It was a regular day for Novak, waking up to the same gloomy skies and the same painful memories. There wasn't a day he didn't remember what it was like to feel loved, and what it felt like to slowly fall apart. His disheveled hair and unshaved face might have been a sign of his depression, but no one seemed to see it.

Whenever he went to the world meetings, he was ignored by most. Branko may have said hello; the Montenegrin may have been the only man to ever say anything friendly to him, but Novak sometimes didn't care enough to engage in a worthwhile conversation.

Little did Novak know that today was going to be a bit different from his usual day. He had entered the conference room and had taken his respective place in between Branko and Nikodemos; Niko ignoring him completely like the grumpy Macedonian always did, whilst Branko offered a small hello.

"Hey Novak. You doing alright?" The Montenegrin asked, smiling.

"Yes… I'm alright." Novak replied, making an effort to smile slightly back at Branko.

"Heard from Tiku recently?" Branko questioned. Novak frowned a bit and looked off to the side. Tiku was the representation of Kosovo; Novak found it hard to speak of his former "little brother". Tiku had left him with such a hatred for the Serbian, after numerous problems and circumstances Novak couldn't control.

"No, I have not…" Novak responded. Last time he had spoken to Tiku had been a few days before the younger man's claim for independence. Why was Branko asking such a question at such an odd time?

"He told me he wanted to talk to you a few days ago. Figured he would have contacted you by now, you know?" Branko replied; and to say the least, Novak was shocked. Branko had never lied to him, so Tiku had really said that he had wanted to speak with him.

"Did he say why?" Novak probed, wanting to know why Tiku would even want to speak with him.

"Well, he did say-"

"Alright! Let's get this meeting started, shall we?" Branko was interrupted by the loud voice of everyone's not-so-favorite American representation, Alfred, beginning the meeting.

After about three hours of discussing topics and listening to nonsense that mainly came from the mouth of Alfred, an hour long break was allowed. Novak left the building and found a bench to sit on just outside the main doors, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He slipped a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, taking a drag of what he hated, but used anyways. Cigarettes were like a crutch to him, and even though he kept telling himself he didn't need that crutch, he still smoked.

As he released the smoke from his lungs, his attention was pulled to a young man in a dark brown suit sitting next to him.

"Tiku?" He muttered, in a sort of disbelief that the heavily-Albanian populated region would even come near him.

"Hey Serb…" Tiku responded, avoiding direct eye contact with the Serbian representation. Novak could remember the looks that he had gotten from Tiku last time he had been near him, and to be honest, they were close to death-glares.

"Why… Why are you here?" Novak questioned.

"I wanted to talk to you… I'm sure Branko informed you of that."

"Well… What do you have to say?"

"I'm tired of it."

"Tired of what?"

"The hate. You know, between us. It's been a few years since I claimed my independence, and living in hatred of you isn't getting me anywhere. Sure, we aren't exactly on good terms since you won't accept me as independent, but that doesn't mean that we can't forgive eachother. I know you've done a lot for me in wars and such. In the Balkan Wars when you helped get rid of the Ottomans, World War One when you risked your own people to get the Central Powers out of my land… And what do I do to repay you? I graffiti 'Death to Serbs' on a Serbian Orthodox church after the Kosovo War. I claim my independence when you're at your all-time low. Sure, you've done your share of wrong to me as well, but it all kind of cancels out. During the days of Yugoslavia, you tried so hard to be the best you could to me. Even when limits, restrictions, and crimes were becoming rampant, you tried so hard to make the best of everything. Novak, I don't want to hate you. I don't want to live in malevolence to any further extent in my life. Can we please at least attempt to be on speaking terms?"

Novak felt overwhelmed by all that Tiku had just said.

Did he seriously just hear that Tiku wanted to be on speaking terms and stop being so spiteful?

"… I… I suppose we could try." He found it in himself to at least give peace between himself and Tiku a try. It couldn't hurt him any more than being in constant animosity.

"Great." Tiku smiled and finally made eye contact with Novak. Those brown eyes had a sort of hope in them that Novak hadn't seen in such a long while.

"Have you and Andelko conversed recently?" Tiku asked. Novak's chest seemed to tighten painfully at the mentioning of his former lover's name.

"No… Last time we spoke was a few years ago… It was, well, more of an argument than anything." He spoke quietly.

"I talked with him a few weeks ago. He looked really… Well, depressed. Kind of like you. I believe that he's been thinking about you. I know that you two were really close a long time ago."

"We were… Tiku, I'm sorry, I really don't want to speak of Andelko right now." That was a true statement. It was so hard for him to talk about the Croatian representation. They had more bitterness between them than Novak did with Tiku.

Novak had been so careless as to how he treated the other Balkans during the days of Yugoslavia. He and Andelko had been lovers, despite their people's mutual disrespect for eachother. Novak remembered a poem that Andelko had left behind in the Serbian's home when he had claimed his independence. It was forever burned into his memory.

'Everybody else is smiling and their smiles don't fade,

And you don't even wonder why you just don't think that way,

Maybe you and me got lost somewhere, we can't move on we can't stay here,

Well maybe we've just had enough, well maybe we aren't meant for this love,

You and I tried everything, but still that mockingbird won't sing,

Well man this life seems hard enough, well maybe we aren't meant for this love.'

The day Novak had found it scribbled out on a crumpled piece of paper, he had read it over and over until he finally brought himself to throw it away. It caused him pain; so much agony, to know that Andelko had written something so heart-wrenching.

"Alright Serb… Well, I better get going. I'll talk to you soon." Tiku said before standing and leaving. Novak nodded slightly, taking the time to notice that his cigarette had burned almost down to the filter. He flicked it to the ground and smashed it with his foot before heading back inside the conference building.

He looked around, spotting some people he knew. There was Branko, whom was chatting with Nikodemos and Pavla; the Slovenian representation. There was also Zlatko, the Bosnian representation, conversing with Heracles, the Greek representation. He then noticed his former lover, Andelko, chatting calmly with Najada, the Albanian representation whom had strong relations with Tiku.

God, Novak wondered where he had ever gone wrong. All these representations had some reason to hate him, had some reason to dislike him, whether it was for a war or just for the way he was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted that familiar brown suit of Tiku, venturing over to where Najada and Croatia were standing. Novak quickly decided to leave the area, knowing that if Andelko saw him, things would surely get out of hand. He fled back to the conference room, taking his seat, waiting for the time left in the break to slip by.

When there were only fifteen minutes left in the break, Novak felt a light hand on his left shoulder. He looked to see who was behind the hand, and immediately became confused.

"Andelko…?"

The Croatian leaned down to speak in his ear quietly.

"I want you to meet me at my place after the conference. We need to talk in private, alright?"

Novak nodded slightly. Andelko sighed and stood up straight, leaving the conference room once again. Novak, still confused, just sat there. The day was just getting weirder and weirder. First Tiku decided to try to be on speaking terms with him, and now Andelko somehow decided to want to speak with him privately.

When the conference had begun again, Novak noticed that Andelko was nowhere to be seen. Normally the Croatian was seated in between Pavla and Najada, but instead there was an empty chair. Najada didn't seem fazed by it, but Pavla looked to be a tad bit confused. Andelko wasn't one to just abandon a meeting.

Novak's attention was quickly brought back to Ludwig, the German representation, whom had begun speaking of more reasonable topics. Alfred, however, felt the need to keep interrupting, much to the chagrin of the English representation beside him. Between trying to listen to reason and idiocy, Novak found himself thinking of that poem once again. He shook his head, trying to clear it so that he could focus, but it was hopeless. Abruptly, he stood from his place and hurried out. He knew all eyes were on him as he left, but it didn't matter. He was thinking far too much, he had to find somewhere where the air didn't seem so suffocating.

"Novak!" He heard Najada call out from behind him, but he didn't want to hear. All Novak cared about was finding some peace, and being in that tense, crowded conference room was not helping at all. He knew his heart rate was increasing, and his breathing was quickening in his sudden panic, but how was he supposed to stop it? His mind was racing more than it was supposed to, and it was having some harsh side effects.

As he exited the building into the fresh air outside, his hands were immediately digging through his pockets, fumbling to find his cigarettes and his lighter. He tried to light a cigarette, but his hands were shaking and he dropped his lighter. He cursed at himself in his native tongue as he reached down and retrieved the cheap plastic lighter, finally managing to successfully light up his cigarette.

"I figured you wouldn't be able to handle me saying such a thing." The familiar voice of Andelko caught Novak's attention. Novak turned to face the Croatian man, hands still trembling.

"I… God, I'm sorry… I… I just don't know how to cope with any of this… I've been thinking so much lately… Andelko, why do you write such things?" Novak questioned, almost frantic.

"Write what things?" Andelko replied.

"The poems! Andelko, when you left me, you left behind a poem. I-I read it, the one about the mockingbird; do you remember?"

"Everybody else is smiling and their smiles don't fade, and you don't even wonder why you just don't think that way. Maybe you and me got lost somewhere, we can't move on we can't stay here. Well maybe we've just had enough, well maybe we aren't meant for this love. You and I tried everything, but still that mockingbird won't sing. Well man this life seems hard enough, well maybe we aren't meant for this love." The words rolled off Andelko's tongue naturally, like the man had rehearsed this very moment. Novak stood there, unable to speak, unable to even move.

"I remember it like I wrote it yesterday. You realize that I wrote that because of our situation. I tried to help you, make you realize that we wouldn't work out with the way we both are. You're far more than I could ever ask for, but it just doesn't make sense for us to be together. I wish I could describe my feelings, but they're mixed. Sometimes I hate you, sometimes I love you. You won't understand." Andelko explained.

"Andelko, please… Please tell me that we can stop this hate; that we can cease to be so bitter. I can't take it anymore; you've seen what it does to me."

"I can stop hating, but I can never love again. Not after what we were, not after us."

"Andelko…"

"You best be heading home, Novak. Get some rest, try to stay calm. I don't want to see you in such a horrid condition as you are right now. Don't think too much about what I've said, alright?"

Novak nodded slightly, looking down.

"Novak, look up. Don't be so sad. Just because we aren't on good terms, doesn't mean you can't come to terms with yourself." With that, Andelko retreated into the conference building.

Novak watched as the door shut behind him, and stood there for what seemed like hours before he finally tossed his cigarette to the ground and started the trek to the airport to head home.

Andelko was right. He had to come to terms with himself before he could possibly be on any good terms with anyone else.