~an interlude~
He was dreaming, again.
But it didn't feel like a dream, even though he was fairly certain that it was.
Roderich was shouting at him, asking him questions he'd long since buried in the back of his mind. And then Ivan, who told him once that he'd hated using his hands to fight, was pulling him off him, throwing him to the ground and landing a punch that would've broken a normal human's arm.
Roddie was asking him if he missed his King, his Frederick, if he wanted to be with them, if that was what he dreamt of.
He wanted to tell him, How stupid are you, Roddie?
Of course I miss him. Of course I want to be with them.
Where do you think I'd rather be, anyway?
West doesn't need me. Nobody needs me here. Prussia doesn't even exist on the map anymore, I'm just a name in the textbooks, an after thought if someone wants to be politically correct.
What do you think?
But he couldn't answer.
He moans in his sleep, clings needily to whatever is within reach, and wishes fervently that his little Gil-bird was there.
