Not my problem|Russame and Amephil?

Chapter 1: The Russian Mystery

I wake up to Phil smiling at me. "Ame! You're finally awake! I've already made breakfast, and prepared your clothes!". Phil's an actual angel. She's too nice and friendly for an asshole like me. She deserves better than a guy who's already betrayed her trust like, 3 times.

Today's the UN Pre-Meetup. It's basically a pre-party before the actual UN Meeting/Party. They usually host a party every month to, I don't know, "check up on everyone and make sure World War 3 isn't gonna happen anytime soon". The pre-meet ups are always more fun than the actual party. The pre-meetups aren't an official event, but we always go to a bar to get wasted(not Canada, he's the designated driver) 3 days before an official, international meeting that composes of 150+ nations talking about politics or whatever.

Phil says she'll be gone for a few hours to hang out with friends. I go through my usual morning routine, and I open my cabinet door. I have no clean shirts. As I almost close the door in defeat, I see a black shirt underneath my hoodies. Huh. It's the NATO shirt Russia gave me for the Secret Santa Gift Exchange last year. Well... since I don't have any shirts to wear, I guess I can wear this. I grab my favorite hoodie, the one that has the bi flag colors. I never wear this hoodie outside of the house. It's sort of like a blanket of secrets for me. Whenever I wear it, I feel cozy, protected, safe. I put it on, but feel a weird thing in one of the pockets. I reach into it and find a piece of paper. "so we can talk about war or something... +7-903-9467-007". HOLY SHIT. IS THIS RUSSIA'S PHONE NUMBER? I don't remember him giving me this... plus I found it in my private jacket. Huh. More questions that scientists can't answer. 

I go downstairs and open the fridge. I look at all the Filipino foods in Tupperware containers. Why do Filipinos like stews and soup so much? I close the fridge door and lay down on the couch. I get a notification from my phone. "3 Notifications from Contacts: 1 from lil bro, 1 from my girlfriend, 1 from Russia". I open the one from Canada. "Heya big bro! how are you?" "I'm fine... hbu?" A few seconds later, he shoots back a reply. "I'm good! Just hanging out with Ukraine!" "that's cool... see ya at the meetup thing" "See you soon!". I open the one from Phil. "what are u doing" "nothing i'm just on the couch" A minute or so later, Phil replies. "could you please put ur dirty shirts in the laundry basket?" "sure..." "luv u" "luv u too". I open the one from Russia. It's in Cyrillic characters, so I can't really read it. I put it through a translator app and got this: "Hey you are going to the party, right? Could we meet at the parking lot?". This must be a wrong send thing, cause I have no idea why Russia wants to meet me at the parking lot. "hey, Russ, I think you have the wrong number... this is Ame." A few seconds later, he replies in Cyrillic. I put it through the translator and got: "What? This is not the wrong number. I sent you that on purpose." "then why did you send me a text in Cyrillic? you know I don't know how to read that." He replies in Cyrillic again, and I got: "I thought you like decoding things.". Now, this is just crazy. I have no idea what he's going on about. "just... don't text me unless it's an emergency.". I turn off my phone and lie down on the couch. 

What could Russ be talking about? He's texting me like we're in a relationship or something. Plus, I found his number in my hoodie. My SECRET hoodie, that I NEVER wear outside of the house. I wonder... Did I date him? Before The Cold War? Nah, probably not... I think he's like, straight... Or is he?... Now, this what I hate about myself. I always repress random memories, yet I keep the traumatic experiences ready to torture me. After thinking about Russia for a couple of minutes, I fall asleep.