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56 ‎ ‎ ‎ The Weight Of Two Times

SOUTH KOREA
"Tell me the story again," he insists, his eyes bright and full of an unkept youth. It's hollowing by the minute.

Japan smiles sadly, a fragmentary break in her voice. "You can't be real right now. I've told it to you once already."

"I want to hear it again." South heaves a breath, grasps at his white-black hair, lets his hands fall, and looks up pleadingly. One final stand for a boy who never gave up, never until now.

With all sense of living fading quick Japan is forced to oblige. "Alright. It was Halloween night; we had given up trying to coordinate a group outfit and settled for going individually. It was a hell of a night, you know. People screaming, yelling, and we fled with Ukraine from America's before France and Britain came back and we all got in some serious trouble. There was candy all over the front lawn."

Laughter bubbles out of South's throat, dry. "I remember. Poland had too much and puked in the last bush by the entrance."

Japan smiles. "Right. It smelled like shit. Candy corn. We ran as far as we got until Ukraine headed back home. You don't remember, cause you were drunk off your mind, but she called me that night and told her not even Soviet was able to tell her off because she looked like a mess. We all looked like messes. You couldn't find your way back home and your ass wouldn't tell me your stupid phone password so I couldn't even call North."

"God."

"Imagine his fright when his brother walks home and he looks like he's not only a ghost but he's also seen a ghost. Ghoul squared."

"Good times, weren't they?"

"Good times," Japan agrees. "I took you home to mine. You probably told me all of your deepest, darkest secrets over a cup of tea. I tried to physically restrain you with a blanket, because I suppose drunk you really likes hugging and backflips. Oh, right. You knocked over my vase. Twice."

"The patterned one? Oh my god. That was me?"

Japan finally laughs, true this time. "It was you. It felt like being an overworked mom, taking care of you that night. Even worse in the morning, but at least then you were sober. Albeit hangover and annoying. Is there really a difference, then and now?"

South kicks Japan's leg. "Funny not really funny. The world is ending and you are still figuring out new and improved ways to shit on me, even in my self-mulling."

"The world isn't ending." Japan shakes her head. "Our perception of the world is ending. And plus, if the others were here, they'd shit on you too."

"There are no others anymore. There wasn't ever since all of that happened." A pause. "Would you rather the world end, then?"

"...No."

South closes his eyes. "Why?"

"If the world ends we have no chance to ever go back. Maybe if the world stays, and the only thing that disappears is our idea of it, we can find our old lives one day."

"Let me go to your house one last time."

"We're experiencing the extremes of a dictator's regime and you want to go check on my patterned flower vase."

"Oh, please? Who knows if I'll find you again."

Japan musters all of her confidence in the next words. "We will."

"I'll have a different idea of who you are then."

"We'll still be friends." Her voice trails off and Japan, too, knocks a fist to her head. "It's picking up. I can't remember— I can't— I'd love to go check on that vase with you, but I can't remember—"