Prologue: Midnight
It is December 31st, 1999. A man sits in front of ruins younger than him, as he watches the sun set, and tries to ignore the obvious presence approaching him from behind.
The stranger stands a few meters back, impatiently indulging in this game of waiting for a couple of precious minutes, but his patience has never been as deep as the Greek's in front of him.
"What are you-"
"Nice night."
Turkey almost sits down next to him, but he has always enjoyed standing over this man, so even if the ground looks so very tempting, he holds his ground. His eyes flicker back and forth, hidden and bright. "I thought the Egyptian would be here."
"Left."
Another long silence, and Turkey actually feels unnerved by the man beside him, whose eyes are almost shut, as if he's dozing away this last night on earth. He's lucky the Grecian isn't looking at him. He doubts his mask would be enough to hide his envy in the man's indifference.
"You're sca-"
"Sit down."
The two statements are said at the same time, and Turkey huffs in annoyance. He's actually refusing to talk about it? Selfish Greek. He shouldn't have come here.
But... There was nowhere else he could have gone. No one else, really. No one close anymore.
Here they sit, two old men waiting for the end of the world, nothing even left to say goodbye to but their hate for each other. Because their past will always be there. It's all the stuff between the lines of the history books that disappears tonight. The end of the world cannot change history. It just restarts it.
Too much silence. Too much time for thinking, regret. Turkey clears his throat. "Will you miss anyone?"
"...yes."
"Little Asian boy?" You creep.
There is no answer. Turkey gloats in this, this last point, that means he has won. This game they've played for who knows how long. He's finally won.
It doesn't feel like victory, though. He just feels more alone.
Silence. They listen to the land breath around them.
"You're not going home?"
Turkey shakes his head. "I'll wake up there anyways."
Greece looks contemplative for a long minute. Well, he always does, but Turkey knows his real expressions, after this long. This usually bothers him, this familiarity with the man he hates more than anyone, but for some reason it does not even twinge at his annoyance. Not tonight.
"Good morning," he finally says, eyes almost fully closed.
Knowing the man couldn't see him at this point, Turkey lets his shoulders relax in relief. If he were to give credit to Greece for anything, it would be his way of looking at things differently. Good morning is so much easier than a good bye. "Good morning."
One minute left. There is a wave of midnight, slowly reaching across the world, and Turkey feels it touching his borders. Greece would feel it in a few seconds, but by then, Turkey would already be gone. Turkey wonders if Greece has figured out why he came here yet. But it doesn't matter. Midnight overwhelms Turkey, and there is a soft sigh.
If Greece were to turn around, he would see the man fade away. But he doesn't turn. He closes his eyes, and lets himself fall asleep on his mother's grave.
"Good morning, Mother."
