of the window.
They arrive at Japan's house nearly three hours later thanks to traffic.
Japan and Greece eat tonkatsu for dinner under the warmth of the kotatsu.
Japan... doesn't really know what to do. Greece usually wants to walk out or sit at a park while petting cats. They talk as if nothing were happening, but Greece looks as if he could fall over from a slight breeze.
And that is exactly what happens an hour later, when Greece has finished unpacking. Japan was ―thankfully― able to cushion his fall.
"Greece-san!"
He turns him over, and notices that his skin is cold. Japan wastes no time to haul him into his car and drive to the hospital.
Greece returns to the land of the awake and realizes he's inside Japan's car. Japan's behind the wheel, going who knows where. Greece moves in his seat, only now noticing the huge blanket he's in. The movement is loud enough that Japan is able to hear it and sighs in quiet relief.
"Thank goodness you're awake, Greece-san. How do you feel?"
"Tired... and warm."
What Greece doesn't say is that his hands are still cold.
Japan says that they're going to a hospital close by. Nothing big, he says, just a check-up.
They know a doctor won't be able to do much. Nation's bodies operate on a realm outside of medical knowledge. Cough syrup may provide a small temporary relief, but there's only so much it can do if a war is raging on, or if a country is reeling from a typhoon.
They enter the hospital anyway.
The doctor seems a nice enough person, Greece thinks.
She takes his blood pressure, checks his pulse and breathing, and asks him questions about his diet, work and sleeping habits. That's what he thinks, at least. Time and space seem to blur from moment to moment.
Japan, bless him, is interpreting everything, even though his Japanese is good enough to understand what the doctor is saying and to respond that yes, I've been eating out more these days because of work, yes, I have headaches almost everyday, and yes, I feel tired even after ten or twelve hours of sleep.
The doctor recommends him to take vitamins, get plenty of bed rest, consult a dietitian, and to take a blood test for any possible abnormalities.
At Japan's insistence, they go to the lab inside the hospital and wait for the results under the warm light of the cafeteria. They drink tea and soda from the vending machine and return to the car with a diagnosis of anemia and a prescription for iron supplements.
The next day, both are sitting on a bench at Ueno Park.
Both of them are wearing large jackets. Greece also has a scarf, gloves and a wool hat.
"Sorry for yesterday."
Japan mouths a don't worry about it and leans on his shoulder.
"Have you ever thought about what will be your legacy once you don't exist?"
Any other time, he would have answered, but Japan doesn't think that Greece is just philosophizing like in other times. Greece takes his silence as an answer and continues
"I've been reading the news. People talk about how the once mighty Greece has fallen. It made me think... about how when everyone speaks of mother, they refer to all her knowledge and greatness. Then I look at what's been happening at home and I wonder... what will everyone think of me once I'm gone?"
Japan has no idea of when he turned into Italy, since he grabbed Greece by the shoulders and spoke to him with a strength he didn't know he had.
"Listen to me. I tried the path to greatness before and you know how I ended up after 1945. Their blood is in my hands even if my people refuse to believe it. It doesn't matter what Nations may think of me once I'm dead. All I care about is to see my own grow and live in peace. I know you are one of the strongest, kindest and smartest beings I've ever met in millennia. I saw you rise out of war and famine and earthquakes. I trust you can pull out of everything that's happening right now."
Japan holds Greece's head with his hands and brings him close to the point were they can feel the warmth of each other's breath.
"Do you trust me?"
Greece leans over to kiss him and that's all the answer Japan needs.
"I have to go."
Japan stops eating his dinner. He never realizes how much he is sputtering when he says:
"So soon!? You just arrived last week!"
Greece is still hugging a blanket.
"I have to be there, for my people."
Japan wants to protest, but he knows there is no feeling like the tug at one's body caused by the sorrow of one's people ―his mind reels back to 1945 and ignores the faint feeling of burning on his skin.
He pulls out his phone and buys a ticket for tomorrow.
There is not a lot of fanfare once Greece finishes documenting his luggage. He talks to the staff as tourist Herakles Karpouzis in Greek-accented Japanese, even when Japan offers to interpret for him.
After that, they simply hug and wave each other goodbye.
Japan can't help but think that, despite what he said before, he really doesn't feel optimistic for the future. Life has taught him that in order for things to be better, they will get worse first.
Greece spends his whole flight sleeping. He dreams of cats, kisses and holding hands in the warm beaches of Crete.
Next year, in Athens, Greece is walking with a group of protesters down the street. To them, he is 23-year-old Ioannis, a concerned citizen just like any other.
Even when feeling the warmth of a car consumed by flames, he keeps wearing gloves.
He marches on, the fear and rage of his children fueling every step he takes. They will reach the Parliament in less than an hour.
Meanwhile, in Tokyo, Japan watches an Al-Jazeera livestream where a reporter talks next to a row of policemen outside the Greek Parliament.
And he is very, very afraid.