The man crawled from the warmth of his bed, and looked into the mirror that sat on the wall mocking him. Grabbing a comb off the dresser, he ran it through the dull white hair atop his head. His light blue eyes shifted towards a picture tucked into the frame of the mirror and a small and unnoticeable smile tugged at his pale and thin lips.
His fingers traced the happy little smile forever frozen in time in the faded photo. Drawing his hand away he nodded, what seemed to be a silent contract that he'd made with himself.
This man that stood in the middle of his small room now, might have appeared confident, but inside was a battle that he waged with his self every day. Although he was never ashamed of what he would do or what he'd done in his past.
A past that he'd never tried to keep hidden or fluff up to something it wasn't. Not like that damn Gilbert on the other side. If you listened to him, you'd think he did and still ran the world. And that word - that word Gilbert used so bloody much - ugh, he hated it!
Also, he wasn't fearful of what would happen to him. He knew, like what happened to all disbanded countries, he would disappear. There was no need to atone for his sins anymore.
His sins that he'd committed against the other nations and you. But, like most of the others, you'd forgive him. It was funny how the 1p's thought they were nothing more than murderous freaks that killed for fun.
He looked back at the picture and smiled.
"You're just..." he muttered to the girl in the picture that seemed to follow him. Was it only in his mind that the photo was asking what was wrong, and why he wouldn't dare touch her? "...awes..." he almost said that word, somehow it must have been programmed into the mind of the country of Prussia on both sides.
He bent over and grabbed the pair of crumpled pants that were heaped on the floor, along with a grayish t-shirt, that had seen better days.
"Finally up?" A wolf whistle echoed into the room. "Man, look at dat ass!"
He straightened his back quickly, and glanced over his shoulder. "Can you let me get dressed, (f/n)?" He stood like a knight from a past that had been long forgotten, a time when chivalry and honor reigned supreme. His head held high, his shoulders squared.
"Oh, come off it!" You grinned, and tossed yourself on his bed. "You're in your jockey shorts, Gil. And it's not like I haven't seen what you've got before." Laughing, you picked up the book on the nightstand, and started to flip through the pages.
"Do you mind?" Gilen asked, slipping on the faded black jeans. "I might not want you reading that, (f/n)."
You looked over the book that you had buried your nose in, and cocked an eyebrow at the man that slipped his shirt over his head. He was moody today more so than usual. You had a pretty good idea why, but he shouldn't have been as far as you were concerned.
Your (e/c) eyes had trailed the faded and dark scars on his back. Such a painful set of roads forever burned into his skin, each stamped out to tell a tale.
"Fine," you gently sat the leather bond book back on the nightstand. Sitting upright, you leaned against the headboard and rested your hands in your lap. "How are we doing today?"
"As good as one can be expected." He pulled out the hem of the t-shirt, stretching it out.
You sighed, and knew it would take everything to get Gilen excited about today's happenings. You were beyond excited, so he should have been too.
"So, guess what today is!" you exclaimed, bouncing from the bed and your feet hit the floor. You weren't about to wait for him to answer, even if his mouth was opened ready to speak. "It's the reunion!"
