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“It’s strange, isn’t it,” Greece had once said, years and years ago when they had been wasting time skimming stones over a lake, somewhere on the Greek coast. “How things don’t really change.”
Except they do. They’re in Turkey this time. Egypt sits on the edge of the lake, toes dipping into the water. There’s a book lying abandoned on his lap, pages dog-eared with years of use.. Heracles is alert, sharp-eyed as he always is around Turkey, despite years of cool relations, skimming stones with a languid grace.
It had been a long time since they’d be in Turkey, together. Greece’s company is nice. Quiet, unassuming. He never pushes for more than he needs and he’s content with very little.
“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Greece asks after a while. He’s run out of pebbles and has sat down, a few feet away from Egypt.
Egypt turns the page over, contemplating for a few seconds. “Probably. I’d give him three days before he decides to kick us out.”
-
It’s four days. Greece and Egypt spend the next day trekking and the third in a cheap hotel in Ankara. Greece crawls into Egypt’s bed once the two cats that he had seemingly adopted for a day sprawl over his bed, pushing Egypt to the edge of his own.
Later, they traverse the markets, carefully avoiding as many natives as they can then return to the hotel with takeout. Greece flicks disdainfully through the television channels, before finally settling on to a drama. He dozes off after a few minutes, cross-legged on the bed and head lolling back onto the wall. Egypt returns to another book and it’s quiet for a while.
Outside, it reaches dusk and the cat stretched out on the floor meows.
The next day, they book out and head towards Istanbul. Greece mutters under his breath during most of the train ride and Egypt ignores him politely. Turkey, despite anything, was still a good person and Greece’s bitterness had quickly become stale.
-
In Istanbul, they stop at the museums often. There are many and they spend a good few hours travelling around them, commenting on the items. Egypt finds it sad, sometimes, that they’re kept in glass boxes for people to ogle at and not left to rest in peace. He doesn’t mind the objects as much as he does the bones that always leave him feeling sad and sometimes lonely.
Sometimes, he thinks he’d rather leave a physical reminder of his presence instead of disappearing, but not like this. Never likes this. They hold no real sentimental value, no lovers or friends to remember them, only there for commercial use.
Greece’s hand finds his wrist and squeezes once, just light enough to be comforting.
-
Turkey is sitting on Greece’s bed when they get back in, one foot on the bed. He’s flicking through Egypt’s book with pursed lips.
When they step inside, he finally looks up. “What exactly are you doing in here?”
“Sight-seeing,” Greece scowls, folding his arms from a safe distance. “Is there a problem with that?”
“When you’re in my country, there is,” Turkey says. There’s no malice in his voice but there is a slight edge to it, both wary and amused.
“Your place gets better every year,” Egypt says diplomatically, pulling his shoes off and sitting them beside the wall. “It’s lovely.”
“Don’t try and flatter me,” Turkey snaps, standing up. He straightens down his clothes and then shoots Egypt a long look. “You’re lucky I like you. Try holidaying in Bulgaria next time.”
Greece scowls furiously as Turkey strides out.
-
When they had been younger, smaller, Turkey would often take them to see the remains of the empires their land was built on. Sitting atop Turkey’s shoulders, the pyramids looked majestic in a way that he could never imagine himself being. His family have made this, through the sweat and blood of humans and he feels nauseous.
“I want to go home,” he breathed, voice disappearing into Turkey’s hat. Turkey is kind enough to not say anything else.
-
The last few hours in Turkey is spent in a coffeehouse. Greece scribbles into a notebook while Egypt goes through his emails, answering the easiest and saving the most important ones from his boss in a separate folder. A few days off always led to a large pile of work waiting for him.
“It was nice,” Greece says after a while, dropping the pen on the table. His coffee is empty but the cup is placed close to his hand. Egypt’s own is far more bitter
“It was,” he agrees. Soon, they return and they’d be back into the fast world of politics but a few days like this was always a reprieve. “We should do that again.”
“Not Turkey this time,” Greece mutters and Egypt stifles a smile