Two Can Keep A Secret

Chapter 7: The Text

'Whelp, here goes nothing..'

-

America glances down at his phone, clenched tightly in his hand. He groans, regretting his existence but starts texting anyways.

Russia:

Amerika?

Hey Russia!

This is the correct phone number then.

Yep!

You are as energetic over text as you are in real life, it seems.

America pauses in his typing, then shrugs.

'He isn't wrong?'

Russia:

I'm gonna take that as a compliment?

You do what you want, Amerika.

Okayyyy?
Anyways, what did you text me
for dude? Just wanted to chat
to my awesome self?

Some things can only be said over text.

At this response, America grows slightly concerned.

Russia:

Like what? Is everything okay?

I..
I want to know more about your states.

America freezes. Then, a small smile appears on his face.

Russia:

You really do?

Yes.
I'd just, like to understand a bit more.
If you'd allow me to do so.

Oh gosh where do I start?

From the beginning?

We'll be here for quite a while,
Russia.
You sure you can talk that long?

Da.

Hah, here goes nothing then!
Okay, so it stared first with-

Then, America and Russia proceed to talk for more than three hours, America describing how he saw his kids grow up, their battles, their cultures and so much more. Russias respect for America only grew the more he heard about them.

Frankly, children scared him. He didn't even know the first thing about kids, and to hear America raise over 50? What image he had created of him these past few centuries was instantly shattered, remoulded into something better. Kinder, even.

It was nearing the afternoon when the conversation calmed. But before they could each leave for their respective paperwork, there was one last conversation that needed to be had.

Russia:

Amerika?

Yes, Russia?

What of Alaska?

America breathed out deeply. He had been waiting for this to be brought up.

Russia:

He's.. doing alright.
He gets along with the
other states pretty well.

Does he hate me?

No no no no! No way!
If anything, he holds a slight
dislike for you. You did sell him for
basically nothing to me after all.
Frankly, I think he'd thank you for it.

Thank me?

Whoo boy okay, uh, this is gonna
sound pretentious, but, he'd
thank you for letting him live a
better life with me than you could
ever give him.

...

That.. makes sense, actually.

Wait, you aren't pissed about it?

Maybe in the past I would've been, but hearing how you've talked about your states and how much love you carry for them?

No, I don't think I could be mad.

That is actually such a relief omg
you have no idea.

I can almost sense it through the phone :)

America gasps out in glee, fingers flying across the keypad.

Russia:

You can use emoticons??
(⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

Hah, yes little Amerika, I can.
:⁠-⁠D

While texting back and forth, spamming the chat with emotions, America pauses in his typing before realising the time.

Russia:

Shit dude I gotta go, talk to
you later Russia!

Call me Ivan.

America sucks in a surprised breath. Nations almost never give out their personal names, to do it is seem as a massive act of trust.

America hesitates. His fingers hover above the correct letters, as if stopped by a force field.

He shakes his head, gathering all his courage, and,

Russia:

In that case, call me Alfred.

He switches his phone off (like a coward) and puts his head in his hands.

'I can't believe I just did that'

He ignores the multiple 'dings' of notifications coming from his phone, standing up and heading to his office. Being a nation means a never ending supply of paperwork, which, in turn, a never ending supply of migraines.

Alfred sighs.

'Maybe this will distract me from my impending doom.'

Spoiler alert, it didn't.

-

Heyoo, author here. I've got an exam tomorrow, and then a netball match on Saturday, so I'll likely only update on Sunday. Thankfully, I've got the week after that free before exams are in full swing, so I'll keep to my schedule then. Don't worry, I'll warn in advance if I take too long to upload a chapter. Thanks for reading, Goeie môre, dag, aand, middag of nag.