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The first light of morning seeped through the thin curtains before anyone was ready to admit the day had started. The room was already too small for four people asleep in it, and somehow even smaller now that everyone had begun shifting, turning, and refusing to wake up properly.
Syria was the first to sit up, as usual. He stared at the blank wall in front of him, then at the others who lied down next to him. Jordan was nearly sideways in his sleep, one leg thrown over Palestine’s blanket. Lebanon had somehow stolen more space than physically possible and looked entirely unbothered about it. Palestine slept closest to the wall, quieter than the others even in rest.
He gazed at them all for a moment with the tired patience of someone who had gone through this exact battle a hundred times before. He sighed, threw the heavy blanket off of him and got up slowly, as he stared down at Lebanon, the closest to him.
“Get up.”
Nothing. He frowned.
He tried again, louder. “I'm serious. Get up Fares.”
Lebanon shifted immediately, not because he was obedient, but because he liked reacting dramatically to everything. “If this is about helping you with laundry or whatever, I decline.”
Palestine didn’t open his eyes. Instead he got more comfortable . “Its too early now, go back to sleep...”
Jordan, still half-buried in blankets, made a small sound of protest that didn’t form into words.
Syria rubbed his face once, then leaned forward and tugged the blanket off Jordan first.
“Hey—!” Jordan suddenly curled into himself with a groan, offended on principle. The cold air hitting him instantly, causing him to tremble.
Palestine finally opened one eye sluggishly. “That’s unfair. He’s the smallest.”
“That’s exactly why I started with him.”
Lebanon pointed lazily at Syria. “You’re so rude in the mornings... Just five more minutes...”
“Nope. If I ever do give you five more minutes, then you're never getting up,” Syria corrected.
That earned a quiet laugh from Palestine, who finally pushed himself upright. He gently pushed Jordan upright with him, one hand absentmindedly fixing the younger boy's hair. Jordan immediately leaned into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Syria noticed immediately. “Don’t baby him. He can fix his hair on his own,”
Palestine shot a glare at the boy in front of him, pulling his little brother closer. "And since when did you care?"
Syria narrowed his eyes.
Jordan grinned.
And Lebanon was back to sleeping.
Syria scoffed and put his hands on his hips. "Whatever, just get ready already. I'll be making breakfast." He announced, before walking out of the room and into the kitchen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Syria had been awake long enough for the house to start irritating him in that quiet, familiar way that came before the arguments even began. The kitchen was still cold from the night, morning light pressing weakly through the window above the sink as he moved between stove and counter, setting plates down with controlled efficiency. Behind him, the others were finally awake properly, which meant the noise was about to start whether he liked it or not.
Jordan came in first, still dragging sleep with him like it was stuck to his clothes. His hair was messy, his steps uneven, and he paused near the table like sitting down might be too much effort. Palestine followed him more steadily, already half-focused on Jordan instead of the room, while Lebanon arrived last with the expression of someone personally insulted by the concept of mornings themselves.
Syria didn’t even look back when he spoke. “Sit down.”
They did, which in itself felt suspicious.
For a few seconds, it was almost peaceful. Almost.
Jordan reached for the bread first, still half-asleep, fingers slow and uncertain, until Lebanon suddenly leaned back in his chair and stared at him like he was conducting an investigation. “Why do you always look guilty when you eat something?” he asked, voice sharp with fake seriousness, watching Jordan freeze mid-motion as if he had been caught doing something wrong.
Jordan blinked at him, confused and immediately smaller in posture. “What?” he asked quietly, glancing down at the bread in his hand like it had become evidence.
Lebanon didn’t look away, resting his elbow on the table and narrowing his eyes like he was analyzing a case only he understood. “You heard me. You look like you stole it,” he said, leaning forward slightly as if getting closer would make his accusation more accurate.
Palestine immediately turned his head toward Lebanon with a sharp frown, his attention snapping away from Jordan for a moment. “Can you leave him alone for five minutes?” he asked, tone already tired, while his hand instinctively hovered closer to Jordan like he was ready to intervene.
Lebanon didn’t even flinch, just shrugged as he leaned back again. “I am leaving him alone,” he replied casually, looking completely unbothered while Jordan slowly lowered the bread back toward the plate, his hesitation already showing.
Palestine noticed that immediately and clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Now look what you did,” he said, shifting closer to Jordan and lightly nudging the bread back into his hands, his voice softening when he spoke directly to him. “Ignore him. Fares says stupid things all the time because no one gave him attention as a child.”
Lebanon lifted a brow, clearly offended on principle. “I am literally right here,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them like he was being wronged.
Palestine didn’t even look at him. “Yes. And?”
Jordan gave a small, nervous laugh at that, but tried to hide it immediately by focusing too hard on the table.
Lebanon glared at him sharply, leaning forward again like he had caught something important. “Don’t encourage him,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Jordan as if laughter itself was a betrayal.
Palestine, now fully settled beside Jordan, adjusted the younger boy’s sleeve without thinking, smoothing it down with an absent familiarity that made it feel more like habit than affection. “He can laugh if he wants,” he said simply, leaning slightly closer to Jordan as if to make a point out of it. “Unlike you, he doesn’t take personal offense at air.”
Lebanon immediately turned his head toward Syria as if demanding backup. “Tell him he babies Omar too much! It isn't fair!” he said, voice rising slightly, while Syria, who had been quietly focusing on the food, finally glanced over the top of the stove.
Syria didn’t even pause in what he was doing. “You act like this on purpose. Therefore, you asked for it,” he said flatly, tone dry, already turning back to the pan like the conversation wasn’t worth more energy.
Lebanon stared at him. “That’s not an answer,” he insisted, leaning forward again like he refused to accept dismissal.
“It is to me,” Syria replied calmly without looking back.
Palestine let out a small, smug exhale at that while Jordan, still being gently fussed over, tried not to smile too obviously. Lebanon, clearly offended by the lack of support, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. “You’re both insufferable,” he muttered, watching them like he was the only sane one at the table.
“And you’re too loud,” Syria added immediately, still focused on the food but clearly listening to everything.
Lebanon opened his mouth again, ready to continue, but Syria set the last plate down on the table with a firm, deliberate sound that cut through the room completely. The conversation stopped instantly, all three of them reacting at once; Jordan straightening slightly, Palestine pausing mid-breath, Lebanon going quiet out of instinct rather than choice.
Syria finally sat down, exhaling once as he looked at all of them properly for the first time. “Enough,” he said, voice tired but firm, leaning back slightly as he took in the silence he had just forced into existence. “It’s too early for this.”
The quiet lasted longer this time. Not peaceful, but contained. Syria allowed himself a small pause of satisfaction, noticing none of them dared to interrupt immediately. He took a sip, watching them carefully, and the faintest smugness appeared in his expression when he realized he had, for the moment, actually won.
Jordan noticed first, glancing up at him. Palestine noticed right after, narrowing his eyes slightly like he didn’t appreciate how smug Syria suddenly looked. Lebanon noticed last but immediately rolled his eyes in disgust.
Syria ignored all of it and continued eating like nothing had happened. Unfortunately for him, the silence only lasted for three minutes.
Palestine tilted his head slightly as he watched Syria from across the table. “We should go to the market today,” he suggested, sounding casual about it even though he was very obviously testing Syria’s patience on purpose. To his misfortune, Syria didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
Three, annoyed groans almost instantly came out of the three younger brothers.
Lebanon frowned immediately, leaning back in his chair with visible offense. “You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did,” Syria replied flatly as he set his cup down. “The answer is still no.”
Jordan hesitated before speaking, fingers absentmindedly twisting the edge of his sleeve beneath the table. “But we haven’t gone in a while…”
Syria finally looked up at the three of them properly, already recognizing the expression on their faces. They had decided this was happening before they even asked him. “We don’t need to go,” he said firmly, leaning back slightly in his chair. “We’re already tight on money, all of you suddenly forget how to act in public the second we get there, and last time I turned around for five seconds and somehow lost all three of you.”
“That was one time,” Lebanon argued immediately, waving a hand dismissively.
Syria stared at him. “You disappeared because somebody was selling fake silver bracelets.”
“They looked real.”
“You tried bargaining for twenty minutes.”
“They were overpriced.”
Palestine pointed toward Lebanon without even trying to defend him there. “Yeah well that was his fault, wasn't it? I don't see why me or Jordan shouldn't be able to go!”
Lebanon looked betrayed. “Excuse me? You literally ran away and left Jordan in the middle of the market.”
“He had Tareq with him,” Palestine shot back, crossing his arms while Jordan quietly sank lower in his seat.
Syria rubbed his temple slowly before continuing, clearly refusing to let the conversation derail yet. “And we already have everything we need.”
The three of them stared at him immediately, not even subtly. Jordan looked genuinely confused. Palestine blinked once like he was waiting for Syria to correct himself, while Lebanon slowly lowered his cup with the expression of someone witnessing a medical emergency.
Silence stretched for a moment, before being broken by Palestine. "Tareq, have you even seen this place? We absolutely don't,” he said flatly.
“We do.”
“We’re out of tea.”
Syria looked unimpressed. “That is not a necessity.”
All three of them kept staring at him. Syria frowned and shifted slightly under the pressure of it. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Lebanon leaned back slowly, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
Jordan looked between them carefully before speaking in a quieter voice. “We’re also running low on rice…”
Syria narrowed his eyes slightly, visibly realizing his argument was weakening in real time.
Palestine noticed instantly and leaned forward a little, looking far too pleased with himself. “And oil,” he added. Lebanon joined in immediately. “And fruit.” Jordan, now encouraged, added softly, “And soap…”
Syria looked at the three of them with the exhausted expression of someone watching a coordinated attack happen right in front of him. “You’re all unbelievably annoying,” he muttered under his breath.
“No,” Lebanon corrected smugly as he crossed his arms. "We're just observant. Unlike you, apparently.”
Syria clicked his tongue and exhaled sharply. "We're not going. I've made up my mind, so shut up about it already."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Lebanon looked away first. Palestine suddenly became very interested in the table. Jordan straightened slightly on instinct.
Syria leaned back in his chair after successfully shutting them up again, and the smug satisfaction on his face was impossible to miss as he clasped his hands together. “See?” he said calmly, glancing between them. “This is exactly why I don’t take you anywhere. Because when I take you once, you keep on whining about going there again.”
Syria leaned back in his chair a little further, still enjoying the silence he had just forced into existence. For once, nobody was speaking over him, nobody was arguing, and nobody was testing his patience at an unreasonable hour of the morning. He even took a sip of his drink like that settled the matter completely.
Then he paused.
His eyes shifted slightly toward the kitchen counter as if something had just occurred to him, slow and reluctant. “But on the other hand…” he started out loud, almost absent-mindedly, more thinking than speaking at first.
Lebanon’s head lifted slightly. Palestine stopped mid-motion. Jordan straightened just a little, careful not to interrupt whatever direction this was about to take.
Syria frowned at the table, tapping his fingers once against it as his thoughts continued out loud despite himself. “If I don’t go, you’re all going to complain the entire day anyway,” he muttered, more to himself than to them, gaze narrowing as he mentally ran through how the next few hours would go. “And then you’ll start listing things we’re ‘missing’ again, like it’s suddenly my problem that you aren't able to conserve anything.”
Lebanon opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again when Syria glanced at him. Syria exhaled through his nose. “And if I send any of you alone, you’ll either come back with something useless or not come back at all, which is somehow worse,” he added, leaning forward a little now, fully caught in his own reasoning.
Syria's expression tightened as he thought about last time again, like he could still feel the stress of it. “And I already know I’ll end up going later anyway, so delaying it just means I suffer twice.”
Palestine’s lips twitched faintly, but he stayed quiet. Jordan watched him carefully like he didn’t want to interrupt the fragile structure of this logic. Lebanon, for once, didn’t speak at all, which in itself felt suspiciously respectful.
Syria clicked his tongue softly, sitting up straighter as the decision solidified in his head despite his earlier certainty. “So going now is actually less irritating in the long run,” he concluded, as if he had just solved a problem he absolutely did not want to solve. A beat of silence followed. Then he stood up.
“… Ugh, fine,” he said flatly, already grabbing his plate like he hadn’t just been talked into it by his own brain. “We’re going. Get ready quickly though, I'm not waiting for any of you."
Lebanon’s expression brightened instantly. Palestine leaned back with a small, satisfied look. Jordan visibly relaxed like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
Syria noticed all of it and immediately crossed his arms in annoyance. “Don’t get excited. This doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The market was already loud when they arrived, the kind of morning noise that mixed footsteps, bargaining voices, and the smell of warm bread drifting from nearby stalls. People moved in slow waves between wooden stands and hanging fabrics, baskets brushing past each other, coins changing hands constantly in a rhythm Syria immediately registered as “expensive.”
Syria almost instantly stopped right at the entrance. Without even looking at them properly, he reached out and grabbed Lebanon’s wrist with one hand and Palestine’s with the other, pulling them slightly closer so they didn’t immediately scatter into different directions like they usually did. “Don’t disappear,” he warned, already scanning the crowd.
Lebanon looked mildly offended at being physically contained but didn’t resist. Palestine didn’t complain either, just adjusted his grip instinctively.
Syria then glanced at Jordan. “You,” he said simply, nodding toward Palestine. “Hold Khaled's hand.”
Jordan blinked, then quickly reached out and grabbed onto Palestine’s free hand. Palestine, for his part, didn’t even question it, he just adjusted his hold slightly so Jordan had a better grip.
“Good,” Syria muttered, already walking forward, still holding both sides like it was the only thing keeping the group from dissolving instantly.
They moved through the market slowly, weaving between stalls stacked with fruit, cloth, and clay pots. Syria led without hesitation, eyes constantly flicking over prices, mentally cutting things off before anyone else could even look too long. Every time Lebanon slowed down, Syria tugged his wrist slightly. Every time Palestine drifted toward something interesting, Syria adjusted his grip without looking.
His strategy worked, for the most part.
They stopped at a grain stall first, Syria negotiating quickly and efficiently while Palestine stood beside him, listening but occasionally glancing down at Jordan, who was staring at a nearby stall of roasted nuts with obvious interest. Jordan didn’t say anything at first, just lingered there a little too long, fingers tightening slightly around Palestine’s hand.
Palestine noticed, and without making a big deal out of it, he stepped closer to the stall and quietly bought a small paper pouch before Syria could even finish counting coins. He handed it to Jordan like it was nothing, like it wasn’t even worth mentioning.
Syria saw it immediately and paused mid-count. He looked at Palestine, then at Jordan already carefully opening the pouch like it was something precious, and let out a long, tired sigh through his nose.
Palestine didn’t look guilty at all. He just shrugged slightly, like it was the most reasonable decision in the world.
Syria didn’t argue. He just kept moving.
Later, Lebanon stopped dead in front of a small wooden stall, eyes locked onto a carved trinket hanging from a string. It was pointless, decorative, and clearly not something they needed.
“I want that,” Lebanon said immediately, pointing at it like it had personally chosen him.
“No,” Syria replied without even slowing down.
Lebanon turned toward him instantly, offended. “Why not? You didn't even see it!”
“I don't need to see it to know that it's unnecessary.”
“It’s art.”
“It’s wood.”
“It’s our culture!”
“It’s overpriced,” Syria corrected, still walking.
Lebanon opened his mouth again, ready to argue, but Palestine lightly tugged Jordan forward and followed Syria instead, leaving Lebanon to stare at the trinket for one last moment before reluctantly giving up and catching up with them.
By the time they reached the edge of the market, the noise had softened into something distant and blurred, like the whole place was finally exhaling after swallowing them for hours. They found a shaded corner along a low stone wall where the sun had warmed the surface just enough to be comfortable, and all four of them dropped down in uneven sync.
Syria sat first, immediately shifting his weight and letting out a sharp breath as he stretched his legs out dramatically in front of him. “My feet hurt,” he complained bluntly, leaning back on his hands like the statement alone should have been enough to fix the problem.
Lebanon turned his head slowly, looking at him with exaggerated disbelief. “We’ve been here for, like, an hour,” he said, already sounding like he had been hearing this complaint for hours. "You really are getting old, huh?"
Syria didn’t even look at him. “No.”
Lebanon blinked. “Yes.”
Syria sat up slightly, narrowing his eyes. “No.”
Lebanon leaned back too, completely unbothered. “Yes, you’ve been complaining since we arrived.”
That was enough.
Syria paused, looked at him for a second, then deliberately lifted his foot and stepped right onto Lebanon’s.
Lebanon immediately jolted forward. “OW— what is wrong with you?!”
“Stop lying then,” Syria said calmly, shifting his weight back like nothing had happened.
Palestine let out a short laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he settled more comfortably against the wall. Jordan, meanwhile, was too focused on the small paper bag in his hands to care about the argument unfolding next to him.
He was holding it tightly, almost protectively, peeking inside every few seconds like he expected it to disappear. Palestine noticed first. “You should share some,” he said gently, nodding toward the bag while leaning slightly closer to Jordan.
Jordan immediately tightened his grip. “No,” he said, quick and instinctive, pulling the bag closer to his chest.
Palestine blinked at him blankly and crossed his arms. “Why not? I paid for it,” he reminded him, voice still calm but firm, like it was obvious.
Jordan hesitated for half a second, glancing down at the bag again like he was doing mental calculations he didn’t like the answer to.
Syria, still leaning back against the wall, finally spoke without looking at either of them. “I paid for it,” he corrected flatly. Palestine turned his head toward him immediately. “You didn’t—”
“Yes, I did,” Syria interrupted, finally looking up. “I know you took my money from the pouch earlier. Don’t act innocent.”
Palestine paused.
Jordan froze.
Lebanon, still recovering from being stepped on, slowly looked between them. “So none of us actually paid properly?”
Syria exhaled through his nose like he was already tired of explaining it. “I paid. He just stole my money and gave it to the vendor.”
Palestine narrowed his eyes slightly, then looked at Jordan again, softening immediately after. “Still,” he said, voice gentler now, “you should share a little. We're all hungry, you know.”
Jordan looked down at the bag again, then at his brothers sitting too close on either side, all of them watching him in different levels of expectation. His fingers tightened, then slowly loosened, like he was physically debating himself.
“…fine,” he muttered finally, reluctant in a way that made it obvious he still didn’t fully like the idea, but didn’t want to fight all three of them at once either.
As he opened the bag, he sound of crinkling paper made Lebanon immediately perk up, Palestine leaning in slightly without being obvious about it, and Syria finally sitting forward a bit more, resting his elbows on his knees like he was actually paying attention now.
Jordan hesitated one last second, then held it out between them, still keeping it close enough to feel safe but open enough to let them take.
“Don’t take a lot,” he warned quietly, like he was trying to negotiate terms rather than share food.
Lebanon immediately reached in anyway. “That depends on what you consider ‘a lot,’” he said, already grabbing a handful like the rule didn’t apply to him.
“Hey—!” Jordan protested. "I said not to take a lot!" His eyebrows furrowed as he pouted.
Palestine took more carefully, slower, watching Jordan as he did it. “We’re not taking it away from you,” he said matter-of-factly, which also somehow came off as reassuring, before adding, “you’re sharing it.”
Jordan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t pull the bag away either. He looked down at how neatly it sat on his lap, seemingly calculating how much of the nuts have already been eaten. Based off of how intensely he started at the bag, you'd think only crumbles remained, which was not the case.
Syria took his share without asking for permission or making a show of it, just reaching in once, efficiently, then leaning back again like the matter was settled. Jordan watched him do it like he was checking whether that was allowed, then relaxed slightly when nothing bad happened.
Lebanon, still chewing, glanced at Syria. “You’re still going to complain about your feet, aren’t you?” he asked, voice lighter now.
Syria didn’t even look at him, but a subtle smirk formed on his face. “Yes.”
Lebanon closed his eyes briefly before a chuckle escaped his mouth. "Sounds like you."
Palestine let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shifting so Jordan could sit more comfortably between them instead of clutching the bag like a lifeline.
Jordan slowly loosened his grip a little more after that, letting them take without inspecting the amount taken as much, still watching carefully but less tense now that they were all sitting there together, eating in the same corner like it was normal.
Syria watched all three of them, before shifting his gaze towards all the stuff they bought, his expression somewhere between resignation and mild annoyance. They had definitely spent more than planned. He could feel it already. “…we spent too much,” he said flatly after a moment.
No one really responded to that. Instead, Lebanon leaned back further, Palestine shifted slightly so Jordan could lean into him more comfortable, and Jordan quietly ate his nuts like the entire world had temporarily become safe.
Syria’s irritation lingered for a few seconds longer as he crossed his arms, still visibly annoyed, still holding onto the last scraps of his argument like he refused to let it die properly. Then it faded, and Syria wasn’t even entirely sure when it happened, only that his attention had shifted onto them.
At Lebanon, still dramatic even when resting. At Palestine, telling the other two about the fight he saw while they were walking. At Jordan, relaxed and eating his nuts happily. At all of them, too close, too loud, too much.
Sure, they were insufferable at times, and he would have sworn he deserved a quieter, simpler teenage life. But nevertheless, they were still his responsibility, and he would never have just left his younger brothers behind like that. They could barely manage to prepare breakfast without turning it into a crisis.
He exhaled, leaned back against the wall, and didn’t say anything else about the money he'd unwilling lost. Instead, a small smile formed on his face. He liked this, even if it wasn't ideal and even. His siblings' shenanigans brought him more comfort than he'd ever admit.
Soon after, Syria leaned forward toward the other three, the earlier irritation fully gone now, replaced with something lighter as he cut back into their circle like he’d never been sitting apart in the first place.
Palestine was still talking mid-story, already animated again, hands moving as he recounted something he’d clearly decided was far more dramatic than it probably was. “And I’m telling you, it wasn’t just a normal argument,” he said, leaning in slightly like he was revealing classified information, “he literally stepped forward like this—completely chest out, like he owned the entire street. And the other guy just froze. Like froze. I swear, I thought it was going to turn into a full fight right there.”
Lebanon scoffed immediately, chewing lazily. “You always exaggerate, I don't even know when you're telling the full truth anymore.”
“I don’t exaggerate,” Palestine shot back without hesitation, pointing at him mid-sentence, “I interpret properly. There’s a difference.”
Jordan let out a small laugh, still holding his bag close but now fully relaxed, watching Palestine like the story was the most interesting thing he’d heard all day.
Syria leaned in a bit more, resting an elbow on his knee. “What happened next?” he asked, voice lighter than before, almost curious in a way that didn’t match his earlier attitude at all.
Palestine immediately brightened like he’d been waiting for that exact question. “Oh right,” he said, turning toward Syria, “because then, he tried to back away, right? But he did it too slowly, so it looked suspicious. And the first guy, he just stared at him like he already knew he’d won. I’m telling you, it was so humiliating.”
Lebanon rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt this time.
Jordan, still smiling, leaned slightly closer into his brothers without thinking.
And Syria stayed there with them, listening like it was the most important thing in the world.
Eventually, they ran out of things to talk about, and the market around them had started thinning out enough that even Lebanon couldn’t justify staying any longer. Syria pushed himself to his feet first, dusting off his clothes before looking down at the pile of bags scattered around them, and his expression immediately dropped.
“…No.” Syria stared at them for a moment longer, then slowly looked at the others. “Absolutely not. I’m not carrying all of this.”
Palestine blinked up at him. “What do you mean ‘all of this’?"
Syria gestured sharply at the pile like it had personally betrayed him. “This. When did we even get this much?”
Lebanon leaned over to look, then shrugged. “We just… bought things.”
“That is not an answer,” Syria said flatly, already crouching down and grabbing two bags before shoving one into Lebanon’s hands.
“Hey—”
“Hush, you're all helping me with this.” He immediately turned and passed another to Palestine, who accepted it without arguing, already used to how this worked. Jordan, on the other hand, reached for a lighter bag before Syria stopped him mid-motion with a glance.
“No, not that one.”
Jordan paused, confused. “Why?”
Syria pointed at the paper bag tucked safely under Jordan’s arm. “Because you’re guarding that like it’s life support. I’m not trusting you with anything breakable.”
Jordan tightened his hold on the nuts immediately, shrugging like that was fair enough.
Lebanon snorted under his breath, and Jordan shot him a look. “I heard that,” he muttered.
“I didn’t say anything,” Lebanon replied instantly.
“You laughed.”
“Eh. Same difference.”
Syria exhaled through his nose, grabbed the last remaining bag himself, and straightened up, scanning all three of them one more time like he was making sure none of them had mysteriously multiplied again. “Everybody accounted for?” he asked, already starting to walk.
“I’m here,” Palestine said, shifting the bag on his shoulder like he was making a formal announcement.
“Barely,” Lebanon added immediately, adjusting his grip with exaggerated effort as if the weight was personally offensive.
Jordan nodded quickly, still hugging his bag of nuts like it might be questioned at any moment. “I’m here too,” he added quietly, as if confirming his existence was part of the count.
Syria narrowed his eyes at Lebanon for a second, then kept walking.
The others fell into step beside him almost automatically, the weight of the bags shifting as they moved through the quieter streets. Lebanon complained about his bag being “suspiciously heavy,” Palestine immediately argued back that it was objectively not, and Jordan occasionally pointed out random things they passed, which somehow always made all three of them look anyway.
And without really planning it, they ended up walking shoulder-to-shoulder all the way home, the noise fading behind them.
For once, nobody got lost.
And Syria, despite everything, counted that as a win.