Turkey was trying to sleep.
He was clutching the bed sheets with pale, tight knuckles, blankly staring up at the ceiling.
He lay there trying to fight his tears.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit...
That was the mantra that repeated in his head.
His golden eyes were blank, empty, squinted in a relaxed way, as if he were fighting sleep.
Though, really, it was quite the opposite. He had no trouble staying awake, and for all the wrong reasons.
And it was like this every night.
Every night, he tried to sleep, and failed. And if he did manage to slip away, it was always the same dream. Those very moments he had shared with Greece until the end.
He could hear his raspy and slow voice trying to voice his feelings. And that voice getting cut off by death.
Death.
He covered his face with his calloused hands.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit...!
Why...?
Death.
Oh, how clearly he could remember that moment; that moment when Death had so rudely taken Greece away before he could finish. How rudely it had interrupted them.
Fucking... Rude..!
Sometimes, it was all hazy. Like it was a dream, or an illusion. Those were the times where his resolve would grow strong and he would try to convince himself Greece was still alive-but as soon as everything returned to clarity, all his hope went down the drain.
He felt lost.
He felt broken in two.
It was like Greece was a part of him-deep within him, in a special section of his heart where only his loved ones go. Similar to a crutch, in a way.
And, with him gone, it was like that vulnerable chunk had been ripped out violently. That piece of his heart, that crutch, was now gone and he was left crippled.
He felt wetness on his cheeks.
"I love you too, brat."
He had forgotten how many times he had said that in these dark nights.
All alone.