oh i said baby, heaven, let me be alone- then you hold me tight, make me feel alright;
title: On a Night Like This
pairing: Turkey/Greece
rating: PG-13
summary: On Christmas morning, Greece is, unfortunately for him, woken up by Turkey. [gift for catgirlprime at the myths_n_legends Secret Santa exchange]
☆on a night like this
It was cold blue outside, pale; the color was the first thing Greece felt when he woke up. The second thing being an insistent poking in his side. At first it was something like a beeping sound- repeating until he wasn’t sure of it, if it was real or part of half-formed consciousness; then the poking asserted itself, became more like a jab. Greece groaned and tried to bat away whatever it was, but all he got was a sound like snickering somewhere nearby. He paused; turned around, looked up-
And there, looking down at him, was that familiar leer, that familiar grin, burning; the initial shock punched adrenaline to his brain- but then he decided that it wasn’t real (because it couldn’t be real; because logically speaking horrible things generally didn’t happen first thing in the morning), and turned over to go back to sleep.
And then the poking continued. And then he turned back around, and found that, yes, Turkey was actually there.
"Yo," Turkey said, "Wassup, brat?"
Greece made a harsh sound in frustration, starting at the back of his throat, ending behind his teeth- "Not you," he said ruefully, covering his face with his pillow.
"Yah me," Turkey answered; a sound like laughing; "Glad t’ see you’re awake, princess."
A frown gathered electric in Greece’s eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked, turning away stubbornly.
Turkey shrugged. "To check up on you, a’course."
"I don’t need you to check up on me," Greece snapped.
"Psh! Like you don’t," Turkey answered nonsensically.
A pause; Greece debated hitting Turkey, but decided he was too tired. "Get off my bed," he said as he reached over to his side table for the clock (Greece wasn’t too keen on keeping clocks around, time was relative after all; but Japan had told him that being mindful of the time was good and everything). It was...12 noon, only. Well, that was fine...
The vague thought of what day it was crossed his mind; he remembered vaguely that it was Christmas, and turned around onto his back to face Turkey. "You still haven’t gotten off my bed," he observed, like it was a simple fact with no interpretation.
"Tch, I ain’t gonna do somethin’ just ’cause you tell me- whaddyou think I am, some kinda lackey?"
Greece sighed heavily, a storm of a sound. "Did it have to be today?...Did he have to be here today?" he muttered, closing his eyes- seeming to be bargaining with some higher power.
Turkey rose an eyebrow. "Eh? What the Hell’re you on about?" Greece said something under his breath in Greek that sounded suspiciously caustic, like cursing or praying. Turkey laughed. "Ain’t nothing different from today than any other day, jerk-off."
Greece’s eyes snapped open; he scowled. "You moron...it’s Christmas."
Turkey shrugged. "Yeah, and? So it’s Christmas and alluva sudden I can’t bother you?"
"It’s a holiday," Greece ground out.
"So?"
A beat of silence- the slow wind wound, knocked outside the window that looked on the street. "How would you like it if I came and bothered you on Eid ul-Fatr?"
Turkey gasped dramatically. "Hey, that’s a holiday!"
Greece bit his tongue, trying to remind himself that any transgression he committed on Christmas would be probably punished tenfold, even if it was against the biggest moron to ever walk the Earth. He sat up- cold hitting bare skin, frowning underneath the pressure veil of a headache coming strong. "Get off my bed, beardface," he said, shoving Turkey as he hopped off the bed.
A labyrinth of thoughts- of curses and leftover dreams- spun through Greece’s mind as he moved across the room. He’d expected to spend the day in relative peace, maybe go out to eat, then go over to Spain’s house to spend the rest of Christmas with him and the Italies...but no (he turned around, giving Turkey the double-knife glare)- this stupid idiot had to come and bother him. Greece wondered if he had done anything to God, figured that he probably had, and then set those thoughts aside and picked out some clothes from the dresser.
"Get out," he commanded, not bothering to look back at Turkey.
"Eh? How come?"
"I’m changing."
There was a pause, a spot of silence. He didn’t say anything- but Greece could just feel Turkey’s grin (his leer), like sharp light branding his back. "Heh, ya know, it’s Christmas," Turkey answered, settling back against the bed that he still hadn’t gotten off of, "Why dontcha give me a little gift?"
-In under a minute (with such facility and grace that it seemed premeditated) Greece had picked up one of the passing cats and thrown it at Turkey’s face.
"Ow!" Turkey hissed, smacking Greece’s hand away.
"Shut up, idiot," Greece snapped, dabbing a cotton ball at a scratch on Turkey’s cheek. "It’s not like I like touching your stupid face."
"It hurts, you brat," Turkey replied, "The Hell are you using, even, gasoline?"
"You would deserve it if I was."
"Seriously, who does that? Throws cats at people?"
"You deserved that, too."
"Still doesn’t mean you should do it," Turkey pointed out.
Greece grimaced, tired of hearing Turkey whined, and squeezed the cotton ball over an open scratch- oozing alcohol into raw skin- Turkey yelped in surprise. "Ow shit!" he snapped, jumping in his place.
"Shut up," Greece clipped out.
Turkey sighed- leaned his head back so that Greece could hurry up and finish. "Yer cat broke my mask, too," he pointed out sullenly.
Greece didn’t answer, just kept working; silence folded cold into itself- silence in time, only measured by the quiet shifting of Greece’s hands. The sun hadn’t shown its face yet...it was an overcast day, white clouds like a sighing veil. Outside the window, the only color was the Christmas lights blinking from the house across the street; other than that, just gray.
"There," Greece said, breaking through blank quiet; he screwed the cap back onto the bottle of alcohol and tossed it onto the couch. He turned back to Turkey, giving him a look of measured scorn. "What’s wrong with you?"
"What?" Turkey asked, frowning.
"I mean...why are you here?"
Turkey paused; leaned back in his seat, scratching his chin. "Well, uh- that’s ’cause- why’re you in Thessaloniki? I thought you’d be in Athens."
"-Snow," Greece answered, after a thoughtful moment, "There’s a better chance of snow in Thessaloniki...it’s because of the location..."
"Eh. I hate snow," Turkey said, frowning, almost pouting, and folding his arms; "It’s snowing in Istanbul now. Been snowin’ all gaddamn week."
Greece elapsed into a moment of thoughtful silence- "So you’re here because you hate snow?"
"...Sorta," Turkey said, with a dismissive, quick tone that made Greece suspicious, "I mean, tho’, what’s the big fuckin’ deal with snow on Christmas? I mean, it’s not like I’mma be cryin’ if it ain’t sunny on Şeker Bayramı."
Greece shrugged. "It’s nostalgic...it doesn’t matter that much." He paused. "I guess it has something to do with sovereign capitalism- America’s culture- before nobody cared much about snow on Christmas...but he and England have made it mandatory. It’s a secular thing...it’s interesting, how a culture can have such a depth of influence and domain because of affluence-"
"Alright, alright," Turkey groaned, throwing his head back,
"Don’t start with the philosophical stuff-"
"It’s not philosophical," Greece answered, "Observations about culture aren’t necessarily philosophical-"
"Jeez, it’s all philosophical with you," Turkey said- sighing in asperity, exasperation- "Y’were like that, too, when you were a goddamn kid. Always chewin’ my ear off about history-this and human-nature-that." He paused. "Used t’ think you did it just to get back at me."
"...I do a lot of things just to get back at you," Greece answered, with the shadow of an ironic smile; Turkey let out a sharp sound, coulda been a laugh...then- by the slim margin of a minute hand- they realized that the atmosphere had suddenly gotten familiar, less than tense, but also less than comfortable. Greece folded his arms and averted his eyes; Turkey coughed awkwardly.
"How long are you going to be here, anyway, idiot?" Greece asked, without any real animosity, turning to put the radio on. Bright sudden buzz- rapid talking and laughter on a talk show- Greece turned the dial slowly, looking for music.
"Tch. Yer so fuckin’ rude."
"I’m just asking..." The static voice of an American singer streamed by the speakers; he tuned it past that- past some corny Christmas music- past a prayer service; nothing seemed to gell. Turkey was silent, and Greece turned around to him expectantly. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend all day with this retard, much less another hour or minute..."Well?"
Turkey scratched his chin (a habit, Greece observed- whenever he felt uncomfortable, he did that)- "Wanna know a secret?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward.
Greece frowned. "Not especially..."
"Well, I’ll tell ya anyway." Turkey grinned; a spark somewhere in the arrogance of his teeth- the sight of it twisted a confused tangle of bad feeling in the pit of Greece’s stomach. "I came here ’cause I got you a present."
"Bullshit," Greece answered, evenly like it was the answer to a mathematical problem. "You can go now-"
"What!? I’m nice enough to get you a present and you-"
"You’re lying, obviously...I’m not stupid. Why would you get me a present?"
"Let’s just say it’s ’cause I have a generous heart." Generous heart- that was some shit- Greece knew that Turkey never did anything nice for anybody unless there was something in it for him.
Greece folded his arms- his posture recoiled, and he leaned against the wall, leaned under the shadow of a suspicious frown. "Where is it, then?"
"I left it by your door when I broke in," Turkey explained like that was the most normal thing in the world to say- he jumped up from his place, all reckless limbs and toothy grin- "Hold onna sec, I’ll get it for ya."
Turkey rounded out of the living room and into the hall in a fast blur. Greece felt a stormy reluctance- it was completely obvious to him that Turkey would never get him a present, and especially not on Christmas...what would he have gotten him, anyway? It wasn’t like-
"Oi- here we go," Turkey called, and then walked back into the living room- pace slowed, as he was carrying this...large, bulky package. Greece watched warily as Turkey tossed it down on the floor in front of him.
A pause.
"Well," Turkey goaded, "Open it!"
"No." Greece paused. "It’s probably a bomb, anyway."
"What!? You ungrateful asshole- open it, c’mon!"
"...Fine," Greece relented, leaning down to begin to tear off the garish Christmas wrapping (it looked rather thrown-together- Turkey had never really been good with things that required patience and delicacy)- underneath the wrapping with a plain cardboard box. He looked up to Turkey.
"Well-" Turkey said, with an anxious frown.
A flash of mistrust passed Greece’s eyes- he tore carefully around the tape, immediately ducking as soon as it was opened (just in case it was one of those boxing-glove mechanisms that England liked to trick America with)- and when nothing happened he reached inside and took out the first thing he saw.
He studied it carefully- a long, thin bottle, writing in Greek. "Brandy," he observed, tepidly, thumbing along the Metaxa brand name. He looked up to Turkey, who was grinning smugly. "Thanks, I guess..." Greece said, for lack of anything better or more eloquent or more comfortable to say.
"What, ya think I got that big fuckin’ box just t’ put brandy in it?- you must be stupit...Look at the rest!"
Greece paused- then reached inside again, pulling out a bag of..."Almonds."
"Yeah, yeah, get the rest! Hurry up, slow-ass."
"...Shut up," Greece said, distractedly- under a haze of hindering confusion- took out another package, a big bag of what seemed to be some kind of food product. He turned it around, and blinked at the logo. "Crisko? Why did you get me Crisko...?" he asked, putting the bag of Crisko aside as he looked through the rest. There was a bag of confectioner’s sugar, of all things, and rose water, and-
Greece snapped his eyes back up to Turkey in realization. He opened his mouth, about to say something in anger- but then his expression settled. "You want me to make you kourabiedes," he said, flatly.
Turkey’s grin lit up brighter than a billion Christmas trees, and he flashed a thumbs-up, like to say, bingo!
"So you gave me a Christmas present," Greece started slowly, "So that I could make you something."
"It’s the timeless gift of feeding a handsome Middle Eastern nation. Ain’t ya glad?"
"...Do you know what the concept of gift-giving is?" Greece asked, calm and logical.
Turkey frowned. "Well, ya know. Uhm. At least you don’t have to buy the stuff now!" he pointed out, waving around the package of Crisko like a salesman. He sighed, irritated. "I just- Egypt wouldn’t make ’em fer me an’ I don’t really know how to make ’em like you guys do- not that I couldn’t learn- if I learned I’d prolly do it a gathouzand times better than you- but I had a hankering for ’em and- yeah."
Greece paused, trying to weigh the situation before him carefully. On one hand, he could throw the bottle of brandy at Turkey’s head and then tie him up and send him back to Istanbul, first-class mail.
And on the other, it was Christmas morning, and Greece would be lying if he said he didn’t want kourabiedes, too.
And so a couple hours, thirty Christmas cookies, half a bottle of brandy and half a bottle of ouzo later, here they were- arguing and laughing at the kitchen table like good and bad was the same, half-drunk and only getting drunker.
"Oh, look," Greece said, pointing slowly to the window.
Turkey turned around. "Shit, really?" he asked, looking incredulously at the snow falling lazily outside, "S’like- s’like the stuff fuckin’ follows me."
"I hope everything you hate follows you," Greece declared with a smile, lifting his glass for a toast.
"You too, you rotten little brat! Serefe!" Turkey said, laughing loud, lifting his glass and downing the last of it with more relish than Greece could muster.
There was a warm haze, blank and unconscious as melody, in Greece’s head- he had the express feeling that he was going to do something he regretted pretty soon (that was probably the ad campaign for Metaxa this season- This Christmas, do something you’ll regret!- did his train of thought even make any sense?)...he didn’t really think much of it, though, didn’t even think much of it when Turkey was leaning close, leaning carelessly over the table.
"-You moron...you spilled the ouzo," Greece said, but let the liquor run.
"I wanna know," Turkey slurred, "Whatcha gonna get me in return."
"I’m not getting you anything, you’re not even Christian. Sit down." Greece paused; reeled back clumsily into his place. "What would you even want?"
"Lemme- lemme wake ya up tomorrow morning, too," Turkey answered, with a low chuckle.
Greece frowned slightly- "You’re- stupid," he said, rising a little to meet Turkey’s height. He found himself thinking thoughtlessly that he was glad the cat had broken Turkey’s mask before, and also glad the cat had scratched him- found himself leaning wholly into that thought as he pressed his mouth to Turkey’s and slipped soft as shadow into the first mistake of the night (ah, but few things between them had the sharp sweetness of their mistakes). He pulled back and could only make out Turkey’s grin- a blur; the burn of summer. "There, that’s your present- Merry Christmas, asshole."
NOTES;;
1] I won't lie. I am confused as to when Greeks celebrate Christmas. I'm pretty sure that they do it the same as other Mediterranean countries- from the 25th of Dec. to the 1st of Jan., but some people say no, it's the 7th or the 8th or etc. It's really confusing :| Ah right, and I figured Greece would spend the holidays with Spain and the Italies as they're the most similar in the way they celebrate.
2] Eid ul-Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. It's I suppose celebratory like Christmas is. Şeker Bayramı is one of the Turkish names for it, as well as Ramazan Bayramı- "bayramı" being the word for a public holiday; "şeker" I guess meaning "sweets" and "Ramazan" meaning "Ramadan". Bein that Şeker Bayramı means Bayram of Sweets, I thought that Turkey would use it SUGAR DADDY AHAHAHAH SHOT
3] Apparently it snows quite a bit in Istanbul :O oh and Thessaloniki is the second-largest city in Greece I believe, more likely to get snow cuz it's less dry than Athens or something like that.
4] Kourabiedes are cookies that are served during Christmas. They're called kahk in Egypt and are served on Eid ul-Fitr...for all purposes they're quite similar to Turkish delight but ahem for this author's purposes, that's a dirty lie. Here's the recipe I referenced for kourabiedes.
5] Oh and btw the title was decided by a song XD is not entirely relevant but the song is. It's by Bob Dylan, anyway.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed, catgirlprime, and happy belated holidays! :D
pairing: Turkey/Greece
rating: PG-13
summary: On Christmas morning, Greece is, unfortunately for him, woken up by Turkey. [gift for catgirlprime at the myths_n_legends Secret Santa exchange]
☆on a night like this
It was cold blue outside, pale; the color was the first thing Greece felt when he woke up. The second thing being an insistent poking in his side. At first it was something like a beeping sound- repeating until he wasn’t sure of it, if it was real or part of half-formed consciousness; then the poking asserted itself, became more like a jab. Greece groaned and tried to bat away whatever it was, but all he got was a sound like snickering somewhere nearby. He paused; turned around, looked up-
And there, looking down at him, was that familiar leer, that familiar grin, burning; the initial shock punched adrenaline to his brain- but then he decided that it wasn’t real (because it couldn’t be real; because logically speaking horrible things generally didn’t happen first thing in the morning), and turned over to go back to sleep.
And then the poking continued. And then he turned back around, and found that, yes, Turkey was actually there.
"Yo," Turkey said, "Wassup, brat?"
Greece made a harsh sound in frustration, starting at the back of his throat, ending behind his teeth- "Not you," he said ruefully, covering his face with his pillow.
"Yah me," Turkey answered; a sound like laughing; "Glad t’ see you’re awake, princess."
A frown gathered electric in Greece’s eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked, turning away stubbornly.
Turkey shrugged. "To check up on you, a’course."
"I don’t need you to check up on me," Greece snapped.
"Psh! Like you don’t," Turkey answered nonsensically.
A pause; Greece debated hitting Turkey, but decided he was too tired. "Get off my bed," he said as he reached over to his side table for the clock (Greece wasn’t too keen on keeping clocks around, time was relative after all; but Japan had told him that being mindful of the time was good and everything). It was...12 noon, only. Well, that was fine...
The vague thought of what day it was crossed his mind; he remembered vaguely that it was Christmas, and turned around onto his back to face Turkey. "You still haven’t gotten off my bed," he observed, like it was a simple fact with no interpretation.
"Tch, I ain’t gonna do somethin’ just ’cause you tell me- whaddyou think I am, some kinda lackey?"
Greece sighed heavily, a storm of a sound. "Did it have to be today?...Did he have to be here today?" he muttered, closing his eyes- seeming to be bargaining with some higher power.
Turkey rose an eyebrow. "Eh? What the Hell’re you on about?" Greece said something under his breath in Greek that sounded suspiciously caustic, like cursing or praying. Turkey laughed. "Ain’t nothing different from today than any other day, jerk-off."
Greece’s eyes snapped open; he scowled. "You moron...it’s Christmas."
Turkey shrugged. "Yeah, and? So it’s Christmas and alluva sudden I can’t bother you?"
"It’s a holiday," Greece ground out.
"So?"
A beat of silence- the slow wind wound, knocked outside the window that looked on the street. "How would you like it if I came and bothered you on Eid ul-Fatr?"
Turkey gasped dramatically. "Hey, that’s a holiday!"
Greece bit his tongue, trying to remind himself that any transgression he committed on Christmas would be probably punished tenfold, even if it was against the biggest moron to ever walk the Earth. He sat up- cold hitting bare skin, frowning underneath the pressure veil of a headache coming strong. "Get off my bed, beardface," he said, shoving Turkey as he hopped off the bed.
A labyrinth of thoughts- of curses and leftover dreams- spun through Greece’s mind as he moved across the room. He’d expected to spend the day in relative peace, maybe go out to eat, then go over to Spain’s house to spend the rest of Christmas with him and the Italies...but no (he turned around, giving Turkey the double-knife glare)- this stupid idiot had to come and bother him. Greece wondered if he had done anything to God, figured that he probably had, and then set those thoughts aside and picked out some clothes from the dresser.
"Get out," he commanded, not bothering to look back at Turkey.
"Eh? How come?"
"I’m changing."
There was a pause, a spot of silence. He didn’t say anything- but Greece could just feel Turkey’s grin (his leer), like sharp light branding his back. "Heh, ya know, it’s Christmas," Turkey answered, settling back against the bed that he still hadn’t gotten off of, "Why dontcha give me a little gift?"
-In under a minute (with such facility and grace that it seemed premeditated) Greece had picked up one of the passing cats and thrown it at Turkey’s face.
"Ow!" Turkey hissed, smacking Greece’s hand away.
"Shut up, idiot," Greece snapped, dabbing a cotton ball at a scratch on Turkey’s cheek. "It’s not like I like touching your stupid face."
"It hurts, you brat," Turkey replied, "The Hell are you using, even, gasoline?"
"You would deserve it if I was."
"Seriously, who does that? Throws cats at people?"
"You deserved that, too."
"Still doesn’t mean you should do it," Turkey pointed out.
Greece grimaced, tired of hearing Turkey whined, and squeezed the cotton ball over an open scratch- oozing alcohol into raw skin- Turkey yelped in surprise. "Ow shit!" he snapped, jumping in his place.
"Shut up," Greece clipped out.
Turkey sighed- leaned his head back so that Greece could hurry up and finish. "Yer cat broke my mask, too," he pointed out sullenly.
Greece didn’t answer, just kept working; silence folded cold into itself- silence in time, only measured by the quiet shifting of Greece’s hands. The sun hadn’t shown its face yet...it was an overcast day, white clouds like a sighing veil. Outside the window, the only color was the Christmas lights blinking from the house across the street; other than that, just gray.
"There," Greece said, breaking through blank quiet; he screwed the cap back onto the bottle of alcohol and tossed it onto the couch. He turned back to Turkey, giving him a look of measured scorn. "What’s wrong with you?"
"What?" Turkey asked, frowning.
"I mean...why are you here?"
Turkey paused; leaned back in his seat, scratching his chin. "Well, uh- that’s ’cause- why’re you in Thessaloniki? I thought you’d be in Athens."
"-Snow," Greece answered, after a thoughtful moment, "There’s a better chance of snow in Thessaloniki...it’s because of the location..."
"Eh. I hate snow," Turkey said, frowning, almost pouting, and folding his arms; "It’s snowing in Istanbul now. Been snowin’ all gaddamn week."
Greece elapsed into a moment of thoughtful silence- "So you’re here because you hate snow?"
"...Sorta," Turkey said, with a dismissive, quick tone that made Greece suspicious, "I mean, tho’, what’s the big fuckin’ deal with snow on Christmas? I mean, it’s not like I’mma be cryin’ if it ain’t sunny on Şeker Bayramı."
Greece shrugged. "It’s nostalgic...it doesn’t matter that much." He paused. "I guess it has something to do with sovereign capitalism- America’s culture- before nobody cared much about snow on Christmas...but he and England have made it mandatory. It’s a secular thing...it’s interesting, how a culture can have such a depth of influence and domain because of affluence-"
"Alright, alright," Turkey groaned, throwing his head back,
"Don’t start with the philosophical stuff-"
"It’s not philosophical," Greece answered, "Observations about culture aren’t necessarily philosophical-"
"Jeez, it’s all philosophical with you," Turkey said- sighing in asperity, exasperation- "Y’were like that, too, when you were a goddamn kid. Always chewin’ my ear off about history-this and human-nature-that." He paused. "Used t’ think you did it just to get back at me."
"...I do a lot of things just to get back at you," Greece answered, with the shadow of an ironic smile; Turkey let out a sharp sound, coulda been a laugh...then- by the slim margin of a minute hand- they realized that the atmosphere had suddenly gotten familiar, less than tense, but also less than comfortable. Greece folded his arms and averted his eyes; Turkey coughed awkwardly.
"How long are you going to be here, anyway, idiot?" Greece asked, without any real animosity, turning to put the radio on. Bright sudden buzz- rapid talking and laughter on a talk show- Greece turned the dial slowly, looking for music.
"Tch. Yer so fuckin’ rude."
"I’m just asking..." The static voice of an American singer streamed by the speakers; he tuned it past that- past some corny Christmas music- past a prayer service; nothing seemed to gell. Turkey was silent, and Greece turned around to him expectantly. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend all day with this retard, much less another hour or minute..."Well?"
Turkey scratched his chin (a habit, Greece observed- whenever he felt uncomfortable, he did that)- "Wanna know a secret?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward.
Greece frowned. "Not especially..."
"Well, I’ll tell ya anyway." Turkey grinned; a spark somewhere in the arrogance of his teeth- the sight of it twisted a confused tangle of bad feeling in the pit of Greece’s stomach. "I came here ’cause I got you a present."
"Bullshit," Greece answered, evenly like it was the answer to a mathematical problem. "You can go now-"
"What!? I’m nice enough to get you a present and you-"
"You’re lying, obviously...I’m not stupid. Why would you get me a present?"
"Let’s just say it’s ’cause I have a generous heart." Generous heart- that was some shit- Greece knew that Turkey never did anything nice for anybody unless there was something in it for him.
Greece folded his arms- his posture recoiled, and he leaned against the wall, leaned under the shadow of a suspicious frown. "Where is it, then?"
"I left it by your door when I broke in," Turkey explained like that was the most normal thing in the world to say- he jumped up from his place, all reckless limbs and toothy grin- "Hold onna sec, I’ll get it for ya."
Turkey rounded out of the living room and into the hall in a fast blur. Greece felt a stormy reluctance- it was completely obvious to him that Turkey would never get him a present, and especially not on Christmas...what would he have gotten him, anyway? It wasn’t like-
"Oi- here we go," Turkey called, and then walked back into the living room- pace slowed, as he was carrying this...large, bulky package. Greece watched warily as Turkey tossed it down on the floor in front of him.
A pause.
"Well," Turkey goaded, "Open it!"
"No." Greece paused. "It’s probably a bomb, anyway."
"What!? You ungrateful asshole- open it, c’mon!"
"...Fine," Greece relented, leaning down to begin to tear off the garish Christmas wrapping (it looked rather thrown-together- Turkey had never really been good with things that required patience and delicacy)- underneath the wrapping with a plain cardboard box. He looked up to Turkey.
"Well-" Turkey said, with an anxious frown.
A flash of mistrust passed Greece’s eyes- he tore carefully around the tape, immediately ducking as soon as it was opened (just in case it was one of those boxing-glove mechanisms that England liked to trick America with)- and when nothing happened he reached inside and took out the first thing he saw.
He studied it carefully- a long, thin bottle, writing in Greek. "Brandy," he observed, tepidly, thumbing along the Metaxa brand name. He looked up to Turkey, who was grinning smugly. "Thanks, I guess..." Greece said, for lack of anything better or more eloquent or more comfortable to say.
"What, ya think I got that big fuckin’ box just t’ put brandy in it?- you must be stupit...Look at the rest!"
Greece paused- then reached inside again, pulling out a bag of..."Almonds."
"Yeah, yeah, get the rest! Hurry up, slow-ass."
"...Shut up," Greece said, distractedly- under a haze of hindering confusion- took out another package, a big bag of what seemed to be some kind of food product. He turned it around, and blinked at the logo. "Crisko? Why did you get me Crisko...?" he asked, putting the bag of Crisko aside as he looked through the rest. There was a bag of confectioner’s sugar, of all things, and rose water, and-
Greece snapped his eyes back up to Turkey in realization. He opened his mouth, about to say something in anger- but then his expression settled. "You want me to make you kourabiedes," he said, flatly.
Turkey’s grin lit up brighter than a billion Christmas trees, and he flashed a thumbs-up, like to say, bingo!
"So you gave me a Christmas present," Greece started slowly, "So that I could make you something."
"It’s the timeless gift of feeding a handsome Middle Eastern nation. Ain’t ya glad?"
"...Do you know what the concept of gift-giving is?" Greece asked, calm and logical.
Turkey frowned. "Well, ya know. Uhm. At least you don’t have to buy the stuff now!" he pointed out, waving around the package of Crisko like a salesman. He sighed, irritated. "I just- Egypt wouldn’t make ’em fer me an’ I don’t really know how to make ’em like you guys do- not that I couldn’t learn- if I learned I’d prolly do it a gathouzand times better than you- but I had a hankering for ’em and- yeah."
Greece paused, trying to weigh the situation before him carefully. On one hand, he could throw the bottle of brandy at Turkey’s head and then tie him up and send him back to Istanbul, first-class mail.
And on the other, it was Christmas morning, and Greece would be lying if he said he didn’t want kourabiedes, too.
And so a couple hours, thirty Christmas cookies, half a bottle of brandy and half a bottle of ouzo later, here they were- arguing and laughing at the kitchen table like good and bad was the same, half-drunk and only getting drunker.
"Oh, look," Greece said, pointing slowly to the window.
Turkey turned around. "Shit, really?" he asked, looking incredulously at the snow falling lazily outside, "S’like- s’like the stuff fuckin’ follows me."
"I hope everything you hate follows you," Greece declared with a smile, lifting his glass for a toast.
"You too, you rotten little brat! Serefe!" Turkey said, laughing loud, lifting his glass and downing the last of it with more relish than Greece could muster.
There was a warm haze, blank and unconscious as melody, in Greece’s head- he had the express feeling that he was going to do something he regretted pretty soon (that was probably the ad campaign for Metaxa this season- This Christmas, do something you’ll regret!- did his train of thought even make any sense?)...he didn’t really think much of it, though, didn’t even think much of it when Turkey was leaning close, leaning carelessly over the table.
"-You moron...you spilled the ouzo," Greece said, but let the liquor run.
"I wanna know," Turkey slurred, "Whatcha gonna get me in return."
"I’m not getting you anything, you’re not even Christian. Sit down." Greece paused; reeled back clumsily into his place. "What would you even want?"
"Lemme- lemme wake ya up tomorrow morning, too," Turkey answered, with a low chuckle.
Greece frowned slightly- "You’re- stupid," he said, rising a little to meet Turkey’s height. He found himself thinking thoughtlessly that he was glad the cat had broken Turkey’s mask before, and also glad the cat had scratched him- found himself leaning wholly into that thought as he pressed his mouth to Turkey’s and slipped soft as shadow into the first mistake of the night (ah, but few things between them had the sharp sweetness of their mistakes). He pulled back and could only make out Turkey’s grin- a blur; the burn of summer. "There, that’s your present- Merry Christmas, asshole."
NOTES;;
1] I won't lie. I am confused as to when Greeks celebrate Christmas. I'm pretty sure that they do it the same as other Mediterranean countries- from the 25th of Dec. to the 1st of Jan., but some people say no, it's the 7th or the 8th or etc. It's really confusing :| Ah right, and I figured Greece would spend the holidays with Spain and the Italies as they're the most similar in the way they celebrate.
2] Eid ul-Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. It's I suppose celebratory like Christmas is. Şeker Bayramı is one of the Turkish names for it, as well as Ramazan Bayramı- "bayramı" being the word for a public holiday; "şeker" I guess meaning "sweets" and "Ramazan" meaning "Ramadan". Bein that Şeker Bayramı means Bayram of Sweets, I thought that Turkey would use it SUGAR DADDY AHAHAHAH SHOT
3] Apparently it snows quite a bit in Istanbul :O oh and Thessaloniki is the second-largest city in Greece I believe, more likely to get snow cuz it's less dry than Athens or something like that.
4] Kourabiedes are cookies that are served during Christmas. They're called kahk in Egypt and are served on Eid ul-Fitr...for all purposes they're quite similar to Turkish delight but ahem for this author's purposes, that's a dirty lie. Here's the recipe I referenced for kourabiedes.
5] Oh and btw the title was decided by a song XD is not entirely relevant but the song is. It's by Bob Dylan, anyway.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed, catgirlprime, and happy belated holidays! :D