Title: I can finally see that you're right there beside me
Author's note: kink meme: watching a meteor shower.
The title comes from a lyric from 'meteor shower' by owl city. It's suggested that you listen to this while you read this :D
Greece's eyes fluttered open. The grass he'd fallen asleep in tickled his cheek. There was dew in his hair. He woke up to see Japan looking down at him, framed by a night sky filled with streaks of white falling down.
"America-san always says you should wish on falling stars," Japan said.
Greece thought about wishes. He'd certainly made a lot of them in his life. Wishing wouldn't bring his mother back, even this many stars. He'd wished on all of them in the sky when he was younger.
That was the way of things. Even countries died. It was all a part of life. Hades claimed the best of them, and even Orpheus and Sisyphus hadn't succeeded in cheating death. One day Hermes would come for his soul, and even Japan's. With quick winged feet, a roguish smile, and a hand outstretched to lead them to their destinations. Elysium, Asphodel or Tartarus. His mother had lived in the era of heroes. Surely Elysium would have opened its doors to her. He was more likely to end up in Asphodel. This was the outcome for those who simply lived, not wickedly nor heroically. This was for those who slept through their life, and let others shape it.
It would be a shame to never meet her again on the other side.
He still remembered her last goodbye: how she had stroked his hair, and told him that it was all right, this was just another part of life. Besides, it's been so long since Hermes and I talked. She'd smiled, sad, and yet...relieved? He'd been too young to read the complexities.
Before she'd left, she'd left one last request: Please remember me. Remember our gods, our myths and heroes. Don't let them die with me.
And he had. He'd excavated her bones: the Parthenon; the ruins of cities long lost; marble statues with heads missing, one arm gone and bare breasts exposed. He'd remembered the dialogues: Plato and the death of Socrates; Homer and his Iliad. They in truth were far more memorable than he ever had been. When people thought of Greece, it was they remembered, not him.
But he had never been a hero, and he was perfectly fine to live in the shadow of her memory. Through his life, he'd come to accept death, the inevitability of things, and the fragility of humans. He'd known that Greece would probably never become the magnificent country it was under his mother's watch, but these things happened in eras. Now he passed the torch to other countries: America, other allies and countries creating and living, taking the forefront.
He didn't wish for her back in anything more than the wistful moments with things unsaid: I wish she could've met him.
But as for life, this life his life, he had little to wish for. He'd had plenty to eat, and despite the troubles in the world, he was doing alright enough, all things considered. He'd gotten plenty of sleep, Corporal cat was seated on his chest and Japan was right here with him staying for two whole weeks which with luck, would be without interruption of any but the feline kind.
The heat of the day had cooled off to a night sky filled with glistening stars. All those meteors were falling, surely enough for a thousand wishes or more. He racked his mind for a wish to make, for Japan had seemed to want him to. Hadn't he wished for Japan all those years? So wistful with gentle melancholy-cloaked longing.
It'd taken over a hundred years to get here. If wishes had anything to this result, they certainly had taken their time. Then, everything was slow, everything was languid with him. He sleepwalked through the heat and his days, unaware of the turmoil around him.
No, wishes hadn't brought him here. Time and growth had. Wishes had only been the backdrop, the frame to every moment Japan wasn't there, the lingering wanting curled up inside him. He supposed there was one wish he had, it was to see Japan once again when their time had passed, after Hermes came for them. (Or him, for Japan had his own gods and own mythology, own psychopomps to lead him to the world beyond.) But then, that would deprive Japan of the sunshine and bliss of Elysium, of his own paradise with his own gods. He wouldn't wish for something like that, whatever comfort it would bring him.
(Perhaps his mother and Japan could finally meet in Elyisum, in a place between the paradises in the halls of greatness, reserved for the heroes, the brilliant, the good.)
He reached out and took Japan's hand in his. He stroked his thumb across the back of Japan's hand. Japan didn't tense or draw away. As the white streaks fell, he made a simple wish, just this: another moment with you, another day with you.
"America-san said you're not supposed to tell wishes, or they'll never come true...of course after that, he'd demand to hear mine. He's so childish..."
"I've already got what I wished for," Greece said.
"What? I didn't hear you?" Japan said.
"Nothing important..." Greece said.
The grass of his lands was wet and cold against him. Japan's touch was warm throughout it, a conduit of energy between their entwined fingers. He closed his eyes and the white flecked starry night disappeared. He'd leave the wishing to other people, as for him, he had all he needed.