Answer (Hetalia)

Answer

Elizaveta never forgot about him; somehow managing to ignore what the hopelessly pragmatic and unromantic side of her brain ordered her to do, the sage advice of her family and friends falling upon her uncaring ears.

Stop paying his rent and move into a smaller apartment. Follow your dreams and stop waiting for him. Because he isn’t coming back for you, Liz.

He’s gone, gone, gone.

She kept screaming at herself to find every photograph of him in the apartment and rip it to shreds. To get all of his clothes and dump it in a Goodwill bin. To find that teddy bear he had won for her at the carnival years ago and donate it to her four year-old neighbor.

Just to get rid of every existing memory of him and flush it down the drain. To move on with her life. Find someone else.

But every day, she would take a quick look at the pictures, just to see that cocky, confident grin on his face. To see the picture of him in a tuxedo during senior prom. Posing with his football teammates. Playing violent video games in his pajamas. Graduating community college. Wearing his military uniform and saluting the photographer.

Every day, she’d take out one of his sweaters, and breathe in the scent that was so undeniably him. Press them to her chest and pretend that he was in her arms.

Every day, she would find those letters he had sent her.  Reread and reread those beautiful words in his messy scrawl. Telling her that he loved her, that he would be back soon and that he was alright. Asking how Ludwig, Kiku, Feli, Roderich, and Lili were.

Every day, she’d glance at the empty space in her bed and wish he was right beside her.  Like he was supposed to be.

She wanted him to come back. More than anything.

Because even though she hated herself for it, she was still in love with him.

Sure, he was cocky, arrogant, and overconfident, but in his company, she never had to feel shy or self-conscious. She could speak her mind, tell him her true feelings, and he would just listen. They would spend hours eating popcorn and pretzels, just talking and talking.

And he could always make her laugh. When she cried, or was stressed, over she wanted to give up, he gave her hope and cheesy jokes and flowers and chocolates. He went on about how awesome he was, and even she couldn’t help but smile at that.

He had flaws. And so did she. But she was his Liz, and he was her Gil.

Or was that really true?

Gilbert had chosen to join the military after graduating from college, and after about four months in training, he had been shipped to Afghanistan. For the first year or so, they had exchanged letters regularly, bringing news, tales of adventures, descriptions of his new friends.

But suddenly, all connection was cut off. He stopped responding.

And after several attempts, she stopped sending.

Maybe he had been sent back and decided that he didn’t want her in his life anymore. Maybe he ran off with some other girl. Maybe he was so injured that he had been sent home to his parents with her knowing. Maybe he forgot about her and their five years of dating altogether.

She tried to tell herself that she was okay with that. She was independent, she was an adult and most certainly didn't need a crutch to get through her life. She didn't need to live an ordinary life with a husband and children and grandchildren to be happy. She was a grown woman who could take care of herself, live and smile and work like everything was totally normal, her fingers clacking across a keyboard as she reported about the murder of a young girl and held back tears.