hetalia oneshot || nobody 'cept you;
title: Nobody 'Cept You
pairing: Turkey X Greece
rating: PG, cept for one instance of "fuck" |D
summary: After the earthquakes, Turkey looks to breach the distance separating him and Greece.
☆NOBODY 'CEPT YOU
It was late night, dark out with spots of yellow spilling ghostlike on the street; but in this place it was still bustling with activity. Turning spits, bright-lit glass cases, people talking, people with dreams like fine-print under their words. Turkey was sitting huddled at a table off to the corner, had been there only fifteen minutes and was already sorely irritated. There were too many noises and too many people. It was at once familiar and unfamiliar. He looked around and was immediately annoyed: so much food that he recognized, slightly changed, and that he could make a hundred times better; a language he only half-understood, and that endless chirping of "Ela, ela," like an audio assault on all fronts. But it wasn't in his mind to go home; Turkey knew that he was here, and though it was a strange thought, he was here for him. So he sat bored and grudging, clutching a small carton in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him from up and walking out of this godforsaken place.
They'd only recently stopped- fighting, if that was the word for it; all the dark bitter space between them had only recently emptied, shied out by light and ebbed back. It was more peaceful now. But the stillness only revealed the distance. So Turkey wondered if this was weird...it felt weird.
He drummed his fingers on the table idly; watched as a waitress spun by with a plate of doner in her hand. The thought of flagging her down for a cup of coffee crossed his mind; but he knew that they weren't going to make it the way he liked it because they were Greek, and that it might even come out and magically be Nescafé- and anyway, the caffeine would make this sick nervousness in his veins all the worse, and-
"Ah. It's you."
Turkey jumped a little and turned around- and there was Greece, standing distant, back in his own space, his own strange cosmos. With that illegible look swimming dark in his eyes...
Turkey let out an uneasy laugh. "Uh. Yeah. Ha-ha." He swallowed. "Jeez, don't sneak up on me," he said, a frown pulling shady at the corners of his mouth.
Greece didn't address that. The crowded noises around them let up- a large family left the restaurant and a tense quiet was the ghost of their presence. But Greece seemed comfortable in his silence: his language of exclusion, the thought that Turkey could never see- he'd always thought those were the worst things about Greece.
But- his eyes followed the lines of Greece's body, the cool quiet of his skin- he was here for a reason. He shuffled strangely in his seat. "Eh, this is fer you," Turkey said, awkwardly handing Greece the carton he'd been holding.
Greece didn't take it, his hand didn't bridge that gap; something like mistrust glossed over his eyes and he simply leaned forward, just slightly, like a curious cat. Turkey's mouth twitched in annoyance.
"Well, it ain't a goddamn trap," he snapped, shaking the carton a little.
Greece paused, then took it hesitantly- peered down at it, trying to make out the language, the advertising. He paused. "Dondurma," he said, as though pointing it out to himself.
"-Yeah," Turkey replied, "Y'might wanna put it in a cold place or somethin'. Ask them if ya can put it in the freezer, I guess."
Another pause; the distinct chatter of language, words the shells of feeling, hollow clatter of ceramic and metal. Greece's eyes were still measured, still this cold amalgam of light and dark; Turkey wished he would just goddamn say something already...stop holding him in suspense- stop tormenting him with quiet...
Thank-you was tacit; it was thank-you enough that Greece didn't throw the carton at Turkey's head in response. He quirked his head; dark flush of curls moving against his cheek. "Why are you here?" he asked, looking at Turkey with eyes that Turkey couldn't help but feel judged by.
Turkey paused; he knew this answer well enough, but- he didn't know...He licked his lips thoughtfully, drummed his fingers on the table again. What should he say? The only way they knew how to be close was to be close in hatred; their belligerence had been the only line of communication they'd had for centuries. Peaceful words were strange magic on his tongue, he didn't like the feeling of it. And he wished Greece would help him out here, but Greece just stood, immovable quiet eyes and body in a thoughtful line.
Well, where had the trouble begun? This new world was strange to Turkey. For a long time he'd had nothing to prove and nothing to conquer, and nothing changed. Should he say that he felt like he'd done it all, like everything was tried and used already? It wouldn't be untrue. Nothing pleased him anymore, nothing distracted him. Modernization, a dull mark on the checklist; there weren't any empires in the new world. The only thing he'd been vaguely interested in was fighting Greece.
But after the earthquakes- after they'd been so close, and then again so apart- he'd found himself thinking of nothing but the clear steadfast tan of Greece's skin; his opaque eyes; his mouth, ashen crossed in thought. And maybe it was just selfish motivation speaking to him, but Turkey had started to think that maybe if he could see Greece- Greece, who never wanted his attention, who always looked at him scornfully- he'd have something. But would that make sense?- how could he answer?
"Eh, I'm bored," he said, with a shrug- he knew that Greece could see through language, was smart enough to pick up the meaning hidden underneath the sound waves. He only hoped Greece wouldn't call him out on it.
Greece's eyes brightened just a little- from bruised blue to turquoise. "I know," he answered.
Rounding back to silence again like it was just the same old highway. A schmaltzy song started to play, all filled with manufactured emotion and technical wizardry. They shared the silence and it didn't matter much. "Get me a cuppa coffee, would ya?" Turkey asked. "I'm fuckin' dyin' over here."
"...Yeah," Greece answered, a little wary, sitting uncomfortably in the seat across from Turkey; he called a waitress over, ordered Turkey's coffee (because much as Greece would never admit it, he knew exactly the way Turkey took his coffee) and asked her to stick the dondurma in the freezer. Greece sat patiently across from him. Turkey couldn't help but smile, that crooked winning smile; the pieces didn't quite fit yet, but it was an okay place to start.
NOTES;;
1] Dondurma- :D
2] Earthquake diplomacy, put here just in case. Turkey/Greece fans generally know a lot about this topic :D
Also, the title, "Nobody 'Cept You"- probably only titled it that 'cause the eponymous song was what inspired this ficlet.
Thanks for reading! :D
pairing: Turkey X Greece
rating: PG, cept for one instance of "fuck" |D
summary: After the earthquakes, Turkey looks to breach the distance separating him and Greece.
☆NOBODY 'CEPT YOU
It was late night, dark out with spots of yellow spilling ghostlike on the street; but in this place it was still bustling with activity. Turning spits, bright-lit glass cases, people talking, people with dreams like fine-print under their words. Turkey was sitting huddled at a table off to the corner, had been there only fifteen minutes and was already sorely irritated. There were too many noises and too many people. It was at once familiar and unfamiliar. He looked around and was immediately annoyed: so much food that he recognized, slightly changed, and that he could make a hundred times better; a language he only half-understood, and that endless chirping of "Ela, ela," like an audio assault on all fronts. But it wasn't in his mind to go home; Turkey knew that he was here, and though it was a strange thought, he was here for him. So he sat bored and grudging, clutching a small carton in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him from up and walking out of this godforsaken place.
They'd only recently stopped- fighting, if that was the word for it; all the dark bitter space between them had only recently emptied, shied out by light and ebbed back. It was more peaceful now. But the stillness only revealed the distance. So Turkey wondered if this was weird...it felt weird.
He drummed his fingers on the table idly; watched as a waitress spun by with a plate of doner in her hand. The thought of flagging her down for a cup of coffee crossed his mind; but he knew that they weren't going to make it the way he liked it because they were Greek, and that it might even come out and magically be Nescafé- and anyway, the caffeine would make this sick nervousness in his veins all the worse, and-
"Ah. It's you."
Turkey jumped a little and turned around- and there was Greece, standing distant, back in his own space, his own strange cosmos. With that illegible look swimming dark in his eyes...
Turkey let out an uneasy laugh. "Uh. Yeah. Ha-ha." He swallowed. "Jeez, don't sneak up on me," he said, a frown pulling shady at the corners of his mouth.
Greece didn't address that. The crowded noises around them let up- a large family left the restaurant and a tense quiet was the ghost of their presence. But Greece seemed comfortable in his silence: his language of exclusion, the thought that Turkey could never see- he'd always thought those were the worst things about Greece.
But- his eyes followed the lines of Greece's body, the cool quiet of his skin- he was here for a reason. He shuffled strangely in his seat. "Eh, this is fer you," Turkey said, awkwardly handing Greece the carton he'd been holding.
Greece didn't take it, his hand didn't bridge that gap; something like mistrust glossed over his eyes and he simply leaned forward, just slightly, like a curious cat. Turkey's mouth twitched in annoyance.
"Well, it ain't a goddamn trap," he snapped, shaking the carton a little.
Greece paused, then took it hesitantly- peered down at it, trying to make out the language, the advertising. He paused. "Dondurma," he said, as though pointing it out to himself.
"-Yeah," Turkey replied, "Y'might wanna put it in a cold place or somethin'. Ask them if ya can put it in the freezer, I guess."
Another pause; the distinct chatter of language, words the shells of feeling, hollow clatter of ceramic and metal. Greece's eyes were still measured, still this cold amalgam of light and dark; Turkey wished he would just goddamn say something already...stop holding him in suspense- stop tormenting him with quiet...
Thank-you was tacit; it was thank-you enough that Greece didn't throw the carton at Turkey's head in response. He quirked his head; dark flush of curls moving against his cheek. "Why are you here?" he asked, looking at Turkey with eyes that Turkey couldn't help but feel judged by.
Turkey paused; he knew this answer well enough, but- he didn't know...He licked his lips thoughtfully, drummed his fingers on the table again. What should he say? The only way they knew how to be close was to be close in hatred; their belligerence had been the only line of communication they'd had for centuries. Peaceful words were strange magic on his tongue, he didn't like the feeling of it. And he wished Greece would help him out here, but Greece just stood, immovable quiet eyes and body in a thoughtful line.
Well, where had the trouble begun? This new world was strange to Turkey. For a long time he'd had nothing to prove and nothing to conquer, and nothing changed. Should he say that he felt like he'd done it all, like everything was tried and used already? It wouldn't be untrue. Nothing pleased him anymore, nothing distracted him. Modernization, a dull mark on the checklist; there weren't any empires in the new world. The only thing he'd been vaguely interested in was fighting Greece.
But after the earthquakes- after they'd been so close, and then again so apart- he'd found himself thinking of nothing but the clear steadfast tan of Greece's skin; his opaque eyes; his mouth, ashen crossed in thought. And maybe it was just selfish motivation speaking to him, but Turkey had started to think that maybe if he could see Greece- Greece, who never wanted his attention, who always looked at him scornfully- he'd have something. But would that make sense?- how could he answer?
"Eh, I'm bored," he said, with a shrug- he knew that Greece could see through language, was smart enough to pick up the meaning hidden underneath the sound waves. He only hoped Greece wouldn't call him out on it.
Greece's eyes brightened just a little- from bruised blue to turquoise. "I know," he answered.
Rounding back to silence again like it was just the same old highway. A schmaltzy song started to play, all filled with manufactured emotion and technical wizardry. They shared the silence and it didn't matter much. "Get me a cuppa coffee, would ya?" Turkey asked. "I'm fuckin' dyin' over here."
"...Yeah," Greece answered, a little wary, sitting uncomfortably in the seat across from Turkey; he called a waitress over, ordered Turkey's coffee (because much as Greece would never admit it, he knew exactly the way Turkey took his coffee) and asked her to stick the dondurma in the freezer. Greece sat patiently across from him. Turkey couldn't help but smile, that crooked winning smile; the pieces didn't quite fit yet, but it was an okay place to start.
NOTES;;
1] Dondurma- :D
2] Earthquake diplomacy, put here just in case. Turkey/Greece fans generally know a lot about this topic :D
Also, the title, "Nobody 'Cept You"- probably only titled it that 'cause the eponymous song was what inspired this ficlet.
Thanks for reading! :D