Just around the corner
"Wake up! Wake up!"
Gilbert groaned and pulled his sheets over his head despite the cloudy day.
"Morning swim! C'mon Gil!"
Gilbert lived in a one person dorm, so from time to time, Elizaveta would sleep over, too tired to return to her room after a few bottles of vodka given to her by a friend who got it from the sister of a strange, Russian boy.
That's what they were, children.
So when Elizaveta dragged him out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt over his black tank top, he just groaned with disapproval.
The pool was a fifteen minute walk from Gilbert's dorm – six when Elizaveta jogged and for Gilbert, twenty. So they compromised and went for eleven, but Gilbert whined and groaned and fell asleep in the middle of the road so it took fifteen anyway. Elizaveta's swimsuit was old and standard. She bought it at the age of sixteen with the money she saved for a new camera when her green swimsuit with pink flowers looked out of place along the expanse of black and blue her teammates had on the first day of practice.
The swimsuit was a bit small, not by much, but when she took it off, Gilbert can imagine lines along the ends of her thighs and her breasts falling back into place with a bounce.
"What are you staring at?" Gilbert asked one time, she had stopped mid lane, took off and goggles and stared, quite unabashedly at the other end. Gilbert followed her amused gaze and wished he didn't ask.
"Don't they look like little virgins? Aww…"
Gilbert rolled his eyes and put his own goggles back on, "should have stayed back with Gilbird… so not awesome," he muttered.
Two men, or boys, probably boys, chased each other along the edge of the pool, the one with shorter, sandier hair fell in, and the other laughed, obnoxiously and loudly, before slipping and falling feet first on top of the shorter one.
It was Francis.
Gilbert swam a little deeper.
The way Elizaveta said "virgins' made it seem like she wasn't a virgin.
And that thought both irritated and excited him… but just a little.
A child, that's what he was.
A child that had fantasies confined by the boundaries coded in his head. When did he grow up into an old man? Had he ever grown up?
What was maturity anyway and why would anyone ever want it…
But this is just a recollection. If he had known then, he would have taken the time to skim his eyes over her a bit more, notice just exactly how the light bounced from her glistening skin, counted how many strands of hair were unrestrained by her swim cap.
On the newspaper, there was a small article not long after her death (death is a funny word, even the sound of it is meant to irritate, like the 'hiss' of a snake).
HETALIA RESIDENT – 24, SHOT AND KILLED
POLICE SUSPECTS GANG ACTIVITY
It appeared on the corner of the first page. It didn't reveal Elizaveta's name, but did concern a quote from an anonymous acquaintance, "she was a friend, my confidant, a natural leader. We'll all miss her dearly." A standard message, superficially made, but it was there, it gave some life to the Hetalia resident – 24.
Most of the front page was taken up by the black and white photo of Alfred F. Jones, found dead in his hotel room due to an overdose of… something.
Gilbert threw the newspaper away, tore Alfred F Jone's face in half and watched it fly out the window.
"Your room smells like old socks."
Gilbert chuckled and threw one at her.
Elizaveta caught it with ease and immediately began to walk towards him, smile widening.
Gilbert paid her little attention. He simply powered on his computer and yawned widely…
And then the sock was in his mouth.
All these memories mixed together like something he never felt before, building but also quietly eroding the bits and pieces of him that still felt it.
Still felt the strangeness of it all.
Or nothing.
Gilbert insisted he felt nothing.
When Gilbert fell conscious again, knocked back to the pain on his back and numbness in his right leg by Ludwig's gentle chant of 'bruder', he had the urge to cry.
Ludwig couldn't have knocked for long, because when Gilbert grunted in reply he pushed the door open and carried in a platter of wurst.
It didn't really smell appetizing, but it didn't smell any different from the usual either.
What was it?
What was it?
I don't know.
What don't I know?
I don't know.
What's that?
Who's Elizaveta?
A girl, right?
What?
what.
"Bruder, it must be cold on the floor."
Bare feet scratched on the surface of the mahogany flooring, Gilbert shrugged, his feet were cold. So cold that the wood felt warm.
It wasn't that bad, not having her around. They haven't seen each other that often since she moved in with Roderich anyway.
But she was everything.
She was in the jeans he wore, the ones he bought for him during a sale (was it Christmas or the Fall sale?), the size and texture was so perfect that Gilbert didn't chuck it out the window even after holes had formed in the knees.
She was in Gilbird's food, the ones that she drove across town to pick up when she looked after him for a day. She didn't really need to but Gilbert accidentally locked her out and she left the keys she had of his house inside her own house – where she was also locked out of, and ended up driving around with Gilbird flying and pooping all over her car.
She was in the CD she lent him, the painting she painted of Gilbird, the picture she took of Gilbert, framed on the wall. She laughed and danced and cried in his memories, her hair was tied in a ponytail that came loose when she kicked the soccer ball during elementary school.
If anyone asked Gilbert where Elizaveta was that moment, he could honestly say, "she's dead", or he could honestly say, "she's here, alive."
But really, what's the difference?
Ludwig picked up his cell phone. Gilbert could hear sobbing on the other end, so he knew it was Feliciano.
After the call ended with more sobbing, Gilbert took a sip of beer.
"Who was the one that gave the speech?"
"What?"
"The speech, you know."
"Oh you mean Feliks."
Gilbert chewed the inside of his mouth.
"Who else was there?"
Ludwig took a seat on the bed, evidently overjoyed at Gilbert's attempt for an overdue conversation.
"I don't know all of them, but Belle was there, on behalf of her brother and Feliciano. They were friends, I heard."
Gilbert felt to exhausted to nod.
"Tino and Berwald were there too. They ran the coffee house she frequented," and he droned on and on, talking about the people in black, most of whom Gilbert did not recognize.
"Lili and Vash would have gone, but Lili caught a last minute flu… your friend, Francis was there, as was his… acquaintance, Arthur… Kiku showed up for a while and so did Antonio, Michelle…
At some point, Gilbert's heart pounded louder than Ludwig's voice.
And at some point, the clock marched faster than both.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick