Hetaverse. Oneshot. Prussia-centric.
A/N: Just another depressing fic about Prussia/Gilbert and his existence crisis.
The faucet in the basement leaked, the drips counting out the steady approach of insanity.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
It was like a watery heartbeat that came to grate on his conscious like flesh on concrete. The skin tore back to reveal a pink-red under layer, then, again, he'd be skidding across until the wound was bone-deep and infected.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The days of outdoor plumbing were reserved for the history books, like him. The privy was outdated and left behind to stew in its own waste, forgotten, unloved, missed by none, slowly fading into the musty depths of what no longer is. There had been a time when his name had graced the map, that people had known him – had known of him. There had been a time…
Plink. Plink. Plink.
His brother needed to fix the damned thing, to come down those stairs with his broad shoulders and 180 centimeter height and to tower over him like the magnificent specimen that he was. His brother was better than he had ever been, and everyone knew it, everyone thought it, everyone said it, but no credit was ever granted to he who had raised the aforementioned sibling. Indeed, assembling a nation was thankless work, and someone always had to take the fall.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
At least the drain was unclogged and would effortlessly swallow up the stray beads of moisture as they fell into its gaping maw. It would be nice, he thought, to just be able to fall down… down… down… and never be seen again. Of course, he thought again, living like this, maybe I already have.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The faucet in the basement leaked, the only one to mourn for he who had slipped into the yawning void of no return.