(( Note to readers: This was a oneshot and a bit difficult to follow. Therefore, for clarification purposes, \\\ indicates Elizaveta's perspective and / indicates Gilbert's, except in more clear sections in which I didn't feel that this was necessary.))

\\\Liza's hands wandered absentmindedly to her hair, as she stared in the direction of the ceiling, in a room completely dark; a room she only now felt she belonged in. Only now; only too late. She never anticipated this, always blocking it in the corners of her mind. Now did she regret being naive. There was so much left unsaid, or unexpressed. And only now could she even find the words she would have used.

Here it was pitch-black and still. It isn't supposed to be this way, she told herself as she finally sat up, for what felt like the first time in years. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with the room. Something's wrong with what I'm doing. What is it?

Her mind scanned over everything that her life had become in the past year and a half. Nothing was wrong. This had become normal. This was her life now. Yet the more she thought about it, the more alien it felt; to not have been here even once recently. To not be apologizing to Ludwig, for spilled paint or crashed car or drinking his beer. To not be messing up Francis' hair on a dare, or trying to keep him from strangling Antonio after doing so. All of this led back to that one missing element in her life.

But that's gone now.

Stop expecting him. He's gone.

Stop expecting things to be the way they were.

But another voice wormed its way to her mind, from somewhere else. But that's still where you're supposed to be. That's still home.

She shouldn't be feeling like this. She'd been acclimated to real life just hours before. Maybe it was this room. And technically, she wasn't supposed to be here, either, but... yes she was. This was what felt like home, not... Austria. Even thinking of where she belonged, Ludwig's place came to mind, not her disorganized little place in Budapest - nor, even more relevant, did Roderich's mansion.

How'd I wind up back there, again? This was reminding her increasingly of some other feeling. What was that, either? Oh yeah. Hangover. Liza smirked, though she was alone here.

Her arm flailed for a minute off the side of the bed, feeling for the switch for the light that had always been there; only wanting to be able to see, it only managed to backfire, making her eyes sting as they readjusted. Even the walls of the place had to feel like a smack in the face; there, at a convenient eye level, were his handprints, hers, and even Gilbird's...

Well, that family doesn't exist anymore, Liza. Get the f*** over it.

Trying to jolt back to reality only made her gut tighten.

/Slowly, he moved down the neighborhood, the cold making him clench his teeth together. There was so much he still knew - who he was, where his home was, where his brother kept the keys and that he had a bird who was waiting on him, that his own car would probably explode or something the next time he started it, the location and seats at the cafe where he always met them, that he couldn't stand black coffee, and a feeling that he'd escaped something, left something behind. He remembered who he was as a child. He remembered everything. But a black curtain had fallen over everything else; what had happened, what he was looking for, how life was right now, what he had been going to do that he hadn't had the chance. The last question was the most important one.

In the meantime... yeah, this was the right house. Those lights on in the basement window, didn't those belong to him? Yet the driveway was missing the functioning car, so nobody was home. His left hand emerged from his pocket with a set of keys; he remembered each and every one of them, including the ones he didn't know the use for. Gott.

What was that word? It felt like... home. Home, yet somehow, it was still new, and alien. He repeated it, out loud this time, before closing the door behind him and going through the house. He knew all of this instinctually; it was a matter of course. And yet - as if for the first time.

This feels like... Amnesia. A hangover? Gott, that must be it. It could have been; his head and hands, already sore from the cold, were aching hellishly.

\\\Liza took the back door out; that must have been Ludwig coming home. They hadn't spoken in all of this time, and she didn't want to start now. The one time that she tried to make things the same again, both of them had left with tension, and, in private, crippled feelings; just from a friendly conversation. It shouldn't be this way.

/Running through the house now, not stopping in his space in the basement, he raced after what must be his brother going through the back screen door. It had needed oil for ages, but his brother always told him to do it himself, and he'd always been too lazy. That was one of the things he'd gone without doing, one out of so, so many.

\\\Francba. It'd be easier for them both if she just went back and got it, instead of letting him have to return it and their meeting twice. It wasn't really that graceful to be seen running away like this. Besides, she needed her wallet. If she were human, she'd just leave it, but almost everything she did - almost everything that happened to her - was symbolic in some way, affecting too many people. She was never sure whether this was a great source of power, or simply a crippling curse. At any rate, she'd go back and get it. She could always just explain. Or make up an excuse.

/Now here came someone running back up the back steps; he slowed down, pretending to be casually raiding the fridge for beer. But that wasn't West, so who... oh. Oh, verdammt.

Liza froze in the doorway, mouth hanging open as she had been preparing to call out to Ludwig, just that she'd be gone in a second and didn't leave any messes. Something was wrong again; this wasn't how this moment was supposed to play out.

"Liza..." -I remember now.-

"Nem!" This wasn't right! It hadn't been right that year or so ago, when she'd been going to propose to him at the Christmas ball, and she knew how much it'd embarrass him, and how she knew he'd refuse with a grin even though she knew she wanted him to say yes - and now here he just was, standing in Ludwig's kitchen, leaning into the fridge - "Nem!" Her feet acted of their own accord.

"L-Liza! Liza, wait!" -I was gonna propose before she did! I was going to drag West and Feliciano under mistletoe eight million times! Antonio was just pretending to be a zombie, and we were all putting up last-minute decorations, and Francis dragged the three of us under more mistletoe, and…-

The entire life that he'd forgotten was rushing to mind, not helping Gilbert's headache as he sprinted, faster than he knew he could, back into the cold.

"Nem! Nem! I can't hear anything! Lalalalala!" Why was she denying him so hard?

"Liza, wait!"

And finally, she paused, facing the ground, her hair covering her peripheral vision. "Nem."

"Liza..."

She didn't move.

"Please look at me..."

"Are you even real?"

"I don't know!" The impact with which he threw the words startled even Gilbert as they left his mouth, realizing as he spoke just how true it was. "I don't even know what the hell happened to m-"

"You f*ing died. Again. F* it, can't you just..."

"I...what... Hell, no! You have to be mistaken! I can't die twice! I shouldn't be here! It was a once in a million thing when this happened after I was a nation. I was human, I'm still human, this can't...!"

"Igen!", she snapped. "And can't you just make up your mind? Every time you've died I've had to f*ing deal with it! Don't- Ohhhhhh. Don't. Don't you dare do it again!" She was finally facing him, but her expression, fire and ice, changed the turn to stare at the ground from herself to Gilbert.

"It isn't my fault I keep coming back! And I would have thought you wanted that!" His panic and confusion was taking shape. "So, apparently, you want me dead so badly? You want me to go try? If you want me to die, I f*ing will!"

His mouth hung open, staring Liza in the eye without even noticing her, wishing so badly to be able to take the words back.

…

He couldn't take this, standing here and having this staredown. He must have been gone a while. Or maybe that damn aristocrat got to her again while he was dead.

"Gilbert!"

He didn't turn back. He couldn't.

"Gilbert! Nem! Francba! Gilbert!"